"Sunday Night.
Well, I did see your brother last night .. and very wisely
neither spoke nor kept silence in the proper degree, but said that 'I hoped you
were well'—from the sudden feeling that I must say something of you ..
not pretend indifference about you now .. and from the impossibility of
saying the full of what I might,—because other people were by—and after,
in the evening, when I should have remedied the first imperfect expression, I
had not altogether the heart. So, you, dearest, will clear me with him if he
wonders, will you not?– But it all hangs together,—speaking of you,—to
you,—writing to you—all is helpless and sorrowful work by the side of what is in
my soul to say and to write– Or is it not the natural consequence? if these
vehicles of feeling sufficed—there would be the end!—and that my feeling
for you should end!– For the rest, the headache which kept away while I
sate with you, made itself amends afterward, and as it is unkind to that warm
Talfourd to look blank at his hospitable endeavours, all my power of face went
à qui de droit [to one of the law]–"
Which is to say that having to be careful in his small talk with George Barrett made him nervous and gave him a headache.
"Did your brother tell you .. yes, I think .. of the portentous
book, lettered II, and thick as a law-book, of congratulatory letters on the
appearance of 'Ion'?—and how under the B’s in the Index came 'Miss Barrett' and,
woe’s me, 'RB.'! I don’t know when I
have had so ghastly a visitation: there was the utterly forgotten letter,
in the as thoroughly disused handwriting, in the .. I fear .. still as
completely obsolete feeling .. no, not so bad as that—but at first there was all
the novelty, and social admiration at the friend .. it is surely not right to
pluck all the rich soil from the roots and hold them up clean and dry as if they
came so, from all you now see, which is nothing at all .. like the
Chinese air-plant! Do you understand this? And surely 'Ion' is a very,
very beautiful and noble conception, and finely executed,—a beautiful work—what
has come after, has lowered it down by grade after grade .. it don’t stand apart
on the hill, like a wonder, now it is built up to by other attempts; but
the great difference is in myself .. another maker of another Ion, finding me
out and behaving as Talfourd did, would not find that me,—so to be
behaved to, so to be honoured—tho’ he should have all the good will! Ten years
ago!
And ten years hence!"
Typical English embarrassment and typical Browning. Embarrassed about something that she has never and will never see. And it gets worse. He realizes that he has dug himself a hole and now he has to start digging himself out:
"Always understand that you do not take me as I was at the
beginning .. with a crowd of loves to give to something and so get rid of
their pain & burthen: I have known what that ends in—a handful of
anything may be as sufficient a sample, serve your purposes and teach you its
nature, as well as whole heaps—and I know what most of the pleasures of this
world are—so that I can be surer of myself, and make you surer, on calm
demonstrated grounds, than if I had a host of objects of admiration or ambition
yet to become acquainted with: you say, 'I am a man and may change'– I
answer, yes—but, while I hold my senses,—only change for the presumeable
better .. not for the experienced worst–"
He praised Talfourd's 'Ion' ten years ago but does not think so much of it now and is embarrassed that he praised it as strongly as he did and makes an excuse that he has changed--then he realizes that she will assume that this is a sign that he will change his mind about her in 'ten years'. This demonstrates that he understands how her mind works--she is not looking for examples of his inconstancy--only proofs that he is, after all, just a man. But he has made the error of planting the idea in her fertile head. If it takes root it will be his own fault.
In mid dig he is interrupted:
Here is my uncle’s foot on the stair ..
his knock hurried the last sentence .. here is by me!– Understand what this
would have led to, how you would have been proved logically my own, best,
extreme want, my life’s end—yes, dearest! Bless you ever–Your RB
Well, I don't know how logical his argument would be; it is probably for the best that he was interrupted, it might have gotten worse. Will Miss Barrett let him off with only a warning?
"Sunday.
Let me hear how you are, & that you are better instead of
worse for the exertions of last night. After you left me yesterday I considered
how we might have managed it more conveniently for you, & had the lamp in,
& arranged matters so as to interpose less time between the going & the
dining, even if you & George did not go together, which might have been best
but which I did not like quite to propose. Now, supposing that on thursday you
dine in town, remember not to be unnecessarily ‘perplext in the extreme’ where to spend the time before
.... five, .. shall I say, at any rate? We will have the lamp, & I
can easily explain if an observation should be made … only it will not be,
because our goers out here never come home until six, & the head of the
house, not until seven .. as I told you. George thought it worth while going to
Mr Talfourd’s yesterday, just to see the author of the ‘Paracelsus’ dance the
polka … should I not tell you?"
Again she suggests that he stay longer on his visits. Methinks she must be enjoying these tete a tetes.
"I am vexed by another thing which he tells me—vexed, if
amused a little by the absurdity of it. I mean that absurd affair of the
'autography'—now is’nt it absurd? and for neither you nor George to have
the chivalry of tearing out that letter of mine, which was absurd too in its
way, & which, knowing less of the world than I know now, I wrote as if
writing for my private conscience, & privately repented writing in a day,
& have gone on repenting ever since when I happened to think enough of it
for repentance.! Because if Mr Serjeant Talfourd sent then his 'Ion' to
me, he did it in mere goodnature, hearing by chance of me through the
publisher of my ‘Prometheus’ at the moment, & of course caring no more for
my ‘opinion’ than for the rest of me—and it was excessively bad taste in me to
say more than the briefest word of thanks in return, even if I had been
competent to say it– Ah well!—you see how it is, & that I am vexed
you should have read it, .. as George says you did .. he laughing to see
me so vexed. So I turn round & avenge myself by crying aloud against the
editor of the ‘Autography’! Surely such a thing was never done before .. even by
an author in the last stage of a mortal disease of selflove. To edit the common
parlance of conventional flatteries, .. lettered in so many volumes, bound in
green morocco, & laid on the drawingroom table for one’s own particular
private public,—is it not a miracle of vanity .. neither more nor less?"
Isn't is wonderful that they are both so embarrassed in the same way, using the same argument: that was ten years ago and we were both so naive! What does this prove to me? They are both totally English, the most embarrassed race on the planet!
"I took the opportunity of the letter to Mr Mathews (talking of
vanity … mine!) to send Landor’s verses to America .. yours—so they will
be in the American papers .. I know Mr Mathews. I was
speaking to him of your last number of Bells & Pomegranates, & the
verses came in naturally,—just as my speaking did, for it is not the first time
nor the second nor the third even that I have written to him of you, though I
admire how in all those previous times I did it in pure disinterestedness, ..
purely because your name belonged to my country & to her literature, ..
& how I have a sort of reward at this present, in being able to write what I
please without anyone’s saying 'it is a new fancy'– As for the Americans they
have 'a zeal without knowledge' for poetry– There is
more love for verse among them than among the English. But they suffer
themselves to be led in their choice of poets by English critics of average
discernment,—this is said of them by their own men of letters. Tennyson is
idolized deep down in the back woods (to their honour be it said), but to
understand you sufficiently, they wait for the explanations of the
critics. So I wanted them to see what Landor says of you. The comfort in these
questions, is, that there can be no question, except between the sooner
& the later—a little sooner, & a little later: but when there is real
love & zeal it becomes worth while to try to ripen the knowledge. They love
Tennyson so much that the colour of his waistcoats is a sort of minor Oregon
question .. & I like that—do not you?"
Isn't it fun how Miss Barrett enjoys the primitive Yanks? I suspect that the egalitarian nature of the Americans appeals to her liberal nature.
"Monday. Now I have your letter: & you will observe,
without a finger post from me, how busily we have both been pre-occupied in
disavowing our own letters of old on ‘Ion’– Mr Talfourd’s collection goes to
prove too much, I think—& you, a little too much, when you draw inferences
of no-changes, from changes like these. Oh yes—I perfectly understand that every
sort of inconstancy of purpose regards a 'presumably better' thing—but I do not
so well understand how any presumeable doubt is to be set to rest by that fact,
.. I do not indeed. Have you seen all the birds & beasts in the world? have
you seen the ‘unicorns’?!– Which is only a pebble thrown down into your smooth
logic; & we need not stand by to watch the bubbles born of it. And as to the
Ion-letters, I am delighted that you have anything to repent, as I have
everything. Certainly it is a noble play—there is the moral sublime in it: but
it is not the work of a poet, .. & if he had never written another to show
what was not in him, this might have been ‘predicated’ of it as surely, I
hold. Still, it is a noble work—& even if you over-praised it, (I did not
read your letter, though you read mine, alas!) you, under the circumstances
would have been less noble yourself not to have done so!—only, .. how I
agree with you in what you say against the hanging up of these dry roots, .. the
soil shaken off! Such abominable taste—now is’nt it? .. though you do not use
that word."
He brought this on himself and she rebuts him beautifully! "...I do not so well understand how any presumeable doubt is to be set to rest by that fact....Have you seen the 'unicorns'?!" Boom! She made short work of that 'logical' proof.
"I thought Mr Kenyon would have come yesterday & that I might
have something to tell you, of him at least.
And George never told me of the thing you found to say to him of
me, & which makes me smile & would have made him wonder if he had not
been suffering probably from some legal distraction at the moment, inasmuch as
he knew perfectly that you had just left me. My sisters told him down
stairs & he came into this room just before he set off on saturday, with a,
.. 'So I am to meet Mr Browning'! But he made no observation afterwards
.. none: & if he heard what you said at all, (which I doubt) he referred it
probably to some enforced civility on ‘Yorick’s’ part when the ‘last chapter’
was too much with him.
Yes, the whole thing was absurd, "I hope your sister remains well since I left her side some 30 minutes ago."
"I have written about ‘Luria’ in another place—you shall have the
papers when I have read through the play. How
different this living poetry is from the polished rhetoric of Ion. The
man & the statue are not more different. After all poetry is a distinct
thing: it is here or it is not here .. it is not a matter of ‘taste’, but
of sight & feeling."
How nimbly she uses the question of the quality of 'Ion' to praise the poetry and the poet she loves (though she dare not write the word.)
"As to the ‘Venice’ it gives proof (does it not?) rather of
poetical sensibility than of poetical faculty? or
did you expect me to say more?—of the perception of the poet, rather than of his
conception. Do you think more than this? There are fine, eloquent expressions,
& the tone of sentiment is good & high everywhere."
She is commenting on a poem by Browning's friend Alfred Domett. Feeling out Browning to see what toleration he will take in criticism of his friend's 'poetical faculty'?
"Do not write ‘Luria’ if your head is uneasy—& you cannot say
that it is not .. can you? Or will you if you can? In any case you will do what
you can .. take care of yourself & not suffer yourself to be tired either by
writing or by too much going out, & take the necessary exercise .. this, you
will do—I entreat you to do it.
May God bless & make you happy, as .. you will lose nothing
if I say .. as I am yours–"
Fun letters today. I enjoyed those.
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