The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett Part 8

Don't you remember I told you, once on a time that you 'knew nothing of me'? whereat you demurred--but I meant what I said, and knew it was so. To be grand in a simile, for every poor speck of a Vesuvius or a Stromboli in my microcosm there are huge layers of ice and pits of black cold water--and I make the most of my two or three fire-eyes, because I know by experience, alas, how these tend to extinction--and the ice grows and grows--still this last is true part of me, most characteristic part, _best_ part perhaps, and I disown nothing--only,--when you talked of '_knowing_ me'! Still, I am utterly unused, of these late years particularly, to dream of communicating anything about _that_ to another person (all my writings are purely dramatic as I am always anxious to say) that when I make never so little an attempt, no wonder if I _bungle_ notably--'language,' too is an organ that never studded this heavy heavy head of mine. Will you not think me very brutal if I tell you I could almost smile at your misapprehension of what I meant to write?--Yet I _will_ tell you, because it will undo the bad effect of my thoughtlessness, and at the same time exemplify the point I have all along been honestly earnest to set you right upon ... my real inferiority to you; just that and no more. I wrote to you, in an unwise moment, on the spur of being again 'thanked,' and, unwisely writing just as if thinking to myself, said what must have looked absurd enough as seen apart from the horrible counterbalancing never-to-be-written _rest of me_--by the side of which, could it be written and put before you, my note would sink to its proper and relative place, and become a mere 'thank you' for your good opinion--which I a.s.sure you is far too generous--for I really believe you to be my superior in many respects, and feel uncomfortable till _you_ see that, too--since I hope for your sympathy and a.s.sistance, and 'frankness is everything in such a case.' I do a.s.sure you, that had you read my note, _only_ having '_known_' so much of me as is implied in having inspected, for instance, the contents, merely, of that fatal and often-referred-to 'portfolio' there (_Dii meliora piis!_), you would see in it, (the note not the portfolio) the blandest utterance ever mild gentleman gave birth to. But I forgot that one may make too much noise in a silent place by playing the few notes on the 'ear-piercing fife' which in Oth.e.l.lo's regimental band might have been thumped into decent subordination by his 'spirit-stirring drum'--to say nothing of gong and ophicleide. Will you forgive me, on promise to remember for the future, and be more considerate? Not that you must too much despise me, neither; nor, of all things, apprehend I am att.i.tudinizing a la Byron, and giving you to understand unutterable somethings, longings for Lethe and all that--far from it! I never committed murders, and sleep the soundest of sleeps--but 'the heart is desperately wicked,' that is true, and though I dare not say 'I know' mine, yet I have had signal opportunities, I who began life from the beginning, and can forget nothing (but names, and the date of the battle of Waterloo), and have known good and wicked men and women, gentle and simple, shaking hands with Edmund Kean and Father Mathew, you and--Ottima! Then, I had a certain faculty of self-consciousness, years and years ago, at which John Mill wondered, and which ought to be improved by this time, if constant use helps at all--and, meaning, on the whole, to be a Poet, if not _the_ Poet ... for I am vain and ambitious some nights,--I do myself justice, and dare call things by their names to myself, and say boldly, this I love, this I hate, this I would do, this I would not do, under all kinds of circ.u.mstances,--and talking (thinking) in this style _to myself_, and beginning, however tremblingly, in spite of conviction, to write in this style _for myself_--on the top of the desk which contains my 'Songs of the Poets--NO. I M.P.', I wrote,--what you now forgive, I know! Because I am, from my heart, sorry that by a foolish fit of inconsideration I should have given pain for a minute to you, towards whom, on every account, I would rather soften and 'sleeken every word as to a bird' ... (and, not such a bird as my black self that go screeching about the world for 'dead horse'--corvus (picus)--mirandola!) I, too, who have been at such pains to acquire the reputation I enjoy in the world,--(ask Mr.

Kenyon,) and who dine, and wine, and dance and enhance the company's pleasure till they make me ill and I keep house, as of late: Mr.

Kenyon, (for I only quote where you may verify if you please) _he_ says my common sense strikes him, and its contrast with my muddy metaphysical poetry! And so it shall strike you--for though I am glad that, since you _did_ misunderstand me, you said so, and have given me an opportunity of doing by another way what I wished to do in _that_,--yet, if you had _not_ alluded to my writing, as I meant you should not, you would have certainly understood _something_ of its drift when you found me next Tuesday precisely the same quiet (no, for I feel I speak too loudly, in spite of your kind disclaimer, but--) the same mild man-about-town you were gracious to, the other morning--for, indeed, my own way of worldly life is marked out long ago, as precisely as yours can be, and I am set going with a hand, winker-wise, on each side of my head, and a directing finger before my eyes, to say nothing of an instinctive dread I have that a certain whip-lash is vibrating somewhere in the neighbourhood in playful readiness! So 'I hope here be proofs,' Dogberry's satisfaction that, first, I am but a very poor creature compared to you and ent.i.tled by my wants to look up to you,--all I meant to say from the first of the first--and that, next, I shall be too much punished if, for this piece of mere inconsideration, you deprive me, more or less, or sooner or later, of the pleasure of seeing you,--a little over boisterous grat.i.tude for which, perhaps, caused all the mischief! The reasons you give for deferring my visits next week are too cogent for me to dispute--that is too true--and, being now and henceforward 'on my good behaviour,' I will at once cheerfully submit to them, if needs must--but should your mere kindness and forethought, as I half suspect, have induced you to take such a step, you will now smile with me, at this new and very unnecessary addition to the 'fears of me' I have got so triumphantly over in your case! Wise man, was I not, to clench my first favourable impression so adroitly ... like a recent Cambridge worthy, my sister heard of; who, being on his theological (or rather, scripture-historical) examination, was asked by the Tutor, who wished to let him off easily, 'who was the first King of Israel?'--'Saul' answered the trembling youth. 'Good!' nodded approvingly the Tutor. 'Otherwise called _Paul_,' subjoined the youth in his elation! Now I have begged pardon, and blushingly a.s.sured you _that_ was only a slip of the tongue, and that I did really _mean_ all the while, (Paul or no Paul), the veritable son of Kish, he that owned the a.s.ses, and found listening to the harp the best of all things for an evil spirit! Pray write me a line to say, 'Oh ... if _that's_ all!'

and remember me for good (which is very compatible with a moment's stupidity) and let me not for one fault, (and that the only one that shall be), lose _any pleasure_ ... for your friendship I am sure I have not lost--G.o.d bless you, my dear friend!

R. BROWNING.

And by the way, will it not be better, as co-operating with you more effectually in your kind promise to forget the 'printer's error' in my blotted proof, to send me back that same 'proof,' if you have not inflicted proper and summary justice on it? When Mephistopheles last came to see us in this world outside here, he counselled sundry of us 'never to write a letter,--and never to burn one'--do you know that?

But I never mind what I am told! Seriously, I am ashamed.... I shall next ask a servant for my paste in the 'high fantastical' style of my own 'Luria.'

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

Sunday [May 25, 1845].

I owe you the most humble of apologies dear Mr. Browning, for having spent so much solemnity on so simple a matter, and I hasten to pay it; confessing at the same time (as why should I not?) that I am quite as much ashamed of myself as I ought to be, which is not a little. You will find it difficult to believe me perhaps when I a.s.sure you that I never made such a mistake (I mean of over-seriousness to indefinite compliments), no, never in my life before--indeed my sisters have often jested with me (in matters of which they were cognizant) on my supernatural indifference to the superlative degree in general, as if it meant nothing in grammar. I usually know well that 'boots' may be called for in this world of ours, just as you called for yours; and that to bring '_Bootes_,' were the vilest of mal-a-pro-pos-ities.

Also, I should have understood 'boots' where you wrote it, in the letter in question; if it had not been for _the relation of two things_ in it--and now I perfectly seem to see _how_ I mistook that relation; ('_seem to see_'; because I have not looked into the letter again since your last night's commentary, and will not--) inasmuch as I have observed before in my own mind, that a good deal of what is called obscurity in you, arises from a habit of very subtle a.s.sociation; so subtle, that you are probably unconscious of it, ...

and the effect of which is to throw together on the same level and in the same light, things of likeness and unlikeness--till the reader grows confused as I did, and takes one for another. I may say however, in a poor justice to myself, that I wrote what I wrote so unfortunately, _through reverence for you_, and not at all from vanity in my own account ... although I do feel palpably while I write these words here and now, that I might as well leave them unwritten; for that no man of the world who ever lived in the world (not even _you_) could be expected to believe them, though said, sung, and sworn.

For the rest, it is scarcely an apposite moment for you to talk, even 'dramatically,' of my 'superiority' to you, ... unless you mean, which perhaps you do mean, my superiority in _simplicity_--and, verily, to some of the 'adorable ingenuousness,' sacred to the shade of Simpson, I may put in a modest claim, ... 'and have my claim allowed.' 'Pray do not mock me' I quote again from your Shakespeare to you who are a dramatic poet; ... and I will admit anything that you like, (being humble just now)--even that I _did not know you_. I was certainly innocent of the knowledge of the 'ice and cold water' you introduce me to, and am only just shaking my head, as Flush would, after a first wholesome plunge. Well--if I do not know you, I shall learn, I suppose, in time. I am ready to try humbly to learn--and I may perhaps--if you are not done in Sanscrit, which is too hard for me, ... notwithstanding that I had the pleasure yesterday to hear, from America, of my profound skill in 'various languages less known than Hebrew'!--a liberal paraphrase on Mr. Horne's large fancies on the like subject, and a satisfactory reputation in itself--as long as it is not necessary to deserve it. So I here enclose to you your letter back again, as you wisely desire; although you never could doubt, I hope, for a moment, of its safety with me in the completest of senses: and then, from the heights of my superior ... stult.i.ty, and other qualities of the like order, ... I venture to advise you ... however (to speak of the letter critically, and as the dramatic composition it is) it is to be admitted to be very beautiful, and well worthy of the rest of its kin in the portfolio, ... 'Lays of the Poets,' or otherwise, ... I venture to advise you to burn it at once. And then, my dear friend, I ask you (having some claim) to burn at the same time the letter I was fortunate enough to write to you on Friday, and this present one--don't send them back to me; I hate to have letters sent back--but burn them for me and never mind Mephistopheles. After which friendly turn, you will do me the one last kindness of forgetting all this exquisite nonsense, and of refraining from mentioning it, by breath or pen, _to me or another_. Now I trust you so far:--you will put it with the date of the battle of Waterloo--and I, with every date in chronology; seeing that I can remember none of them. And we will shuffle the cards and take patience, and begin the game again, if you please--and I shall bear in mind that you are a dramatic poet, which is not the same thing, by any means, with _us_ of the primitive simplicities, who don't tread on cothurns nor shift the mask in the scene. And I will reverence you both as 'a poet' and as '_the_ poet'; because it is no false 'ambition,' but a right you have--and one which those who live longest, will see justified to the uttermost.... In the meantime I need not ask Mr. Kenyon if you have any sense, because I have no doubt that you have quite sense enough--and even if I had a doubt, I shall prefer judging for myself without interposition; which I can do, you know, as long as you like to come and see me. And you can come this week if you do like it--because our relations don't come till the end of it, it appears--not that I made a pretence 'out of kindness'--pray don't judge me so outrageously--but if you like to come ... not on Tuesday ... but on Wednesday at three o'clock, I shall be very glad to see you; and I, for one, shall have forgotten everything by that time; being quick at forgetting my own faults usually. If Wednesday does not suit you, I am not sure that I _can_ see you this week--but it depends on circ.u.mstances. Only don't think yourself _obliged_ to come on Wednesday. You know I _began_ by entreating you to be open and sincere with me--and no more--I _require_ no 'sleekening of every word.' I love the truth and can bear it--whether in word or deed--and those who have known me longest would tell you so fullest. Well!--May G.o.d bless you. We shall know each other some day perhaps--and I am

Always and faithfully your friend,

E.B.B.

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

[Post-mark, May 26, 1845.]

Nay--I _must_ have last word--as all people in the wrong desire to have--and then, no more of the subject. You said I had given you _great pain_--so long as I stop _that_, think anything of me you choose or can! But _before_ your former letter came, I saw the pre-ordained uselessness of mine. Speaking is to some _end_, (apart from foolish self-relief, which, after all, I can do without)--and where there is _no_ end--you see! or, to finish characteristically--since the offering to cut off one's right-hand to save anybody a headache, is in vile taste, even for our melodramas, seeing that it was never yet believed in on the stage or off it,--how much worse to really make the ugly chop, and afterwards come sheepishly in, one's arm in a black sling, and find that the delectable gift had changed aching to nausea! There! And now, 'exit, prompt-side, nearest door, Luria'--and enter R.B.--next Wednesday,--as boldly as he suspects most people do just after they have been soundly frightened!

I shall be most happy to see you on the day and at the hour you mention.

G.o.d bless you, my dear friend,

R.B.

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

Monday Morning.

[Post-mark, May 27, 1845.]

You will think me the most changeable of all the changeable; but indeed it is _not_ my fault that I cannot, as I wished, receive you on Wednesday. There was a letter this morning; and our friends not only come to London but come to this house on Tuesday (to-morrow) to pa.s.s two or three days, until they settle in an hotel for the rest of the season. Therefore you see, it is doubtful whether the two days may not be three, and the three days four; but if they go away in time, and if Sat.u.r.day should suit you, I will let you know by a word; and you can answer by a yea or nay. While they are in the house, I must give them what time I can--and indeed, it is something to dread altogether.

Tuesday.

I send you the note I had begun before receiving yours of last night, and also a fragment[1] from Mrs. Hedley's herein enclosed, a full and complete certificate, ... that you may know ... quite _know_, ... what the real and only reason of the obstacle to Wednesday is. On Sat.u.r.day perhaps, or on Monday more certainly, there is likely to be no opposition, ... at least not on the 'cote gauche' (_my_ side!) to our meeting--but I will let you know more.

For the rest, we have both been a little unlucky, there's no denying, in overcoming the embarra.s.sments of a first acquaintance--but suffer me to say as one other last word, (and _quite, quite the last this time_!) in case there should have been anything approaching, however remotely, to a distrustful or unkind tone in what I wrote on Sunday, (and I have a sort of consciousness that in the process of my self-scorning I was not in the most sabbatical of moods perhaps--) that I do recall and abjure it, and from my heart entreat your pardon for it, and profess, notwithstanding it, neither to 'choose' nor 'to be able' to think otherwise of you than I have done, ... as of one _most_ generous and _most_ loyal; for that if I chose, I could not; and that if I could, I should not choose.

Ever and gratefully your friend,

E.B.B.

--And now we shall hear of 'Luria,' shall we not? and much besides.

And Miss Mitford has sent me the most high comical of letters to read, addressed to her by 'R.B. Haydon historical painter' which has made me quite laugh; and would make _you_; expressing his righteous indignation at the 'great fact' and gross impropriety of any man who has 'thoughts too deep for tears' agreeing to wear a 'bag-wig' ... the case of poor Wordsworth's going to court, you know.--Mr. Haydon being infinitely serious all the time, and yet holding the doctrine of the divine right of princes in his left hand.

How is your head? may I be hoping the best for it? May G.o.d bless you.

[Footnote 1: ... me on Tuesday, or Wednesday? if on Tuesday, I shall come by the three o'clock train; if on Wednesday, _early_ in the morning, as I shall be anxious to secure rooms ... so that your Uncle and Arabel may come up on Thursday.]

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

[Post-mark, May 28, 1845.]

Sat.u.r.day, Monday, as you shall appoint--no need to say that, or my thanks--but this note troubles you, out of my bounden duty to help you, or Miss Mitford, to make the Painter run violently down a steep place into the sea, if that will amuse you, by further informing him, what I know on the best authority, that Wordsworth's 'bag-wig,' or at least, the more important of his court-habiliments, were considerately furnished for the nonce by _Mr. Rogers_ from his own wardrobe, to the manifest advantage of the Laureate's pocket, but more problematic improvement of his person, when one thinks on the astounding difference of 'build' in the two Poets:--the fact should be put on record, if only as serving to render less chimerical a promise sometimes figuring in the columns of provincial newspapers--that the two apprentices, some grocer or other advertises for, will be 'boarded and _clothed_ like _one_ of the family.' May not your unfinished (really good) head of the great man have been happily kept waiting for the body which can now be added on, with all this picturesqueness of circ.u.mstances. Precept on precept ... but then, _line upon line_, is allowed by as good authority, and may I not draw _my_ confirming black line after yours, yet not break pledge? I am most grateful to you for doing me justice--doing yourself, your own judgment, justice, since even the play-wright of Theseus and the Amazon found it one of his hardest devices to 'write me a speech, lest the lady be frightened, wherein it shall be said that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but &c. &c.'

G.o.d bless you--one thing more, but one--you _could never have_ misunderstood the _asking for the letter again_, I feared you might refer to it 'pour constater le fait'--

And now I am yours--

R.B.

My head is all but well now; thank you.

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

Friday Morning.

[Post-mark, May 30, 1845.]

Just one word to say that if Sat.u.r.day, to-morrow, should be fine--because in the case of its raining I _shall not expect you_; you will find me at three o'clock.

Yes--the circ.u.mstances of the costume were mentioned in the letter; Mr. Rogers' bag-wig and the rest, and David Wilkie's sword--and also that the Laureate, so equipped, fell down upon both knees in the superfluity of etiquette, and had to be picked up by two lords-in-waiting. It is a large exaggeration I do not doubt--and then I never sympathised with the sighing kept up by people about that acceptance of the Laureateship which drew the bag-wig as a corollary after it. Not that the Laureateship honoured _him_, but that he honoured it; and that, so honouring it, he preserves a symbol instructive to the ma.s.ses, who are children and to be taught by symbols now as formerly. Isn't it true? or at least may it not be true? And won't the court laurel (such as it is) be all the worthier of _you_ for Wordsworth's having worn it first?

And in the meantime I shall see you to-morrow perhaps? or if it should rain, on Monday at the same hour.

Ever yours, my dear friend,

E.B.B.