When I read, after the reasons for not seeing you
to-day, this—“still I leave it to you,”—believe, dearest, that I at once made
the sacrifice and determined to wait till Wednesday,—as seemed best for you, and
therefore for me: but at the letter’s very end, amid the sweetest, comes
“Wednesday .. or must it be Thursday?”—what is that? what “must”
is mine? Shall you fear, or, otherwise suffer, if we appoint Wednesday?
Oh, another year of this! yet I am not, I feel,
ungrateful to the Past .. all the obstacles in the world can do nothing
now,—nothing: earlier, they might have proved formidable annoyances. I have seen
enough of you, Ba, for an eternity of belief in you .. and you,—as you confess,
you cannot think “I shall forget”....
....this disinspiriting bequest of poor Haydon’s journal .. his “writings”—from
which all the harm came, and, it should seem, is still to come to himself and
everybody beside....it is part & parcel of the insanity—and to lay the
business of editing the “twenty-six” (I think) volumes, with the responsibility,
on you—most insane! Unless, which one would avoid supposing, the author
trusted precisely to your ignorance of facts and isolation from the people able
to instruct you...With an impartial
prudent man, acquainted with the artists of the last thirty years, the editing
might turn to profit: I do hope for an exercise of Mr Kenyon’s caution here, at
all events– And then how horrible are all these posthumous revelations,—these
passions of the now passionless, errors of the at length better-instructed!
All falls unfitly, ungraciously– The triumphs or the despondencies, the hopes or
fears, of—whom? He is so far above it all now! Even in this life,—imagine a
proficient in an art or science—who, after thirty or sixty years of progressive
discovery, finds that some bookseller has disinterred and is about publishing
the raw first attempt at a work which he was guilty of in the outset!
This fear is a fear Browning himself truly felt for he tried, in vain, to hide his early poems from the world. He ends with a postscript:
"I am going to Talfourd’s tomorrow (to dine)—and perhaps to Chorley’s in the
evening– If I can do any bidding of yours at Talfourd’s .. but that seems
improbable,—with Mr Kenyon, too! But (this between our very selves) the
Talfourds, or at least Mrs T., please to take one of their unimaginably stupid
groundless dislikes to him."
That is an interesting piece of gossip. Miss Barrett responds:
"But I meant to “leave it to you”, not to come before
wednesday but after wednesday, in case of some wednesday’s engagement coming to
cross mine. “Ba’s old way” .. do you cry out! Perhaps– Only that an engagement
is a possible thing always. Not meaning an engagement with Miss Campbell. I hope, hope, then, to be able to see you,
dearest Robert, on wednesday. On wednesday, at last!–"
Oh dear, Miss Campbell again!
Ah—you use the right word for the other subject. If a bequest, it is
indeed a “dispiriting bequest,” this of poor Haydon’s. But I hope to the
last that he meant simply to point to me as the actual holder of the
papers & certainly when he sent the great trunk here, it was with no
intention of dying—; Mr Kenyon agreed with me to that effect– I showed him the
notes which I had found & laid aside for you, & which you shall take
with you on wednesday....Now I will tell you one thing which he told me in confidence, but which is at
length perhaps in those papers—I tell you because you are myself, & will
understand the need & obligation to silence—and I want you to understand
besides how the twenty six volumes hang heavily on my thoughts--He told me in
so many words that Mrs Norton had made advances towards him & that his
children in sympathy towards their mother, had dashed into atoms the bust of the
poetess as it stood in his painting room."
Now there is some juicy gossip! Those crazy poetesses, always making advances at men!
"If you can say anything safely for me at Mr
Talfourd’s, of course I shall be glad––and Mr Kenyon will speak to Mr Forster,
he said. I want to get back my letters too as soon as I can do it without
disturbing anyone’s peace– What is in those letters, I cannot tell, so
impulsively & foolishly, sometimes, I am apt to write,—& at that time
through caring for nobody & feeling so loose to life, I threw away my
thoughts without looking where they fell. Often my sisters have blamed me for
writing in that wild way to strangers—& I should like to have the letters
back before they shall have served to amuse two or three executors—but of this
too, I spoke to Mr Kenyon."
Still it is not of me that
we are called to think & I would not for the world refuse any last desire,
if clearly signified, & if the power shd be with me. He was not a common
man—he had in him the stuff of greatness, this poor Haydon had,—& we must
consider reverently whatever rent garment he shall have left behind. Quite, in
some respects, I think with you .. but your argument does appear to me to sweep
out too far on one side, so that if you do not draw it back, Robert, you will
efface all autobiography & confession .. tear out a page bent over by many
learners—I mean when you say that because he is above (now), the passions &
frailties he has recorded, we should put from us the record. True, he is above
it all—true, he has done with the old Haydon,—like a man outgrowing his own
childhood he will not spin this top any more. Oh, it is true– I feel it all just
as you do. But, after all, a man outgrowing his childhood, may leave his top to
children, & no one smile! This record is not for the angels, but for
us, who are a little lower at highest. Three volumes perhaps may be taken
from the twentysix full of character & interest, & not without
melancholy teaching. Only some competent & sturdy hand should manage the
selection,—as surely as mine is unfit for it. But where to seek
discretion? delicacy?"
She is indeed a very wise, thoughtful woman. How delicately she disagrees with Browning, not in an argumentative way, but thoughtful and illustrative. The 'top' analogy is very fine.
"When I was a child I heard two married women talking.
One said to the other .. “The most painful part of marriage is the first year,
when the lover changes into the husband by slow degrees”. The other woman
agreed, as a matter of fact is agreed to. I listened with my eyes & ears,
& never forgot it .. as you observe– It seemed to me, child as I was, a
dreadful thing to have a husband by such a process. Now, it seems to me more
dreadful.
‘Si l’ame est immortelle
L’amour ne l’est il pas?’
[If the soul is immortal
Is not love too?]
Beautiful verses—just to prove to you that I do not
remember only the disagreeable things .. only to teaze you with, like so
many undeserved reproaches– And you so good, so best– Ah—but it is that
which frightens me! so far best!
You were foolish to begin to love me, you know, as
always I told you my beloved!—but since you would begin, .. go on to do
it as long as you can .. do not leave me in the wilderness.God bless you for me!–
I am your Ba.
Think if people were to get hold of that imputation on
poor Mrs Norton—think!
She is still worried about getting married. She loves him but still fears that it will fade and they will end up in a loveless, conventional marriage. There is more to Miss Barrett than her poetry. I begin to suspect that her earlier threat that she would carry a dagger on her waist and stab her lover if he cheated on her might not have been a jest.
The postscript reminder to Browning not to spread gossip about Mrs. Norton is a classic touch. If anyone spreads the gossip it will surely be Haydon's jealous children. I guess that never crossed her mind.
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