The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett Part 33

Your R.B.

Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley--with the 'Ricordi.'

Of course, Landor's praise is altogether a different gift; a gold vase from King Hiram; beside he has plenty of conscious rejoicing in his own riches, and is not left painfully poor by what he sends away.

_That_ is the unpleasant point with some others--they spread you a board and want to gird up their loins and wait on you there. Landor says 'come up higher and let us sit and eat together.' Is it not that?

Now--you are not to turn on me because the first is my proper feeling to _you_, ... for poetry is not the thing given or taken between us--it is heart and life and _my_self, not _mine_, I give--give? That you glorify and change and, in returning then, give _me_!

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Thursday.

[Post-mark, November 21, 1845.]

Thank you! and will you, if your sister made the copy of Landor's verses for _me_ as well as for you, thank _her_ from me for another kindness, ... not the second nor the third? For my own part, be sure that if I did not fall on the right subtle interpretation about the letters, at least I did not 'think it vain' of you! vain: when, supposing you really to have been over-gratified by such letters, it could have proved only an excess of humility!--But ... besides the subtlety,--you meant to be kind to _me_, you know,--and I had a pleasure and an interest in reading them--only that ... mind. Sir John Hanmer's, I was half angry with! Now _is_ he not cold?--and is it not easy to see _why_ he is forced to write his own scenes five times over and over? He might have mentioned the 'd.u.c.h.ess' I think; and he a poet! Mr. Chorley speaks some things very well--but what does he mean about 'execution,' _en revanche_? but I liked his letter and his candour in the last page of it. Will Mr. Warburton review you? does he mean _that_? Now do let me see any other letters you receive. _May_ I?

Of course Landor's 'dwells apart' from all: and besides the reason you give for being gratified by it, it is well that one prophet should open his mouth and prophesy and give his witness to the inspiration of another. See what he says in the letter.... '_You may stand quite alone if you will--and I think you will.' That_ is a n.o.ble testimony to a _truth_. And he discriminates--he understands and discerns--they are not words thrown out into the air. The 'profusion of imagery covering the depth of thought' is a true description. And, in the verses, he lays his finger just on your characteristics--just on those which, when you were only a poet to me, (only a poet: does it sound irreverent? almost, I think!) which, when you were only a poet to me, I used to study, characteristic by characteristic, and turn myself round and round in despair of being ever able to approach, taking them to be so essentially and intensely masculine that like effects were unattainable, even in a lower degree, by any female hand. Did I not tell you so once before? or oftener than once? And must not these verses of Landor's be printed somewhere--in the _Examiner_? and again in the _Athenaeum_? if in the _Examiner_, certainly again in the _Athenaeum_--it would be a matter of course. Oh those verses: how they have pleased me! It was an act worthy of him--and of _you_.

George has been properly 'indoctrinated,' and, we must hope, will do credit to my instructions. Just now ... just as I was writing ... he came in to say good-morning and good-night (he goes to chambers earlier than I receive visitors generally), and to ask with a smile, if I had 'a message for my friend' ... _that_ was you ... and so he was indoctrinated. He is good and true, honest and kind, but a little over-grave and reasonable, as I and my sisters complain continually.

The great Law lime-kiln dries human souls all to one colour--and he is an industrious reader among law books and knows a good deal about them, I have heard from persons who can judge; but with a sacrifice of impulsiveness and liberty of spirit, which _I_ should regret for him if he sate on the Woolsack even. Oh--that law! how I do detest it! I hate it and think ill of it--I tell George so sometimes--and he is good-natured and only thinks to himself (a little audibly now and then) that I am a woman and talking nonsense. But the morals of it, and the philosophy of it! And the manners of it! in which the whole host of barristers looks down on the attorneys and the rest of the world!--how long are these things to last!

Theodosia Garrow, I have seen face to face once or twice. She is very clever--very accomplished--with talents and tastes of various kinds--a musician and linguist, in most modern languages I believe--and a writer of fluent graceful melodious verses, ... you cannot say any more. At least _I_ cannot--and though I have not seen this last poem in the 'Book of Beauty,' I have no more trust ready for it than for its predecessors, of which Mr. Landor said as much. It is the personal feeling which speaks in him, I fancy--simply the personal feeling--and, _that_ being the case, it does not spoil the discriminating appreciation on the other page of this letter. I might have the modesty to admit besides that I may be wrong and he, right, all through. But ... 'more intense than Sappho'!--more intense than intensity itself!--to think of _that_!--Also the word 'poetry' has a clear meaning to me, and all the fluency and facility and quick ear-catching of a tune which one can find in the world, do not answer to it--no.

How is the head? will you tell me? I have written all this without a word of it, and yet ever since yesterday I have been uneasy, ... I cannot help it. You see you are not better but worse. 'Since you were in Italy'--Then is it England that disagrees with you? and is it change away from England that you want? ... _require_, I mean. If so--why what follows and ought to follow? You must not be ill indeed--_that_ is the first necessity. Tell me how you are, exactly how you are; and remember to walk, and not to work too much--for my sake--if you care for me--if it is not too bold of me to say so. I had fancied you were looking better rather than otherwise: but those sensations in the head are frightful and ought to be stopped by whatever means; even by the worst, as they would seem to _me_.

Well--it was bad news to hear of the increase of pain; for the amendment was a 'pa.s.sing show' I fear, and not caused even by thoughts of mine or it would have appeared before; while on the other side (the sunny side of the way) I heard on that same yesterday, what made me glad as good news, a whole gospel of good news, and from _you_ too who profess to say 'less than nothing,' and _that_ was that '_the times seemed longer to you_':--do you remember saying it? And it made me glad ... happy--perhaps too glad and happy--and surprised: yes, surprised!--for if you had told me (but you would not have told me) if you had let me guess ... just the contrary, ... '_that the times seemed shorter_,' ... why it would have seemed to _me_ as natural as nature--oh, believe me it would, and I could not have thought hardly of you for it in the most secret or silent of my thoughts. How am I to feel towards you, do you imagine, ... who have the world round you and yet make me this to you? I never can tell you how, and you never can know it without having my heart in you with all its experiences: we measure by those weights. May G.o.d bless you! and save _me_ from being the cause to you of any harm or grief!... I choose it for _my_ blessing instead of another. What should I be if I could fail willingly to you in the least thing? But I _never will_, and you know it. I will not move, nor speak, nor breathe, so as willingly and consciously to touch, with one shade of wrong, that precious deposit of 'heart and life' ... which may yet be recalled.

And, so, may G.o.d bless you and your

E.B.B.

Remember to say how you are.

I sent 'Pomfret'--and Sh.e.l.ley is returned, and the letters, in the same parcel--but my letter goes by the post as you see. Is there contrast enough between the two rival female personages of 'Pomfret.'

_I_ fancy not. Helena should have been more 'demonstrative' than she appeared in Italy, to secure the 'new modulation' with Walter. But you will not think it a strong book, I am sure, with all the good and pure intention of it. The best character ... most life-like ... as conventional life goes ... seems to _me_ 'Mr. Rose' ... beyond all comparison--and the best point, the noiseless, unaffected manner in which the acting out of the 'private judgment' in Pomfret himself is made no heroic virtue but simply an integral part of the love of truth. As to Grace she is too good to be interesting, I am afraid--and people say of her more than she expresses--and as to 'generosity,' she could not do otherwise in the last scenes.

But I will not tell you the story after all.

At the beginning of this letter I meant to write just one page; but my generosity is like Grace's, and could not help itself. There were the letters to write of, and the verses! and then, you know, 'femme qui parle' never has done. _Let_ me hear! and I will be as brisk as a monument next time for variety.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Friday Night.

[Post-mark, November 22, 1845.]

How good and kind to send me these books! (The letter I say nothing of, according to convention: if I wrote down 'best and kindest' ...

oh, what poorest words!) I shall tell you all about 'Pomfret,' be sure. Chorley talked of it, as we walked homewards together last night,--modestly and well, and spoke of having given away two copies only ... to his mother one, and the other to--Miss Barrett, and 'she seemed interested in the life of it, entered into his purpose in it,'

and I listened to it all, loving Chorley for his loveability which is considerable at other times, and saying to myself what might run better in the child's couplet--'Not more than others I deserve, Though G.o.d has given me more'!--Given me the letter which expresses surprise that I shall feel these blanks between the days when I see you longer and longer! So am _I_ surprised--that I should have mentioned so obvious a matter at all; or leave unmentioned a hundred others its correlatives which I cannot conceive you to be ignorant of, you! When I spread out my riches before me, and think _what_ the hour and more means that you endow one with, I _do_--not to say _could_--I _do_ form resolutions, and say to myself--'If next time I am bidden stay away a FORTNIGHT, I will not reply by a word beyond the grateful a.s.sent.' I _do_, G.o.d knows, lay up in my heart these priceless treasures,--shall I tell you? I never in my life kept a journal, a register of sights, or fancies, or feelings; in my last travel I put down on a slip of paper a few dates, that I might remember in England, on such a day I was on Vesuvius, in Pompeii, at Sh.e.l.ley's grave; all that should be kept in memory is, with _me_, best left to the brain's own process.

But I have, from the first, recorded the date and the duration of every visit to you; the numbers of minutes you have given me ... and I put them together till they make ... nearly two days now; four-and-twenty-hour-long-days, that I have been _by you_--and I enter the room determining to get up and go sooner ... and I go away into the light street repenting that I went so soon by I don't know how many minutes--for, love, what is it all, this love for you, but an earnest desiring to include you in myself, if that might be; to feel you in my very heart and hold you there for ever, through all chance and earthly changes!

There, I had better leave off; the words!

I was very glad to find myself with your brother yesterday; I like him very much and mean to get a friend in him--(to supply the loss of my friend ... Miss Barrett--which is gone, the friendship, so gone!) But I did not ask after you because I heard Moxon do it. Now of Landor's verses: I got a note from Forster yesterday telling me that he, too, had received a copy ... so that there is no injunction to be secret.

So I got a copy for dear Mr. Kenyon, and, lo! what comes! I send the note to make you smile! I shall reply that I felt in duty bound to apprise you; as I did. You will observe that I go to that too facile gate of his on Tuesday, _my day_ ... from your house directly. The worst is that I have got entangled with invitations already, and must go out again, _hating_ it, to more than one place.

I am _very_ well--quite well; yes, dearest! The pain is quite gone; and the inconvenience, hard on its trace. You will write to me again, will you not? And be as brief as your heart lets you, to me who h.o.a.rd up your words and get remote and imperfect ideas of what ... shall it be written?... anger at you could mean, when I see a line blotted out; a _second-thoughted_ finger-tip rapidly put forth upon one of my gold pieces!

I rather think if Warburton reviews me it will be in the _Quarterly_, which I know he writes for. Hanmer is a very sculpturesque pa.s.sionless high-minded and amiable man ... this coldness, as you see it, is part of him. I like his poems, I think, better than you--'the Sonnets,' do you know them? Not 'Fra Cipolla.' See what is here, since you will not let me have only you to look at--this is Landor's first opinion--expressed to Forster--see the date! and last of all, see me and know me, beloved! May G.o.d bless you!

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Sat.u.r.day.

[Post-mark, November 22, 1845.]

Mr. Kenyon came yesterday--and do you know when he took out those verses and spoke his preface and I understood what was to follow, I had a temptation from my familiar Devil not to say I had read them before--I had the temptation strong and clear. For he (Mr. K.) told me that your sister let him see them--.

But no--My 'vade retro' prevailed, and I spoke the truth and shamed the devil and surprised Mr. Kenyon besides, as I could observe. Not an observation did he make till he was just going away half an hour afterwards, and then he said rather dryly ... 'And now may I ask how long ago it was when you first read these verses?--was it a fortnight ago?' It was better, I think, that I should not have made a mystery of such a simple thing, ... and yet I felt half vexed with myself and with him besides. But the verses,--how he praised them! more than I thought of doing ... as verses--though there is beauty and music and all that ought to be. Do you see clearly now that the latter lines refer to the combination in you,--the qualities over and above those held in common with Chaucer? And I have heard this morning from two or three of the early readers of the _Chronicle_ (I never care to see it till the evening) that the verses are there--so that my wishes have fulfilled themselves _there_ at least--strangely, for wishes of mine ... which generally 'go by contraries' as the soothsayers declare of dreams. How kind of you to send me the fragment to Mr. Forster! and how I like to read it. Was the Hebrew yours _then_ ... _written then_, I mean ... or written _now_?

Mr. Kenyon told me that you were to dine with him on Tuesday, and I took for granted, at first hearing, that you would come on Wednesday perhaps to me--and afterwards I saw the possibility of the two ends being joined without much difficulty. Still, I was not sure, before your letter came, how it might be.

That you really are better is the best news of all--thank you for telling me. It will be wise not to go out _too_ much--'aequam servare mentem' as Landor quotes, ... in this as in the rest. Perhaps that worst pain was a sort of crisis ... the sharp turn of the road about to end ... oh, I do trust it may be so.

Mr. K. wrote to Landor to the effect that it was not because he (Mr.

K.) held you in affection, nor because the verses expressed critically the opinion entertained of you by all who could judge, nor because they praised a book with which his own name was a.s.sociated ... but for the abstract beauty of those verses ... for _that_ reason he could not help naming them to Mr. Landor. All of which was repeated to me yesterday.

Also I heard of you from George, who admired you--admired you ... as if you were a chancellor in _posse_, a great lawyer in _esse_--and then he thought you ... what he never could think a lawyer ...

'_una.s.suming_.' And _you_ ... you are so kind! Only _that_ makes me think bitterly what I have thought before, but cannot write to-day.

It was good-natured of Mr. Chorley to send me a copy of his book, and he sending so few--very! George who admires _you_, does not tolerate Mr. Chorley ... (did I tell ever?) declares that the affectation is 'bad,' and that there is a dash of vulgarity ... which I positively refuse to believe, and _should_, I fancy, though face to face with the most vainglorious of waistcoats. How can there be vulgarity even of manners, with so much mental refinement? I never could believe in those combinations of contradictions.

'An obvious matter,' you think! as obvious, as your 'green hill' ...

which I cannot see. For the rest ... my thought upon your 'great _fact_' of the 'two days,' is quite different from yours ... for I think directly, 'So little'! so dreadfully little! What shallow earth for a deep root! What can be known of me in that time? 'So _there_, is the only good, you see, that comes from making calculations on a slip of paper! It is not and it cannot come to good.' I would rather look at my seventy-five letters--there is room to breathe in them. And this is my idea (_ecce_!) of monumental brevity--and _hic jacet_ at last

Your E.B.B.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Sunday Night.

[Post-mark, November 24, 1845.]

But a word to-night, my love--for my head aches a little,--I had to write a long letter to my friend at New Zealand, and now I want to sit and think of you and get well--but I must not quite lose the word I counted on.

So, _that_ way you will take my two days and turn them against me?