Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  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 assure 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-à-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 association; 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 ... stultity, 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 circumstances. 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 God 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.

  God 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 pass 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 Saturday 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 fragment18 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 Saturday perhaps, or on Monday more certainly, there is likely to be no opposition, ... at least not on the ‘côté 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 embarrassments 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 God bless you.

  R.B. to E.B.B.

  [Post-mark, May 28, 1845.]

  Saturday, 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 circumstances. 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.’ God 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 Saturday, 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 circumstances 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 masses, 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.

  JUNE, 1845

  E.B.B. to R.B.

  Friday Morning.

  [Post-mark, June 7, 1845.]

  When I see all you have done for me in this ‘Prometheus,’ I feel more than half ashamed both of it and of me for using your time so, and forced to say in my own defence (not to you but myself) that I never thought of meaning to inflict such work on you who might be doing so much better things in the meantime both for me and for others — because, you see, it is not the mere reading of the MS., but the ‘comparing’ of the text, and the melancholy comparisons between the English and the Greek, ... quite enough to turn you from your φιλανθρωπου τροπου19 that I brought upon you; and indeed I did not mean so much, nor so soon! Yet as you have done it for me — for me who expected a few jottings down with a pencil and a general opinion; it is of course of the greatest value, besides the pleasure and pride which come of it; and I must say of the translation, (before putting it aside for the nonce), that the circumstance of your paying it so much attention and seeing any good in it, is quite enough reward for the writer and quite enough motive for self-gratulation, if it were all torn to fragments at this moment — which is a foolish thing to say because it is so obvious, and because you would know it if I said it or not.