Before we begin our round of letters today I want to link to the very few articles that were published on May 7, 2012 to commemorate Browning's 200th birthday anniversary, in case you missed them.
From the Guardian UK: Robert Browning-A Poet Worth Remembering : "The Victorian didn't have the flash and dash of Dickens, but he was a great and brave writer"
From The Scotsman.com: Remembering Robert Browning - Victorian Britain’s greatest poet
And now for our daily business:
We have a letter from Browning on May 8, 1846 responding to Miss Barrett's birthday letter from May 7th urging him to look down on her from his place in the constellation of the Lyre and the Crown:
" 'Look down on you'--my Ba? I would die for you, with triumphant happiness, God knows,--at a signal from your hand! But that,--look down,--never, tho' you bade me again and again, and in such words! I look up,--always up,--my Ba. When I indulge in my deepest luxury, I make you stand..do you not know that? I sit, and my Ba chooses to let me sit, and stands by,--understanding all the same how the relation really is between us,--how I would, and do, kiss her feet,--my Queens feet!"
Okay, now that seems a bit over the top to my sensibilities, but hey, who wouldn't like some genius poet practicing his craft on them? But there is more:
"Do you feel for me so, my love? I seldom dare to try and speak to you of your love for me..my love I am allowed to profess..I could not steadily (I have tried, whether you you noticed it or no, and could not) say aloud 'and you love me' ! Because it is altogether a blessing of your gift,--irrespective of my love to you,--however it may go to increase it--Here are the words however. Human conviction is weak enough, no doubt,--but, when I forget these words, and this answer of my heart to them,--I cannot say it--"
How he struggles to find words. To make his thoughts clear. Always trying to play out the root of the thought. He does better when he has a concrete story to tell:
"My God bless you, dearest dearest,--my Ba! I was at Mrs. Jameson's this morning--she spoke of you so as to make my heart tremble with very delight--I never liked her so much...I may say, never liked her before by comparison. She read me your three translations [of the section of Homer's Odyssey-regarding the daughters of Pandarus],--clearly feeling their rare beauty--and now,--let me clap hands, my Ba, and ask you who knows best? She means to print BOTH versions--the blank verse and the latter rhymed one. Of course, of course! But she said so many things--I must tell you to-morrow,--if you remind me. She felt such gratifications, too, at your thinking her etching of St. Cecilia worthy to hang by your chair, in your sight. Do you know, Ba, at the end,--a propos of her breakfast, I fairly took her by both hands, and shook them with a cordiality which I reflect, tardily, may subject the Literary Character to a possible misconstruction. 'He must have wanted a breakfast'--she will say!
I am going to the museum on Monday with her, to see Italian prints. I like her very much....
And I, too, look over the grave, to follow you, my own hearts love-Let Mrs. Jameson repeal those acts [the septennial act],--limit the seven years to seven days or less,--what matters? If the seven days have to be endured because of law,--then I see the weariness of course: but in our case, if a benevolent Legislature should inform me, now, that if I choose, I may decline visiting you to-morrow--
Ah, nefandum [not to be spoken of, impious], --kiss me, my own Ba, and let the world legislate and decree and relieve and be otherwise notable--so they let me be your own for ever R."
Browning was feeling it the day after his birthday, however, I have a suspicion that all this praise and gallantry will not go over well with Miss Barrett. She probably fears being overpraised believing that the bubble of happiness that she has been dwelling in will burst and she will be left with ashes as she was with her brother. Tomorrow is the day of their scheduled visit, so hopefully this will work itself out before the next round of letters begins on May 10.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
May 7
May 7, 1812-2012
Celebrating the 200th Anniversary of the Birth of
Robert Browning
How do we celebrate the birthday of Robert Browning at the Barrett Browning Blog? The same way we celebrate everyday: we talk about letters to and from Robert Browning.
Browning starts the day on May 7, 1846 with his obligatory daily letter, telling Miss Barrett:
"Have you not forgotten that birthday? Do, my Ba, forget it--my day, as I told you, is the 20th [the day they met]--my true happiest day! But I thank you all I can, dearest--All good to me comes thro' you, or for you--every wish and hope ends in you...."
But Miss Barrett remembered his birthday:
"Beloved, my thoughts go to you this morning, loving & blessing you!--May God bless you for both His worlds--not for this alone. For me, if I can ever do or be anything to you, it will be my uttermost blessing of all I ever knew, or could know, as He knows. A year ago, I thought, with a sort of mournful exultation, that I was pure of wishes. Now, they recoil back on me in a spring-tide..flow back, wave upon wave,..till I should lose breath to speak them!--and it is nothing to say that they concern another...for they are so much the more intensely mine, & of me. My God bless you, very dear! dearest."
Then she received his letter:
"So I am to forget today, I am told in the letter. Ah!--But I shall forget & remember what I please. In the meanwhile I was surprised while writing thus to you this morning..as a good deed to begin with.. by Miss Bayley's coming...She came & then Mr. Kenyon came,...and as they both went downstairs together, Mrs. Jameson came up."
Yes, so much for the recluse in the attic business. This leads to an interesting contemplation of life as an atheist:
"Miss Bayley is what is called strong-minded, & with all her feeling for art & Beauty, talks of utility like a Utilitarian of the highest, & professes to receive nothing without proof, like a reasoner of the lowest. She told me with a frankness for which I did not like her less, that she was a materialist of the strictest order, & believed in no soul & no future state. In the face of those conclusions, she said, she was calm & resigned. It is more than I could be, as I confessed. My whole nature would cry aloud against that most pitiful result of the struggle here--a wrestling only for the dust, & not for the crown. What a resistless melancholy would fall upon me if I has such thoughts!--& what a dreadful indifference. All grief, to have itself to end in!--all joy, to be based on nothingness!--all love, to feel eternal separation under & over it! Dreary & ghastly, it would be! I should not have the strength to love you, I think, if I had such a miserable creed. And for life itself,..would it be worth holding on such terms,--with our blind Ideals making mocks & mows at us wherever we turned? A game to throw up, this life would be, as not worth playing to the end!
There's a fit letter for the seventh of May!--but why was thursday the seventh, & not wednesday rather, which would have let me escape visitors? I thank God that I can look over the grave with you, past the grave,..& hope to be worthier of you there at least."
But to lighten the gloom of atheism she provides the antidote of a description of her visit with Mrs. Jameson:
"Mrs. Jameson did not have much to say, being hoarse & weak with a cold, but she told me of having met you at dinner, & found you 'very agreeable.' Also, beginning by a word about Professor Longfellow, who was married, it appears, and is tolerably merciful as a husband for a poet..('solving the problem of the possibility of such a thing,' said she!)..beginning so, she dropped into the subject of marriage generally, & was inclined to repropose Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's septennial act--..which might be a reform perhaps!.....what do you think? Have I not, altogether, been listening to improving & memorable discourse on this seventh of May? The ninth's will be more after my heart [the date of their next scheduled visit].
I like Mrs. Jameson's mind!--and I like her views on many subjects--Exclusive of the septennial marriage act, though."
Apparently the 'septennial marriage act' was a proposal by which all married people had the right to declare every seventh year whether they chose to continue in the marriage.
And so she ends the daily epistle with:
"So, good night--dearest!--I think of you behind all of these passing clouds of subjects, my poet of the Lyre & Crown!
Look down on your own Ba"
One must suppose that both of our poets are now enjoying the same constellation, looking down at the celebratory activities of all the Barrett Browning enthusiasts.
Enjoy the party!
Sunday, May 6, 2012
May 6
In his required letter of May 6, 1846 Browning describes his social interaction of the previous evening:
"I met Mrs. Jameson last evening and she began just as I prophesied..'but'said she 'I will tell you all when you come and breakfast with me on Thursday--which a note of mine now on its way to you, desires may happen'!--A large party at Chorley's, and admirable music--not without a pleasant person or two. I wish you could hear that marvellous Pischek, with his Rhine songs, and Bohemina melodies. Then a Herr Kellerman told a kind of a crying story on the violoncello, full of quiet pathos, and Godefroi--if they so spell him--harped like a god harping,--immortal victorious music indeed! Altogether a notable evening..oh, the black ingratitude of man..these few words are the proof 'set-off' to this morning's weary yawning, and stupefaction. To-night having to follow beside! So near you I shall be! (Mrs. J is to be at the Proctor's to-night too') Oh, by the way, and in the straight way to make Ba laugh..Mrs. J's first word was 'What? Are you married?' She having caught a bit of Miss Chorley's enquiry after 'Mrs. Browning's health' i.e. my mother's. Probably Miss Heaton's friend, who is my intimate, heard me profess complete infidelity as to--homeopathy..que sais-je [whatever]?"
So Miss Barrett writes to Browning that evening while he is dining at Proctor's, in the next street over, with Mrs. Jameson:
Now, dearest, you are close by & I am writing to you as if you were ever so far off. People are not always the better, you see, for being near on another. there's a moral to put on with your gloves,--and if you were not quite sufficiently frightened by Mrs. Jameson's salutation, it may be of some use to you perhaps--who knows?
She left word yesterday that she should come today or tomorrow, as to today she didn't, I shall hear of you from her tomorrow, that is, if you go to her breakfast, which you will do I dare say, supposing that you are not perfectly ill & exhausted by what came before. Ah--You do not say how you are--& I know what that means. Even the music was half lost in the fatigue.. that is what you express by 'stupefaction.' And then to have to dine at Mr. Proctor's without music..say how you are..do not omit it this time.
Nor think that I shall forget how tomorrow is the seventh of May..your month as you call it somewhere..in Sordello, I believe..so that I knew before, you had a birthday there--& I shall remember it tomorrow & send you the thoughts which are yours, & pray for you that you shall be saved from March-winds..ever dearest!
Miss Barrett's tone of command sort of shakes the spell in this letter. Her concern about his health takes on a hectoring tone at times. It will be interesting to see if Browning responds to her demand that he temper his social activities for the sake of his health.
And so, Browning's birthday is to be celebrated May 7th. Will he have a party to celebrate? Will Miss Barrett send him a birthday present? Will he go out and get drunk with other poets?
"I met Mrs. Jameson last evening and she began just as I prophesied..'but'said she 'I will tell you all when you come and breakfast with me on Thursday--which a note of mine now on its way to you, desires may happen'!--A large party at Chorley's, and admirable music--not without a pleasant person or two. I wish you could hear that marvellous Pischek, with his Rhine songs, and Bohemina melodies. Then a Herr Kellerman told a kind of a crying story on the violoncello, full of quiet pathos, and Godefroi--if they so spell him--harped like a god harping,--immortal victorious music indeed! Altogether a notable evening..oh, the black ingratitude of man..these few words are the proof 'set-off' to this morning's weary yawning, and stupefaction. To-night having to follow beside! So near you I shall be! (Mrs. J is to be at the Proctor's to-night too') Oh, by the way, and in the straight way to make Ba laugh..Mrs. J's first word was 'What? Are you married?' She having caught a bit of Miss Chorley's enquiry after 'Mrs. Browning's health' i.e. my mother's. Probably Miss Heaton's friend, who is my intimate, heard me profess complete infidelity as to--homeopathy..que sais-je [whatever]?"
So Miss Barrett writes to Browning that evening while he is dining at Proctor's, in the next street over, with Mrs. Jameson:
Now, dearest, you are close by & I am writing to you as if you were ever so far off. People are not always the better, you see, for being near on another. there's a moral to put on with your gloves,--and if you were not quite sufficiently frightened by Mrs. Jameson's salutation, it may be of some use to you perhaps--who knows?
She left word yesterday that she should come today or tomorrow, as to today she didn't, I shall hear of you from her tomorrow, that is, if you go to her breakfast, which you will do I dare say, supposing that you are not perfectly ill & exhausted by what came before. Ah--You do not say how you are--& I know what that means. Even the music was half lost in the fatigue.. that is what you express by 'stupefaction.' And then to have to dine at Mr. Proctor's without music..say how you are..do not omit it this time.
Nor think that I shall forget how tomorrow is the seventh of May..your month as you call it somewhere..in Sordello, I believe..so that I knew before, you had a birthday there--& I shall remember it tomorrow & send you the thoughts which are yours, & pray for you that you shall be saved from March-winds..ever dearest!
Miss Barrett's tone of command sort of shakes the spell in this letter. Her concern about his health takes on a hectoring tone at times. It will be interesting to see if Browning responds to her demand that he temper his social activities for the sake of his health.
And so, Browning's birthday is to be celebrated May 7th. Will he have a party to celebrate? Will Miss Barrett send him a birthday present? Will he go out and get drunk with other poets?
Saturday, May 5, 2012
May 5
May 5, 1846 brought visitors to Miss Barrett's room at Wimpole Street. None of them Browning. So she gives Browning a blow by blow of the events of her day. She considered going to post her letter to Browning herself, but kept to her room:
"...I must keep watch in the house from two till five for Lady Margaret Cocks, an old friend of mine, who was kind to me when I was a child, in the country, & has not forgotten me since, when, two months in the year, she has been in the habit of going to London. A good, worthy person, with a certain cultivation as to languages & literature, but quite manquee on the side of the imagination..talking of the poets, as a blind woman of colours, calling Pippa Passes, 'pretty & odd.' & writing herself 'poems' in heaps of copy books which every now & then she brings to show me...'odes' to Hope & Patience & all the cardinal virtues, with the formulas of 'Begin my Muse' in the fashion ended last century. She has helped to applaud & scold me since I could walk & write verses,--& when I was so wicked as to go to dissenting chapels besides she reproached me with tears in her eyes,--but they were tears of earnest partizanship, & not of affection for me,..she does not love me after all, nor guess at my heart, and I do not love her, I feel--Woe to us! for there are good & unlovable people in the world, and we cannot help it for out lives."
Well, first off, Lady Cocks should never have called Pippa Passes 'pretty & odd'. That was a mortal error. Next, she better have a good reasoned arguments in order to question Miss Barrett's religious choices. Miss Barrett seems strong and deeply rooted in her convictions but very tolerant of other's views. It seems she expects the same courtesy. But it doesn't stop with Lady Cocks:
"In the midst of writing which, comes the Leeds Miss Heaton, who used to send me those long confidentual letters a faire fremir [to thrill], & beg me to call her Ellen & as this is the second time that she has sent up her card, in an accidental visit to London, I thought I would be good natured for once, & see her. An intelligent woman, with large black eyes & a pleasant voice, & young..manners provincial enough, for the rest, & talking as if the world were equally divided between the "Congregationalists" & the "Churchpeople." .....'And really,' she said, 'it seems to me that you have as many admirers among churchmen as among dissenters.' ! There's glory!--and I kept my countenance. Lost it though, five minutes afterwards, when she observed pathetically, that a 'friend of hers who had know Mr. Browning quite intimately, had told her he was an infidel...more's the pity, when he has such a genius.' I denied the particular information of you intimate friend, a little more warmly perhaps than was necessary,..but what was expected of me, I wonder?"
For a woman 'shut up in her father's attic' (as I have heard her described) Miss Barrett certainly seems to get a full dose of gossip. The editor of these letters (Kintner) offers some back story: "Ellen Heaton, later a close friend of the Browning's in Italy, was the confidante of Euphrasia Haworth, a woman eleven years Browning's senior, with whom he had been on good terms about 1837," although he does not believe Miss Haworth is the person being referred to here. What he doesn't note here is that Browning was a great Shelley admirer and went through what we would call a Shelley phase, where he tried to emulate his hero, taking up vegetarianism and atheism. Browning kept his admiration for Shelley, visiting the sites of his life when possible, but gave up the vegetarianism and atheism.
But it does not end there for Miss Barrett's day as she writes in the evening:
"Mrs. Jameson came today when I was engaged with Lady Margaret Cocks & I could not see her--& Mr. Kenyon came, when I could see him & was glad. I am tired with my multitude of visitors--oh, so tired!"
Indeed, that was more than enough for one day. I wonder how many other letters she wrote that day? She was certainly busy in her father's attic!
"...I must keep watch in the house from two till five for Lady Margaret Cocks, an old friend of mine, who was kind to me when I was a child, in the country, & has not forgotten me since, when, two months in the year, she has been in the habit of going to London. A good, worthy person, with a certain cultivation as to languages & literature, but quite manquee on the side of the imagination..talking of the poets, as a blind woman of colours, calling Pippa Passes, 'pretty & odd.' & writing herself 'poems' in heaps of copy books which every now & then she brings to show me...'odes' to Hope & Patience & all the cardinal virtues, with the formulas of 'Begin my Muse' in the fashion ended last century. She has helped to applaud & scold me since I could walk & write verses,--& when I was so wicked as to go to dissenting chapels besides she reproached me with tears in her eyes,--but they were tears of earnest partizanship, & not of affection for me,..she does not love me after all, nor guess at my heart, and I do not love her, I feel--Woe to us! for there are good & unlovable people in the world, and we cannot help it for out lives."
Well, first off, Lady Cocks should never have called Pippa Passes 'pretty & odd'. That was a mortal error. Next, she better have a good reasoned arguments in order to question Miss Barrett's religious choices. Miss Barrett seems strong and deeply rooted in her convictions but very tolerant of other's views. It seems she expects the same courtesy. But it doesn't stop with Lady Cocks:
"In the midst of writing which, comes the Leeds Miss Heaton, who used to send me those long confidentual letters a faire fremir [to thrill], & beg me to call her Ellen & as this is the second time that she has sent up her card, in an accidental visit to London, I thought I would be good natured for once, & see her. An intelligent woman, with large black eyes & a pleasant voice, & young..manners provincial enough, for the rest, & talking as if the world were equally divided between the "Congregationalists" & the "Churchpeople." .....'And really,' she said, 'it seems to me that you have as many admirers among churchmen as among dissenters.' ! There's glory!--and I kept my countenance. Lost it though, five minutes afterwards, when she observed pathetically, that a 'friend of hers who had know Mr. Browning quite intimately, had told her he was an infidel...more's the pity, when he has such a genius.' I denied the particular information of you intimate friend, a little more warmly perhaps than was necessary,..but what was expected of me, I wonder?"
For a woman 'shut up in her father's attic' (as I have heard her described) Miss Barrett certainly seems to get a full dose of gossip. The editor of these letters (Kintner) offers some back story: "Ellen Heaton, later a close friend of the Browning's in Italy, was the confidante of Euphrasia Haworth, a woman eleven years Browning's senior, with whom he had been on good terms about 1837," although he does not believe Miss Haworth is the person being referred to here. What he doesn't note here is that Browning was a great Shelley admirer and went through what we would call a Shelley phase, where he tried to emulate his hero, taking up vegetarianism and atheism. Browning kept his admiration for Shelley, visiting the sites of his life when possible, but gave up the vegetarianism and atheism.
But it does not end there for Miss Barrett's day as she writes in the evening:
"Mrs. Jameson came today when I was engaged with Lady Margaret Cocks & I could not see her--& Mr. Kenyon came, when I could see him & was glad. I am tired with my multitude of visitors--oh, so tired!"
Indeed, that was more than enough for one day. I wonder how many other letters she wrote that day? She was certainly busy in her father's attic!
Thursday, May 3, 2012
May 3
Two letters today from different years and on totally different subjects. Browning wrote his required daily letter May 3, 1846 and asked a question necessitated by the secrecy of their courtship:
"I want you to remember, Ba, what I shall be nearly sure to forget when closer to you than now; tell me to-morrow. If I chance to see Mrs. Jameson in the course of the week what am I to say,--that is, what have you decided on say? Does she know that you write to me? Because there is a point of simple good taste to be preserved..I must not listen with indifference if I am told that 'her friend Miss B.' thought well of that last number. But she must know that we write, I think, I never make a secret of that, when the subject is brought forward."
The next letter is from May 3, 1857. Mr. Barrett has died and Browning writes to Mrs. Martin, the Barrett's erstwhile neighbor from their Hope End days, to let her know that Mrs. Browning is aware of the news. Mrs. Martin had made several attempts to get Barrett to reconcile with his daughter, to no avail.
"My dear Mrs. Martin,—Truest thanks for your letter. We had the intelligence from George last Thursday week, having been only prepared for the illness by a note received from Arabel the day before. Ba was sadly affected at first; miserable to see and hear. After a few days tears came to her relief. She is now very weak and prostrated, but improving in strength of body and mind: I have no fear for the result. I suppose you know, at least, the very little that we know; and how unaware poor Mr. Barrett was of his imminent death: 'he bade them,' says Arabel, 'make him comfortable for the night, but a moment before the last.' And he had dismissed her and her aunt about an hour before, with a cheerful or careless word about 'wishing them good night.' So it is all over now, all hope of better things, or a kind answer to entreaties such as I have seen Ba write in the bitterness of her heart. There must have been something in the organisation, or education, at least, that would account for and extenuate all this; but it has caused grief enough, I know; and now here is a new grief not likely to subside very soon. Not that Ba is other than reasonable and just to herself in the matter: she does not reproach herself at all; it is all mere grief, as I say, that this should have been so; and I sympathise with her there.
George wrote very affectionately to tell me; and dear, admirable Arabel sent a note the very next day to prove to Ba that there was nothing to fear on her account. Since then we have heard nothing. The funeral was to take place in Herefordshire. We had just made up our minds to go on no account to England this year. Ba felt the restraint on her too horrible to bear. I will, or she will, no doubt, write and tell you of herself; and you must write, dear Mrs. Martin, will you not?
Yes, indeed, there was something in Barrett's "organization, or education" but who can truly understand what was in his mind? If he felt that she had been deceitful to him, as a Christian he should have forgiven her. If he felt that she had lost her soul for "genius", as a Christian he should have pitied her. It is said that he told Mrs. Martin that he forgave his daughter, but apparently not as a Christian is trained to do. How sad for him and for her. She had so much love for him which he simply rejected. As for her, that she wrote to him regularly until the end is remarkable to me. Knowing her ability with words and skill in writing letters it is a wonder that he could resist reading her epistles. They both were very strong willed people. Was there something between them that we are not aware of? A puzzle we will never fully understand.
"I want you to remember, Ba, what I shall be nearly sure to forget when closer to you than now; tell me to-morrow. If I chance to see Mrs. Jameson in the course of the week what am I to say,--that is, what have you decided on say? Does she know that you write to me? Because there is a point of simple good taste to be preserved..I must not listen with indifference if I am told that 'her friend Miss B.' thought well of that last number. But she must know that we write, I think, I never make a secret of that, when the subject is brought forward."
The next letter is from May 3, 1857. Mr. Barrett has died and Browning writes to Mrs. Martin, the Barrett's erstwhile neighbor from their Hope End days, to let her know that Mrs. Browning is aware of the news. Mrs. Martin had made several attempts to get Barrett to reconcile with his daughter, to no avail.
"My dear Mrs. Martin,—Truest thanks for your letter. We had the intelligence from George last Thursday week, having been only prepared for the illness by a note received from Arabel the day before. Ba was sadly affected at first; miserable to see and hear. After a few days tears came to her relief. She is now very weak and prostrated, but improving in strength of body and mind: I have no fear for the result. I suppose you know, at least, the very little that we know; and how unaware poor Mr. Barrett was of his imminent death: 'he bade them,' says Arabel, 'make him comfortable for the night, but a moment before the last.' And he had dismissed her and her aunt about an hour before, with a cheerful or careless word about 'wishing them good night.' So it is all over now, all hope of better things, or a kind answer to entreaties such as I have seen Ba write in the bitterness of her heart. There must have been something in the organisation, or education, at least, that would account for and extenuate all this; but it has caused grief enough, I know; and now here is a new grief not likely to subside very soon. Not that Ba is other than reasonable and just to herself in the matter: she does not reproach herself at all; it is all mere grief, as I say, that this should have been so; and I sympathise with her there.
George wrote very affectionately to tell me; and dear, admirable Arabel sent a note the very next day to prove to Ba that there was nothing to fear on her account. Since then we have heard nothing. The funeral was to take place in Herefordshire. We had just made up our minds to go on no account to England this year. Ba felt the restraint on her too horrible to bear. I will, or she will, no doubt, write and tell you of herself; and you must write, dear Mrs. Martin, will you not?
Yes, indeed, there was something in Barrett's "organization, or education" but who can truly understand what was in his mind? If he felt that she had been deceitful to him, as a Christian he should have forgiven her. If he felt that she had lost her soul for "genius", as a Christian he should have pitied her. It is said that he told Mrs. Martin that he forgave his daughter, but apparently not as a Christian is trained to do. How sad for him and for her. She had so much love for him which he simply rejected. As for her, that she wrote to him regularly until the end is remarkable to me. Knowing her ability with words and skill in writing letters it is a wonder that he could resist reading her epistles. They both were very strong willed people. Was there something between them that we are not aware of? A puzzle we will never fully understand.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
May 2
Today we will move to May 2, 1849. Pen Browning had been born on Florence on March 9th and Browning's mother died at New Cross on March 18. The juxtaposition of happiness and sorrow threw Browning into a depression that he had trouble shaking. EBB, always the emotionally fragile one had to hold together the floundering family. In this context comes this letter to Browning's sister Sarianna:
"Robert gives me this blank, and three minutes to write across it. Thank you, my very dear Sarianna, for all your kindness and affection. I understand what I have lost. I know the worth of a tenderness such as you speak of, and I feel that for the sake of my love for Robert she was ready out of the fullness of her heart to love me also. It has been bitter to me that I have unconsciously deprived him of the personal face-to-face shining out of her angelic nature for more than two years, but she has forgiven me, and we shall all meet, when it pleases God, before His throne. In the meanwhile, my dearest Sarianna, we are thinking much of you, and neither of us can bear the thought of your living on where you are. If you could imagine the relief it would be to us—to me as well as to Robert—to be told frankly what we ought to do, where we ought to go, to please you best—you and your dearest father—you would think the whole matter over and use plain words in the speaking of it. Robert naturally shrinks from the idea of going to New Cross under the circumstances of dreary change, and for his sake England has grown suddenly to me a land of clouds. Still, to see you and his father, and to be some little comfort to you both, would be the best consolation to him, I am very sure; and so, dearest Sarianna, think of us and speak to us. Could not your father get a long vacation? Could we not meet somewhere? Think how we best may comfort ourselves by comforting you. Never think of us, Sarianna, as apart from you—as if our interest or our pleasure could be apart from yours. The child is so like Robert that I can believe in the other likeness, and may the inner nature indeed, as you say, be after that pure image! He is so fat and rosy and strong that almost I am sceptical of his being my child. I suppose he is, after all. May God bless you, both of you. I am ashamed to send all these letters, but Robert makes me. He is better, but still much depressed sometimes, and over your letters he drops heavy tears. Then he treasures them up and reads them again and again. Better, however, on the whole, he is certainly. Poor little babe, who was too much rejoiced over at first, fell away by a most natural recoil (even I felt it to be most natural) from all that triumph, but Robert is still very fond of him, and goes to see him bathed every morning, and walks up and down on the terrace with him in his arms. If your dear father can toss and rock babies as Robert can, he will be a nurse in great favour.
Dearest Sarianna, take care of yourself, and do walk out. No grief in the world was ever freer from the corroding drop of bitterness—was ever sweeter, holier, and more hopeful than this of yours must be. Love is for you on both sides of the grave, and the blossoms of love meet over it. May God's love, too, bless you!
She is looking for direction from her sister-in-law on how to help her husband cope, almost begging her to bluntly state what she would have them do, which is probably for the best given the Browning ability to be vague. On the whole, however, this is a fairly level letter, it touches on her own guilt but doesn't dwell on it, offers comfort to Sarianna, concern about Browning and touches of humor. Her ending note of comfort is especially sweet.
"Robert gives me this blank, and three minutes to write across it. Thank you, my very dear Sarianna, for all your kindness and affection. I understand what I have lost. I know the worth of a tenderness such as you speak of, and I feel that for the sake of my love for Robert she was ready out of the fullness of her heart to love me also. It has been bitter to me that I have unconsciously deprived him of the personal face-to-face shining out of her angelic nature for more than two years, but she has forgiven me, and we shall all meet, when it pleases God, before His throne. In the meanwhile, my dearest Sarianna, we are thinking much of you, and neither of us can bear the thought of your living on where you are. If you could imagine the relief it would be to us—to me as well as to Robert—to be told frankly what we ought to do, where we ought to go, to please you best—you and your dearest father—you would think the whole matter over and use plain words in the speaking of it. Robert naturally shrinks from the idea of going to New Cross under the circumstances of dreary change, and for his sake England has grown suddenly to me a land of clouds. Still, to see you and his father, and to be some little comfort to you both, would be the best consolation to him, I am very sure; and so, dearest Sarianna, think of us and speak to us. Could not your father get a long vacation? Could we not meet somewhere? Think how we best may comfort ourselves by comforting you. Never think of us, Sarianna, as apart from you—as if our interest or our pleasure could be apart from yours. The child is so like Robert that I can believe in the other likeness, and may the inner nature indeed, as you say, be after that pure image! He is so fat and rosy and strong that almost I am sceptical of his being my child. I suppose he is, after all. May God bless you, both of you. I am ashamed to send all these letters, but Robert makes me. He is better, but still much depressed sometimes, and over your letters he drops heavy tears. Then he treasures them up and reads them again and again. Better, however, on the whole, he is certainly. Poor little babe, who was too much rejoiced over at first, fell away by a most natural recoil (even I felt it to be most natural) from all that triumph, but Robert is still very fond of him, and goes to see him bathed every morning, and walks up and down on the terrace with him in his arms. If your dear father can toss and rock babies as Robert can, he will be a nurse in great favour.
Dearest Sarianna, take care of yourself, and do walk out. No grief in the world was ever freer from the corroding drop of bitterness—was ever sweeter, holier, and more hopeful than this of yours must be. Love is for you on both sides of the grave, and the blossoms of love meet over it. May God's love, too, bless you!
She is looking for direction from her sister-in-law on how to help her husband cope, almost begging her to bluntly state what she would have them do, which is probably for the best given the Browning ability to be vague. On the whole, however, this is a fairly level letter, it touches on her own guilt but doesn't dwell on it, offers comfort to Sarianna, concern about Browning and touches of humor. Her ending note of comfort is especially sweet.
May 1
On April 30, 1846 our poets met as usual in Miss Barrett's room in Wimpole Street and so their letters on May 1 took up where they left off the previous day. Miss Barrett begins where Browning left the room:
"...When you had gone yesterday & I had taken my coffee,..holding my book..'La Gorgone' a sea-romance by Landelle,...(which is not worth much, I think, but quite new & very marine) holding my book at one page, as if fixed..transfixed,..by a sudden eternity,...well, after all that was done with, coffee & all,..in came George, and told me that the day before he had seen Tennyson at Mr. Venebles house, or chambers rather. Mr. Venebles was unwell, & George went to see him & while he was there, came the poet. He had left London for a few days, he said, & meant to stay here for a time..'hating it perfectly' like your Donne..'seeming to detest London,' said George..'abusing everything in unmeasured words.' then he had been dining at Dicken's, & meeting various celebrities, & Dickens had asked him to go with him (Dickens) to Switzerland, where he is going, to write his new work: 'but' laughed Tennyson, 'if I went, I should be entreating him to dismiss his sentimentality, & so we should quarrel & part, & never see one another any more. It was better to decline--& I have declined."
The Barretts loved the literary gossip, but I can't help wanting to read 'La Gorgone' a sea-romance. That sounds a hoot! But as much as she liked the news of Tennyson and Dickens she liked what George told her next much more:
"When George had told his story, I enquired if Tennyson was what was called an agreeable man--happy in conversation. And the reply was...'yes--but quite inferior to Browning! He neither talks so well,' observed George with grave consideration & balancing his sentences,..'nor has so frank and open a manner. The advantages are all on Browning's side, I should say'..Now dear George is a little criticised you must know in this house for his official gravity & dignity...but he is good & kind, & high and right minded, as we all know, & I, for my part, never thought of criticising him yesterday when he said those words rather...perhaps barristerially,...had they been other words."
Browning for his part begins his letter in one of his typical, convoluted explications of his love for Miss Barrett:
"I go to you, my Ba, with a heart full of love, so it seems,--yet I come away always with a greater capacity of holding love,-for there is more and still more,--that seems too! At the beginning, I used to say (most truly) that words were all inadequate to express my feelings,-now those very feelings seem, as I see them from this present moment, just as inadequate in their time to represent what I am conscious of now. I do feel more, widelier, stranglier...how can I tell you? You must believe my only only beloved! Am I really destined to pass my life sitting by you? And you speak of your hesitation at trusting in miracles! Oh, my Ba, my heart's--well, Ba, I am so far guiltless of presumption, let come what will, that I never for one moment cease to be..tremblingly anxious, I will say,--and conscious that the good is too great for me in this world. You do not like one to write so, I know, but there is safety in it--the presumptuous walk blindfolded among pits, to a proverb--and no one shall record that of me."
But here is the interesting part:
"I never ask myself, as perhaps I should,--'Will she be happy too?'--All that seems removed from me, far above my concernment--she..you, my Ba..will make me so entirely happy, that it seems enough to know..my palm trees grow well enough without knowing the cause of the sun's heat. Then I think again, that your nature is to make happy and to bless, and itself to be satisfied with that.--So instead of fruitless speculations how to give you back your own gift, I will rather resolve to lie quietly and let your dear will have it's unrestricted way--All which I take up paper determined not to write,--for it is foolish, poor endeavour at best, but,--just this time it is written."
I can't help but think that she will like this rather selfish sounding offering. I also can't help thinking that he is correct: she is far more concerned about not harming him in any way than she is in making herself happy. Happiness to her is making him happy. So, what does she say in her second letter of the day?
"How you write to me!-Is there any word to answer to these words..which, when I have read, I shut my eyes as one bewildered, & think blindly..or do not think-some feelings are deeper than the thoughts touch. My only beloved, it is thus with me...I stand by a miracle in your love, & because I stand in it & it covers me, just for that, you cannot see me--! May God grant that you NEVER see me--for then we two shall be 'happy' as you say, & I, in the only possible manner, be very sure. Meanwhile, you do quite well not to speculate about making me happy..your instinct knows, if you do not know, that it is implied in your own happiness...or rather (not to assume a magnanimity) in my sense of your being happy, not apart from me."
And here is her rationalization of Browning's emotions:
"You have so deep and intense a nature, that it is impossible for you to love after the fashion of other men, weakly and imperfectly, & your love, which comes out like your genius, may glorify enough to make you happy perhaps. Which is my dream, my calculation rather, when I am happiest now....Suppose I should ever read in your eyes that you were not happy with me?--can I help, do you fancy, such thoughts?...Now forgive me my naughtiness, because I love you, & never loved but you,..& because I promise not to go with Miss Bailey to Italy..I promise. Ah--If you could pretend to be afraid of that, INDEED, I have a right to be afraid, without pretense at all...I who am a woman & frightened of lightning. And see the absurdity. If I did not go to Italy with you the reason would be that you did not choose--and if you did not choose, I should not choose..I would not see Italy without your eyes--could I, do you think? So, if Miss Bayley takes me to Italy with a volume of the Cyclic poets, it will be as a dead Ba clasped up between the leaves of it."
She proves Browning's point with her fear that she will see in his eyes that he is not happy with her. Browning has nothing to worry about.
Yes, these two kids have it bad for each other. They keep making up words: 'barristerially', 'widelier', 'stranglier', 'concernment' as they try to express themselves. I have a friend who assures me that spelling doesn't count in Instant Messaging and Texting. I suppose that is true in personal letters as well, but these two masters of the English language seem to be mangling it in the chase to explain things to each other--or perhaps to themselves. Happy are we that they did, it's better than TV!
"...When you had gone yesterday & I had taken my coffee,..holding my book..'La Gorgone' a sea-romance by Landelle,...(which is not worth much, I think, but quite new & very marine) holding my book at one page, as if fixed..transfixed,..by a sudden eternity,...well, after all that was done with, coffee & all,..in came George, and told me that the day before he had seen Tennyson at Mr. Venebles house, or chambers rather. Mr. Venebles was unwell, & George went to see him & while he was there, came the poet. He had left London for a few days, he said, & meant to stay here for a time..'hating it perfectly' like your Donne..'seeming to detest London,' said George..'abusing everything in unmeasured words.' then he had been dining at Dicken's, & meeting various celebrities, & Dickens had asked him to go with him (Dickens) to Switzerland, where he is going, to write his new work: 'but' laughed Tennyson, 'if I went, I should be entreating him to dismiss his sentimentality, & so we should quarrel & part, & never see one another any more. It was better to decline--& I have declined."
The Barretts loved the literary gossip, but I can't help wanting to read 'La Gorgone' a sea-romance. That sounds a hoot! But as much as she liked the news of Tennyson and Dickens she liked what George told her next much more:
"When George had told his story, I enquired if Tennyson was what was called an agreeable man--happy in conversation. And the reply was...'yes--but quite inferior to Browning! He neither talks so well,' observed George with grave consideration & balancing his sentences,..'nor has so frank and open a manner. The advantages are all on Browning's side, I should say'..Now dear George is a little criticised you must know in this house for his official gravity & dignity...but he is good & kind, & high and right minded, as we all know, & I, for my part, never thought of criticising him yesterday when he said those words rather...perhaps barristerially,...had they been other words."
Browning for his part begins his letter in one of his typical, convoluted explications of his love for Miss Barrett:
"I go to you, my Ba, with a heart full of love, so it seems,--yet I come away always with a greater capacity of holding love,-for there is more and still more,--that seems too! At the beginning, I used to say (most truly) that words were all inadequate to express my feelings,-now those very feelings seem, as I see them from this present moment, just as inadequate in their time to represent what I am conscious of now. I do feel more, widelier, stranglier...how can I tell you? You must believe my only only beloved! Am I really destined to pass my life sitting by you? And you speak of your hesitation at trusting in miracles! Oh, my Ba, my heart's--well, Ba, I am so far guiltless of presumption, let come what will, that I never for one moment cease to be..tremblingly anxious, I will say,--and conscious that the good is too great for me in this world. You do not like one to write so, I know, but there is safety in it--the presumptuous walk blindfolded among pits, to a proverb--and no one shall record that of me."
But here is the interesting part:
"I never ask myself, as perhaps I should,--'Will she be happy too?'--All that seems removed from me, far above my concernment--she..you, my Ba..will make me so entirely happy, that it seems enough to know..my palm trees grow well enough without knowing the cause of the sun's heat. Then I think again, that your nature is to make happy and to bless, and itself to be satisfied with that.--So instead of fruitless speculations how to give you back your own gift, I will rather resolve to lie quietly and let your dear will have it's unrestricted way--All which I take up paper determined not to write,--for it is foolish, poor endeavour at best, but,--just this time it is written."
I can't help but think that she will like this rather selfish sounding offering. I also can't help thinking that he is correct: she is far more concerned about not harming him in any way than she is in making herself happy. Happiness to her is making him happy. So, what does she say in her second letter of the day?
"How you write to me!-Is there any word to answer to these words..which, when I have read, I shut my eyes as one bewildered, & think blindly..or do not think-some feelings are deeper than the thoughts touch. My only beloved, it is thus with me...I stand by a miracle in your love, & because I stand in it & it covers me, just for that, you cannot see me--! May God grant that you NEVER see me--for then we two shall be 'happy' as you say, & I, in the only possible manner, be very sure. Meanwhile, you do quite well not to speculate about making me happy..your instinct knows, if you do not know, that it is implied in your own happiness...or rather (not to assume a magnanimity) in my sense of your being happy, not apart from me."
And here is her rationalization of Browning's emotions:
"You have so deep and intense a nature, that it is impossible for you to love after the fashion of other men, weakly and imperfectly, & your love, which comes out like your genius, may glorify enough to make you happy perhaps. Which is my dream, my calculation rather, when I am happiest now....Suppose I should ever read in your eyes that you were not happy with me?--can I help, do you fancy, such thoughts?...Now forgive me my naughtiness, because I love you, & never loved but you,..& because I promise not to go with Miss Bailey to Italy..I promise. Ah--If you could pretend to be afraid of that, INDEED, I have a right to be afraid, without pretense at all...I who am a woman & frightened of lightning. And see the absurdity. If I did not go to Italy with you the reason would be that you did not choose--and if you did not choose, I should not choose..I would not see Italy without your eyes--could I, do you think? So, if Miss Bayley takes me to Italy with a volume of the Cyclic poets, it will be as a dead Ba clasped up between the leaves of it."
She proves Browning's point with her fear that she will see in his eyes that he is not happy with her. Browning has nothing to worry about.
Yes, these two kids have it bad for each other. They keep making up words: 'barristerially', 'widelier', 'stranglier', 'concernment' as they try to express themselves. I have a friend who assures me that spelling doesn't count in Instant Messaging and Texting. I suppose that is true in personal letters as well, but these two masters of the English language seem to be mangling it in the chase to explain things to each other--or perhaps to themselves. Happy are we that they did, it's better than TV!
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