Here is the copy of Landor’s verses.
You know thoroughly, do you not, why I brought all those goodnatured letters, desperate praise and all? Not, not out of the least vanity in the world—nor to help myself in your sight with such testimony: would it beseem very extravagant, on the contrary, if I said that perhaps I laid them before your eyes in a real fit of compunction at not being, in my heart, thankful enough for the evident motive of the writers,—and so was determined to give them the 'last honours' if not the first, and not make them miss you because, thro’ my fault, they had missed me? Does this sound too fantastical? Because it is strictly true: the most laudatory of all, I skimmed once over with my flesh creeping—it seemed such a death-struggle, that of good nature over——well, it is fresh ingratitude of me, so here it shall end.
I am not ungrateful to you—but you must wait to know that:—I can speak less than nothing with my living lips."
Yes, it does seem a bit 'fantastical' because he obviously is proud of the praise, but the fact that his skin crawled in embarrassment is so typically English. Is not it amusing that he says he can say 'less than nothing with my living lips,' and when he writes to her he continually proclaims that he cannot put his words on paper? The tongue tied, penniless poet.
"I mean to ask your brother how you are tonight .. so quietly!
God bless you, my dearest, and reward you.
Mrs Shelley .. 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 myself, not mine, I give—give? That you glorify and change and, in returning then, give me!"
Does this last not seem a continuation of his letter of November 16th where he tries to clarify his love for her? He seems to be reiterating that it is not the poetry--they are equals in poetry--and Landor is above. Interesting.....I am sure she will not take offense because she will not agree that they are equal, she sees him far above herself.
So, what does she say to all this:
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 overgratified 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,—& I had a pleasure & 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 & over? He might have mentioned the ‘Duchess’ I think,—& he a poet! Mr Chorley speaks some things very well—but what does he mean about ‘execution,’ en revanche [in return]? but I liked his letter & 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: & besides the reason you give for being gratified by it, it is well that one prophet should open his mouth & prophesy & 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 noble testimony to a truth. And he discriminates—he understands & 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, & turn myself round & round in despair of being ever able to approach, taking them to be so essentially & 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?—& again in the Athenæum? if in the Examiner, certainly again in the Athenæum .. it would be a matter of course. Oh those verses! how they have pleased me. It was an act worthy of him—& of you."
And he thought she would be offended.
"George has been properly 'indoctrinated,' &, we must hope, will do credit to my instructions. Just now .. just as I was writing .. he came in to say good morning & good night, (he goes to chambers earlier than I receive visitors generally) & to ask with a smile, if I had ‘a message for my friend’ .. that was you .. & so he was indoctrinated. He is good & true, honest & kind, but a little over-grave & reasonable, as I and my sisters complain continually. The great Law lime kiln dries human souls all to one colour—& he is an industrious reader among lawbooks & knows a good deal about them, I have heard from persons who can judge; but with a sacrifice of impulsiveness & 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 & think ill of it– I tell George so sometimes—and he is goodnatured & only thinks to himself (a little audibly now & then) that I am a woman & talking nonsense. But the morals of it, & the philosophy of it! And the manners of it!—in which the whole host of barristers looks down on the attorneys & the rest of the world!—how long are these things to last!–"
An opinionated woman.
"Theodosia Garrow, I have seen face to face once or twice. She is very clever—very accomplished—with talents & tastes of various kinds—a musician & linguist, in most modern languages I believe—& a writer of fluent graceful melodious verses, .. you cannot say any more. At least I cannot—& 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—&, that being the case, it does not spoil the discriminating appreciation on the other page of his letter. I might have the modesty to admit besides that I may be wrong & 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, & all the fluency & facility & quick ear-catching of a tune which one can find in the world, do not answer to it—no."
More opinions, but hey, she should know poetry. Sort of like comparing the yodelers on American Idol to singers.
"How is the head? will you tell me? I have written all this without a word of it, & 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? & is it change away from England that you want? .. require, I mean. If so–—.why what follows & ought to follow? You must not be ill indeed—that is the first necessity. Tell me how you are, exactly how you are,—& remember to walk, & 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 & 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 'passing show' I fear, & 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, & from you too who profess to say ‘less than nothing’, .. & that was that 'the times seemed longer to you'—do you remember saying it? And it made me glad .. happy—perhaps too glad & happy—& 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, & 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 & yet make me this to you? I never can tell you how, & you never can know it without having my heart in you with all its experiences: we measure by these weights– May God bless you! & 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, & you know it. I will not move, nor speak, nor breathe, so as willingly & consciously to touch, with one shade of wrong, that precious deposit of 'heart & life'––which may yet be recalled.
She thinks he was looking better than previous. And how easily she is please. He mentions that it seems a long time between their visits and she is a happy little clam.
And, so, may God bless you & your EBB.
Remember to say how you are.
I send Pomfret—& Shelley is returned, & 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 shd 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 & pure intention of it– The best character .. most lifelike .. 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 judgement' 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—& people say of her more than she expresses—& 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, & could not help itself. There were the letters to write of, & the verses! and then, you know, ‘femme qui parle [the woman who speaks]' never has done. Let me hear! & I will be as brief as a monument next time for variety."
She was very chatty today. She seems happy, her gloomy side must have gone into remission after Browning's visit cheered her up.