Ever affectionately yours,
ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.
Have you a Plotinus, and would you trust him to me in that case? Oh no, you do not tempt me with your musical clocks. My time goes to the best music when I read or write; and whatever money I can spend upon my own pleasures flows away in books.
To Mr. Westwood
50 Wimpole Street: January 2, 1842.
Miss Barrett, inferring Mr. Westwood from the handwriting, begs his acceptance of the unworthy little book he does her the honour of desiring to see.
It is more unworthy than he could have expected when he expressed that desire, having been written in very early youth, when the mind was scarcely free in any measure from trammels and Popes, and, what is worse, when flippancy of language was too apt to accompany immaturity of opinion. The miscellaneous verses are, still more than the chief poem, ‘childish things’ in a strict literal sense, and the whole volume is of little interest even to its writer except for personal reasons — except for the traces of dear affections, since rudely wounded, and of that love of poetry which began with her sooner than so soon, and must last as long as life does, without being subject to the changes of life. Little more, therefore, can remain for such a volume than to be humble and shrink from circulation. Yet Mr. Westwood’s kind words win it to his hands. Will he receive at the same moment the expression of touched and gratified feelings with which Miss Barrett read what he wrote on the subject of her later volumes, still very imperfect, although more mature and true to the truth within? Indeed she is thankful for what he said so kindly in his note to her.
To H.S. Boyd
50 Wimpole Street: January 6, 1842.
My dear Friend, — I have done your bidding and sent the translations to the ‘Athenaeum,’ attaching to them an infamous prefatory note which says all sorts of harm of Gregory’s poetry. You will be very angry with it and me.
And you may be angry for another reason — that in the midst of my true thankfulness for the emendations you sent me, I ventured to reject one or two of them. You are right, probably, and I wrong; but still, I thought within myself with a womanly obstinacy not altogether peculiar to me,— ‘If he and I were to talk together about them, he would kindly give up the point to me — so that, now we cannot talk together, I might as well take it.’ Well, you will see what I have done. Try not to be angry with me. You shall have the ‘Athenaeum’ as soon as possible.
My dear Mr. Boyd, you know how I disbelieved the probability of these papers being accepted. You will comprehend my surprise on receiving last night a very courteous: note from the editor, which I would send to you if it were legible to anybody except people used to learn reading from the pyramids. He wishes me to contribute to the ‘Athenaeum’ some prose papers in the form of reviews— ‘the review being a mere form, and the book a mere text.’ He is not very clear — but I fancy that a few translations of excerpta, with a prose analysis and synthesis of the original author’s genius, might suit his purpose. Now suppose I took up some of the early Christian Greek poets, and wrote a few continuous papers so? Give me your advice, my dear friend! I think of Synesius, for one. Suppose you send me a list of the names which occur to you! Will you advise me? Will you write directly? Will you make allowance for my teazing you? Will you lend me your little Synesius, and Clarke’s book? I mean the one commenced by Dr. Clarke and continued by his son. Above all things, however, I want the advice.
Ever affectionately yours,
E.B.B.
To H.S. Boyd
Wednesday, January 13, 1842 (postmark).
My dear Friend, — Thank you, thank you, for your kind suggestion and advice altogether. I had just (when your note arrived) finished two hymns of Synesius, one being the seventh and the other the ninth. Oh! I do remember that you performed upon the latter, and my modesty should have certainly bid me ‘avaunt’ from it. Nevertheless, it is so fine, so prominent in the first class of Synesius’s beauties, that I took courage and dismissed my scruples, and have produced a version which I have not compared to yours at all hitherto, but which probably is much rougher and rather closer, winning in faith what it loses in elegance. ‘Elegance’ isn’t a word for me, you know, generally speaking. The barbarians herd with me, ‘by two and three.’
I had a letter to-day from Mr. Dilke, who agrees to everything, closes with the idea about ‘Christian Greek poets’ (only begging me to keep away from theology), and suggesting a subsequent reviewal of English poetical literature, from Chaucer down to our times. Well, but the Greek poets. With all your kindness, I have scarcely sufficient materials for a full and minute survey of them. I have won a sight of the ‘Poetae Christiani,’ but the price is ruinous — fourteen guineas, and then the work consists almost entirely of Latin poets, deducting Gregory and Nonnus, and John Damascenus, and a cento from Homer by somebody or other. Turning the leaves rapidly, I do not see much else; and you know I may get a separate copy of John Dam., and have access to the rest. Try to turn in your head what I should do. Greg. Nyssen did not write poems, did he? Have I a chance of seeing your copy of Mr. Clarke’s book? It would be useful in the matters of chronology.
I humbly beg your pardon, and Gregory’s, for the insolence of my note. It was as brief as it could be, and did not admit of any extended reference and admiration to his qualities as an orator. But whoever read it to you should have explained that when I wrote ‘He was an orator,’ the word orator was marked emphatically, so as to appear printed in capital letters of emphasis. Do not say ‘you chose,’ ‘you chose.’ I didn’t and don’t choose to be obstinate, indeed; but I can’t see the sense of that ‘heavenly soul.’
Ever your grateful and affectionate
E.B.B.
I shall have room for praising Gregory in these papers.
To H.S. Boyd
February 4, 1842.
My dear Friend, — You must be thinking, if you are not a St. Boyd for good temper, that among the Gregorys and Synesiuses I have forgotten everything about you. No; indeed it has not been so. I have never stopped being grateful to you for your kind notes, and the two last pieces of Gregory, although I did not say an overt ‘Thank you;’ but I have been very very busy besides, and thus I answered to myself for your being kind enough to pardon a silence which was compelled rather than voluntary.
Do you ever observe that as vexations don’t come alone, occupations don’t, and that, if you happen to be engaged upon one particular thing, it is the signal for your being waylaid by bundles of letters desiring immediate answers, and proof sheets or manuscript works whose writers request your opinion while their ‘printer waits’? The old saints are not responsible for all the filling up of my time. I have been busy upon busy.
The first part of my story about the Greek poets went to the ‘Athenaeum’ some days ago, but, although graciously received by the editor, it won’t appear this week, or I should have had a proof sheet (which was promised to me) before now. I must contrive to include all I have to say on the subject in three parts. They will admit, they tell me, a fourth if I please, but evidently they would prefer as much brevity as I could vouchsafe. Only two poets are in the first notice, and twenty remain — and neither of the two is Gregory.
Will you let me see that volume of Gregory which contains the ‘Christus Patiens’? Send it by any boy on the heath, and I will remunerate him for the walk and the burden, and thank you besides. Oh, don’t be afraid! I am not going to charge it upon Gregory, but on the younger Apollinaris, whose claim is stronger, and I rather wish to refresh my recollection of the height and breadth of that tragic misdemeanour.
It is quite true that I never have suffered much pain, and equally so that I continue most decidedly better, notwithstanding the winter. I feel, too — I do hope not ungratefully — the blessing granted to me in the possibility of literary occupation, — which is at once occupation and distraction. Carlyle (not the infidel, but the philosopher) calls literature a ‘fireproof pleasure.’ How truly! How deeply I have felt tha
t truth!
May God bless you, dear Mr. Boyd. I don’t despair of looking in your face one day yet before my last.
Ever your affectionate and obliged
E.B.B.
Arabel’s love.
To H.S. Boyd
March 2, 1842.
My ever very dear Friend, — Do receive the assurance that whether I leave out the right word or put in the wrong one, you never can be other to me than just that while I live, and why not after I have ceased to live? And now — what have I done in the meantime, to be called ‘Miss Barrett’? ‘I pause for a reply.’
Of course it gives me very great pleasure to hear you speak so kindly of my first paper. Some bona avis as good as a nightingale must have shaken its wings over me as I began it; and if it will but sit on the same spray while I go on towards the end, I shall rejoice exactly four-fold. The third paper went to Mr. Dilke to-day, and I was so fidgety about getting it away (and it seemed to cling to my writing case with both its hands), that I would not do any writing, even as little as this note, until it was quite gone out of sight. You know it is possible that he, the editor, may not please to have the fourth paper; but even in that case, it is better for the ‘Remarks’ to remain fragmentary, than be compressed till they are as dry as a hortus siccus of poets.
Certainly you do and must praise my number one too much. Number one (that’s myself) thinks so. I do really; and the supererogatory virtue of kindness may be acknowledged out of the pale of the Romish Church.
In regard to Gregory and Synesius, you will see presently that I have not wronged them altogether.
As you have ordered the ‘Athenaeums,’ I will not send one to-morrow so as to repeat my ill fortune of being too late. But tell me if you would like to have any from me, and how many.
It was very kind in you to pat Flush’s head in defiance of danger and from pure regard for me. I kissed his head where you had patted it; which association of approximations I consider as an imitation of shaking hands with you and as the next best thing to it. You understand — don’t you? — that Flush is my constant companion, my friend, my amusement, lying with his head on one page of my folios while I read the other. (Not your folios — I respect your books, be sure.) Oh, I dare say, if the truth were known, Flush understands Greek excellently well.
I hope you are right in thinking that we shall meet again. Once I wished not to live, but the faculty of life seems to have sprung up in me again, from under the crushing foot of heavy grief.
Be it all as God wills.
Believe me, your ever affectionate
E.B.B.
To H.S. Boyd
Saturday night, March 5, 1842.
My very dear Friend, — I am quite angry with myself for forgetting your questions when I answered your letter.
Could you really imagine that I have not looked into the Greek tragedians for years, with my true love for Greek poetry? That is asking a question, you will say, and not answering it. Well, then, I answer by a ‘Yes’ the one you put to me. I had two volumes of Euripides with me in Devonshire, and have read him as well as Aeschylus and Sophocles — that is from them — both before and since I went there. You know I have gone through every line of the three tragedians long ago, in the way of regular, consecutive reading.
You know also that I had at different times read different dialogues of Plato; but when three years ago, and a few months previous to my leaving home, I became possessed of a complete edition of his works, edited by Bekker, why then I began with the first volume and went through the whole of his writings, both those I knew and those I did not know, one after another: and have at this time read, not only all that is properly attributed to Plato, but even those dialogues and epistles which pass falsely under his name — everything except two books I think, or three, of the treatise ‘De Legibus,’ which I shall finish in a week or two, as soon as I can take breath from Mr. Dilke.
Now the questions are answered.
Ever your affectionate and grateful friend,
E.B.B.
To H.S. Boyd
Thursday, March 10, 1842 [postmark].
My very dear Friend, — I did not know until to-day whether the paper would appear on Saturday or not; but as I have now received the proof sheets, there can be no doubt of it. I have been and am hurried and hunted almost into a corner through the pressing for the fourth paper, and the difficulty about books. You will forgive a very short note to night.
I have read of Aristotle only his Poetics, his Ethics, and his work upon Rhetoric, but I mean to take him regularly into both hands when I finish Plato’s last page. Aristophanes I took with me into Devonshire; and after all, I do not know much more of him than three or four of his plays may stand for. Next week, my very dear friend, I shall be at your commands, and sit in spirit at your footstool, to hear and answer anything you may care to ask me — but oh! what have I done that you should talk to me about ‘venturing,’ or ‘liberty,’ or anything of that kind?
From your affectionate and grateful catechumen,
E.B.B.
To H.S. Boyd.
March 29, 1842.
My very dear Friend, — I received your long letter and receive your short one, and thank you for the pleasure of both. Of course I am very very glad of your approval in the matter of the papers, and your kindness could not have wished to give me more satisfaction than it gave actually. Mr. Kenyon tells me that Mr. Burgess has been reading and commending the papers, and has brought me from him a newly discovered scene of the ‘Bacchae’ of Euripides, edited by Mr. Burgess himself for the ‘Gentlemen’s Magazine,’ and of which he considers that the ‘Planctus Mariae,’ at least the passage I extracted from it, is an imitation. Should you care to see it? Say ‘Yes,’ — and I will send it to you.
Do you think it was wrong to make eternity feminine? I knew that the Greek word was not feminine; but imagined that the English personification should be so. Am I wrong in this? Will you consider the subject again?
Ah, yes! That was a mistake of mine about putting Constantine for Constantius. I wrote from memory, and the memory betrayed me. But say nothing about it. Nobody will find it out. I send you Silentiarius and some poems of Pisida in the same volume. Even if you had not asked for them, I should have asked you to look at some passages which are fine in both. It appears to me that Silentiarius writes difficult Greek, overlaying his description with a multitude of architectural and other far fetched words! Pisida is hard, too, occasionally, from other causes, particularly in the ‘Hexaëmeron,’ which is not in the book I send you but in another very gigantic one (as tall as the Irish giants), which you may see if you please. I will send a coach and six with it if you please.
John Mauropus, of the Three Towns, I owe the knowledge of to you. You lent me the book with his poems, you know. He is a great favorite of mine in all ways. I very much admire his poetry.
Believe me, ever your affectionate and grateful
ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.
Pray tell me what you think. I am sorry to observe that the book I send you is marked very irregularly; that is, marked in some places, unmarked in others, just as I happened to be near or far from my pencil and inkstand. Otherwise I should have liked to compare judgments with you.
Keep the book as long as you please; it is my own.
To H.S. Boyd
50 Wimpole Street: April 2, 1842.
My very dear Friend, — ... As to your kind desire to hear whatever in the way of favorable remark I have gathered together for fruit of my papers, I put on a veil and tell you that Mr. Kenyon thought it well done, although ‘labour thrown away, from the unpopularity of the subject;’ that Miss Mitford was very much pleased, with the warmheartedness common to her; that Mrs. Jamieson [sic] read them ‘with great pleasure’ unconsciously of the author; and that Mr. Home the poet and Mr. Browning the poet were not behind in approbation. Mr. Browning is said to be learned in Greek, especially in the dramatists; and of Mr. Home I should suspect something similar. Miss Mitford
and Mrs. Jamieson, although very gifted and highly cultivated women, are not Grecians, and therefore judge the papers simply as English compositions.
The single unfavorable opinion is Mr. Hunter’s, who thinks that the criticisms are not given with either sufficient seriousness or diffidence, and that there is a painful sense of effort through the whole. Many more persons may say so whose voices I do not hear. I am glad that yours, my dear indulgent friend, is not one of them.
Believe me, your ever affectionate
ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.
To H.S. Boyd
May 17, 1842.
My very dear Friend, — Have you thought all unkindness out of my silence? Yet the inference is not a true one, however it may look in logic.
You do not like Silentiarius very much (that is my inference), since you have kept him so short a time. And I quite agree with you that he is not a poet of the same interest as Gregory Nazianzen, however he may appear to me of more lofty cadence in his versification. My own impression is that John of Euchaita is worth two of each of them as a poet. His poems strike me as standing in the very first class of the productions of the Christian centuries. Synesius and John of Euchaita! I shall always think of those two together — not by their similarity, but their dignity.
I return you the books you lent me with true thanks, and also those which Mrs. Smith, I believe, left in your hands for me. I thank you for them, and you must be good enough to thank her. They were of use, although of a rather sublime indifference for poets generally....
Complete Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Page 150
