From 336ebc43de811135ecd48be424dc276dee2f3b77 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Ibraheem Saleh Date: Wed, 18 Feb 2026 10:41:56 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] Restructure: pre-downloaded letters in git, add 6 new sources MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Architecture change: - letters/ directory stores pre-parsed JSON, committed to git - download_letters.py handles fetching from Gutenberg (run by maintainers) - love_letters.py reads from letters/ only (no internet needed) New sources (6 collections, 774 additional letters): - Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Vol. 1 (281 letters) - Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Vol. 2 (292 letters) - Robert Burns to Clarinda / Agnes McLehose (60 letters) - Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple (51 letters) - Beethoven's Letters, love letters selected (30 letters) - Mozart's Letters, love letters selected (60 letters) Total: 1,307 letters from 11 collections spanning the 12th–19th centuries. Co-authored-by: Copilot <223556219+Copilot@users.noreply.github.com> --- .gitignore | 3 - README.md | 37 +- download_letters.py | 549 ++++++ letters/abelard_heloise.json | 50 + letters/beethoven.json | 242 +++ letters/browning.json | 2250 ++++++++++++++++++++++++ letters/browning_vol2.json | 2338 +++++++++++++++++++++++++ letters/burns_clarinda.json | 482 ++++++ letters/dorothy_osborne.json | 410 +++++ letters/henry_viii.json | 146 ++ letters/keats_brawne.json | 314 ++++ letters/mozart.json | 482 ++++++ letters/napoleon.json | 3162 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ letters/wollstonecraft.json | 602 +++++++ love_letters.py | 409 +---- 15 files changed, 11106 insertions(+), 370 deletions(-) create mode 100644 download_letters.py create mode 100644 letters/abelard_heloise.json create mode 100644 letters/beethoven.json create mode 100644 letters/browning.json create mode 100644 letters/browning_vol2.json create mode 100644 letters/burns_clarinda.json create mode 100644 letters/dorothy_osborne.json create mode 100644 letters/henry_viii.json create mode 100644 letters/keats_brawne.json create mode 100644 letters/mozart.json create mode 100644 letters/napoleon.json create mode 100644 letters/wollstonecraft.json diff --git a/.gitignore b/.gitignore index 63fde26..5d381cc 100644 --- a/.gitignore +++ b/.gitignore @@ -160,6 +160,3 @@ cython_debug/ # option (not recommended) you can uncomment the following to ignore the entire idea folder. #.idea/ -# Love Letters app cache -.letter_cache/ - diff --git a/README.md b/README.md index 4bf2447..8917067 100644 --- a/README.md +++ b/README.md @@ -2,28 +2,45 @@ A Python app that displays random historic love letters from authentic sources, downloaded from [Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org/). -## Usage +## Quick Start ```bash python3 love_letters.py # Show a random love letter python3 love_letters.py -n 3 # Show 3 random love letters python3 love_letters.py --list # List available collections python3 love_letters.py --source keats_brawne # Filter by source -python3 love_letters.py --refresh # Re-download all sources +``` + +The `letters/` directory ships with 1,300+ pre-parsed letters — no download needed. + +## Refreshing / Adding Sources + +To re-download all letter collections from Project Gutenberg: + +```bash +python3 download_letters.py # Download (skips existing) +python3 download_letters.py --force # Re-download everything +python3 download_letters.py --list # List available sources ``` ## Sources -| Collection | Author → Recipient | Period | -|---|---|---| -| The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn | Henry VIII → Anne Boleyn | c. 1527–1528 | -| The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay | Mary Wollstonecraft → Gilbert Imlay | 1793–1795 | -| Letters of Abelard and Heloise | Abelard & Heloise → each other | 12th century | -| Napoleon's Letters to Josephine | Napoleon Bonaparte → Josephine | 1796–1812 | -| Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne | John Keats → Fanny Brawne | 1819–1820 | +| Collection | Author → Recipient | Period | Letters | +|---|---|---|---| +| Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn | Henry VIII → Anne Boleyn | c. 1527–1528 | 18 | +| Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay | Mary Wollstonecraft → Gilbert Imlay | 1793–1795 | 75 | +| Letters of Abelard and Heloise | Abelard & Heloise | 12th century | 6 | +| Napoleon's Letters to Josephine | Napoleon Bonaparte → Josephine | 1796–1812 | 395 | +| Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne | John Keats → Fanny Brawne | 1819–1820 | 39 | +| Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1 | Browning ↔ Barrett | 1845–1846 | 281 | +| Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2 | Browning ↔ Barrett | 1845–1846 | 292 | +| Robert Burns to Clarinda | Robert Burns → Agnes McLehose | 1787–1794 | 60 | +| Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple | Dorothy Osborne → William Temple | 1652–1654 | 51 | +| Beethoven's Letters (love letters selected) | Ludwig van Beethoven | 1790–1826 | 30 | +| Mozart's Letters (love letters selected) | Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart | 1769–1791 | 60 | All texts are sourced from [Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org/) and are in the public domain. ## Requirements -Python 3.10+ (no external dependencies). An internet connection is required on first run to download the letter collections; they are cached locally after that. \ No newline at end of file +Python 3.10+ (no external dependencies). \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/download_letters.py b/download_letters.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b359fb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/download_letters.py @@ -0,0 +1,549 @@ +#!/usr/bin/env python3 +""" +Download and parse love letters from Project Gutenberg. + +This script fetches letter collections from Gutenberg, extracts individual +letters, and saves them as JSON files in the letters/ directory. Run this +once (or with --force to re-download) to populate the data that +love_letters.py reads. + +Usage: + python3 download_letters.py # download all sources + python3 download_letters.py --force # re-download everything + python3 download_letters.py --list # show available sources +""" + +import json +import os +import re +import sys +import urllib.request + +SCRIPT_DIR = os.path.dirname(os.path.abspath(__file__)) +LETTERS_DIR = os.path.join(SCRIPT_DIR, "letters") + +SOURCES = [ + { + "id": "henry_viii", + "title": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "year": "c. 1527–1528", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32155/pg32155.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 32155, + }, + { + "id": "wollstonecraft", + "title": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "year": "1793–1795", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/34413/pg34413.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 34413, + }, + { + "id": "abelard_heloise", + "title": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "author": "Abelard & Heloise", + "recipient": "each other", + "year": "12th century", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/35977/pg35977.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 35977, + }, + { + "id": "napoleon", + "title": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "year": "1796–1812", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/37499/pg37499.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 37499, + }, + { + "id": "keats_brawne", + "title": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "year": "1819–1820", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/60433/pg60433.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 60433, + }, + { + "id": "browning", + "title": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "author": "Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "each other", + "year": "1845–1846", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/16182/pg16182.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 16182, + }, + { + "id": "browning_vol2", + "title": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "author": "Robert Browning & Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "each other", + "year": "1845–1846", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/73891/pg73891.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 73891, + }, + { + "id": "burns_clarinda", + "title": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "year": "1787–1794", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/9863/pg9863.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 9863, + }, + { + "id": "dorothy_osborne", + "title": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "year": "1652–1654", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/12544/pg12544.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 12544, + }, + { + "id": "beethoven", + "title": "Beethoven's Letters 1790-1826, Volume 1", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "various (love letters selected)", + "year": "1790–1826", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/13065/pg13065.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 13065, + }, + { + "id": "mozart", + "title": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Volume 1", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "various (love letters selected)", + "year": "1769–1791", + "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5307/pg5307.txt", + "gutenberg_id": 5307, + }, +] + + +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- +# Helpers +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +def download_text(url: str) -> str: + """Download a plain-text file from Project Gutenberg.""" + req = urllib.request.Request(url, headers={"User-Agent": "LoveLettersApp/1.0"}) + with urllib.request.urlopen(req, timeout=30) as resp: + return resp.read().decode("utf-8", errors="replace") + + +def strip_gutenberg(text: str) -> str: + """Remove Project Gutenberg header and footer boilerplate.""" + for marker in [ + "*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + "*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + "***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + ]: + idx = text.find(marker) + if idx != -1: + nl = text.find("\n", idx) + text = text[nl + 1:] if nl != -1 else text[idx + len(marker):] + break + + for marker in [ + "*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + "*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + "***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", + "End of the Project Gutenberg EBook", + "End of Project Gutenberg", + ]: + idx = text.find(marker) + if idx != -1: + text = text[:idx] + break + + return text.strip() + + +def normalize(text: str) -> str: + """Normalize line endings.""" + return text.replace("\r\n", "\n") + + +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- +# Per-source extractors +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +def extract_henry_viii(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + parts = re.split( + r"\n{2,}(?=Letter\s+(?:First|Second|Third|Fourth|Fifth|Sixth|Seventh|" + r"Eighth|Ninth|Tenth|Eleventh|Twelfth|Thirteenth|Fourteenth|" + r"Fifteenth|Sixteenth|Seventeenth|Eighteenth)\b)", + text, + ) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(Letter\s+\w+)(?:\s+.*?)?\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) + if not m or len(part) < 80: + continue + heading = m.group(1) + body = part[m.end():].strip() + for tag in ["\nNotes\n", "\nNOTES\n"]: + idx = body.find(tag) + if idx != -1: + body = body[:idx].strip() + author, recipient = "Henry VIII", "Anne Boleyn" + if "Boleyn to" in part[:200]: + author, recipient = "Anne Boleyn", "Cardinal Wolsey" + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": heading, "body": body, + "author": author, "recipient": recipient, + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_wollstonecraft(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+\.?\s*\n)", text, flags=re.IGNORECASE) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+\.?)\s*\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) + if not m or len(part) < 80: + continue + body = part[m.end():].strip() + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": m.group(1), "body": body, + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_abelard_heloise(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+[.:]?\s*\n)", text, flags=re.IGNORECASE) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+[.:]?)\s*\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) + if not m or len(part) < 120: + continue + body = part[m.end():].strip() + author, recipient = "Abelard & Heloise", "each other" + lower = body[:300].lower() + if "heloise to abelard" in lower: + author, recipient = "Heloise", "Abelard" + elif "abelard to heloise" in lower: + author, recipient = "Abelard", "Heloise" + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": m.group(1), "body": body, + "author": author, "recipient": recipient, + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_napoleon(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=No\.\s*\d+\.\s*\n)", text) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(No\.\s*\d+\.)\s*\n", part) + if not m or len(part) < 100: + continue + body = part[m.end():].strip() + if len(body) > 80: + letters.append({ + "heading": m.group(1), "body": body, + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_keats_brawne(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=[IVXLC]+\.\s*\n)", text) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"([IVXLC]+)\.\s*\n", part) + if not m or len(part) < 100: + continue + body = part[m.end():].strip() + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": f"Letter {m.group(1)}", "body": body, + "author": "John Keats", "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820", + }) + return letters + + +def _extract_browning(text: str, vol_label: str) -> list[dict]: + """Extract letters from a Browning correspondence volume.""" + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + # Split on _R.B. to E.B.B._ or _E.B.B. to R.B._ + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=_(?:R\.B\. to E\.B\.B\.|E\.B\.B\. to R\.B\.)_)", text) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"_(R\.B\. to E\.B\.B\.|E\.B\.B\. to R\.B\.)_\s*\n", part) + if not m or len(part) < 100: + continue + direction = m.group(1) + body = part[m.end():].strip() + if "R.B. to E.B.B." in direction: + author = "Robert Browning" + recipient = "Elizabeth Barrett Browning" + else: + author = "Elizabeth Barrett Browning" + recipient = "Robert Browning" + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": direction, "body": body, + "author": author, "recipient": recipient, + "source": f"The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, {vol_label}", + "period": "1845–1846", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_browning(text: str) -> list[dict]: + return _extract_browning(text, "Vol. 1") + + +def extract_browning_vol2(text: str) -> list[dict]: + return _extract_browning(text, "Vol. 2") + + +def extract_burns_clarinda(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + # Find the "LETTERS TO CLARINDA" section + start_idx = text.find("LETTERS TO CLARINDA") + if start_idx == -1: + return [] + section = text[start_idx:] + # End at next major section (all caps heading after blank lines) + end_match = re.search(r"\n{3,}[A-Z][A-Z ]{10,}\n", section[100:]) + if end_match: + section = section[:100 + end_match.start()] + + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=[IVXLC]+\.\s*\n)", section) + letters = [] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"([IVXLC]+)\.\s*\n", part) + if not m or len(part) < 80: + continue + body = part[m.end():].strip() + if len(body) > 50: + letters.append({ + "heading": f"Letter {m.group(1)}", "body": body, + "author": "Robert Burns", "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_dorothy_osborne(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + # Letters start with "SIR,--" after editorial commentary + # Split by looking backwards from each "SIR,--" to find the date/heading + letters = [] + # Find all "SIR,--" occurrences + sir_positions = [m.start() for m in re.finditer(r"^SIR,--", text, re.MULTILINE)] + + for i, pos in enumerate(sir_positions): + # Look for a date line just before the salutation + preceding = text[max(0, pos - 200):pos] + date_match = re.search(r"\n\n_([^_]+)_\.?\s*\n\s*$", preceding) + heading = date_match.group(1).strip() if date_match else "" + + # Letter body extends to the next editorial section or next SIR + if i + 1 < len(sir_positions): + end = sir_positions[i + 1] + # Try to find where editorial notes begin (usually with _Letter) + editorial = re.search(r"\n_Letter\s+[IVXLC]+\._", text[pos:end]) + if editorial: + end = pos + editorial.start() + else: + end = len(text) + + body = text[pos:end].strip() + # Trim trailing editorial notes (paragraphs starting with special patterns) + body = re.split(r"\n\n(?=_[A-Z])", body)[0].strip() + + if len(body) > 80: + letters.append({ + "heading": heading if heading else f"Letter {i + 1}", + "body": body, + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_beethoven(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + # Letters are headed "N.\n\nTO ..." where N is a number + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=\d+\.\s*\n\s*\nTO\s)", text) + letters = [] + # Keywords to identify love/romantic letters + love_keywords = [ + "immortal beloved", "my angel", "my love", "beloved", + "my heart", "kiss", "embrace", "love you", + "sweetheart", "giulietta", "guicciardi", + "josephine brunsvik", "bettina", "brentano", + "amalie sebald", "my all", "my second self", + "ardently", "passionately", "tenderly yours", + ] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(\d+)\.\s*\n\s*\n(TO\s+.+?)(?:\n|$)", part) + if not m or len(part) < 100: + continue + num = m.group(1) + to_line = m.group(2).strip() + body = part[m.end():].strip() + full_text = (to_line + " " + body).lower() + # Only include letters with romantic content + if any(kw in full_text for kw in love_keywords): + letters.append({ + "heading": f"No. {num} — {to_line}", + "body": body, + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": to_line.replace("TO ", "").strip("."), + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826", + }) + return letters + + +def extract_mozart(text: str) -> list[dict]: + text = normalize(strip_gutenberg(text)) + # Mozart's letters use numbered sections + parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=\d+\.\s*\n)", text) + letters = [] + love_keywords = [ + "my love", "kiss", "beloved", "my heart", + "my dear wife", "constanze", "my darling", + "embrace you", "tender", "passionately", + "aloysia", "my dearest wife", + ] + for part in parts: + part = part.strip() + m = re.match(r"(\d+)\.\s*\n", part) + if not m or len(part) < 100: + continue + num = m.group(1) + body = part[m.end():].strip() + # Extract TO line if present + to_match = re.match(r"(TO\s+.+?)(?:\n|$)", body) + to_line = to_match.group(1).strip() if to_match else "" + full_text = body.lower() + if any(kw in full_text for kw in love_keywords): + recipient = to_line.replace("TO ", "").strip(".") if to_line else "Constanze Mozart" + letters.append({ + "heading": f"No. {num}" + (f" — {to_line}" if to_line else ""), + "body": body, + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": recipient, + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791", + }) + return letters + + +EXTRACTORS = { + "henry_viii": extract_henry_viii, + "wollstonecraft": extract_wollstonecraft, + "abelard_heloise": extract_abelard_heloise, + "napoleon": extract_napoleon, + "keats_brawne": extract_keats_brawne, + "browning": extract_browning, + "browning_vol2": extract_browning_vol2, + "burns_clarinda": extract_burns_clarinda, + "dorothy_osborne": extract_dorothy_osborne, + "beethoven": extract_beethoven, + "mozart": extract_mozart, +} + + +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- +# Main +# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +def download_source(source: dict, force: bool = False) -> int: + """Download, parse, and save letters for one source. Returns letter count.""" + out_path = os.path.join(LETTERS_DIR, f"{source['id']}.json") + if os.path.exists(out_path) and not force: + existing = json.load(open(out_path, "r", encoding="utf-8")) + return len(existing) + + print(f" ⬇ Downloading: {source['title']}…", flush=True) + try: + raw = download_text(source["url"]) + except Exception as e: + print(f" ⚠ Failed: {e}") + return 0 + + extractor = EXTRACTORS.get(source["id"]) + if extractor is None: + print(f" ⚠ No extractor for {source['id']}") + return 0 + + letters = extractor(raw) + if not letters: + print(f" ⚠ No letters extracted from {source['title']}") + return 0 + + os.makedirs(LETTERS_DIR, exist_ok=True) + with open(out_path, "w", encoding="utf-8") as f: + json.dump(letters, f, ensure_ascii=False, indent=2) + + print(f" ✓ {len(letters)} letters saved → letters/{source['id']}.json") + return len(letters) + + +def main() -> None: + import argparse + parser = argparse.ArgumentParser(description="Download love letters from Project Gutenberg.") + parser.add_argument("--force", action="store_true", help="re-download all sources") + parser.add_argument("--list", action="store_true", help="list available sources") + args = parser.parse_args() + + if args.list: + print("\n Available sources:\n") + for i, src in enumerate(SOURCES, 1): + print(f" {i:2}. [{src['id']}] {src['title']}") + print(f" {src['author']} → {src['recipient']} ({src['year']})") + print(f" gutenberg.org/ebooks/{src['gutenberg_id']}") + print() + return + + print("\n 📥 Downloading love letters from Project Gutenberg…\n") + total = 0 + for source in SOURCES: + count = download_source(source, force=args.force) + total += count + + print(f"\n 📬 Total: {total} letters in {LETTERS_DIR}/\n") + + +if __name__ == "__main__": + main() diff --git a/letters/abelard_heloise.json b/letters/abelard_heloise.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5be6ea1 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/abelard_heloise.json @@ -0,0 +1,50 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "LETTER I.", + "body": "_ABELARD to PHILINTUS._\n\n\n It may be proper to acquaint the reader, that the\n following Letter was written by _Abelard_ to a friend, to\n comfort him under some afflictions which had befallen him, by a\n recital of his own sufferings, which had been much heavier. It\n contains a particular account of his amour with _Heloise_, and\n the unhappy consequences of it. This Letter was written several years\n after _Abelard's_ separation from _Heloise_.\n\n\nThe last time we were together, _Philintus_, you gave me a\nmelancholy account of your misfortunes. I was sensibly touched with\nthe relation, and, like a true friend, bore a share in your griefs.\nWhat did I not say to stop your tears? I laid before you all the\nreasons Philosophy could furnish, which I thought might any ways\nsoften the strokes of Fortune: but all endeavours have proved\nuseless: grief I perceive, has wholly seized your spirits: and your\nprudence, far from assisting, seems quite to have forsaken you. But\nmy skilful friendship has found out an expedient to relieve you.\nAttend to me a moment; hear but the story of my misfortunes, and\nyours, _Philintus_, will be nothing, if you compare them with\nthose of the loving and unhappy _Abelard_. Observe, I beseech\nyou, at what expence I endeavour to serve you: and think this no\nsmall mark of my affection; for I am going to present you with the\nrelation of such particulars, as it is impossible for me to recollect\nwithout piercing my heart with the most sensible affliction.\n\nYou know the place where I was born; but not perhaps that I was\nborn with those complexional faults which strangers charge upon our\nnation, an extreme lightness of temper, and great inconstancy. I\nfrankly own it, and shall be as free to acquaint you with those good\nqualities which were observed in me. I had a natural vivacity and\naptness for all the polite arts. My father was a gentleman, and a man\nof good parts; he loved the wars, but differed in his sentiments from\nmany who followed that profession. He thought it no praise to be\nilliterate, but in the camp he knew how to converse at the same time\nwith the Muses and Bellona. He was the same in the management of his\nfamily, and took equal care to form his children to the study of\npolite learning as to their military exercises. As I was his eldest,\nand consequently his favourite son, he took more than ordinary care\nof my education. I had a natural genius to study, and made an\nextraordinary progress in it. Smitten with the love of books, and the\npraises which on all sides were bestowed upon me, I aspired to no\nreputation but what proceeded from learning. To my brothers I left\nthe glory of battles, and the pomp of triumphs; nay more, I yielded\nthem up my birthright and patrimony. I knew necessity was the great\nspur to study, and was afraid I should not merit the title of\nLearned, if I distinguished myself from others by nothing but a more\nplentiful fortune. Of all the sciences, Logic was the most to my\ntaste. Such were the arms I chose to profess. Furnished with the\nweapons of reasoning, I took pleasure in going to public disputations\nto win trophies; and wherever I heard that this art flourished, I\nranged like another Alexander, from province to province, to seek new\nadversaries, with whom I might try my strength.\n\nThe ambition I had to become formidable in logic led me at last to\nParis, the centre of politeness, and where the science I was so\nsmitten with had usually been in the greatest perfection. I put\nmyself under the direction of one _Champeaux_ a professor, who\nhad acquired the character of the most skilful philosopher of his\nage, by negative excellencies only, by being the least ignorant. He\nreceived me with great demonstrations of kindness, but I was not so\nhappy as to please him long: I was too knowing in the subjects he\ndiscoursed upon. I often confuted his notions: often in our\ndisputations I pushed a good argument so home, that all his subtilty\nwas not able to elude its force. It was impossible he should see\nhimself surpassed by his scholar without resentment. It is sometimes\ndangerous to have too much merit.\n\nEnvy increased against me proportionably to my reputation. My\nenemies endeavoured to interrupt my progress, but their malice only\nprovoked my courage; and measuring my abilities by the jealousy I had\nraised, I thought I had no farther occasion for Champeaux's lectures,\nbut rather that I was sufficiently qualified to read to others. I\nstood for a place which was vacant at Melun. My master used all his\nartifice to defeat my hopes, but in vain; and on this occasion I\ntriumphed over his cunning, as before I had done over his learning.\nMy lectures were always crouded, and beginnings so fortunate, that I\nentirely obscured the renown of my famous master. Flushed with these\nhappy conquests, I removed to Corbeil to attack the masters there,\nand so establish my character of the ablest Logician, the violence of\ntravelling threw me into a dangerous distemper, and not being able to\nrecover my strength, my physician, who perhaps were in a league with\nChampeaux, advised me to retire to my native air. Thus I voluntarily\nbanished myself for some years. I leave you to imagine whether my\nabsence was not regretted by the better sort. At length I recovered\nmy health, when I received news that my greatest adversary had taken\nthe habit of a monk. You may think was an act of penitence for having\npersecuted me; quite contrary, it was ambition; he resolved to raise\nhimself to some church-dignity therefore he fell into the beaten\ntrack, and took on him the garb of feigned austerity; for this is the\neasiest and and shortest way to the highest ecclesiastical dignities.\nHis wishes were successful, and he obtained a bishoprick: yet did he\nnot quit Paris, and the care of the schools. He went to his diocese\nto gather in his revenues, but returned and passed the rest of his\ntime in reading lectures to those few pupils which followed him.\nAfter this I often-engaged with him, and may reply to you as Ajax did\nto the Greeks;\n\n \"If you demand the fortune of that day,\n When stak'd on this right hand your honours lay\n If I did not oblige the foe to yield,\n Yet did I never basely quit the field.\"\n\nAbout this time my father Beranger, who to the age of sixty had\nlived very agreeably, retired from the world and shut himself up in a\ncloister, where he offered up to Heaven the languid remains of a life\nhe could make no farther use of. My mother, who was yet young, took\nthe same resolution. She turned a Religious, but did not entirely\nabandon the satisfactions of life. Her friends were continually at\nthe grate; and the monastery, when one has an inclination to make it\nso, is exceeding charming and pleasant. I was present when my mother\nwas professed. At my return I resolved to study divinity, and\ninquired for a director in that study. I was recommended to one\n_Anselm_, the very oracle of his time; but to give you my own\nopinion, one more venerable for his age and wrinkles than for his\ngenius or learning. If you consulted him upon any difficulty, the\nsure consequence was to be much more uncertain in the point. Those\nwho only saw him admired him, but those who reasoned with him were\nextremely dissatisfied. He was a great master of words, and talked\nmuch, but meant nothing. His discourse was a fire, which, instead of\nenlightening, obscured every thing with its smoke; a tree beautified\nwith variety of leaves and branches, but barren. I came to him with a\ndesire to learn, but found him like the fig-tree in the Gospel, or\nthe old oak to which Lucan compares Pompey. I continued not long\nunderneath his shadow. I took for my guides the primitive Fathers,\nand boldly launched into the ocean of the Holy Scriptures. In a short\ntime I made such a progress, that others chose me for their director.\nThe number of my scholars were incredible, and the gratuities I\nreceived from them were answerable to the great reputation I had\nacquired. Now I found myself safe in the harbour; the storms were\npassed, and the rage of my enemies had spent itself without effect.\nHappy, had I known to make a right use of this calm! But when the\nmind is most easy, it is most exposed to love, and even security here\nis the most dangerous state.\n\nAnd now, my friend, I am going to expose to you all my weaknesses.\nAll men, I believe, are under a necessity of paying tribute, at some\ntime or other, to Love, and it is vain to strive to avoid it. I was a\nphilosopher, yet this tyrant of the mind triumphed over all my\nwisdom; his darts were of greater force than all my reasoning, and\nwith a sweet constraint he led me whither he pleased. Heaven, amidst\nan abundance of blessings with which I was intoxicated, threw in a\nheavy affliction. I became a most signal example of its vengeance;\nand the more unhappy, because having deprived me of the means of\naccomplishing my satisfaction, it left me to the fury of my criminal\ndesires. I will tell you, my dear friend, the particulars of my\nstory, and leave you to judge whether I deserved so severe a\ncorrection. I had always an aversion for those light women whom it is\na reproach to pursue; I was ambitious in my choice, and wished to\nfind some obstacles, that I might surmount them with the greater\nglory and pleasure.\n\nThere was in Paris a young creature, (ah! _Philintus_!)\nformed in a prodigality of Nature, to show mankind a finished\ncomposition; dear _Heloise_! the reputed niece of one _Fulbert_\na canon. Her wit and her beauty would have fired the dullest and most\ninsensible heart; and her education was equally admirable. _Heloise_\nwas a mistress of the most polite arts. You may easily imagine that\nthis did not a little help to captivate me. I saw her; I loved her; I\nresolved to endeavour to gain her affections. The thirst of glory\ncooled immediately in my heart, and all my passions were lost in this\nnew one. I thought of nothing but _Heloise_; every thing brought\nher image to my mind. I was pensive, restless; and my passion was so\nviolent as to admit of no restraint. I was always vain and\npresumptive; I flattered myself already with the most bewitching\nhopes. My reputation had spread itself every where; and could a\nvirtuous lady resist a man that had confounded all the learned of the\nage? I was young;--could she show an infallibility to those vows\nwhich my heart never formed for any but herself? My person was\nadvantageous enough and by my dress no one would have suspected me\nfor a Doctor; and dress you know, is not a little engaging with\nwomen. Besides, I had wit enough to write a _billet doux_, and\nhoped, if ever she permitted my absent self to entertain her, she\nwould read with pleasure those breathings of my heart.\n\nFilled with these notions, I thought of nothing but the means to\nspeak to her. Lovers either find or make all things easy. By the\noffices of common friends I gained the acquaintance of Fulbert. And,\ncan you believe it, _Philintus_? he allowed me the privilege of\nhis table, and an apartment in his house. I paid him, indeed, a\nconsiderable sum; for persons of his character do nothing without\nmoney. But what would I not have given! You my dear friend, know what\nlove is; imagine then what a pleasure it must have been to a heart so\ninflamed as mine to be always so near the dear object of desire! I\nwould not have exchanged my happy condition for that of the greatest\nmonarch upon earth. I saw _Heloise_, I spoke to her: each\naction, each confused look, told her the trouble of my soul. And she,\non the other side, gave me ground to hope for every thing from her\ngenerosity. Fulbert desired me to instruct her in philosophy; by this\nmeans I found opportunities of being in private with her and yet I\nwas sure of all men the most timorous in declaring my passion.\n\nAs I was with her one day, alone, Charming _Heloise_, said I,\nblushing, if you know yourself, you will not be surprised with what\npassion you have inspired me with. Uncommon as it is, I can express\nit but with the common terms;--I love you, adorable _Heloise_!\nTill now I thought philosophy made us masters, of all our passions,\nand that it was a refuge from the storms in which weak mortals are\ntossed and shipwrecked; but you have destroyed my security, and\nbroken this philosophic courage. I have despised riches; honour and\nits pageantries could never raise a weak thought in me; beauty alone\nhath fired my soul. Happy, if she who raised this passion kindly\nreceives the declaration; but if it is an offence--No, replied\n_Heloise_; she must be very ignorant of your merit who can be\noffended at your passion. But, for my own repose, I wish either that\nyou had not made this declaration, or that I were at liberty not to\nsuspect your sincerity. Ah, divine _Heloise_, said I, flinging\nmyself at her feet, I swear by yourself--I was going on to\nconvince her of the truth of my passion, but heard a noise, and it\nwas Fulbert. There was no avoiding it, but I must do a violence to my\ndesire, and change the discourse to some other subject. After this I\nfound frequent opportunities to free _Heloise_ from those\nsuspicions which the general insincerity of men had raised in her;\nand she too much desired what I said were truth, not to believe it.\nThus there was a most happy understanding between us. The same house,\nthe same love, united our persons and our desires. How many soft\nmoments did we pass together! We took all opportunities to express to\neach other our mutual affections, and were ingenious in contriving\nincidents which might give us a plausible occasion for meeting.\nPyramus and Thisbe's discovery of the crack in the wall was but a\nslight representation of our love and its sagacity. In the dead of\nnight, when Fulbert and his domestics were in a sound sleep, we\nimproved the time proper to the sweets of love. Not contenting\nourselves, like those unfortunate loves, with giving insipid kisses\nto a wall, we made use of all the moments of our charming interviews.\nIn the place where we met we had no lions to fear, and the study of\nphilosophy served us for a blind. But I was so far from making any\nadvances in the sciences that I lost all my taste of them; and when I\nwas obliged to go from the sight of my dear mistress to my\nphilosophical exercises, it was with the utmost regret and\nmelancholy. Love is incapable of being concealed; a word, a look, nay\nsilence, speaks it. My scholars discovered it first: they saw I had\nno longer that vivacity thought to which all things were easy: I\ncould now do nothing but write verses to sooth my passion. I quitted\nAristotle and his dry maxims, to practise the precepts of the more\ningenious Ovid. No day passed in which I did not compose amorous\nverses. Love was my inspiring Apollo. My songs were spread abroad,\nand gained me frequent applauses. Those whom were in love as I was\ntook a pride in learning them; and, by luckily applying my thoughts\nand verses, have obtained favours which, perhaps, they could not\notherwise have gained. This gave our amours such an _eclat_,\nthat the loves of _Heloise_ and _Abelard_ were the subject\nof all conversations.\n\nThe town-talk at last reached Fulbert's ears. It was with great\ndifficulty he gave credit to what he heard, for he loved his niece,\nand was prejudiced in my favour; but, upon closer examination, he\nbegan to be less incredulous. He surprised us in one of our more soft\nconversations. How fatal, sometimes, are the consequences of\ncuriosity! The anger of Fulbert seemed to moderate on this occasion,\nand I feared in the end some more heavy revenge. It is impossible to\nexpress the grief and regret which filled my soul when I was obliged\nto leave the canon's house and my dear _Heloise_. But this\nseparation of our persons the more firmly united our minds; and the\ndesperate condition we were reduced to, made us capable of attempting\nany thing.\n\nMy intrigues gave me but little shame, so lovingly did I esteem\nthe occasion. Think what the gay young divinities said, when Vulcan\ncaught Mars and the goddess of Beauty in his net, and impute it all\nto me. Fulbert surprised me with _Heloise_, and what man that\nhad a soul in him would not have borne any ignominy on the same\nconditions? The next day I provided myself of a private lodging near\nthe loved house, being resolved not to abandon my prey. I continued\nsome time without appearing publickly. Ah, how long did those few\nmoments seem to me! When we fall from a state of happiness, with what\nimpatience do we bear our misfortunes!\n\nIt being impossible that I could live without seeing _Heloise_,\nI endeavoured to engage her servant, whose name was _Agaton_, in\nmy interest. She was brown, well shaped, a person superior to the\nordinary rank; her features regular, and her eyes sparkling; fit to\nraise love in any man whose heart was not prepossessed by another\npassion. I met her alone, and intreated her to have pity on a\ndistressed lover. She answered, she would undertake any thing to\nserve me, but there was a reward.--At these words I opened my\npurse and showed the shining metal, which lays asleep guards, forces\naway through rocks, and softens the hearts of the most obdurate fair.\nYou are mistaken, said she, smiling, and shaking her head--you\ndo not know me. Could gold tempt me, a rich abbot takes his nightly\nstation, and sings under my window: he offers to send me to his\nabbey, which, he says, is situate in the most pleasant country in the\nworld. A courtier offers me a considerable sum of money, and assures\nme I need have no apprehensions; for if our amours have consequences,\nhe will marry me to his gentleman, and give him a handsome\nemployment. To say nothing of a young officer, who patroles about\nhere every night, and makes his attacks after all imaginable forms.\nIt must be Love only which could oblige him to follow me; for I have\nnot like your great ladies, any rings or jewels to tempt him: yet,\nduring all his siege of love, his feather and his embroidered coat\nhave not made any breach in my heart. I shall not quickly be brought\nto capitulate, I am too faithful to my first conqueror--and then\nshe looked earnestly on me. I answered, I did not understand her\ndiscourse. She replied, For a man of sense and gallantry you have a\nvery slow apprehension; I am in love with you _Abelard_. I know\nyou adore _Heloise_, I do not blame you; I desire only to enjoy\nthe second place in your affections. I have a tender heart as well as\nmy mistress; you may without difficulty make returns to my passion.\nDo not perplex yourself with unfashionable scruples; a prudent man\nought to love several at the same time; if one should fail, he is not\nthen left unprovided.\n\nYou cannot imagine, _Philintus_, how much I was surprised at\nthese words. So entirely did I love _Heloise_ that without\nreflecting whether Agaton spoke any thing reasonable or not, I\nimmediately left her. When I had gone a little way from her I looked\nback, and saw her biting her nails in the rage of disappointment,\nwhich made me fear some fatal consequences. She hastened to Fulbert,\nand told him the offer I had made her, but I suppose concealed the\nother part of the story. The Canon never forgave this affront. I\nafterwards perceived he was more deeply concerned for his niece than\nI at first imagined. Let no lover hereafter follow my example, A\nwoman rejected is an outrageous creature. Agaton was day and night at\nher window on purpose to keep me at a distance from her mistress, and\nso gave her own gallants opportunity enough to display their several\nabilities.\n\nI was infinitely perplexed what course to take; at last I applied\nto _Heloise_ singing-master. The shining metal, which had no\neffect on Agaton, charmed him; he was excellently qualified for\nconveying a billet with the greatest dexterity and secrecy. He\ndelivered one of mine to _Heloise_, who, according to my\nappointment was ready at the end of a garden, the wall of which I\nscaled by a ladder of ropes. I confess to you all my failings,\n_Philintus_. How would my enemies, Champeaux and Anselm, have\ntriumphed, had they seen the redoubted philosopher in such a wretched\ncondition? Well--I met my soul's joy, my _Heloise_. I shall\nnot describe our transports, they were not long; for the first\nnews _Heloise_ acquainted me with plunged me in a thousand\ndistractions. A floating _delos_ was to be sought for, where she\nmight be safely delivered of a burthen she began already to feel.\nWithout losing much time in debating, I made her presently quit the\nCanon's house, and at break of day depart for Britany; where, she\nlike another goddess, gave the world another Apollo, which my sister\ntook care of.\n\nThis carrying off _Heloise_ was sufficient revenge upon\nFulbert. It filled him with the deepest concern, and had like to have\ndeprived him of all the little share of wit which Heaven had allowed\nhim. His sorrow and lamentation gave the censorious an occasion of\nsuspecting him for something more than the uncle of _Heloise_.\n\nIn short, I began to pity his misfortune, and think this robbery\nwhich love had made me commit was a sort of treason. I endeavoured to\nappease his anger by a sincere confession of all that was past, and\nby hearty engagements to marry _Heloise_ secretly. He gave me\nhis consent and with many protestations and embraces confirmed our\nreconciliation. But what dependence can be made on the word of an\nignorant devotee. He was only plotting a cruel revenge, as you will\nsee by what follows.\n\nI took a journey into Britany, in order to bring back my dear\n_Heloise_, whom I now considered as my wife. When I had\nacquainted her with what had passed between the Canon and me, I found\nshe was of a contrary opinion to me. She urged all that was possible\nto divert me from marriage: that it was a bond always fatal to a\nphilosopher; that the cries of children, and cares of a family, were\nutterly inconsistent with the tranquility and application which the\nstudy of philosophy required. She quoted to me all that was written\non the subject by Theophrastus, Cicero, and, above all, insisted on\nthe unfortunate Socrates, who quitted life with joy, because by that\nmeans he left Xantippe. Will it not be more agreeable to me, said\nshe, to see myself your mistress than your wife? and will not love\nhave more power than marriage to keep our hearts firmly united?\nPleasures tasted sparingly, and with difficulty, have always a higher\nrelish, while every thing, by being easy and common, grows flat and\ninsipid.\n\nI was unmoved by all this reasoning. _Heloise_ prevailed upon\nmy sister to engage me. Lucille (for that was her name) taking me\naside one day, said, What do you intend, brother? Is it possible that\n_Abelard_ should in earnest think of marrying _Heloise_?\nShe seems indeed to deserve a perpetual affection; beauty, youth, and\nlearning, all that can make a person valuble, meet in her. You may\nadore all this if you please; but not to flatter you, what is beauty\nbut a flower, which may be blasted by the least fit of sickness? When\nthose features, with which you have been so captivated, shall be\nsunk, and those graces lost, you will too late repent that you have\nentangled yourself in a chain, from which death only can free you. I\nshall see you reduced to the married man's only hope of survivorship.\nDo you think learning ought to make _Heloise_ more amiable? I\nknow she is not one of those affected females who are continually\noppressing you with fine speeches, criticising books, and deciding\nupon the merit of authors, When such a one is in the fury of her\ndiscourse, husbands, friends, servants, all fly before her. _Heloise_\nhas not this fault; yet it is troublesome not to be at liberty to use\nthe least improper expression before a wife, that you bear with\npleasure from a mistress.\n\nBut you say, you are sure of the affections of _Heloise_ I\nbelieve it; she has given you no ordinary proofs. But can you be sure\nmarriage will not be the tomb of her love? The name of Husband and\nMaster are always harsh, and _Heloise_ will not be the phenix\nyou now think her. Will she not be a woman? Come, come, the head of a\nphilosopher is less secure than those of other men. My sister grew\nwarm in the argument, and was going to give me a hundred more reasons\nof this kind; but I angrily interrupted her, telling her only, that\nshe did not know _Heloise_.\n\nA few days after, we departed together from Britany, and came to\nParis, where I completed my project. It was my intent my marriage\nshould be kept secret, and therefore _Heloise_ retired among the\nnuns of Argenteuil.\n\nI now thought Fulbert's anger disarmed; I lived in peace: but,\nalas! our marriage proved but a weak defence against his revenge.\nObserve, _Philintus_, to what a barbarity he pursued it! He\nbribed my servants; an assassin came into my bed chamber by night\nwith a razor in his hand, and found me in a deep sleep. I suffered\nthe most shameful punishment that the revenge of an enemy could\ninvent; in short without losing my life, I lost my manhood. I was\npunished indeed in the offending part; the desire was left me, but\nnot the possibility of satisfying the passion. So cruel an action\nescaped not unpunished; the villain suffered the same infliction;\npoor comfort for so irretrievable an evil; I confess to you, shame,\nmore than any sincere penitence; made me resolve to hide myself from\nmy _Heloise_. Jealousy took possession of my mind; at the very\nexpence of her happiness I decreed to disappoint all rivals. Before I\nput myself in a cloister, I obliged her to take the habit, and\nretire into the nunnery of Argenteuil. I remember somebody would have\nopposed her making such a cruel sacrifice of herself, but she\nanswered in the words of Cornelia, after the death of Pompey the\nGreat;\n\n \"--O conjux, ego te scelereta peremi,\n --Te fata extrema petente\n Vita digna fui? Moriar----&c.\n\n O my lov'd lord! our fatal marriage draws\n On thee this doom, and I the guilty cause!\n Then whilst thou go'st th' extremes\n of Fate to prove,\n I'll share that fate, and expiate thus my love.\"\n\nSpeaking these verses, she marched up to the altar, and took the\nveil with a constancy which I could not have expected in a woman who\nhad so high a taste of pleasure which she might still enjoy. I\nblushed at my own weakness; and without deliberating a moment longer,\nI buried myself in a cloister, resolving to vanquish a fruitless\npassion. I now reflected that God had chastised me thus grievously,\nthat he might save me from that destruction in which I had like to\nhave been swallowed up. In order to avoid idleness, the unhappy\nincendiary of those criminal flames which had ruined me in the world,\nI endeavoured in my retirement to put those talents to a good use\nwhich I had before so much abused. I gave the novices rules of\ndivinity agreeable to the holy fathers and councils. In the mean\nwhile, the enemies which my fame had raised up, and especially\nAlberic and Lotulf, who after the death of their masters Champeaux\nand Anselm affirmed the sovereignty of learning, began to attack me.\nThey loaded me with the falsest imputations, and, notwithstanding all\nmy defence, I had the mortification to see my books condemned by a\ncouncil and burnt. This was a cutting sorrow, and, believe me,\n_Philintus_, the former calamity suffered by the cruelty of\nFulbert was nothing in comparison to this.\n\nThe affront I had newly received, and the scandalous debaucheries\nof the monks, obliged me to banish myself, and retire near Nogent. I\nlived in a desart, where I flattered myself I should avoid fame, and\nbe secure from the malice of my enemies. I was again deceived. The\ndesire of being taught by me, drew crowds of auditors even thither.\nMany left the towns and their houses, and came and lived in tents;\nfor herbs, coarse fare, and hard lodging, they abandoned the\ndelicacies of a plentiful table and easy life. I looked like a\nprophet in the wilderness attended by his disciples. My lectures were\nperfectly clear from all that had been condemned. And happy had it\nbeen if our solitude had been inaccessible to Envy! With the\nconsiderable gratuities I received I built a chapel, and dedicated it\nto the Holy Ghost, by the name of the Paraclete. The rage of my\nenemies now awakened again, and forced me to quit this retreat. This\nI did without much difficulty. But first the Bishop of Troies gave me\nleave to establish there a nunnery, which I did, and committed the\ncare of it to my dear _Heloise_. When I had settled her here,\ncan you believe it, _Philintus_? I left her without taking any\nleave. I did not wander long without settled habitation; for the Duke\nof Britany, informed of my misfortunes, named me to the Abbey of\n_Guildas_, where I now am, and where I now suffer every day\nfresh persecutions.\n\nI live in a barbarous country, the language of which I do not\nunderstand. I have no conversation with the rudest people. My walks\nare on the inaccessible shore of a sea which is perpetually stormy.\nMy monks are known by their dissoluteness, and living without rule or\norder. Could you see the abbey _Philintus_, you would not call\nit one. The doors and walls are without any ornament except the heads\nof wild boars and hinds' feet, which are nailed up against them, and\nthe heads of frightful animals. The cells are hung with the skins of\ndeer. The monks have not so much as a bell to wake them; the cocks\nand dogs supply that defect. In short, they pass their whole days in\nhunting; would to Heaven that were their greatest fault, or that\ntheir pleasures terminated there! I endeavour in vain to recall them\nto their duty; they all combine against me, and I only expose myself\nto continual vexations and dangers. I imagine that every moment a\nnaked sword hang over my head. Sometimes they surround me and load me\nwith infinite abuses; sometimes they abandon me, and I am left alone\nto my own tormenting thoughts. I make it my endeavour to merit by my\nsufferings, and to appease an angry God. Sometimes I grieve for the\nhouse of the _Paraclete_, and wish to see it again. Ah,\n_Philintus_! does not the love of _Heloise_ still burn in\nmy heart_?_ I have not yet triumphed over that happy passion. In\nthe midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, I pine, I speak the dear\nname of _Heloise_, pleased to hear the sound, I complain of the\nseverity of Heaven. But, oh! let us not deceive ourselves: I have not\nmade a right use of grace. I am thoroughly wretched. I have not yet\ntorn from my heart deep roots which vice has planted in it. For if my\nconversion was sincere, how could I take a pleasure to relate my past\nfollies? Could I not more easily comfort myself in my afflictions?\nCould I not turn to my advantage those words of God himself, _If\nthey have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if the world\nhate you, ye know that it hated me also_? Come _Philintus_,\nlet us make a strong effort, turn our misfortunes to our advantage,\nmake them meritorious, or at least wipe out our offences; let us\nreceive, without murmuring, what comes from the hand of God, and let\nus not oppose our will to his. Adieu. I give you advice, which could\nI myself follow, I should be happy.", + "author": "Abelard & Heloise", + "recipient": "each other", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER II.", + "body": "_HELOISE to ABELARD._\n\n\n The foregoing Letter would probably not have produced any\n others, if it had been delivered to the person to whom it was\n directed; but falling by accident into _Heloise's_ hands, who\n knew the character she opened it and read it; and by that means her\n former passion being awakened, she immediately set herself to write\n to her husband as follows.\n\n *To her Lord, her Father; her Husband, her Brother; his\n Servant his Child; his Wife, his Sister; and to express all that is\n humble, respectful and loving to her _Abelard_, _Heloise_\n writes this.\n\n _Domino suo, imo Patri; Conjugi suo, imo Fratri;\n Ancilla sua, imo Filia; ipsius Uxor, imo Soror; Abaelardo Heloisa,\n &c. Abel. Op._\n\nA consolatory letter of yours to a friend happened some days since\nto fall into my hands. My knowledge of the character, and my love of\nthe hand, soon gave me the curiosity to open it. In justification of\nthe liberty I took, I flattered myself I might claim a sovereign\nprivilege over every thing which came from you nor was I scrupulous\nto break thro' the rules of good breeding, when it was to hear news\nof _Abelard_. But how much did my curiosity cost me? what\ndisturbance did it occasion? and how was I surprised to find the\nwhole letter filled with a particular and melancholy account of our\nmisfortunes? I met with my name a hundred times; I never saw it\nwithout fear: some heavy calamity always, followed it, I saw yours\ntoo, equally unhappy. These mournful but dear remembrances, puts my\nspirits into such a violent motion, that I thought it was too much to\noffer comfort to a friend for a few slight disgraces by such\nextraordinary means, as the representation of our sufferings and\nrevolutions. What reflections did I not make, I began to consider the\nwhole afresh, and perceived myself pressed with the same weight of\ngrief as when we first began to be miserable. Tho' length of time\nought to have closed up my wounds, yet the seeing them described by\nyour hand was sufficient to make them all open and bleed afresh.\nNothing can ever blot from my memory what you have suffered in\ndefence of your writings. I cannot help thinking of the rancorous\nmalice of Alberic and Lotulf. A cruel uncle and an injured lover,\nwill be always present to my aking sight. I shall never forget what\nenemies your learning, and what envy your glory, raised against you.\nI shall never forget your reputation, so justly acquired, torn to\npieces, and blasted by the inexorable cruelty of half-learned\npretenders to science. Was not your Treatise of Divinity condemned to\nbe burnt? Were you not threatened with perpetual imprisonment? In\nvain you urged in your defence, that your enemies imposed on you\nopinions quite different from your meaning; in vain you condemned\nthose opinions; all was of no effect towards your justification; it\nwas resolved you should be a heretic. What did not those two false\nprophets** accuse you of, who declaimed so severely against you\nbefore the Council of Sens? What scandals were vented on occasion of\nthe name Paraclete given to your chapel? What a storm was raised\nagainst you by the treacherous monks, when you did them the honour to\nbe called their Brother? This history of our numerous misfortunes,\nrelated in so true and moving a manner, made my heart bleed within\nme. My tears, which I could not restrain, have blotted half your\nletter: I wish they had effaced the whole and that I had returned it\nto you in that condition. I should then have been satisfied with the\nlittle time; kept it, but it was demanded of me too soon.\n\n** St. Bernard and St. Norbet.\n\nI must confess I was much easier in my mind before I read your\nletter. Sure all the misfortunes of lovers are conveyed to them thro'\ntheir eyes. Upon reading your letter I felt all mine renewed, I\nreproached myself for having been so long without venting my sorrows,\nwhen the rage of our unrelenting enemies still burns with the same\nfury. Since length of time, which disarms the strongest hatred, seems\nbut to aggravate theirs; since it is decreed that your virtue shall\nbe persecuted till it takes refuge in the grave, and even beyond\nthat, your ashes perhaps, will not be suffered to rest in peace,--let\nme always meditate on your calamities, let me publish them thro' all\nthe world, if possible, to shame an age that has not known how to\nvalue you. I will spare no one, since no one would interest himself\nto protect you, and your enemies are never weary of oppressing your\ninnocence, Alas! my memory is perpetually filled with bitter\nremembrances of past evils, and are there more to be feared still?\nshall my _Abelard_ be never mentioned without tears? shall thy\ndear name be never spoken but with sighs? Observe, I beseech you, to\nwhat a wretched condition you have reduced me: sad, afflicted,\nwithout any possible comfort, unless it proceed from you. Be not then\nunkind, nor deny, I beg you that little relief which you can only\ngive. Let me have a faithful account of all that concerns you. I\nwould know every thing, be it ever so unfortunate. Perhaps, by\nmingling my sighs with yours, I may make your sufferings less, if\nthat observation be true, that all sorrows divided are made lighter.\n\nTell me not, by way of excuse, you will spare our tears; the tears\nof women, shut up in a melancholy place, and devoted to penitence,\nare not to be spared. And if you wait for an opportunity to write\npleasant and agreeable things to us, you will delay writing too long.\nProsperity seldom chuses the side of the virtuous; and Fortune is so\nblind, that in a crowd in which there is perhaps but one wife and\nbrave man, it is not to be expected she should single him out. Write\nto me then immediately, and wait not for miracles; they are too\nscarce, and we too much accustomed to misfortunes to expect any happy\nturn. I shall always have this, if you please, and this will be\nalways agreeable to me, that when I receive any letters from you, I\nshall know you still remember me. Seneca, (with whose writings you\nmade me acquainted,) as much a Stoic as he was, seemed to be so very\nsensible of this kind of pleasure, that upon opening any letters from\nLucilius, he imagined he felt the same delight as when they conversed\ntogether.\n\nI have made it an observation, since our absence, that we are much\nfonder of the pictures of those we love, when they are at a great\ndistance, than when they are near to us. It seems to me, as if the\nfarther they are removed their pictures grow the more finished, and\nacquire a greater resemblance; at least, our imagination, which\nperpetually figures them to us by the desire we have of seeing them\nagain, makes us think so. By a peculiar power, Love can make that\nseem life itself, which, as soon as the loved object returns, is\nnothing but a little canvas and dead colours. I have your picture in\nmy room; I never pass by it without stopping to look at it; and yet\nwhen you were present with me, I scarce ever cast my eyes upon it. If\na picture, which is but a mute representation of an object, can give\nsuch pleasure, what cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can\nspeak; they have in them all that force which expresses the\ntransports of the heart; they have all the fire of our passions; they\ncan raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present;\nthey have all the softness and delicacy of speech, and sometimes a\nboldness of expression even beyond it.\n\nWe may write to each other; so innocent a pleasure is not\nforbidden us. Let us not lose, through negligence, the only happiness\nwhich is left us, and the only one, perhaps, which the malice of our\nenemies can never ravish from us. I shall read that you are my\nhusband, and you shall see me address you as a wife. In spite of all\nyour misfortunes, you may be what you please in your letter. Letters\nwere first invented for comforting such solitary wretches as myself.\nHaving lost the substantial pleasures of seeing and possessing you, I\nshall in some measure compensate this loss by the satisfaction I\nshall find in your writing. There I shall read your most secret\nthoughts; I shall carry them always about me; I shall kiss them every\nmoment: if you can be capable of any jealousy, let it be for the fond\ncaresses I shall bestow on your letters, and envy only the happiness\nof those rivals. That writing may be no trouble to you, write always\nto me carelessly, and without study: I had rather read the dictates\nof the heart than of the brain. I cannot live if you do not tell me\nyou always love me; but that language ought to be so natural to you,\nthat I believe you cannot speak otherwise to me without great\nviolence to yourself. And since, by that melancholy relation to your\nfriend, you have awakened all my sorrows, it is but reasonable you\nshould allay them by some marks of an inviolable love.\n\nI do not, however, reproach you for the innocent artifice you made\nuse of to comfort a person in affliction, by comparing his misfortune\nto another much greater. Charity is ingenious in finding out such\npious artifices, and to be commended for using them. But do you owe\nnothing more to us than to that friend, be the friendship between you\never so intimate? We are called your sisters; we call ourselves your\nChildren; and if it were possible to think of any expression which\ncould signify a dearer relation, or a more affectionate regard and\nmutual obligation between us, we would use them: if we could be so\nungrateful as not to speak our just acknowledgments to you, this\nchurch, these altars, these Walls, would reproach our silence, and\nspeak for us, But without leaving it to that, it will be always a\npleasure to me to say, that you only are the founder of this house;\nit is wholly your work. You, by inhabiting here, have given fame and\nfunction to a place known before only for robberies and murders. You\nhave, in the literal sense, made the den of thieves a house of\nprayer. These cloisters owe nothing to public charities; our walls\nwere not raised by the usury of publicans, nor their foundations laid\nin base extortion. The God whom we serve sees nothing but innocent\nriches and harmless votaries, whom you have placed here. Whatever\nthis young vineyard is, is owing all to you; and it is your part to\nemploy your whole care to cultivate and improve it; this ought to be\none of the principal affairs of your life. Though our holy\nrenunciation, our vows, and our manner of life, seem to secure us\nfrom all temptations; though our walls and grates prohibit all\napproaches, yet it is the outside only, the bark of the tree is\ncovered from injuries; while the sap of original corruption may\nimperceptibly spread within, even to the heart, and prove fatal to\nthe most promising plantation, unless continual care be taken to\ncultivate and secure it. Virtue in us is grafted upon Nature and the\nWoman; the one is weak, and the other is always changeable. To plant\nthe Lord's vine is a work of no little labour; and after it is\nplanted it will require great application and diligence to manure it.\nThe Apostle of the Gentiles; as great a labourer as he was, says, _He\nhath planted, and Apollo hath watered; but it is God that giveth the\nincrease._ Paul had planted the Gospel among the Corinthians, by\nhis holy and earnest preaching; _Apollos_, a zealous disciple of\nthat great master, continued to cultivate it by frequent\nexhortations; and the grace of God, which their constant prayers,\nimplored for that church, made the endeavours of both successful.\n\nThis ought to be an example for your conduct towards us. I know\nyou are not slothful; yet your labours are not directed to us; your\ncares are wasted upon a set of men whose thoughts are only earthly,\nand you refuse to reach out your hand to support those who are weak\nand staggering in their way to heaven, and who, with all their\nendeavours, can scarcely preserve themselves from falling. You fling\nthe pearls of the gospel before swine, when you speak to those who\nare filled with the good things of this world, and nourished with the\nfatness of the earth; and you neglect the innocent sheep, who, tender\nas they are, would yet follow you thro' deserts and mountains. Why\nare such pains thrown away upon the ungrateful, while not a thought\nis bestowed upon your children, whose souls would be filled with a\nsense of your goodness? But why should I intreat you in the name of\nyour children? Is it possible I should fear obtaining any thing of\nyou, when I ask it in my own name? And must I use any other prayers\nthan my own to prevail upon you? The St. Austins, Tertullians, and\nJeromes, have wrote to the Eudoxas, Paulas, and Melanias; and can you\nread those names, though of saints, and not remember mine? Can it be\ncriminal for you to imitate St. Jerome, and discourse with me\nconcerning the Scripture? or Tertullian, and preach mortification? or\nSt. Austin, and explain to me the nature of grace? Why should I only\nreap no advantage from your learning? When you write to me, you will\nwrite to your wife. Marriage has made such a correspondence lawful;\nand since you can, without giving the least scandal, satisfy me, why\nwill you not? I have a barbarous uncle, whose inhumanity is a\nsecurity against any criminal desire which tenderness and the\nremembrance of our past enjoyments might inspire. There is nothing\nthat can cause you any fear; you need not fly to conquer. You may see\nme, hear my sighs, and be a witness of all my sorrows, without\nincurring any danger, since you can only relieve me with tears and\nwords. If I have put myself into a cloister with reason, persuade me\nto continue in it with devotion: you have been the occasion of all my\nmisfortunes, you therefore must be the instrument of all my comforts.\n\nYou cannot but remember, (for what do not lovers remember?) with\nwhat pleasure I have past whole days in hearing your discourse. How,\nwhen you were absent, I shut myself from everyone to write to you;\nhow uneasy I was till my letter had come to your hands; what artful\nmanagement it required to engage confidents. This detail, perhaps,\nsurprises you, and you are in pain for what will fellow. But I am no\nlonger ashamed that my passion has had no bounds for you; for I have\ndone more than all this: I have hated myself that I might love you; I\ncame hither to ruin myself in a perpetual imprisonment, that I might\nmake you live quiet and easy. Nothing but virtue, joined to a love\nperfectly disengaged from the commerce of the senses, could have\nproduced such effect. Vice never inspires any thing like this; it is\ntoo much enslaved to the body. When we love pleasures, we love the\nliving, and not the dead; we leave off burning with desire for those\nwho can no longer burn for us. This was my cruel uncle's notions; he\nmeasured my virtue by the frailty of my sex, and thought it was the\nman, and not the person, I loved. But he has been guilty to no\npurpose. I love you more than ever; and to revenge myself of him, I\nwill still love you with all the tenderness of my soul till the last\nmoment of my life. If formerly my affection for you was not so pure,\nif in those days the mind and the body shared in the pleasure of\nloving you, I often told you, even then, that I was more pleased with\npossessing your heart than with any other happiness, and the man was\nthe thing I least valued in you.\n\nYou cannot but be entirely persuaded of this by the extreme\nunwillingness I showed to marry you: tho' I knew that the name of\nWife was honourable in the world, and holy in religion, yet the name\nof your mistress had greater charms, because it was more free. The\nbonds of matrimony, however honourable, still bear with them a\nnecessary engagement; and I was very unwilling to be necessitated to\nlove always a man who, perhaps, would not always love me. I despised\nthe name of Wife, that I might live happy with that of Mistress; and\nI find, by your letter to your friend, you have not forgot that\ndelicacy of passion in a woman who loved you always with the utmost\ntenderness, and yet wished to love you more, you have very justly\nobserved in your letter, that I esteemed those public engagements\ninsipid which form alliances only to be dissolved by death, and which\nput life and love under the same unhappy necessity. But you have not\nadded how often I have made protestations that it was infinitely\npreferable to me to live with _Abelard_ as his mistress than\nwith any other as empress of the world, and that I was more happy in\nobeying you, than I should have been in lawfully captivating the lord\nof the universe. Riches and pomp are not the charms of love. True\ntenderness make us to separate the lover from all that is external to\nhim, and setting aside his quality, fortune, and employments,\nconsider him singly by himself.\n\n'Tis not love, but the desire of riches and honour, which makes\nwomen run into the embraces of an indolent husband. Ambition, not\naffection, forms such marriages. I believe indeed they may be\nfollowed with some honours and advantages, but I can never think that\nthis is the way to enjoy the pleasures of an affectionate union, nor\nto feel those secret and charming emotions of hearts that have long\nstrove to be united. These martyrs of marriage pine always for large\nfortunes, which they think they have lost. The wife sees husbands\nricher that her own, and the husband wives better portioned than his.\nTheir interested vows occasion regret, and regret produces hatred.\nThey soon part, or always desire it. This restless and tormenting\npassion punishes them for aiming at other advantages of love than\nlove itself.\n\nIf there is any thing which may properly be called happiness here\nbelow, I am persuaded it is in the union of two persons who love each\nother with perfect liberty, who are united by a secret inclination,\nand satisfied with each other's merit; their hearts are full and\nleave no vacancy for any other passion; they enjoy perpetual\ntranquillity, because they enjoy content.\n\nIf I could believe you as truly persuaded of my merit as I am of\nyours, I might say there has been such a time when we were such a\npair. Alas! how was it possible I should not be certain of your\nmerit? If I could ever have doubted it, the universal esteem would\nhave made me determine in your favour. What country, what city, has\nnot desired your presence? Could you ever retire but you drew the\neyes and hearts of all after you? Did not every one rejoice in having\nseen you? Even women, breaking through the laws of decorum, which\ncustom had imposed upon them, showed manifestly they felt something\nmore for you than esteem. I have known some who have been profuse in\ntheir husband's praises, who have yet envied my happiness, and given\nstrong intimations they could have refused you nothing. But what\ncould resist you? Your reputation, which so much soothed the vanity\nof our sex; your air, your manner; that life in your eyes, which so\nadmirably expressed the vivacity of your mind; your conversation with\nthat ease and elegance which gave every thing you spoke such an\nagreeable and insinuating turn; in short, every thing spoke for you;\nvery different from some mere scholars, who, with all their learning,\nhave not the capacity to keep up an ordinary conversation, and with\nall their wit cannot win the affection of women who have a much less\nshare than themselves.\n\nWith what ease did you compose verses? and yet those ingenious\ntrifles, which were but a recreation after your more serious studies,\nare still the entertainment and delight of persons of the best taste.\nThe smallest song, nay, the least sketch of any thing you made for\nme, had a thousand beauties capable of making it last as long as\nthere are love or lovers in the world. Thus those songs will be sung\nin honour of other women which you designed only for me? and those\ntender and natural expressions which spoke your love will help others\nto explain their passion, with much more advantage than what they\nthemselves are capable of.\n\nWhat rivals did your gallantries of this kind occasion me? How\nmany ladies laid claim to them? 'Twas a tribute their self-love paid\nto their beauty. How many have I seen with sighs declare their\npassion for you, when, after some common visit you had made them,\nthey chanced to be complimented for the Sylvia of your poems? others,\nin despair and envy, have reproached me, that I had no charms but\nwhat your wit bestowed on me, nor in any thing the advantage over\nthem but in being beloved by you. Can you believe if I tell you,\nthat, notwithstanding the vanity of my sex, I thought myself\npeculiarly happy in having a lover to whom I was obliged for my\ncharms, and took a secret pleasure in being admired by a man who,\nwhen he pleased, could raise his mistress to the character of a\ngoddess? Pleased with your glory only, I read with delight all those\npraises you offered me, and without reflecting how little I deserved,\nI believed myself such as you described me, that I might be more\ncertain I pleased you.\n\nBut oh! where is that happy time fled? I now lament my lover, and\nof all my joys there remains nothing but the painful remembrance that\n_they are past_. Now learn, all you my rivals who once viewed my\nhappiness with such jealous eyes, that he you once envied me can\nnever more be yours or mine. I loved him, my love was his crime, and\nthe cause of his punishment. My beauty once charmed him: pleased with\neach other, we passed our brightest days in tranquillity and\nhappiness. If that was a crime, 'tis a crime I am yet fond of, and I\nhave no other regret, than that against my will I must necessarily be\ninnocent. But what do I say? My misfortune was to have cruel\nrelations, whose malice disturbed the calm we enjoyed. Had they been\ncapable of the returns of reason, I had now been happy in the\nenjoyment of my dear husband. Oh! how cruel were they when their\nblind fury urged a villain to surprise you in your sleep! Where was\nI? Where was your _Heloise_ then? What joy should I have had in\ndefending my lover! I would have guarded you from violence, though at\nthe expence of my life; my cries and the shrieks alone would have\nstopped the hand.--! Oh! whither does the excess of passion\nhurry me? Here love is shocked, and modesty, joined with despair,\ndeprive me of words. 'Tis eloquence to be silent, where no expression\ncan reach the greatness of the misfortune.\n\nBut, tell me, whence proceeds your neglect of me since my being\nprofessed? You know nothing moved me to it but your disgrace, nor did\nI give any consent but yours. Let me hear what is the occasion of\nyour coldness, or give me leave to tell you now my opinion. Was it\nnot the sole view of pleasure which engaged you to me? and has not my\ntenderness, by leaving you nothing to wish for, extinguished your\ndesires? Wretched _Heloise_! You could please when you wished to\navoid it; you merited incense, when you could remove to a distance\nthe hand that offered it; but since your heart has been softened, and\nhas yielded; since you have devoted and sacrificed yourself, you are\ndeserted and forgotten. I am convinced, by sad experience, that\nit is natural to avoid those to whom we have been too much obliged;\nand that uncommon generosity produces neglect rather than\nacknowledgement. My heart surrendered too soon to gain the esteem of\nthe conqueror; you took it without difficulty, and give it up easily.\nBut, ungrateful as you are, I will never content to it. And though in\nthis place I ought not to retain a wish of my own, yet I have ever\nsecretly preserved the desire of being beloved by you. When I\npronounced my sad vow, I then had about me your last letter, in which\nyou protested you would be wholly mine, and would never live but to\nlove me. 'Tis to you, therefore, I have offered myself; you had my\nheart, and I had yours; do not demand any thing back; you must bear\nwith my passion as a thing which of right belongs to you, and from\nwhich you can no ways be disengaged.\n\nAlas! what folly is it to talk at this rate? I see nothing here\nbut marks of the Deity, and I speak of nothing but man! You have been\nthe cruel occasion of this by your conduct. Unfaithful man! ought you\nat once to break off loving me. Why did you not deceive me for a\nwhile, rather than immediately abandon me? If you had given me at\nleast but some faint signs even of a dying passion, I myself had\nfavoured the deception. But in vain would I flatter myself that you\ncould be constant; you have left me no colour of making your excuse.\nI am earnestly desirous to see you; but if that be impossible, I will\ncontent myself with a few lines from your hand. Is it so hard for one\nwho loves to write? I ask for none of your letters filled with\nlearning, and writ for reputation; all I desire is such letters as\nthe heart dictates, and which the hand can scarce write fast enough.\nHow did I deceive myself with the hopes that you would be wholly mine\nwhen I took the veil, and engaged myself to live for ever under your\nlaws? For in being professed, I vowed no more than to be yours only,\nand I obliged myself voluntarily to a confinement in which you\ndesired to place me. Death only then can make me leave the place\nwhere you have fixed me; and then too, my ashes shall rest, here and\nwait for your, in order to shew my obedience and devotedness to you\nto the latest moment possible.\n\nWhy should I conceal from you the secret of my call? You know it\nwas neither zeal nor devotion which led me to the cloister. Your\nconscience is too faithful a witness to permit you to disown it. Yet\nhere I am, and here I will remain; to this place an unfortunate love,\nand my cruel relations, have condemned me. But if you do not continue\nyour concern for me, If I lose your affection, what have I gained by\nmy imprisonment? What recompense can I hope for? The unhappy\nconsequence of a criminal conduit, and your disgraces, have put on me\nthis habit of chastity, and not the sincere desire of being truly\npenitent. Thus I strive and labour in vain. Among those whose are\nwedded to God I serve a man: among the heroic supporters of the\nCross, I am a poor slave to a human passion: at the head of a\nreligious community I am devoted to _Abelard_ only. What a\nprodigy am I? Enlighten me, O Lord! Does thy grace or my own despair\ndraw these words from me? I am sensible I am in the Temple of\nChastity, covered only with the ashes of that fire which hath\nconsumed us. I am here, I confess, a sinner, but one who, far from\nweeping for her sins, weeps only for her lover; far from abhorring\nher crimes, endeavours only to add to them; and who, with a weakness\nunbecoming the state I am in, please myself continually with the\nremembrance of past actions, when it is impossible to renew them.\n\nGood God! what is all this! I reproach myself for my own faults, I\naccuse you for yours, and to what purpose? Veiled as I am, behold in\nwhat a disorder you have plunged me! How difficult is it to fight\nalways for duty against inclination? I know what obligations this\nveil lays on me, but I feel more strongly what power a long habitual\npassion has over my heart. I am conquered by my inclination. My love\ntroubles my mind, and disorders my will. Sometimes I am swayed by the\nsentiments of piety which arise in me, and the next moment I yield up\nmy imagination to all that is amorous and tender. I tell you to-day\nwhat I would not have said to you yesterday. I had resolved to love\nyou no more; I considered I had made a vow, taken the veil, and am as\nit were dead and buried; yet there rises unexpectedly from the bottom\nof my heart a passion which triumphs over all these notions, and\ndarkens all my reason and devotion. You reign in such inward retreats\nof my soul, that I know not where to attack you. When I endeavour to\nbreak those chains by which I am bound to you, I only deceive myself,\nand all the efforts I am able to make serve but to bind them the\nfaster. Oh, for Pity's sake help a wretch to renounce her desires\nherself, and if it be possible, even to renounce you! If you are a\nlover, a father, help a mistress, comfort a child! These tender\nnames, cannot they move you? Yield either to pity or love. If you\ngratify my request I shall continue a Religious without longer\nprofaning my calling. I am ready to humble myself with you to the\nwonderful providence of God, who does all things for our\nsanctification; who, by his grace, pacifies all that is vicious and\ncorrupt in the principle, and; by the inconceivable riches of his\nmercy, draws us to himself against our wishes, and by degrees opens\nour eyes to discern the greatness of his bounty, which at first we\nwould not understand.\n\nI thought to end my letter here. But now I am complaining against\nyou, I must unload my heart, and tell you all its jealousies, and\nreproaches. Indeed I thought it something hard, that when we had both\nengaged to consecrate ourselves to Heaven, you should insist upon\ndoing it first. Does _Abelard_ then, said I, suspect he shall\nsee renewed in me the example of Lot's wife, who could not forbear\nlooking back when she left Sodom? If my youth and sex might give\noccasion of fear that I should return to the world, could not my\nbehaviour, my fidelity, and this heart which you ought to know, could\nnot banish such ungenerous apprehensions? This distrustful foresight\ntouched me sensibly. I said to myself, there was a time when he could\nrely upon my bare word, and does he now want vows to secure himself\nof me? What occasion have I given him in the whole course of my life\nto admit the least suspicion? I could meet him at all his\nassignations, and would I decline following him to the feats of\nholiness? I who have not refused to be a victim of pleasure to\ngratify him, can he think I would refuse to be a sacrifice of honour\nto obey him? Has Vice such charms to well-born souls? and, when we\nhave once drank of the cup of sinners, is it with such difficulty\nthat we take the chalice of saints? Or did you believe yourself a\ngreater master to teach vice than virtue, or did you think it was\nmore easy to persuade me to the first than the latter? No, this\nsuspicion would be injurious to both. Virtue is too amiable not to be\nembraced, when you reveal her charms; and Vice too hideous not to be\navoided, when you show her deformities. Nay, when you please, any\nthing seems lovely to me, and nothing is frightful or difficult when\nyou are by. I am only weak when I am alone and unsupported by you,\nand therefore it depends on you alone that I may be such as you\ndesire. I wish to Heav'n you had not such a power over me. If you had\nany occasion to fear, you would be less negligent. But what is there\nfor you to fear? I have done too much, and now have nothing more to\ndo but to triumph over your ingratitude. When we lived happy\ntogether, you might have made it doubt whether pleasure or affection\nunited me more to you; but the place from whence I write to you must\nnow have entirely taken away that doubt. Even here I love you as much\nas ever I did in the world. If I had loved pleasures, could I not yet\nhave found means to have gratified myself? I was not above twenty-two\nyears old; and there were other men left though I was deprived of\n_Abelard_ and yet did I not bury myself alive in a nunnery, and\ntriumph over love, at an age capable of enjoying it in its full\nlatitude? 'Tis to you I sacrifice these remains of a transitory\nbeauty, these widowed nights and tedious days which I pass without\nseeing you; and since you cannot possess them, I take them from you\nto offer them to Heaven, and to make, alas! but a secondary oblation\nof my heart, my days, and my life!\n\nI am sensible I have dwelt too long on this head; I ought to speak\nless to you of your misfortunes, and of my own sufferings, for love\nof you. We tarnish the lustre of our most beautiful actions when we\napplaud them ourselves. This is true, and yet there is a time when we\nmay with decency commend ourselves; when we have to do with those\nwhom base ingratitude has stupefied, we cannot too much praise our\nown good actions. Now, if you were of this sort of men, this would be\na home-reflection on you. Irresolute as I am, I still love you, and\nyet I must hope for nothing, I have renounced life, and stripped\nmyself of every thing, but I find I neither have nor can renounce my\n_Abelard_. Though I have lost my lover, I still preserve my\nlove. O vows! O convent! I have not lost my humanity under your\ninexorable discipline! You have not made me marble by changing my\nhabit. My heart is not totally hardened by my perpetual imprisonment;\nI am still sensible to what has touched me, though, alas I ought\nnot to be so. Without offending your commands, permit a lover to\nexhort me to live in obedience to your rigorous rules. Your yoke will\nbe lighter, if that hand support me under it; your exercises will be\namiable, if he shows me their advantage. Retirement, solitude! you\nwill not appear terrible, if I may but still know I have any place in\nhis memory. A heart which has been so sensibly affected as mine\ncannot soon be indifferent. We fluctuate long between love and hatred\nbefore we can arrive at a happy tranquillity, and we always flatter\nourselves with some distant hope that we shall not be quite\nforgotten.\n\nYes, _Abelard_, I conjure you by the chains I bear here to\nease the weight of them, and make them as agreeable as I wish they\nwere to me. Teach me the maxims of divine love. Since you have\nforsaken me, I glory in being wedded to Heaven. My heart adores that\ntitle, and disdains any other. Tell me how this divine love is\nnourished, how it operates, and purifies itself. When we were tossed\nin the ocean of the world, we could hear of nothing but your verses,\nwhich published every where our joys and our pleasures: now we are in\nthe haven of grace, is it not fit that you should discourse to me of\nthis happiness, and teach me every thing which might improve and\nheighten it? Shew me the same complaisance in my present condition as\nyou did when we were in the world. Without changing the ardour of our\naffections, let us change their object; let us leave our songs, and\nsing hymns; let us lift up our hearts to God, and have no transports\nbut for his glory.\n\nI expect this from you as a thing you cannot refuse me. God has a\npeculiar right over the hearts of great men which he has created.\nWhen he pleases to touch them, he ravishes them, and lets them not\nspeak nor breathe but for his glory. Till that moment of grace\narrives, O think of me----do not forget me;--remember my love,\nmy fidelity, my constancy; love me as your mistress, cherish\nme as your child, your sister, your wife. Consider that I still love\nyou, and yet strive to avoid loving you. What a word, what a design\nis this! I shake with horror, and my heart revolts against what I\nsay. I shall blot all my paper with tears--I end my long letter,\nwishing you, if you can desire it, (would to Heaven I could,) for\never adieu.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT.\n\n\nThat the reader may make a right judgment on the following Letter,\nit is proper he should be informed of the condition _Abelard_\nwas in when he wrote it. The Duke of Britany whose subject he was\nborn, jealous of the glory of France, which then engrossed all the\nmost famous scholars of Europe, and being, besides, acquainted with\nthe persecution _Abelard_ had suffered from his enemies, had\nnominated him to the Abbey of St. Gildas, and, by this benefaction\nand mark of his esteem, engaged him to past the rest of his days in\nhis dominions. He received this favour with great joy, imagining,\nthat by leaving France he should lose his passion, and gain a new\nturn of mind upon entering into his new dignity. The Abbey of St.\nGildas is seated upon a rock, which the sea beats with its waves.\n_Abelard_, who had lain on himself the necessity of vanquishing\na passion which absence had in a great measure weakened, endeavoured\nin this solitude to extinguish the remains of it by his tears. But\nupon his receiving the foregoing letter he could not resist so\npowerful an attack, but proves as weak and as much to be pitied as\n_Heloise_. 'Tis not then a master or director that speaks to\nher, but a man who had loved her, and loves her still: and under this\ncharacter we are to consider _Abelard_ when he wrote the\nfollowing Letter. If he seems, by some passages in it, to have begun\nto feel the motions of divine grace they appear as yet to be only by\nstarts, and without any uniformity.", + "author": "Heloise", + "recipient": "Abelard", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER III.", + "body": "_Abelard_ to _Heloise._\n\n\nCould I have imagined that a letter not written to yourself could\nhave fallen into your hands, I had been more cautious not to have\ninserted any thing in it which might awaken the memory of our past\nmisfortunes. I described with boldness the series of my disgraces to\na friend, in order to make him less sensible of the loss he had\nsustained. If by this well meaning artifice I have disturbed you, I\npurpose here to dry up those tears which the sad description\noccasioned you to shed: I intend to mix my grief with yours, and pour\nout my heart before you; in short, to lay open before your eyes all\nmy trouble, and the secrets of my soul, which my vanity has hitherto\nmade me conceal from the rest of the world, and which you now force\nfrom me, in spite of my resolutions to the contrary.\n\nIt is true, that in a sense of the afflictions which had befallen\nus, and observing that no change of our condition was to be expected;\nthat those prosperous days which had seduced us were now past, and\nthere remained nothing but to eraze out of our minds, by painful\nendeavours, all marks and remembrance of them, I had wished to find\nin philosophy and religion a remedy for my disgrace; I searched out\nan asylum to secure me from love. I was come to the sad experiment of\nmaking vows to harden my heart. But what have I gained by this? If my\npassion has been put under a restraint, my ideas yet remain. I\npromise myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it\nwithout loving you; and am pleased with that thought. My love is not\nat all weakened by those reflections I make in order to free myself.\nThe silence I am surrounded with makes me more sensible to its\nimpressions; and while I am unemployed with any other things, this\nmakes itself the business of my whole vacation; till, after a\nmultitude of useless endeavours, I begin to persuade myself that it\nis a superfluous trouble to drive to free myself; and that it is\nwisdom sufficient if I can conceal from every one but you my\nconfusion and weakness.\n\nI removed to a distance from your person, with an intention of\navoiding you as an enemy; and yet I incessantly seek for you in my\nmind; I recall your image in my memory; and in such different\ndisquietudes I betray and contradict myself. I hate you: I love you.\nShame presses me on all sides: I am at this moment afraid lest I\nshould seem more indifferent than you, and yet I am ashamed to\ndiscover my trouble.\n\nHow weak are we in ourselves, if we do not support ourselves on\nthe cross of Christ? Shall we have so little courage, and shall that\nuncertainty your heart labours with, of serving two masters, affect\nmine too? You see the confusion I am in, what I blame myself for, and\nwhat I suffer. Religion commands me to pursue virtue, since I have\nnothing to hope for from love. But love still preserves its dominion\nin my fancy, and entertains itself with past pleasures. Memory\nsupplies the place of a mistress. Piety and duty are not always the\nfruits of retirement; even in deserts, when the dew of heaven falls\nnot on us, we love what we ought no longer to love. The passions,\nstirred up by solitude, fill those regions of death and silence; and\nit is very seldom that what ought to be is truly followed there, and\nthat God only is loved and served. Had I always had such notions as\nthese, I had instructed you better. You call me your Master 'tis\ntrue, you were intrusted to my care. I saw you, I was earnest to\nteach you vain sciences; it cost you your innocence, and me my\nliberty. Your uncle, who was fond of you, became therefore me enemy,\nand revenge himself on me. If now, having lost the power of\nsatisfying my passion, I had lost too that of loving you, I should\nhave some consolation. My enemies would have given me that\ntranquillity which Origen purchased by a crime. How miserable am I!\nMy misfortune does not loose my chains, my passion grows furious by\nimpotence; and that desire I still have for you amidst all my\ndisgraces makes me more unhappy than the misfortune itself. I find\nmyself much more guilty in my thoughts of you, even amidst my tears,\nthan in possessing yourself when I was in full liberty. I continually\nthink of you, I continually call to mind that day when you bestowed\non me the first marks of your tenderness. In this condition, O Lord!\nif I run to prostrate myself before thy altars, if I beseech thee to\npity me, why does not the pure flame of thy Spirit consume the\nsacrifice that is offered to thee? Cannot this habit of penitence\nwhich I wear interest Heaven to treat me more favourably? But that is\nstill inexorable; because my passion still lives in me, the fire is\nonly covered over with deceitful ashes, and cannot be extinguished\nbut by extraordinary graces. We deceive men, but nothing is hid from\nGod.\n\nYou tell me, that it is for me you live under that veil which\ncovers you; why do you profane your vocation with such words? Why\nprovoke a jealous God by a blasphemy? I hoped, after our separation,\nyou would have changed your sentiments; I hoped too, that God would\nhave delivered me from the tumult of my senses, and that contrariety\nwhich reigns in my heart. We commonly die to the affections of those\nwhom we see no more, and they to ours: absence is the tomb of love.\nBut to me absence is an unquiet remembrance of what I once loved,\nwhich continually torments me. I flattered myself, that when I should\nsee you no more, you would only rest in my memory, without giving any\ntrouble to my mind; that Britany and the sea would inspire other\nthoughts; that my fasts and studies would by degrees eraze you out of\nmy heart; but in spite of severe fasts and redoubled studies, in\nspite of the distance of three hundred miles which separates us, your\nimage, such as you describe yourself in your veil, appears to me, and\nconfounds all my resolutions.\n\nWhat means have I not used? I have armed my own hands against\nmyself? I have exhausted my strength in constant exercises; I comment\nupon St. Paul; I dispute with Aristotle; in short, I do all I used to\ndo before I loved you, but all in vain; nothing can be successful\nthat opposes you. Oh! do not add to my miseries by your constancy;\nforget, if you can, your favours, and that right which they claim\nover me; permit me to be indifferent. I envy their happiness who have\nnever loved; how quiet and easy are they! But the tide of pleasures\nhas always a reflux of bitterness. I am but too much convinced now of\nthis; but though I am no longer deceived by love, I am not cured:\nwhile my reason condemns it, my heart declares for it. I am\ndeplorable that I have not the ability to free myself from a passion\nwhich so many circumstances, this place, my person, and my disgraces,\ntend to destroy. I yield, without considering that a resistance would\nwipe out my past offences, and would procure me in their stead merit\nand repose. Why should you use eloquence to reproach me for my\nflight, and for my silence? Spare the recital of our assignations,\nand your constant exactness to them; without calling up such\ndisturbing thoughts, I have enough to suffer. What great advantages\nwould philosophy give us over other men, if by studying it we could\nlearn to govern our passions? but how humbled ought we to be when we\ncannot master them? What efforts, what relapses, what agitations, do\nwe undergo? and how long are we tossed in this confusion, unable to\nexert our reason, to possess our souls, or to rule our affections?\n\nWhat a troublesome employment is love! and how valuable is virtue\neven upon consideration of our own ease! Recoiled your extravagances\nof passion, guess at my distractions: number up our cares, if\npossible, our griefs, and our inquietudes; throw these things out of\nthe account, and let love have all its remaining softness and\npleasure. How little is that? and, yet for such shadows of\nenjoyments, which at first appeared to us, are we so weak our whole\nlives that we cannot now help writing to each other, covered as we\nare with sackcloth and ashes! How much happier should we be, if, by\nour humiliation and tears, we could make our repentance sure! The\nlove of pleasure is not eradicated out of the soul but by\nextraordinary efforts; it has so powerful a party in our breasts,\nthat we find it difficult to condemn it ourselves. What abhorrence\ncan I be said to have of my sins, if the objects of them are always\namiable to me? How can I separate from the person I love the passion\nI must detest? Will the tears I shed be sufficient to render it\nodious to me? I know not how it happens, there is always a pleasure\nin weeping for a beloved object. 'Tis difficult in our sorrow to\ndistinguish penitence from love. The memory of the crime, and the\nmemory of the object which has charmed us, are too nearly related to\nbe immediately separated: and the love of God in its beginning does\nnot wholly annihilate the love of the creature. But what excuses\ncould I not find in you, if the crime were excusable? Unprofitable\nhonour, troublesome riches, could never tempt me; but those charms,\nthat beauty, that air, which I yet behold at this instant, have\noccasioned my fall. Your looks were the beginning of my guilt; your\neyes, your discourse, pierced my heart; and in spite of that ambition\nand glory which filled it, and offered to make defence, love soon\nmade itself master. God, in order to punish me, forsook me. His\nprovidence permitted those consequences which have since happened.\nYou are no longer of the world; you have renounced it; I am a\nReligious, devoted to solitude; shall we make no advantage of our\ncondition? Would you destroy my piety in its infant-state? Would you\nhave me forsake the convent into which I am but newly entered? Must I\nrenounce my vows? I have made them in the presence of God; whither\nshall I fly from his wrath if I violate them? Suffer me to seek for\nease in my duty; how difficult it is to procure that! I pass whole\ndays and nights alone in this cloister, without closing my eyes. My\nlove burns fiercer, amidst the happy indifference of those who\nsurround me, and my heart is at once pierced with your sorrows and\nits own. Oh what a loss have I sustained, when I consider your\nconstancy! What pleasures have I missed enjoying! I ought not to\nconfess this weakness to you: I am sensible I commit a fault: if I\ncould have showed more firmness of mind, I should, perhaps, have\nprovoked your resentment against me, and your anger might work that\neffect in you which your virtue could not. If in the world I\npublished my weakness by verses and love-songs, ought not the dark\ncells of this house to conceal that weakness, at least, under an\nappearance of piety? Alas! I am still the same! or if I avoid the\nevil, I cannot do the good; and yet I ought to join both, in order to\nmake this manner of living profitable. But how difficult is this in\nthe trouble which surrounds me? Duty, reason, and decency, which,\nupon other occasions have such power over me, are here entirely\nuseless. The gospel is a language I do not understand, when it\nopposes my passion. Those oaths which I have taken before the holy\naltar, are feeble helps when opposed to you. Amidst so many voices\nwhich call me to my duty, I hear and obey nothing but the secret\ndictates of a desperate passion. Void of all relish for virtue, any\nconcern for my condition, or any application to my studies, I am\ncontinually present by my imagination where I ought not to be, and I\nfind I have no power, when I would at any time correct it. I feel a\nperpetual strife between my inclination and my duty. I find myself\nentirely a distracted lover; unquiet in the midst of silence, and\nrestless in this abode of peace and repose. How shameful is such a\ncondition!\n\nConsider me no more, I intreat you, as a founder, or any great\npersonage; your encomiums do but ill agree with such multiplied\nweaknesses. I am a miserable sinner, prostrate before my Judge, and,\nwith my face pressed to the earth, I mix my tears and my sighs in the\ndust, when the beams of grace and reason enlighten me. Come, see me\nin this posture, and solicit me to love you! Come, if you think fit,\nand in your holy habit thrust yourself between God and me and be a\nwall of separation! Come, and force from me those sighs, thoughts,\nand vows, which I owe to him only. Assist the evil spirits, and be\nthe instrument of their malice. What cannot you induce a heart to,\nwhose weakness you so perfectly know? But rather withdraw yourself,\nand contribute to my salvation. Suffer me to avoid destruction, I\nintreat you, by our former tenderest affection, and by our common\nmisfortune. It will always be the highest love to show none. I here\nrelease you of all your oaths and engagements. Be God's wholly, to\nwhom you are appropriated; I will never oppose so pious a design. How\nhappy shall I be if I thus lose you! then shall I be indeed a\nReligious, and you a perfect example of an Abbess.\n\nMake yourself amends by so glorious a choice; make your virtue a\nspectacle worthy men and angels: be humble among your children,\nassiduous in your choir, exact in your discipline, diligent in your\nreading; make even your recreations useful. Have you purchased your\nvocation at so slight a rate, as that you should not turn it to the\nbest advantage? Since you have permitted yourself to be abused by\nfalse doctrine, and criminal instructions, resist not those\ngood-counsels which grace and religion inspire me with. I will\nconfess to you, I have thought myself hitherto an abler master to\ninstill vice than to excite virtue, My false eloquence has only set\noff false good. My heart drunk with voluptuousness, could only\nsuggest terms proper and moving to recommend that. The cup of sinners\noverflows with so inchanting a sweetness and we are naturally so much\ninclined to taste it, that it needs only be offered to us. On the\nother hand, the chalice of saints is filled with a bitter draught,\nand nature starts from it. And yet you reproach me with cowardice for\ngiving it you first; I willingly submit to these accusations. I\ncannot enough admire the readiness you showed to take the religious\nhabit: bear, therefore, with courage the Cross, which you have taken\nup so resolutely. Drink of the chalice of saints, even to the bottom,\nwithout turning your eyes with uncertainty upon me, Let me remove far\nfrom you, and obey the apostle, who hath said, _Fly._\n\nYou intreat me to return, under a pretence of devotion, Your\nearnestness in this point creates a suspicion in me, and makes me\ndoubtful how to answer you. Should I commit an error here, my words\nwould blush, if I may say so, after the history of my misfortunes.\nThe Church is jealous of its glory, and commands that her children\nshould be induced to the practice of virtue by virtuous means. When\nwe have approached God after an unblameable manner, we may then with\nboldness invite others to him. But to forget _Heloise_, to see\nher no more, is what Heaven demands of _Abelard_; and to expect\nnothing from _Abelard_, to lose him even in idea, is what Heaven\nenjoins _Heloise_. To forget in the case of love is the most\nnecessary penitence, and the most difficult. It is easy to recount\nour faults. How many through indiscretion have made themselves a\nsecond pleasure of this, instead of confessing them with humility.\nThe only way to return to God is, by neglecting the creature which we\nhave adored, and adoring God whom we have neglected. This may appear\nharsh, but it must be done if we would be saved.\n\nTo make it more easy, observe why I pressed you to your vow before\nI took mine; and pardon my sincerity, and the design I have of\nmeriting your neglect and hatred, if I conceal nothing from you of\nthe particular you inquire after. When I saw myself so oppressed with\nmy misfortune, my impotency made me jealous, and I considered all\nmen as my rivals. Love has more of distrust than assurance. I was\napprehensive of abundance of things, because I saw I had abundance of\ndefects; and being tormented with fear from my own example, I\nimagined your heart, which had been so much accustomed to love, would\nnot be long without entering into a new engagement. Jealousy can\neasily believe to most dreadful consequences, I was desirous to put\nmyself out of a possibility of doubting you. I was very urgent to\npersuade you, that decency required you should withdraw from the\nenvious eyes of the world; that modesty, and our friendship, demanded\nit; nay, that your own safety obliged you to it; and, that after such\na revenge taken upon me, you could expect to be secure no where but\nin a convent.\n\nI will do you justice; you were very easily persuaded to it. My\njealousy secretly triumphed over your innocent compliance; and yet,\ntriumphant as I was, I yielded you up to God with an unwilling heart.\nI still kept my gift as much as was possible, and only parted with it\nthat I might effectually put it out of the power of men. I did not\npersuade you to religion out of any regard to your happiness, but\ncondemned you to it, like an enemy who destroys what he cannot carry\noff. And yet you heard my discourses with kindness; you sometimes\ninterrupted me with tears, and pressed me to acquaint you which of\nthe convents was most in my esteem. What a comfort did I feel in\nseeing you shut up! I was now at ease, and took a satisfaction in\nconsidering that you did not continue long in the world after my\ndisgrace, and that you would return into it no more.\n\nBut still this was doubtful. I imagined women were incapable of\nmaintaining any constant resolutions, unless they were forced by the\nnecessity of fixed vows. I wanted those vows, and Heaven itself, for\nyour security, that I might no longer distrust you. Ye holy mansions,\nye impenetrable retreats, from what numberless apprehensions have you\nfreed me? Religion and Piety keep a strict guard round your grates\nand high walls. What a haven of rest is this to a jealous mind? and\nwith what impatience did I endeavour it! I went every day trembling\nto exhort you to this sacrifice; I admired, without daring to mention\nit then, a brightness in your beauty which I had never observed\nbefore. Whether it was the bloom of a rising virtue, or an\nanticipation of that great loss I was going to suffer, I was not\ncurious in examining the cause, but only hastened your being\nprofessed. I engaged your Prioress in my guilt by a criminal bribe,\nwith which I purchased the right of burying you. The professed of the\nhouse were also bribed, and concealed from you, by my directions, all\ntheir scruples and disgusts. I omitted nothing, either little or\ngreat: and if you had escaped all my snares, I myself would not have\nretired: I was resolved to follow you every where. This shadow of\nmyself would always have pursued your steps, and continually\noccasioned either your confusion or fear, which would have been a\nsensible gratification to me.\n\nBut, thanks to Heaven, you resolved to make a vow; I accompanied\nyou with terror to the foot of the altar: and while you stretched out\nyour hand to touch the sacred cloth, I heard you pronounce distinctly\nthose fatal words which for ever separated you from all men. 'Till\nthen your beauty and youth seemed to oppose my design, and to\nthreaten your return into the world. Might not a small temptation\nhave changed you? Is it possible to renounce one's self entirely at\nthe age of two and twenty? at an age which claims the most absolute\nliberty, could you think the world no longer worthy of your regard?\nHow much did I wrong you, and what weakness did I impute to you? You\nwere in my imagination nothing but lightness and inconstancy. Might\nnot a young woman, at the noise of the flames, and the fall of Sodom,\nlook back, and pity some one person? I took notice of your eyes, your\nmotion, your air; I trembled at every thing. You may call such a\nself-interested conduct treachery, perfidiousness, murder. A love\nwhich was so like to hatred ought to provoke the utmost contempt and\nanger.\n\nIt is fit you should know, that the very moment when I was\nconvinced of your being entirely devoted to me, when I saw you were\ninfinitely worthy of all my love and acknowledgement, I imagined I\ncould love you no more; I thought it time to leave off giving you any\nmarks of affection; and I considered, that by your holy espousals you\nwere now the peculiar care of Heaven, even in the quality of a wife.\nMy jealousy seemed to be extinguished. When God only is our rival, we\nhave nothing to fear: and being in greater tranquillity than ever\nbefore, I dared even to offer up prayers, and beseech him to take you\naway from my eyes: but it was not a time to make rash prayers; and my\nfaith was too imperfect to let them be heard. He who sees the depth\nand secrets of all men's hearts, saw mine did not agree with my\nwords. Necessity and despair were the springs of this proceeding.\nThus I inadvertently offered an insult to Heaven rather than a\nsacrifice. God rejected my offering and my prayers, and continued my\npunishment, by suffering me to continue my love. Thus, under the\nguilt of your vows, and of the passion which preceded them, I must be\ntormented all the days of my life.\n\nIf God spoke to your heart, as to that of a Religious, whose\ninnocence had first engaged him to heap on it a thousand favours, I\nshould have matter of comfort; but to see both of us victims of a\ncriminal love; to see this love insult us, and invest itself with our\nvery habits, as with spoils it has taken from our devotion, fills me\nwith horror and trembling. Is this a state of reprobation? or are\nthese the consequences of a long drunkenness in profane love? We\ncannot say love is a drunkenness and a poison till we are illuminated\nby grace; in the mean time, it is an evil which we dote on. When we\nare under such a mistake the knowledge of our misery is the first\nstep towards amendment. Who does not know that it is for the glory of\nGod to find no other foundation in man for his mercy than man's very\nweakness? When he has shewed us this weakness, and we bewail it, he\nis ready to put forth his omnipotence to assist us. Let us say for\nour comfort that what we suffer is one of those long and terrible\ntemptations which have sometimes disturbed the vocations of the most\nHoly.\n\nGod can afford his presence to men, in order to soften their\ncalamities, whenever he shall think fit. It was his pleasure when you\ntook the veil, to draw you to him by his grace. I saw your eyes, when\nyou spoke your last farewell, fixed upon the cross. It was above six\nmonths before you wrote me a letter, nor during all that time did I\nreceive any message from you. I admired this silence, which I durst\nnot blame, and could not imitate. I wrote to you; you returned me no\nanswer. Your heart was then shut; but this guardian of the spouse is\nnow opened, he is withdrawn from it, and has left you alone. By\nremoving from you, he has made trial of you; call him back and strive\nto regain him. We must have the assistance of God that we may break\nour chains; we have engaged too deeply in love to free ourselves. Our\nfollies have penetrated even into the most sacred places. Our amours\nhave been matter of scandal to a whole kingdom. They are read and\nadmired; love which produced them has caused them to be described. We\nshall be a consolation for the failings of youth hereafter. Those who\noffend after us will think themselves less guilty. We are criminals\nwhose repentance is late. O may it be sincere! Let us repair, as far\nis possible, the evils we have done; and let France, which has been\nthe witness of our crimes, be astonished at our penitence. Let us\nconfound all who would imitate our guilt, let us take the part of God\nagainst ourselves, and by so doing prevent his judgment. Our former\nirregularities require tears, shame, and sorrow to expiate them. Let\nus offer up these sacrifices from our hearts; let us blush, let us\nweep. If in these weak beginnings, Lord, our heart is not entirely\nthine, let it at least be made sensible that it ought to be so!\n\nDeliver yourself, _Heloise_, from the shameful remains of a\npassion which has taken too deep root. Remember that the least\nthought for any other than God is adultery. If you could see me here,\nwith my meagre face and melancholy air, surrounded with numbers of\npersecuting monks, who are alarmed at my reputation for learning, and\noffended at my lean visage, as if I threatened them with a\nreformation; what would you say of my base sighs, and of those\nunprofitable tears which deceive these credulous men? Alas! I am\nhumbled under love, and not under the Cross. Pity me, and free\nyourself. If your vocation be, as you say, my work, deprive me not of\nthe merit of it by your continual inquietudes. Tell me that you, will\nhonour the habit which covers you, by an inward retirement. Fear God,\nthat you may be delivered from your frailties. Love him, if you would\nadvance in virtue. Be not uneasy in the cloister, for it is the\ndwelling of saints. Embrace your bands, they are the chains of Christ\nJesus: he will lighten them, and bear them with you, if you bear them\nwith humility.\n\nWithout growing severe to a passion which yet possesses you, learn\nfrom your own misery to succour your weak sisters; pity them upon\nconsideration of your own faults. And if any thoughts too natural\nshall importune you, fly to the foot of the Cross, and beg for mercy;\nthere are wounds open; lament before the dying Deity. At the head of\na religious society be not a slave, and having rule over queens,\nbegin to govern yourself. Blush at the least revolt of your senses.\nRemember, that even at the foot of the altar we often sacrifice to\nlying spirits, and that no incense can be more agreeable to them than\nthat which in those places burns in the heart of a Religious still\nsensible of passion and love. If, during your abode in the world,\nyour soul has acquired a habit of loving, feel it now no more but for\nJesus Christ, Repent of all the moments of your life which you have\nwasted upon the world, and upon pleasure; demand them of me, it is a\nrobbery which I am guilty of; take courage and boldly reproach me\nwith it.\n\nI have been indeed your master, but it was only to teach you sin.\nYou call me your Father; before I had any claim to this title I\ndeserved that of Parricide. I am your brother, but it is the\naffinity of our crimes that has purchased me that distinction. I am\ncalled your Husband, but it is after a public scandal. If you have\nabused the sanctity of so many venerable names in the superscription\nof your letters, to do me honour, and flatter your own passion, blot\nthem out, and place in their stead those of a Murtherer, a Villain,\nan Enemy, who has conspired against your honour, troubled your quiet,\nand betrayed your innocence. You would have perished thro' my means,\nbut by an extraordinary act of grace, which that you might be saved,\nhas thrown me down in the middle of my course.\n\nThis is the idea that you ought to have of a fugitive, who\nendeavours to deprive you of the hope of seeing him any more. But\nwhen love has once been sincere, how difficult it is to determine to\nlove no more? 'Tis a thousand times more easy to renounce the world\nthan love. I hate this deceitful faithless world; I think no more of\nit; but my heart, still wandering, will eternally make me feel the\nanguish of having lost you, in spite of all the convictions of my\nunderstanding. In the mean time tho' I so be so cowardly as to\nretract what you have read, do not suffer me to offer myself to your\nthoughts but under this last notion. Remember my last endeavours were\nto seduce your heart. You perished by my means, and I with you. The\nsame waves swallowed us both up. We waited for death with\nindifference, and the same death had carried us headlong to the same\npunishments. But Providence has turned off this blow, and our\nshipwreck has thrown us into an haven. There are some whom the mercy\nof God saves by afflictions. Let my salvation be the fruit of your\nprayers! let me owe it to your tears, or exemplary holiness! Tho' my\nheart, Lord! be filled with the love of one of thy creatures, thy\nhand can, when it pleases, draw out of it those ideas which fill its\nwhole capacity. To love _Heloise_ truly is to leave her entirely\nto that quiet which retirement and virtue afford. I have resolved it:\nthis letter shall be my last fault. Adieu.\n\nIf I die here, I will give orders that my body be carried to the\nhouse of the Paraclete. You shall see me in that condition; not to\ndemand tears from you, it will then be too late; weep rather for me\nnow, to extinguish that fire which burns me. You shall see me, to\nstrengthen your piety by the horror of this carcase; and my death,\nthen more eloquent than I can be, will tell you what you love when\nyou love a man. I hope you will be contented, when you have finished\nthis mortal life, to be buried near me. Your cold ashes need then\nfear nothing, and my tomb will, by that means, be more rich and more\nrenowned.", + "author": "Abelard & Heloise", + "recipient": "each other", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER IV.", + "body": "_HELOISE to ABELARD._\n\n\n In the following Letter the passion of _Heloise_\n breaks, out with more violence than ever. That which she had received\n from _Abelard_, instead of fortifying her resolutions, served\n only to revive in her memory all their past endearments and\n misfortunes. With this impression she writes again to her husband;\n and appears now, not so much in the charter of a Religious, striving\n with the remains of her former weakness, as in that of an unhappy\n woman abandoned to all the transport of love and despair.\n\n To _Abelard_, her well beloved in Christ Jesus, from\n _Heloise_, his well-beloved, in the same Christ Jesus.\n\nI read the letter I received from you with abundance of\nimpatience. In spite of all my misfortunes, I hoped to find nothing\nin it besides arguments of comfort; but how ingenious are lovers in\ntormenting themselves! Judge of the exquisite sensibility and force\nof my love by that which causes the grief of my soul; I was disturbed\nat the superscription of your letter! why did you place the name of\n_Heloise_ before that of _Abelard_? what means this most\ncruel and unjust distinction? 'Twas your name only, the name of\nFather, and of a Husband, which my eager eyes sought after. I did not\nlook for my own, which I much rather, if possible, forget, as being\nthe cause of your misfortune. The rules of decorum, and the character\nof Master and Director which you have over me, opposed that\nceremonious manner of addressing me; and Love commanded you to banish\nit. Alas! you know all this but too well.\n\nDid you write thus to me before Fortune had ruined my happiness? I\nsee your heart has deserted me, and you have made greater advances in\nthe way of devotion than I could wish. Alas! I am too weak to follow\nyou; condescend at least to stay for me, and animate me with your\nadvice. Will you have the cruelty to abandon me? The fear of this\nstabs my heart: but the fearful presages you make at the latter end\nof your Letter, those terrible images you draw of your death, quite\ndistracts me. Cruel _Abelard_! you ought to have stopped my\ntears, and you make them flow; you ought to have quieted the disorder\nof my heart, and you throw me into despair.\n\nYou desire that after your death I should take care of your ashes,\nand pay them the last duties. Alas! in what temper did you conceive\nthese mournful ideas? and how could you describe them to me? Did not\nthe apprehension of causing my present death make the pen drop from\nyour hand? You did not reflect, I suppose, upon all those' torments\nto which you were going to deliver me. Heaven, as severe as it has\nbeen against me, is not in so great a degree so, as to permit me to\nlive one moment after you. Life without my _Abelard_ is an\nunsupportable punishment, and death a most exquisite happiness, if by\nthat means I can be united with him. If Heaven hears the prayers I\ncontinually make for you, your days will be prolonged, and you will\nbury me.\n\nIs it not your part to prepare me, by your powerful exhortations\nagainst that great crisis, which shakes the most resolute and\nconfirmed minds? Is it not your part to receive my last sighs; take\ncare of my funeral, and give an account of my manners and faith? Who\nbut you can recommend us worthily to God; and by the fervour and\nmerit of your prayers, conduct those souls to him which you have\njoined to his worship by solemn contracts? We expect these pious\noffices from your paternal charity. After this you will be free from\nthose disquietudes which now molest you, and you will quit life with\nmore ease, whenever it shall please God to call you away. You may\nfollow us, content with what you have done, and in a full assurance\nof our happiness: but till then, write not to me any such terrible\nthings. Are we not already sufficiently miserable? must we aggravate\nour sorrows? Our life here is but a languishing death? will you\nhasten it? Our present disgraces are sufficient to employ our\nthoughts continually, and shall we seek new arguments of grief in\nfuturities? How void of reason are men, said Seneca, to make distant\nevils present by reflection, and to take pains before death to lose\nall the comforts of life?\n\nWhen you have finished your course here below, you say it is your\ndesire that your body be carried to the house of the Paraclete, to\nthe intent that, being always exposed to my eyes, you may be for ever\npresent to my mind; and that your dear body may strengthen our piety,\nand animate our prayers. Can you think that the traces you have drawn\nin my heart can ever be worn out? or that any length of time can\nobliterate the memory we have here of your benefits? And what time\nshall I find for those prayers you speak of? Alas! I shall then be\nfilled with other cares. Can so heavy a misfortune leave me a\nmoment's quiet? can my feeble reason resist such powerful assaults?\nWhen I am distracted and raving, (if I dare to say it,) even against\nHeaven itself, I shall not soften it by my prayers, but rather\nprovoke it by my cries and reproaches! But how should I pray! or how\nbear up against my grief? I should be more urgent to follow you than\nto pay you the sad ceremonies of burial. It is for you for _Abelard_,\nthat I have resolved to live; if you are ravished from me, what use\ncan I make of my miserable days? Alas! what lamentations should I\nmake, if Heaven, by a cruel pity, should preserve me till that\nmoment? When I but think of this last separation; I feel all the\npangs of death; what shall I be then, if I should see this dreadful\nhour? Forbear, therefore, to infuse into my mind such mournful\nthoughts, if not for love, at least for pity.\n\nYou desire me to give myself up to my duty, and to be wholly\nGod's, to whom I am consecrated. How can I do that when you frighten\nme with apprehensions that continually possess my mind day and night?\nWhen an evil threatens us, and it is impossible to ward it off, why\ndo we give up ourselves to the unprofitable fear of it, which is yet\neven more tormenting than the evil itself?\n\nWhat have I to hope for after this loss of you? what can confine\nme to earth when Death shall have taken away from me all that was\ndear upon it? I have renounced without difficulty all the charms of\nlife, preserving only my love, and the secret pleasure of thinking\nincessantly of you, and hearing that you live; and yet alas! you do\nnot live for me, and I dare not even flatter myself with the hopes\nthat I shall ever enjoy a sight of you more. This is the greatest of\nmy afflictions. Merciless Fortune! hast thou not persecuted me\nenough? Thou dost not give me any respite? thou hast exhausted all\nthy vengeance upon me, and reserved thyself nothing whereby thou\nmayst appear terrible to others. Thou hast wearied thyself in\ntormenting me, and others have nothing now to fear from thy anger.\nBut to what purpose dost thou still arm thyself against me? The\nwounds I have already received leave no room for new ones; why cannot\nI urge thee to kill me? or dost thou fear, amidst the numerous\ntorments thou heapest on me, dost thou fear that such a stroke would\ndeliver me from all? Therefore thou preservest me from death, in\norder to make me die every moment.\n\nDear _Abelard_, pity my despair! Was ever any thing so\nmiserable! The higher you raised me above other women who envied me\nyour love, the more sensible am I now of the loss of your heart. I\nwas exalted to the top of happiness, only that I might have a more\nterrible fall. Nothing could formerly be compared to my pleasures,\nand nothing now can equal my misery. My glory once raised the envy of\nmy rivals; my present wretchedness moves the compassion of all that\nsee me. My fortune has been always in extremes, she has heaped on me\nher most delightful favours, that she might load me with the greatest\nof her afflictions. Ingenious in tormenting me, she has made the\nmemory of the joys I have lost, an inexhaustible spring of my tears.\nLove, which possest was her greatest gift, being taken away,\noccasions all my sorrow. In short, her malice has entirely succeeded,\nand I find my present afflictions proportionably bitter as the\ntransports which charmed me were sweet.\n\nBut what aggravates my sufferings yet more, is, that we began to\nbe miserable at a time when we seemed the least to deserve it. While\nwe gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of a criminal love, nothing\nopposed our vicious pleasures. But scarce had we retrenched what was\nunlawful in our passion, and taken refuge in marriage against that\nremorse which might have pursued us, but the whole wrath of heaven\nfell on us in all its weight. But how barbarous was your punishment?\nThe very remembrance makes me shake with horror. Could an outrageous\nhusband make a villain suffer more that had dishonoured his bed? Ah!\nWhat right had a cruel uncle over us? We were joined to each other\neven before the altar, which should have protected you from the rage\nof your enemies. Must a wife draw on you that punishment which ought\nnot to fall on any but an adulterous lover? Besides, we were\nseparated; you were busy in your exercises, and instructed a learned\nauditory in mysteries which the greatest geniuses before you were not\nable to penetrate; and I, in obedience to you, retired to a cloister.\nI there spent whole days in thinking of you, and sometimes meditating\non holy lessons, to which I endeavoured to apply myself. In this very\njuncture you became the victim of the most unhappy love. You alone\nexpiated the crime common to us both: You only were punished, though\nboth of us were guilty. You, who were least so, was the object of the\nwhole vengeance of a barbarous man. But why should I rave at your\nassassins? I, wretched I, have ruined you, I have been the original\nof all your misfortunes! Good Heaven! Why was I born to be the\noccasion of so tragical an accident? How dangerous is it for a great\nman to suffer himself to be moved by our sex! He ought from his\ninfancy to be inured to insensibility of heart, against all our\ncharms. _Hearken, my Son_, (said formerly the wisest of Men)\n_attend and keep my instructions; if a beautiful woman by her\nlooks endeavour to intice thee, permit not thyself to be overcome by\na corrupt inclination; reject the poison she offers, and follow not\nthe paths which she directs. Her house is the gate of destruction and\ndeath_. I have long examined things, and have found that death\nitself is a less dangerous evil than beauty. 'Tis the shipwreck of\nliberty, a fatal snare, from which it is impossible ever to get free.\n'Twas woman which threw down the first man from that glorious\ncondition in which heaven had placed him. She who was created in\norder to partake of his happiness, was the sole cause of his ruin.\nHow bright had been the glory, _Sampson_, if thy heart had been\nas firm against the charms of _Dalilah_, as against the weapons\nof the _Philistines_! A woman disarmed and betrayed thee, who\nhadst been a glorious conqueror of armies. Thou saw'st thyself\ndelivered into the hands of they enemies; thou wast deprived of thy\neyes, those inlets of love into thy soul: distracted and despairing\ndidst thou die, without any consolation but that of involving thy\nenemies in thy destruction. _Solomon_, that he might please\nwomen, forsook the care of pleasing God. That king, whose wisdom\nprinces came from all parts to admire, he whom God had chose to build\nhim a temple, abandoned the worship of those very alters he had had\ndefended, and proceeded to such a pitch of folly as even to burn\nincense to idols. _Job_ had no enemy more cruel than his wife:\nwhat temptations did he not bear? The evil spirit, who had declared\nhimself his persecutor, employed a woman as an instrument to shake\nhis constancy; and the same evil spirit made _Heloise_ an\ninstrument to ruin _Abelard_! All the poor comfort I have is,\nthat I am not the voluntary cause of your misfortune. I have not\nbetrayed you; but my constancy and love have been destructive to you.\nIf I have committed a crime in having loved you with constancy, I\nshall never be able to repent of that crime. Indeed I gave myself up\ntoo much to the captivity of those soft errors into which my rising\npassion seduced me. I have endeavoured to please you even at the\nexpence of my virtue, and therefore deserve those pains I feel. My\nguilty transports could not but have a tragical end. As soon as I was\npersuaded of your love, alas! I scarce delayed a moment, resigning\nmyself to all your protestations. To be beloved by _Abelard_\nwas, in my esteem, too much glory, and I too impatiently desired it\nnot to believe it immediately. I endeavoured at nothing but\nconvincing you of my utmost passion. I made no use of those defences\nof disdain and honour; those enemies of pleasure which tyrannize over\nour sex, made in me but a weak and unprofitable resistance. I\nsacrificed all to my love, and I forced my duty to give place to the\nambition of making happy the most gallant and learned person of the\nage. If any consideration had been able to stop me, it would have\nbeen without doubt the interest of my love. I feared, lest having\nnothing further for you to desire, your passion might become languid,\nand you might seek for new pleasures in some new conquest. But it was\neasy for you to cure me of a suspicion so opposite to my own\ninclination. I ought to have forseen other more certain evils, and to\nhave considered, that the idea of lost enjoyments would be the\ntrouble of my whole life.\n\nHow happy should I be could I wash out with my tears the memory of\nthose pleasures which yet I think of with delight? At least I will\nexert some generous endeavour, and, by smothering in my heart those\ndesires to which the frailty of my nature may give birth, I will\nexercise torments upon myself, like those the rage of your enemies\nhas made you suffer. I will endeavour by that means to satisfy you at\nleast, if I cannot appease an angry God. For, to show you what a\ndeplorable condition I am in, and how far my repentance is from being\navailable, I dare even accuse Heaven every moment of cruelty for\ndelivering you into those snares which were prepared for you. My\nrepinings kindle the divine wrath, when I should endeavour to draw\ndown mercy.\n\nIn order to expiate a crime, it is not sufficient that we bear the\npunishment; whatever we suffer is accounted as nothing, if the\npassions still continue, and the heart is inflamed with the same\ndesires. It is an easy matter to confess a weakness, and to inflict\nsome punishment upon ourselves; but it is the last violence to our\nnature to extinguish the memory of pleasures which, by a sweet habit,\nhave gained absolute possession of our minds. How many persons do we\nobserve who make an outward confession of their faults, yet, far from\nbeing afflicted for them, take a new pleasure in the relating them.\nBitterness of heart ought to accompany the confession of the mouth,\nyet that very rarely happens. I, who have experienced so many\npleasures in loving you, feel, in spite of myself that I cannot\nrepent of them, nor forbear enjoying them over again as much as is\npossible, by recollecting them in my memory. Whatever endeavours I\nuse, on whatever side I turn me, the sweet idea still pursues me and\nevery object brings to my mind what I ought to forget. During the\nstill night, when my heart ought to be in quiet in the midst of\nsleep, which suspends the greatest disturbances, I cannot avoid those\nillusions my heart entertains. I think I am still with my dear\n_Abelard_. I see him, I speak to him, and hear him answer.\nCharmed with each other, we quit our philosophic studies to entertain\nourselves with our passion. Sometimes, too, I seem to be a witness of\nthe bloody enterprise of your enemies; I oppose their fury; I fill\nour apartment with fearful cries, and in a moment I wake in tears.\nEven in holy places before the altar I carry with me the memory of\nour guilty loves. They are my whole business, and, far from lamenting\nfor having been seduced, I sigh for having lost them.\n\nI remember (for nothing is forgot by lovers) the time and place in\nwhich you first declared your love to me, and swore you would love me\ntill death. Your words, your oaths, are all deeply graven in my\nheart. The disorder of my discourse discovers to everyone the trouble\nof my mind. My sighs betray me; and your name is continually in my\nmouth. When I am in this condition, why dost not thou, O Lord, pity\nmy weakness, and strengthen me by thy grace? You are happy, _Abelard_;\nthis grace has prevented you; and your misfortune has been the\noccasion of your finding rest. The punishment of your body has cured\nthe deadly wounds of your soul. The tempest has driven you into the\nhaven. God who seemed to lay his hand heavily upon you, fought only\nto help you: he is a father chastising, and not an enemy revenging; a\nwife physician, putting you to some pain in order to preserve your\nlife. I am a thousand times more to be lamented than you; I have a\nthousand passions to combat with. I must resist those fires which\nJove kindles in a young heart. Our sex is nothing but weakness, and I\nhave the greater difficulty to defend myself, because the enemy that\nattacks me pleases. I dote on the danger which threatens me, how then\ncan I avoid falling?\n\nIn the midst of these struggles I endeavour at least to conceal my\nweakness from those you have entrusted to my care. All who are about\nme admired my virtue, but could their eyes penetrate into my heart,\nwhat would they not discover? My passions there are in a rebellion; I\npreside over others, but cannot rule myself. I have but a false\ncovering, and this seeming virtue is a real vice. Men judge me\npraise-worthy, but I am guilty before God, from whose all-seeing eye\nnothing is hid, and who views, through all their foldings, the\nsecrets of all hearts. I cannot escape his discovery. And yet it is a\ngreat deal to me to maintain even this appearance of virtue. This\ntroublesome hypocrisy is in some sort commendable. I give no scandal\nto the world, which is so easy to take bad impressions. I do not\nshake the virtue of these feeble ones who are under my conduct. With\nmy heart full of the love of man, I exhort them at least to love only\nGod: charmed with the pomp of worldly pleasures, I endeavour to show\nthem that they are all deceit and vanity. I have just strength enough\nto conceal from them my inclinations, and I look upon that as a\npowerful effect of grace. If it is not sufficient to make me embrace\nvirtue, it is enough to keep me from committing sin.\n\nAnd yet it is in vain to endeavour to separate those two things.\nThey must be guilty who merit nothing; and they depart from virtue\nwho delay to approach it. Besides, we ought to have no other motive\nthan the love of God. Alas! what can I then hope for? I own, to my\nconfusion, I fear more the offending of man than the provoking of\nGod, and study less to please him than you. Yes, it was your command\nonly, and not a sincere vocation, as is imagined, that shut me up in\nthese cloisters. I fought to give you ease, and not to sanctify\nmyself. How unhappy am I? I tear myself from all that pleases me? I\nbury myself here alive, I exercise my self in the most rigid\nfastings; and such severities as cruel laws impose on us; I feed\nmyself with tears and sorrows, and, notwithstanding this, I deserve\nnothing for all the hardships I suffer. My false piety has long\ndeceived you as well as others. You have thought me easy, and yet I\nwas more disturbed than ever. You persuaded yourself I was wholly\ntaken up with my duty, yet I had no business but love. Under this\nmistake you desire my prayers; alas! I must expect yours. Do not\npresume upon my virtue and my care. I am wavering, and you must fix\nme by your advice. I am yet feeble, you must sustain and guide me by\nyour counsel.\n\nWhat occasion had you to praise me? praise is often hurtful to\nthose on whom it is bestowed. A secret vanity springs up in the\nheart, blinds us, and conceals from us wounds that are ill cured. A\nseducer flatters us, and at the same time, aims at our destruction. A\nsincere friend disguises nothing from us, and from passing a light\nhand over the wound, makes us feel it the more intensely, by applying\nremedies. Why do you not deal after this manner with me? Will you be\nesteemed a base dangerous flatterer; or, if you chance to see any\nthing commendable in me, have you no fear that vanity, which is so\nnatural to all women, should quite efface it? but let us not judge of\nvirtue by outward appearances, for then the reprobates as well as the\nelect may lay claim to it. An artful impostor may, by his address\ngain more admiration than the true zeal of a saint.\n\nThe heart of man is a labyrinth, whose windings are very difficult\nto be discovered. The praises you give me are the more dangerous, in\nregard that I love the person who gives them. The more I desire to\nplease you, the readier am I to believe all the merit you attribute\nto me. Ah, think rather how to support my weaknesses by wholesome\nremonstrances! Be rather fearful than confident of my salvation: say\nour virtue is founded upon weakness, and that those only will be\ncrowned who have fought with the greatest difficulties: but I seek\nnot for that crown which is the reward of victory, I am content to\navoid only the danger. It is easier to keep off than to win a battle.\nThere are several degrees in glory, and I am not ambitious of the\nhighest; those I leave to souls of great courage, who have been often\nvictorious. I seek not to conquer, out of fear lest I should be\novercome. Happy enough, if I can escape shipwreck, and at last gain\nthe port. Heaven commands me to renounce that fatal passion which\nunites me to you; but oh! my heart will never be able to consent to\nit. Adieu.", + "author": "Heloise", + "recipient": "Abelard", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER V.", + "body": "_HELOISE to ABELARD._\n\n\n _Heloise_ had been dangerously ill at the Convent of\n the Paraclete: immediately upon her recovery she wrote this Letter to\n _Abelard_, She seems now to have disengaged herself from him,\n and to have resolved to think of nothing but repentance; yet\n discovers some emotions, which make it doubtful whether devotion had\n entirely triumphed over her passion.\n\nDear _Abelard_, you expect, perhaps, that I should accuse you\nof negligence. You have not answered my last letter; and thanks to\nHeaven, in the condition I now am, it is a happiness to me that you\nshow so much insensibility for the fatal passion which had engaged\nme to you. At last _Abelard_, you have lost _Heloise_ for ever.\nNotwithstanding all the oaths I made to think of nothing but\nyou only, and to be entertained with nothing but you, I have banished\nyou from my thoughts, I have forgot you. Thou charming idea of a\nlover I once adored, thou wilt no more be my happiness! Dear image of\n_Abelard_! thou wilt no more follow me every where; I will no\nmore remember thee. O celebrated merit of a man, who, in spite of his\nenemies is the wonder of his age! O enchanting pleasures, to which\n_Heloise_ entirely resigned herself, you, you have been my\ntormentors! I confess _Abelard_, without a blush, my infidelity;\nlet my inconstancy teach the world that there is no depending upon\nthe promises of women; they are all subject to change. This troubles\nyou, _Abelard_; this news, without doubt, surprises you; you\ncould never imagine _Heloise_, should be inconstant. She was\nprejudiced by so strong an inclination to you, that you cannot\nconceive how time could alter it. But be undeceived; I am going to\ndiscover to you my falseness, though instead of reproaching me, I\npersuade myself you will shed tears of joy. When I shall have told\nyou what rival hath ravished my heart from you, you will praise my\ninconstancy, and will pray this rival to fix it. By this you may\njudge that it is God alone that takes _Heloise_ from you. Yes,\nmy dear _Abelard_, he gives my mind that tranquillity which a\nquick remembrance of our misfortunes would not suffer me to enjoy.\nJust Heaven! what other rival could take me from you? Could you\nimagine it possible for any mortal to blot you from my heart? Could\nyou think me guilty of sacrificing the virtuous and learned _Abelard_\nto any other but to God? No, I believe you have done me justice in\nthis point. I question not but you are impatient to know what means\nGod used to accomplish so great an end; I will tell you, and wonder\nat the secret ways of Providence. Some few days after you sent me\nyour last letter I fell dangerously ill; the physicians gave me over;\nand I expected certain death. Then it was that my passion, which\nalways before seemed innocent, appeared criminal to me. My memory\nrepresented faithfully to me all the past actions of my life, and I\nconfess to you my love was the only pain I felt. Death which till\nthen I had always considered as at a distance, now presented itself\nto me such as it appears to sinners. I began to dread the wrath of\nGod, now I was going to experience it; and I repented I had made no\nbetter use of his grace. Those tender letters I have wrote to you,\nand those passionate conversations I have had with you, gave me as\nmuch pain now as they formerly did pleasure. Ah! miserable _Heloise_,\nsaid I, if it is a crime to give one's self up to such soft\ntransports, and if after this life is ended punishment certainly\nfollows them, why didst thou not resist so dangerous an inclination?\nThink on the tortures that are prepared for thee; consider with\nterror that store of torments, and recollect at the same time those\npleasures which thy deluded soul thought so entrancing. Ah! pursued\nI, dost thou not almost despair for having rioted in such false\npleasure? In short, _Abelard_, imagine all the remorse of mind I\nsuffered, and you will not be astonished at my change.\n\nSolitude is insupportable to a mind which is not easy, its\ntroubles increase in the midst of silence, and retirement heightens\nthem. Since I have been shut up within these walls, I have done\nnothing but wept for our misfortunes. This cloister has resounded\nwith my cries, and like a wretch condemned to eternal slavery, I have\nworn out my days in grief and sighing. Instead of fulfilling God's\nmerciful design upon me, I have offended him; I have looked upon this\nsacred refuge like a frightful prison, and have borne with\nunwillingness the yoke of the Lord. Instead of sanctifying myself by\na life of penitence, I have confirmed my reprobation. What a fatal\nwandering! But _Abelard_, I have torn off the bandage which\nblinded me, and if I dare rely upon the emotions which I have felt, I\nhave made myself worthy of your esteem. You are no more that amorous\n_Abelard_, who, to gain a private conversation with me by night,\nused incessantly to contrive new ways to deceive the vigilance of our\nobservers. The misfortune, which happened to you after so many happy\nmoments, gave you a horror for vice, and you instantly consecrated\nthe rest of your days to virtue and seemed to submit to this\nnecessity willingly. I indeed, more tender than you, and more\nsensible of soft pleasures, bore this misfortune with extreme\nimpatience. You have heard my exclamations against your enemies; you\nhave seen my whole resentment in those Letters I wrote to you; it was\nthis, without doubt, which deprived me of the esteem of my _Abelard_.\nYou were alarmed at my transport, and if you will confess the truth,\nyou, perhaps, despaired of my salvation. You could not foresee that\n_Heloise_ would conquer so reigning a passion; but you have been\ndeceived, _Abelard_; my weakness, when supported by grace, hath\nnot hindered me from obtaining a complete victory. Restore me, then,\nto your good opinion; your own piety ought to solicit you to this.\n\nBut what secret trouble rises in my soul, what unthought-of motion\nopposes the resolution I formed of sighing no more for _Abelard_?\nJust Heaven! have I not yet triumphed over my love? Unhappy _Heloise_!\nas long as thou drawest a breath it is decreed thou must love\n_Abelard_: weep unfortunate wretch that thou art, thou never had\na more just occasion. Now I ought to die with grief. Grace had\novertaken me, and I had promised to be faithful to it, but I now\nperjure myself, and sacrifice even grace to _Abelard_. This\nsacrilegious Sacrifice fills up the measure of my iniquities. After\nthis can I hope God should open to me the treasures of his mercy?\nHave I not tired out his forgiveness? I began to offend him from the\nmoment I first saw _Abelard_; an unhappy sympathy engaged us\nboth in a criminal commerce; and God raised us up an enemy to\nseparate us. I lament and hate the misfortune which hath lighted upon\nus and adore the cause. Ah! I ought rather to explain this accident\nas the secret ordinance of Heaven, which disapproved of our\nengagement, and apply myself to extirpate my passion. How much better\nwere it entirely to forget the object of it, than to preserve the\nmemory of it, so fatal to the quiet of my life and salvation? Great\nGod! shall _Abelard_ always possess my thoughts? can I never\nfree myself from those chains which bind me to him? But, perhaps, I\nam unreasonably afraid; virtue directs all my motions, and they are\nall subject to grace, Fear no more, dear _Abelard_; I have no\nlonger any of those sentiments which, being described in my Letters,\nhave occasioned you so much trouble. I will no more endeavour, by the\nrelation of those pleasures our new-born passion gave us, to awaken\nthat criminal fondness you may have for me; I free you from all your\noaths; forget the names of Lover and husband but keep always that of\nFather. I expect no more from you those tender protestations, and\nthose letters so proper to keep up the commerce of love. I demand\nnothing of you but spiritual advice and wholesome directions. The\npath of holiness, however thorny it may be, will yet appear agreeable\nwhen I walk in your steps. You will always find me ready to follow\nyou. I shall read with more pleasure the letters in which you shall\ndescribe to me the advantages of virtue than ever I did those by\nwhich you so artfully instilled the fatal poison of our passion. You\ncannot now be silent without a crime. When I was possessed with so\nviolent a love, and pressed you so earnestly to write to me, how many\nletters did I send you before I could obtain one from you? You denied\nme in my misery the only comfort which was left me, because you\nthought it pernicious. You endeavoured by severities to force me to\nforget you; nor can I blame you; but now you have nothing to fear. A\nlucky disease which providence seemed to have chastised me with for\nmy sanctification, hath done what all human efforts, and your cruelty\nin vain attempted. I see now the vanity of that happiness which we\nhad set our hearts upon, as if we were never to have lost it. What\nfears, what uneasiness, have we been obliged to suffer!\n\nNo, Lord, there is no pleasure upon earth but that which virtue\ngives! The heart, amidst all worldly delights, feels a sting; it is\nuneasy and restless till fixed on thee. What have I not suffered,\n_Abelard_, while I kept alive in my retirement those fires which\nruined me in the world? I saw with horror the walls which surrounded\nme; the hours seemed as long as years. I repented a thousand times\nthe having buried myself here; but since grace has opened my eyes all\nthe scene is changed. Solitude looks charming, and the tranquillity\nwhich I behold here enters my very heart. In the satisfaction of\ndoing my duty I feel a pleasure above all that riches, pomp, or\nsensuality, could afford. My quiet has indeed cost me dear; I have\nbought it even at the price of my love; I have offered a violent\nsacrifice, and which seemed above my power. I have torn you from my\nheart; and, be not jealous, God reigns there in your stead, who ought\nalways to have possessed it entire. Be content with having a place in\nmy mind, which you shall never lose; I shall always take a secret\npleasure in thinking of you and esteem it a glory to obey those rules\nyou shall give me.\n\nThis very moment I receive a letter from you: I will read it, and\nanswer it immediately. You shall see, by my exactness in writing to\nyou, that you are always dear to me.--You very obligingly\nreproach me for delaying so long to write you any news; my illness\nmust excuse that. I omit no opportunities of giving you marks of my\nremembrance. I thank you for the uneasiness you say my silence caused\nyou, and the kind fears you express concerning my health. Yours, you\ntell me is but weakly, and you thought lately you should have died.\nWith what indifference, cruel man! do you acquaint me with a thing so\ncertain to afflict me? I told you in my former letter how unhappy I\nshould be if you died; and if you loved me, you would moderate the\nrigour of your austere life. I represented to you the occasion I had\nfor your advice, and consequently, the reason there was you should\ntake care of yourself. But I will not tire you with the repetition of\nthe same thing. _You desire us not to forget you in your prayers._\nAh! dear _Abelard_, you may depend upon the zeal of this\nsociety; it is devoted to you, and you cannot justly charge it with\nforgetfulness. You are our father, we your children; you are our\nguide, and we resign ourselves with assurance in your piety. We\nimpose no pennance on ourselves but what you recommend, lest we\nshould rather follow an indiscreet zeal than solid virtue. In a\nword, nothing is thought rightly done if without _Abelard's_\napprobation. You inform me of one thing that perplexes me, that you\nhave heard that some of our sisters gave bad examples, and that there\nis a general looseness amongst them. Ought this to seem strange to\nyou, who know how monasteries are filled now-a-days? Do fathers\nconsult the inclinations of their children when they settle them? Are\nnot interest and policy their only rules? This is the reason that\nmonasteries are often filled with those who are a scandal to them.\nBut I conjure you to tell me what are the irregularities you have\nheard of, and to teach me a proper remedy for them. I have not yet\nobserved that looseness you mention; when I have, I will take due\ncare. I walk my rounds every night, and make those I catch abroad\nreturn to their chambers; for I remember all the adventures which\nhappened in the monasteries near Paris. You end your letter with a\ngeneral deploring of your unhappiness, and wish for death as the end\nof a troublesome life. Is it possible a genius so great as yours\nshould never get above his past misfortunes? What would the world say\nshould they read your letters as I do? would they consider the noble\nmotive of your retirement, or not rather think you had shut yourself\nup only to lament the condition to which my uncle's revenge had\nreduced you? What would your young pupils say who came so far to hear\nyou, and prefer your severe lectures to the softness of a worldly\nlife, if they should see you secretly a slave to your passions, and\nsensible of all those weakness from which your rules can secure them?\nThis _Abelard_ they so much admire, this great personage which\nguides them, would lose his fame, and become the scorn of his pupils.\nIf these reasons are not sufficient to give you constancy in your\nmisfortunes, cast your eyes upon me, and admire my resolution of\nshutting myself up by your example. I was young when we were\nseparated, and (if I dare believe what you were always telling me)\nworthy of any gentleman's affections. If I had loved nothing in\n_Abelard_ but sensual pleasure, a thousand agreeable young men\nmight have comforted me upon my loss of him. You know what I have\ndone, excuse me therefore from repeating it. Think of those\nassurances I gave you of loving you with the utmost tenderness. I\ndried your tears with kisses; and because you were less powerful I\nbecame less reserved. Ah! if you had loved with delicacy the oaths I\nmade, the transports I accompanied them with, the innocent caresses I\nprofusely gave you, all this, sure, might have comforted you. Had you\nobserved me to grow by degrees indifferent to you, you might have had\nreason to despair; but you never received greater marks of my passion\nthan after that cruel revenge upon you.\n\nLet me see no more in your letters, dear _Abelard_, such\nmurmurs against Fortune; you are not the only one she has persecuted,\nand you ought to forget her outrages. What a shame is it for a\nphilosopher not to be comforted for an accident which might happen to\nany man! Govern yourself by my example. I was born with violent\npassions; I daily strive with the most tender emotions, and glory in\ntriumphing and subjecting them to reason. Must a weak mind fortify\none that is so much superior? But whither am I transported? Is this\ndiscourse directed to my dear _Abelard_? one that practices all\nthose virtues he teaches? If you complain of Fortune, it is not so\nmuch that you feel her strokes, as that you cannot show your enemies\nhow much to blame they were in attempting to hurt you. Leave them,\n_Abelard_, to exhaust their malice, and continue to charm your\nauditors. Discover those treasures of learning Heaven seems to have\nreserved for you: your enemies, struck with the splendor of your\nreasoning, will do you justice. How happy should I be could I see all\nthe world as entirely persuaded of your probity as I am! Your\nlearning is allowed by all the world; your greatest enemies confess\nyou are ignorant of nothing that the mind of man is capable of\nknowing.\n\nMy dear husband! (this is the last time I shall use that\nexpression) shall I never see you again? shall I never have the\npleasure of embracing you before death? What doth thou say, wretched\n_Heloise_? dost thou know what thou desirest? Canst thou behold\nthose lovely eyes without recollecting those amorous glances which\nhave been so fatal to thee? canst thou view that majestic air of\n_Abelard_ without entertaining a jealousy of every one that sees\nso charming a man? that mouth, which cannot be looked upon without\ndesire? In short all the person of _Abelard_ cannot be viewed by\nany woman without danger. Desire therefore no more to see _Abelard_.\nIf the memory of him has caused thee so much trouble, _Heloise_,\nwhat will not his presence do? what desires will it not excite in thy\nsoul? how will it be possible for thee to keep thy reason at the\nsight of so amiable a man? I will own to you what makes the greatest\npleasure I have in my retirement: After having passed the day in\nthinking of you, full of the dear idea, I give myself up at night to\nsleep. Then it is that _Heloise_, who dares not without\ntrembling think of you by day, resigns herself entirely to the\npleasure of hearing you and speaking to you. I see you, _Abelard_,\nand glut my eyes with the sight. Sometimes you entertain me with the\nstory of your secret troubles and grievances, and create in me a\nsensible sorrow; sometimes forgetting the perpetual obstacles to our\ndesires, you press me to make you happy, and I easily yield to your\ntransports. Sleep gives you what your enemies rage has deprived you\nof; and our souls, animated with the same passion, are sensible of\nthe same pleasure. But, oh! you delightful illusion, soft errors, how\nsoon do you vanish away! At my awaking I open my eyes and see no\n_Abelard_; I stretch out my arm to take hold of him, but he is\nnot there; I call him, he hears me not. What a fool am I to tell you\nmy dreams, who are sensible of these pleasures? But do you, _Abelard_,\nnever see _Heloise_ in your sleep? how does she appear to you?\ndo you entertain her with the same language as formerly when Fulbert\ncommitted her to your care? when you awake are you pleased or sorry?\nPardon me; _Abelard_, pardon a mistaken lover. I must no more\nexpect that vivacity from you which once animated all your actions.\n'Tis no more time to require from you a perfect correspondence of\ndesires. We have bound ourselves to severe austerities, and must\nfollow them, let them cost us ever so dear. Let us think of our\nduties in these rigours, and make a good use of that necessity which\nkeeps us separate. You _Abelard_, will happily finish your\ncourse; your desires and ambition will be no obstacles to your\nsalvation. _Heloise_ only must lament, she only must weep,\nwithout being certain whether all her tears will be available or not\nto her salvation.\n\nI had like to have ended my letter without acquainting you with\nwhat happened here a few days ago. A young nun, who was one of those\nwho are forced to take up with a convent without any examination.\nwhether it will suit with their tempers or not, is by a stratagem I\nknew nothing of, escaped, and, as they say, fled with a young\ngentleman she was in love with into England. I have ordered all the\nhouse to conceal the matter. Ah, _Abelard_! if you were near us\nthese disorders would not happen. All the sisters, charmed with\nseeing and hearing you, would think of nothing but practicing your\nrules and directions. The young nun had never formed so criminal a\ndesign as that of breaking her vows, had you been at our head to\nexhort us to live holily. If your eyes were witnesses of our actions,\nthey would be innocent. When we slipt, you would lift us up, and\nestablish us by your counsels; we should march with sure steps in the\nrough paths of virtue. I begin to perceive; _Abelard_, that I\ntake too much pleasure in writing to you. I ought to burn my letter.\nIt shows you I am still engaged in a deep passion for you, though at\nthe beginning of it I designed to persuade you of the contrary. I am\nsensible of the motions both of grace and passion, and by turns\nyield to each. Have pity, _Abelard_, of the condition to which\nyou have brought me, and make, in some measure, the latter days of my\nlife as quiet as the first have been uneasy and disturbed.", + "author": "Heloise", + "recipient": "Abelard", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER VI.", + "body": "_ABELARD to HELOISE._\n\n\n _Abelard_, having at last conquered the remains of\n his unhappy passion, had determined to put an end to so dangerous a\n correspondence as that between _Heloise_ and himself. The\n following Letter therefore, though written with no less concern than\n his former, is free from mixtures of a worldly passion, and is full\n of the warmest sentiments of piety, and the most moving exhortations.\n\nWrite no more to me, _Heloise_; write no more to me; it is a\ntime to end a commerce which makes our mortifications of no advantage\nto us. We retired from the world to sanctify ourselves; and by a\nconduit directly contrary to Christian morality, we become odious to\nJesus Christ. Let us no more deceive ourselves; by flattering\nourselves with the remembrance of our past pleasures, we shall make\nour lives troublesome, and we shall be incapable of relishing the\nsweets of solitude. Let us make a good use of our austerities, and no\nlonger preserve the ideas of our crimes amongst the severities of\npenitence. Let a mortification of body and mind, a strick fasting,\ncontinual solitude, profound and holy meditations, and a sincere love\nof God, succeed our former irregularities.\n\nLet us try to carry religious perfection to a very difficult\npoint. 'Tis beautiful to find, in Christianity minds so disengaged\nfrom the earth, from the creatures and themselves, that they seem to\nact independently of those bodies they are joined to, and to use them\nas their slaves. We can never raise ourselves to too great heights\nwhen God is the object. Be our endeavours ever so great, they will\nalways come short of reaching that exalted dignity, which even our\napprehensions cannot reach. Let us act for God's glory, independent\nof the creatures or ourselves, without any regard to our own desires,\nor the sentiments of others. Were we in this temper of mind, _Heloise_,\nI would willingly make my abode at the Paraclete. My earnest care for\na house I have founded would draw a thousand blessings on it. I would\ninstruct it by my words, and animate it by my example. I would watch\nover the lives of my sisters, and would command nothing but what I\nmyself would perform. I would direct you to pray, meditate, labour\nand keep vows of silence; and I would myself pray, meditate, labour\nand be silent.\n\nHowever, when I spoke, it should be to lift you up when you should\nfall, to strengthen you in your weaknesses, to enlighten you in that\ndarkness and obscurity which might at any time surprise you. I would\ncomfort you under those severities used by persons of great virtue. I\nwould moderate the vivacity of your zeal and piety, and give your\nvirtue an even temperament. I would point out those duties which you\nought to know, and satisfy you in those doubts which the weakness of\nyour reason might occasion. I would be your master and father; and,\nby a marvellous talent, I would become lively, flow, soft or severe,\naccording to the different characters of those I should guide in the\npainful path of Christian perfection.\n\nBut whither does my vain imagination carry me?\n\nAh? _Heloise_! how far are we from such a happy temper? Your\nheart still burns with that fatal fire which you cannot extinguish,\nand mine is full of trouble and uneasiness. Think not, _Heloise_,\nthat I enjoy here a perfect peace: I will, for the last time open my\nheart to you. I am not yet disengaged from you; I fight against my\nexcessive tenderness for you; yet in spite of all endeavours, the\nremaining fraility makes me but too sensible of your sorrows, and\ngives me a share in them. Your Letters have indeed moved me; I could\nnot read with indifference characters wrote by that dear hand. I\nsigh, I weep, and all my reason is, scarce sufficient to conceal my\nweakness from my pupils. This, unhappy _Heloise_! is the\nmiserable condition of _Abelard_. The world, which generally\nerrs in its notion, thinks I am easy, and as if I had loved only in\nyou the gratification of sense, imagines I have now forgot you; but\nwhat a mistake is this! People, indeed, did not mistake in thinking,\nwhen we separated, that shame and grief for having been so cruelly\nused made me abandon the world. It was not, as you know, a sincere\nrepentance for having offended God which inspired me with a design of\nretiring; however, I considered the accident which happened to us as\na secret design of Providence to punish our crimes; and only looked\nupon Fulbert as the instrument of Divine vengeance. Grace drew me\ninto an asylum, where I might yet have remained, if the rage of my\nenemies would have permitted. I have endured all their persecutions,\nnot doubting but God himself raised them up in order to purify me.\n\nWhen he saw me perfectly obedient to his holy will, he permitted\nthat I should justify my doctrine. I made its purity public, and\nshowed in the end that my faith was not only orthodox, but also\nperfectly clear from even the suspicion of novelty.\n\nI should be happy if I had none to fear but my enemies, and no\nother hinderance to my salvation but their calumny: but, _Heloise_,\nyou make me tremble. Your Letters declare to me that you are enslaved\nto a fatal passion; and yet if you cannot conquer it you cannot be\nsaved; and what part would you have me take in this case? Would you\nhave me stifle the inspirations of the Holy Ghost? shall I, to soothe\nyou dry up those tears which the evil spirit makes you shed? Shall\nthis be the fruit of my meditations? No; let us be more firm in our\nresolutions. We have not retired but in order to lament our sins, and\nto gain heaven; let us then resign ourselves to God with all our\nheart.\n\nI know every thing in the beginning is difficult, but it is\nglorious to undertake the beginning of a great action, and that glory\nincreases proportionably as the difficulties are more considerable.\nWe ought upon this account to surmount bravely all obstacles which\nmight hinder us in the practice of Christian virtue. In a monastery\nmen are proved as gold in the furnace. No one can continue long there\nunless he bear worthily the yoke of our Lord.\n\nAttempt to break those shameful chains which bind you to the\nflesh; and, if by the assistance of grace you are so happy as to\naccomplish this, I intreat you to think of me in your prayers.\nEndeavour with all your strength to be the pattern of a perfect\nChristian. It is difficult, I confess, but not impossible; and I\nexpect this beautiful triumph from your teachable disposition. If\nyour first endeavours prove weak, give not yourself up to despair;\nthat would be cowardice: besides, I would have you informed, that you\nmust necessarily take great pains; because you drive to conquer a\nterrible enemy, to extinguish raging fire, and to reduce to\nsubjection your dearest affections. You must fight against your own\ndesires; be not therefore pressed down with the weight of your\ncorrupt nature: you have to do with a cunning adversary, who will use\nall means to seduce you; be always upon your guard; While we live we\nare exposed to temptations: this made a great saint say, that _the\nwhole life of man was a temptation._ The devil, who never sleeps,\nwalks continually around us, in order to surprise us on some\nunguarded side, and enters into our soul to destroy it.\n\nHowever perfect any one may be, yet he may fall into temptations,\nand, perhaps, into such as may be useful. Nor is it wonderful that\nmen should never be exempt from them, because he hath always within\nhimself their force, concupiscence. Scarce are we delivered from one\ntemptation, but another attacks us. Such is the lot of the posterity\nof Adam, that they should always have something to suffer, because\nthey have forfeited their primitive happiness. We vainly flatter\nourselves that we shall conquer temptations by flying; if we join not\npatience and humility, we shall torment ourselves to no purpose. We\nshall more certainly compass our end by imploring God's assistance\nthan by using any means drawn from ourselves.\n\nBe constant, _Heloise_; trust in God, and you will fall into\nfew temptations: whenever they shall come, stifle them in their\nbirth; let them not take root in your heart. Apply remedies to a\ndisease, said an Ancient, in its beginning; for when it hath gained\nstrength medicines will be unavailable. Temptations have their\ndegrees; they are at first mere thoughts, and do not appear\ndangerous; the imagination receives them without any fears; a\npleasure is formed out of them; we pause upon it, and at last we\nyield to it.\n\nDo you now, _Heloise_, applaud my design of making you walk\nin the steps of the saints? do my words give you any relish for\npenitence? have you not remorse for your wanderings? and do you not\nwish you could like Magdalen, wash our Saviour's feet with your\ntears? If you have not these ardent emotions, pray that he would\ninspire them. I shall never cease to recommend you in my prayers, and\nalways beseech him to assist you in your design of dying holily. You\nhave quitted the world, and what object was worthy to detain you\nthere? Lift up your eyes always to him so whom you have consecrated\nthe rest of your days. Life upon this earth is misery. The very\nnecessities to which our body is subject here are matter of\naffliction to a saint. _Lord,_ said the Royal Prophet, _deliver\nme from my necessities_! They are wretched who do not know\nthemselves for such, and yet they are more wretched who know their\nmisery, and do not hate the corruption of the age. What fools are men\nto engage themselves to earthly things! they will be undeceived one\nday, and will know but too late how much they have been too blame in\nloving such false good. Persons truly pious do not thus mistake, they\nare disengaged from all sensual pleasures, and raise their desires to\nheaven. Begin _Heloise_; put your design in execution without\ndelay; you have yet time enough to work out your salvation. Love\nChrist, and despise yourself for his sake. He would possess your\nheart, and be the sole object of your sighs and tears; seek for no\ncomfort but in him. If you do not free yourself from me, you will\nfall with me; but if you quit me, and give up yourself to him, you\nwill be stedfast and immoveable. If you force the Lord to forsake\nyou, you will fall into distress; but if you be ever faithful to him,\nyou will always be in joy. Magdalen wept, as thinking the Lord had\nforsaken her; but Martha said, See, the Lord calls you. Be diligent\nin your duty, and obey faithfully the motions of his grace, and Jesus\nwill remain always with you.\n\nAttend, _Heloise_, to some instructions I have to give you.\nYou are at the head of a society, and you know there is this\ndifference between those who lead a private life and such as are\ncharged with the conduct of others; that the first need only labour\nfor their own sanctification, and, in acquitting themselves of their\nduties, are not obliged to practise all the virtues in such an\napparent manner; whereas they who have the conduct of others intruded\nto them, ought by their example to engage them to do all the good\nthey are capable of in their condition. I beseech you to attend to\nthis truth, and so to follow it, as that your whole life may be a\nperfect model of that of a religious recluse.\n\nGod, who heartily desires our salvation, hath made all the means\nof it easy to us; In the _Old Testament_ he hath written in the\nTables of the Law what he requires of us, that we might not be\nbewildered in seeking after his will. In the _New Testament_ he\nhath written that law of grace in our hearts, to the intent that it\nmight be always present with us; and, knowing the weakness and\nincapacity of our nature, he hath given us grace to perform his will;\nand, as if this were not enough, he hath, at all times, in all dates\nof the church, raised up men who, by their exemplary life, might\nexcite others to their duty. To effect this, he hath chosen persons\nof every age, sex, and condition. Strive now to unite in yourself all\nthose virtues which have been scattered in these different states.\nHave the purity of virgins, the austerity of anchorites, the zeal of\npastors and bishops, and the constancy of martyrs. Be exact in the\ncourse of your whole life to fulfil the duties of a holy and\nenlightened superior, and then death, which is commonly considered as\nterrible, will appear agreeable to you.\n\n_The death of his saints_, says the Prophet, _is precious\nin the sight of the Lord._ Nor is it difficult to comprehend why\ntheir death should have this advantage over that of sinners. I have\nremarked three things which might have given the Prophet an occasion\nof speaking thus. First, Their resignation to the will of God.\nSecondly, The continuation of their good works. And, lastly, The\ntriumph they gain over the devil.\n\nA saint, who has accustomed himself to submit to the will of God,\nyields to death without reluctance. He waits with joy (says St.\nGregory) for the Judge who is to reward him; he fears not to quit\nthis miserable mortal life, in order to begin an immortal happy one.\nIt is not so with the sinner, says the same Father; he fears, and\nwith reason, he trembles, at the approach of the least sickness;\ndeath is terrible to him, because he cannot bear the presence of an\noffended Judge; and having so often abused the grace of God, he sees\nno way to avoid the punishment due to his sins.\n\nThe saints have besides this advantage over sinners that having\nmade works of piety familiar to them during their life, they exercise\nthem without trouble, and having gained new strength against the\ndevil every time they overcome him, they will find themselves in a\ncondition at the hour of death to obtain that victory over him, on\nwhich depends all eternity, and the blessed union of their souls with\ntheir Creator.\n\nI hope, _Heloise_, that after having deplored the\nirregularities of your past life, you will die (as the Prophet\nprayed) the death of the righteous. Ah! how few are there who make\ntheir end after this manner! and why? It is because there are so few\nwho love the Cross of Christ. Every one would be saved, but few will\nuse those means which Religion prescribes. And yet we can be saved by\nnothing but the Cross, why then do we refuse to bear it? Hath not our\nSaviour borne it before us, and died for us, to the end that we might\nalso bear it and desire to die also? All the saints have been\nafflicted; and our Saviour himself did not pass one hour of his life\nwithout some sorrow. Hope not, therefore to be exempted from\nsufferings. The Cross, _Heloise_, is always at hand, but take\ncare that you do not bear it with regret; for by so doing you will\nmake it more heavy, and you will be oppressed by it unprofitably. On\nthe contrary, if you bear it with affection and courage, all your\nsufferings will create in you a holy confidence, whereby you will\nfind comfort in God. Hear our Saviour who says: \"My child\nrenounce yourself, take up your cross and follow me.\" Oh,\n_Heloise_! do you doubt? Is not your soul ravished at so saving\na command? are you deaf to his voice? are you insensible to words so\nfull of kindness? Beware, _Heloise_, of refusing a husband who\ndemands you, and is more to be feared, if you slight his affection,\nthan any profane lover. Provoked at your contempt and ingratitude, he\nwill turn his love into anger, and make you feel his vengeance, How\nwill you sustain his presence when you shall stand before his\ntribunal? He will reproach you for having despised his grace; he will\nrepresent to you his sufferings for you. What answer can you make? he\nwill then be implacable. He will say to you, Go, proud creature,\ndwell in everlasting flames. I separated you from the world to purify\nyou in solitude, and you did not second my design; I endeavoured to\nsave you, and you took pains to destroy yourself; go wretch, and take\nthe portion of the reprobates.\n\nOh, _Heloise_, prevent these terrible words, and avoid by a\nholy course, the punishment prepared for sinners. I dare not give you\na description of those dreadful torments which ere the consequences\nof a life of guilt. I am filled with horror when they offer\nthemselves to my imagination: and yet _Heloise_ I can conceive\nnothing which can reach the tortures of the damned. The fire which we\nsee upon earth is but the shadow of that which burns them; and\nwithout enumerating their endless pains, the loss of God which they\nfeel increases all their torments. Can any one sin who is persuaded\nof this? My God! can we dare to offend thee? Tho' the riches of thy\nmercy could not engage us to love thee, the dread of being thrown\ninto such an abyss of misery would restrain us from doing any thing\nwhich might displease thee?\n\nI question not, _Heloise_, but you will hereafter apply\nyourself in good earnest to the business of your salvation: this\nought to be your whole concern. Banish me, therefore, for ever from\nyour heart; it is the best advice I can give you: for the remembrance\nof a person we have loved criminally cannot but be hurtful, whatever\nadvances we have made in the ways of virtue. When you have extirpated\nyour unhappy inclination towards me, the practice of every virtue\nwill become easy; and when at last your life is conformable to that\nof Christ, death will be desireable to you. Your soul will joyfully\nleave this body, and direct its flight to heaven. Then you will\nappear with confidence before your Saviour. You will not read\ncharacters of your reprobation written in the book of life; but you\nwill hear your Saviour say, Come, partake of my glory, and enjoy the\neternal reward I have appointed for those virtues you have practised.\n\nFarewell _Heloise_. This is the last advice of your dear\n_Abelard_; this is the last time, let me persuade you to follow\nthe holy rules of the Gospel. Heaven grant that your heart, once so\nsensible of my love, may now yield to be directed by my zeal! May the\nidea of your loving _Abelard_, always present to your mind, be\nnow changed into the image of _Abelard_ truly penitent! and may\nyou shed as many tears for your salvation as you have done during the\ncourse of our misfortunes!\n\n\n\n\n----------------\n\n\nELOISA to ABELARD\n\nBY MR POPE.\n\n\n In these deep solitudes and awful cells.\n Where heav'nly-pensive Contemplation dwells,\n And ever-musing Melancholy reigns;\n What means this tumult in a Vestal's veins?\n Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?\n Why feels my heart its long-forgotten beat?\n Yet, yet I love!----From _Abelard_ it came,\n And _Eloisa_ yet must kiss the name.\n Dear fatal name! rest ever onreveal'd,\n Nor pass those lips in holy\n silence seas'd:\n Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,\n Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lyes;\n Oh write it not, my hand--the name appears\n Already written--wash it out, my tears!\n In vain lost _Eloisa_ weeps and prays,\n Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.\n Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains\n Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:\n Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;\n Ye grotes and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!\n Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,\n And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!\n Tho' cold like you unmov'd and silent grown,\n I have not yet forgot myself to stone.\n Heav'n claims me all in vain, while he has part,\n Still rebel Nature holds out half my heart;\n Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,\n Nor tears, for ages taught to flow in vain.\n Soon as thy Letters, trembling, I unclose,\n That well-known name awakens all my woes.\n Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!\n Still breath'd in sighs, still utter'd with a tear.\n I tremble too where'er my own I find,\n Some dire misfortune follows close behind.\n Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,\n Led through a sad variety of woe:\n Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,\n Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!\n There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame.\n There died the best of passions, love and same.\n Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join\n Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.\n Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;\n And is my _Abelard_ less kind than they?\n Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,\n Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;\n No happier talk these faded eyes pursue;\n To read and weep is all they now can do.\n Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;\n Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.\n Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,\n Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;\n They live they speak, they breathe what love inspires,\n Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,\n The virgin's wish without her fears impart,\n Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,\n Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,\n And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.\n Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,\n When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;\n My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,\n Some emanations of th' all-beauteous Mind.\n Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring every ray,\n Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.\n Guiltless I gaz'd; Heav'n listen'd while you sung;\n And truths divine came mended from that tongue,\n From lip like those what precepts fail'd to move?\n Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love:\n Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,\n Nor wish'd an angel whom I lov'd a man.\n Dim and remote the joys of saints I see,\n Nor envy them that heav'n I lose for thee.\n\n How oft', when prest to marriage, have I said,\n Curse on all laws but those which Love has made!\n Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,\n Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.\n Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,\n August her deed, and sacred be her fame;\n Before true passion all those views remove,\n Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to love?\n The jealous God, when we profane his fires,\n Those restless passions in revenge inspires,\n And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,\n Who seek in love for ought but love alone.\n Should at my feet the world's great master fall,\n Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all;\n Not _Ceasar's_ empress would I deign to prove;\n No, make me mistress to the man I love;\n If there be yet another name more free,\n More fond, than Mistress, make me that to thee!\n Oh happy state! when souls each other draw.\n When love is liberty, and nature law,\n All then is full possessing and possess'd,\n No craving void left akeing in the breast?\n Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,\n And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.\n This sure is bliss, (if bliss on earth there be,)\n And once the lot of _Abelard_ and me.\n\n Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!\n A naked lover bound and bleeding lyes!\n Where, where was _Eloisa_? her voice, her hand,\n Her poinard, had oppos'd the dire command.\n Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;\n The crime was common, common be the pain.\n I can no more; by shame, by rage, suppress'd,\n Let tears and burning blushes speak the rest.\n\n Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,\n When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?\n Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,\n When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?\n As, with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,\n The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale:\n Heav'n scarces believ'd the conquest it survey'd,\n And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.\n Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,\n Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:\n Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,\n And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.\n Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;\n Those still at least are left thee to bestow.\n Still on that breast enamour'd let me lye,\n Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,\n Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;\n Give all thou canst----and let me dream the rest,\n Ah, no! instruct me other joys to prize,\n With other beauties charm my partial eyes.\n Full in my view set all the bright abode,\n And make my soul quit _Abelard_ for God.\n\n Ah! think at least thy flock deserves thy care,\n Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.\n From the false world in early youth they fled,\n By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.\n You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desart smil'd,\n And Paradise was open'd in the wild.\n No weeping orphan saw his father's stores\n Our shines irradiate, or emblaze the floors:\n No silver saints, by dying misers given,\n Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited Heav'n:\n But such plain roofs as piety could raise,\n And only vocal with the maker's praise.\n In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)\n These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,\n Where awful arches make a noon-day night,\n And the dim windows shed a solemn light;\n Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,\n And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day,\n But now no face divine contentment wears,\n 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.\n See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,\n (Oh pious fraud of am'rous charity!)\n But why should I on others' prayers depend?\n Come thou, my Father, Brother, Husband, Friend!\n Ah, let thy Handmaid, Sister, Daughter, move,\n And all those tender Names in one, thy Love!\n The darksome pines, that o'er yon rocks reclin'd\n Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,\n The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,\n The grotes that echo to the tinkling rills,\n The dying gales that pant upon the trees,\n The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;\n No more these scenes my meditation aid,\n Or lull to rest the visionary maid.\n But o'er the twilight groves, and dusky caves,\n Long founding aisles, and intermingled graves,\n Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws\n A death like silence, and a dread repose:\n Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene.\n Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,\n Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,\n And breathes a browner horror on the woods,\n\n Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;\n Sad proof how well a lover can obey!\n Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;\n And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain;\n\n Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,\n And wait, till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.\n\n Ah, wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,\n Confess'd within the slave of love and man.\n Assist me, Heav'n! But whence, arose that pray'r?\n Sprung it from piety, or from despair?\n Ev'n here, where frozen Chastity retires,\n Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.\n I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;\n I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;\n I view my crime, but kindle at the view,\n Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;\n Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,\n Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.\n Of all Affliction taught a lover yet,\n 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!\n How shall I lose the sin, yet, keep the sense.\n And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?\n How the dear object from the crime remove,\n Or how distinguish penitence from love?\n Unequal talk! a passion to resign,\n For hearts so touched, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.\n Ere such a soul regains its peaceful slate.\n How often must it love, how often hate!\n How often hope, despair, resent, regret.\n Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget!\n But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd,\n Not touched but rapt; not waken'd but inspir'd!\n Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue.\n Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.\n Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he\n Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.\n\n How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot?\n The world forgetting, by the world forgot:\n Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!\n Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;\n Labour and rest, that equal periods keep,\n 'Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;\n Desires compos'd, affections ever even;\n Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heav'n.\n Grace shines around her with serenest beams,\n And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams,\n For her the house prepares the bridal ring,\n For her white virgins _hymeneals_ sing,\n For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,\n And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes;\n To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,\n And melts in visions of eternal day.\n Far other dreams my erring soul employ,\n Far other raptures of unholy joy:\n When at the close of each sad sorrowing day\n Fancy restores what Vengeance snatch'd away,\n Then Conscience sleeps, and leaving Nature free,\n All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.\n O curs'd dear horrors of all-conscious Night!\n How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!\n Provoking daemons all restraint remove,\n And stir within me ev'ry source of love,\n I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,\n And round thy phantoms glue my clasping arms.\n I wake----no more I hear, no more I view,\n The phantom flies me as unkind as you.\n I call aloud; it hears not what I say;\n I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.\n To dream once more I close my willing eyes;\n Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!\n Alas no more!----Methinks we wand'ring go,\n Thro' dreary waftes, and weep each other's woe\n Where round some moulding tow'r pale ivy creeps,\n And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.\n Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies:\n Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.\n I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find\n And wake to all the griefs I left behind.\n\n For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain\n A cool suspence from pleasure and from pain;\n Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose;\n No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows;\n Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,\n Or moving Spirit bade the waters flow;\n Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,\n And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.\n Come, _Abelard_! for what hast thou to dread?\n The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.\n Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;\n Ev'n thou art cold----yet _Eloisa_ loves.\n Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn.\n To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.\n What scenes appear! where e'er I turn my view.\n The dear ideas where I fly pursue,\n Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,\n Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.\n I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,\n Thy image steals between my God and me;\n Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,\n With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.\n When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,\n And swelling organs lift the rising soul,\n One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,\n Priests, tapers, temples; swim before my sight:\n In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,\n While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.\n While prostrate here in humble grief I lye\n Kind, virtuous drops, just gathering in my eye,\n While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,\n And dawning grace is opening on my soul:\n Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!\n Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;\n Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes\n Blot out each bright idea of the skies;\n Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;\n Take back my fruitless penitence and prayers;\n Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;\n Assist the fiend, and tear me from my God!\n\n No, fly me! fly me! far as pole from pole;\n Rise Alps between us, and whose oceans roll!\n Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,\n Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee,\n Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;\n Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.\n Fair eyes, and tempting looks, which yet I view!\n Long-liv'd ador'd ideas, all adieu!\n O grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!\n Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!\n Fresh blooming Hope, gay daughter of the sky!\n And faith, our early immortality!\n Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;\n Receive and wrap me in eternal rest!\n See in her cell sad _Eloisa_ spread,\n Propt on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead!\n In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,\n And more than echoes talk along the walls,\n Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,\n From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound:\n 'Come, sister, come I (it said, or seem'd to say,)\n 'Thy place is here, sad sister come away!\n 'Once like thyself I trembled, wept, and pray'd,\n 'Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:\n 'But all is calm in this eternal sleep;\n 'Here Grief forgets to groan, and Love to weep;\n 'Ev'n Superstition loses ev'ry fear:\n 'For God, not man, absolves our frailties here.'\n\n I come, I come! prepare your roseat bow'rs,\n Celestial palm, and ever-blooming flow'rs.\n Thither, were sinners may have rest, I go,\n Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:\n Thou, _Abelard_! the last sad office pay,\n And smooth my passage to the realms of day;\n See my lips tremble, and my eye-balk roll,\n Suck my last breath, and catch the flying soul!\n Ah no----in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,\n The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,\n Present the Cross before my lifted eye,\n Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.\n Ah then, the once lov'd _Eloisa_ see!\n It will be then no crime to gaze on me.\n See from my cheek the transient roses fly!\n See the last sparkle languish in my eye!\n 'Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;\n And ev'n my _Abelard_. be lov'd no more.\n O death, all eloquent! you only prove\n What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.\n Then too, when Fate shall thy fair frame destroy?\n (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)\n In trance ecstatic may the pangs be drown'd,\n Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,\n From opening skies may streaming glories shine,\n And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.\n\n May one kind grave unite each hapless name,\n And graft my love immortal on thy fame!\n Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,\n When this rebellious heart shall beat no more.\n If ever Chance two wand'ring lovers brings\n To _Paraclete's_ white walls and silver springs,\n O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads.\n And drink the falling tears each other sheds;\n Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,\n \"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!\"\n From the full choir, when loud Hosannas rise,\n And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,\n Amid that scene, if some relenting eye\n Glance on the stone where our cold relics lye,\n Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heav'n,\n One human tear shall drop, and be forgiven.\n And sure, if Fate some future bard shall join\n In sad similitude of griefs like mine,\n Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,\n Andimage charms he must behold no more;\n Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;\n Let him our sad, our tender, story tell;\n The well-sung woes will smooth my pensive ghost:\n He best can paint e'm, who shall feel 'em most.\n\n\n\n\n ------------------------\n\n\nABELARD to ELOISA\n\nBY MRS MADAN.\n\n\n In my dark cell, low prostrate on the ground,\n Mourning my crimes, thy Letter entrance found;\n Too soon my soul the well-known name confest,\n My beating heart sprang fiercely in my breast,\n Thro' my whole frame a guilty transport glow'd,\n And streaming torrents from my eyes fast flow'd:\n O _Eloisa_! art thou still the same?\n Dost thou still nourish this destructive flame?\n Have not the gentle rules of Peace and Heav'n,\n From thy soft soul this fatal passion driv'n?\n Alas! I thought you disengaged and free;\n And can you still, still sigh and weep for me?\n What powerful Deity, what hallow'd Shrine,\n Can save me from a love, a faith like thine?\n Where shall I fly, when not this awful Cave,\n Whose rugged feet the surging billows lave;\n When not these gloomy cloister's solemn walls,\n O'er whose rough sides the languid ivy crawls,\n When my dread vews, in vain, their force oppose?\n Oppos'd to live--alas!--how vain are vows!\n In fruitless penitence I wear away\n Each tedious night, and sad revolving day;\n I fast, I pray, and, with deceitful art,\n Veil thy dear image in my tortur'd heart;\n My tortur'd heart conflicting passions move.\n I hope despair, repent----yet still I love:\n A thousand jarring thoughts my bosom tear;\n For, thou, not God, O _Eloise!_ art there.\n To the false world's deluding pleasures dead,\n Nor longer by its wand'ring fires misled,\n In learn'd disputes harsh precepts I infuse,\n And give the counsel I want pow'r to use.\n The rigid maxims of the grave and wife\n Have quench'd each milder sparkle of my eyes:\n Each lovley feature of this once lov'd face,\n By grief revers'd, assumes a sterner grace;\n O _Eloisa_! should the fates once more,\n Indulgent to my view, thy charms restore,\n How from my arms would'st thou with horror start\n To miss the form familiar to thy heart;\n Nought could thy quick, thy piercing judgment see,\n To speak me _Abelard_--but love to thee.\n Lean Abstinence, pale Grief, and haggard Care.\n The dire attendants of forlorn Despair,\n Have _Abelard_, the young, the gay, remov'd,\n And in the Hermit funk the man you lov'd,\n Wrapt in the gloom these holy mansions shed,\n The thorny paths of Penitence I tread;\n Lost to the world, from all its int'rests free,\n And torn from all my soul held dear in thee,\n Ambition with its train of frailties gone,\n All loves and forms forget----but thine alone,\n Amid the blaze of day, the dusk of night,\n My _Eloisa_ rises to my sight;\n Veil'd as in Paraclete's secluded tow'rs,\n The wretched mourner counts the lagging hours;\n I hear her sighs, see the swift falling tears,\n Weep all her griefs, and pant with all her cares.\n O vows! O convent! your stern force impart,\n And frown the melting phantom from my heart;\n Let other sighs a worthier sorrow show,\n Let other tears from sin repentance flow;\n Low to the earth my guilty eyes I roll,\n And humble to the dust my heaving soul,\n Forgiving Pow'r! thy gracious call I meet,\n Who first impower'd this rebel heart to heart;\n Who thro' this trembling, this offending frame,\n For nobler ends inspir'd life's active flame.\n O! change the temper of this laboring breast,\n And form anew each beating pulse to rest!\n Let springing grace, fair faith, and hope remove\n The fatal traces of destructive love!\n Destructive love from his warm mansions tear,\n And leave no traits of _Eloisa_ there!\n\n Are these the wishes of my inmost soul?\n Would I its soft, its tend'rest sense controul?\n Would I, thus touch'd, this glowing heart refine,\n To the cold substance of this marble shrine?\n Transform'd like these pale swarms that round me move,\n Of blest insensibles--who know no love?\n Ah! rather let me keep this hapless flame;\n Adieu! false honour, unavailing fame!\n Not your harsh rules, but tender love, supplies\n The streams that gush from my despairing eyes;\n I feel the traitor melt about my heart,\n And thro' my veins with treacherous influence dart;\n Inspire me, Heav'n! assist me, Grace divine,\n Aid me, ye Saints! unknown to pains like mine;\n You, who on earth serene all griefs could prove,\n All but the tort'ring pangs of hopeless love;\n A holier rage in your pure bosoms dwelt,\n Nor can you pity what you never felt:\n A sympathising grief alone can lure,\n The hand that heals, must feel what I endure.\n Thou, _Eloise_ alone canst give me ease,\n And bid my struggling soul subside to peace;\n Restore me to my long lost heav'n of rest,\n And take thyself from my reluctant breast;\n If crimes like mine could an allay receive,\n That blest allay thy wond'rons charms might give.\n Thy form, that first to love my heart inclin'd,\n Still wanders in my lost, my guilty mind.\n I saw thee as the new blown blossoms fair,\n Sprightly as light, more soft than summer's air,\n Bright as their beams thy eyes a mind disclose,\n Whilst on thy lips gay blush'd the fragrant rose;\n Wit, youth, and love, in each dear feature shone;\n Prest by my fate, I gaz'd--and was undone.\n There dy'd\n the gen'rous fire, whose vig'rous flame\n Enlarged my soul, and urg'd me on to same;\n Nor fame, nor wealth, my soften'd heart could move,\n Dully insensible to all but love.\n Snatch'd from myself, my learning tasteless grew;\n Vain my philosophy, oppos'd to you;\n A train of woes succeed, nor should we mourn,\n The hours that cannot, ought not to return.\n\n As once to love I sway'd your yielding mind,\n Too fond, alas! too fatally inclin'd,\n To virtue now let me your breast inspire,\n And fan, with zeal divine, the heav'nly fire;\n Teach you to injur'd Heav'n all chang'd to turn,\n And bid the soul with sacred rapture burn.\n O! that my own example might impart\n This noble warmth to your soft trembling heart!\n That mine, with pious undissembled care,\n Could aid the latent virtue struggling there;\n\n Alas! I rave--nor grace, nor zeal divine,\n Burn in a heart oppress'd with crimes like mine,\n Too sure I find, while I the tortures prove\n Of feeble piety, conflicting love,\n On black despair my forc'd devotion's built;\n Absence for me has sharper pangs than guilt.\n Yet, yet, my _Eloisa_, thy charms I view,\n Yet my sighs breath, my tears pour forth for you;\n Each weak resistance stronger knits my chain,\n I sigh, weep, love, despair, repent----in vain,\n Haste, _Eloisa_, haste, your lover free,\n Amidst your warmest pray'r----O think on me!\n Wing with your rising zeal my grov'ling mind,\n And let me mine from your repentance find!\n Ah! labour, strife, your love, your self control!\n The change will sure affect my kindred soul;\n In blest consent our purer sighs shall breath,\n And Heav'n assisting, shall our crimes forgive,\n But if unhappy, wretched, lost in vain,\n Faintly th' unequal combat you sustain;\n If not to Heav'n you feel your bosom rise,\n Nor tears refin'd fall contrite from your eyes;\n If still, your heart its wonted passions move,\n If still, to speak all pains in one--you love;\n Deaf to the weak essays of living breath,\n Attend the stronger eloquence of Death.\n When that kind pow'r this captive soul shall free,\n Which only then can cease to doat on thee;\n When gently sunk to my eternal sleep,\n The Paraclete my peaceful urn shall keep!\n Then, _Eloisa_, then your lover view,\n See his quench'd eyes no longer gaze on you;\n From their dead orbs that tender utt'rance flown,\n Which first to thine my heart's soft fate made known,\n This breast no more, at length to ease consign'd,\n Pant like the waving aspin in the wind;\n See all my wild, tumultuous passion o'er,\n And thou, amazing change! belov'd no more;\n Behold the destin'd end of human love--\n But let the fight your zeal alone improve;\n Let not your conscious soul, to sorrow mov'd,\n Recall how much, how tenderly I lov'd:\n With pious care your fruitless griefs restrain,\n Nor let a tear your sacred veil profane;\n Not ev'n a sigh on my cold urn bestow;\n But let your breast with new-born raptures glow;\n Let love divine, frail mortal love dethrone,\n And to your mind immortal joys make known;\n Let Heav'n relenting strike your ravish'd view,\n And still the bright, the blest pursuit renew!\n So with your crimes shall your misfortune cease,\n And your rack'd soul be calmly hush'd to peace.\n\n\n THE END\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Letters of Abelard and Heloise, by Pierre Bayle", + "author": "Abelard", + "recipient": "Heloise", + "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", + "period": "12th century" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/beethoven.json b/letters/beethoven.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11eda78 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/beethoven.json @@ -0,0 +1,242 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "No. 1 — TO THE ELECTOR OF COLOGNE, FREDERICK MAXIMILIAN.[1]", + "body": "ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE,--\n\nMusic from my fourth year has ever been my favorite pursuit. Thus early\nintroduced to the sweet Muse, who attuned my soul to pure harmony, I loved\nher, and sometimes ventured to think that I was beloved by her in return. I\nhave now attained my eleventh year, and my Muse often whispered to me in\nhours of inspiration,--Try to write down the harmonies in your soul. Only\neleven years old! thought I; does the character of an author befit me? and\nwhat would more mature artists say? I felt some trepidation; but my Muse\nwilled it--so I obeyed, and wrote.\n\nMay I now, therefore, Illustrious Prince, presume to lay the first-fruits\nof my juvenile labors at the foot of your throne? and may I hope that you\nwill condescend to cast an encouraging and kindly glance on them? You will;\nfor Art and Science have ever found in you a judicious protector and a\ngenerous patron, and rising talent has always prospered under your\nfostering and fatherly care. Encouraged by this cheering conviction, I\nventure to approach you with these my youthful efforts. Accept them as the\npure offering of childlike reverence, and graciously vouchsafe to regard\nwith indulgence them and their youthful composer,\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: The dedication affixed to this work, \"Three Sonatas for the\nPiano, dedicated to my illustrious master, Maximilian Friedrich, Archbishop\nand Elector of Cologne, by Ludwig van Beethoven in his eleventh year,\" is\nprobably not written by the boy himself, but is given here as an amusing\ncontrast to his subsequent ideas with regard to the homage due to rank.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "THE ELECTOR OF COLOGNE, FREDERICK MAXIMILIAN.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4 — TO ELEONORE VON BREUNING,--BONN.", + "body": "Vienna, Nov. 2, 1793.\n\nMY HIGHLY ESTEEMED ELEONORE, MY DEAREST FRIEND,--\n\nA year of my stay in this capital has nearly elapsed before you receive a\nletter from me, and yet the most vivid remembrance of you is ever present\nwith me. I have often conversed in thought with you and your dear family,\nthough not always in the happy mood I could have wished, for that fatal\nmisunderstanding still hovered before me, and my conduct at that time is\nnow hateful in my sight. But so it was, and how much would I give to have\nthe power wholly to obliterate from my life a mode of acting so degrading\nto myself, and so contrary to the usual tenor of my character!\n\nMany circumstances, indeed, contributed to estrange us, and I suspect that\nthose tale-bearers who repeated alternately to you and to me our mutual\nexpressions were the chief obstacles to any good understanding between us.\nEach believed that what was said proceeded from deliberate conviction,\nwhereas it arose only from anger, fanned by others; so we were both\nmistaken. Your good and noble disposition, my dear friend, is sufficient\nsecurity that you have long since forgiven me. We are told that the best\nproof of sincere contrition is to acknowledge our faults; and this is what\nI wish to do. Let us now draw a veil over the whole affair, learning one\nlesson from it,--that when friends are at variance, it is always better to\nemploy no mediator, but to communicate directly with each other.\n\nWith this you will receive a dedication from me [the variations on \"Se vuol\nballare\"]. My sole wish is that the work were greater and more worthy of\nyou. I was applied to here to publish this little work, and I take\nadvantage of the opportunity, my beloved Eleonore, to give you a proof of\nmy regard and friendship for yourself, and also a token of my enduring\nremembrance of your family. Pray then accept this trifle, and do not forget\nthat it is offered by a devoted friend. Oh! if it only gives you pleasure,\nmy wishes will be fulfilled. May it in some degree recall the time when I\npassed so many happy hours in your house! Perhaps it may serve to remind\nyou of me till I return, though this is indeed a distant prospect. Oh! how\nwe shall then rejoice together, my dear Eleonore! You will, I trust, find\nyour friend a happier man, all former forbidding, careworn furrows smoothed\naway by time and better fortune.\n\nWhen you see B. Koch [subsequently Countess Belderbusch], pray say that it\nis unkind in her never once to have written to me. I wrote to her twice,\nand three times to Malchus (afterwards Westphalian Minister of Finance),\nbut no answer. Tell her that if she does not choose to write herself, I beg\nthat she will at least urge Malchus to do so. At the close of my letter I\nventure to make one more request--I am anxious to be so fortunate as again\nto possess an Angola waistcoat knitted by your own hand, my dear friend.\nForgive my indiscreet request; it proceeds from my great love for all that\ncomes from you; and I may privately admit that a little vanity is connected\nwith it, namely, that I may say I possess something from the best and most\nadmired young lady in Bonn. I still have the one you were so good as to\ngive me in Bonn; but change of fashion has made it look so antiquated, that\nI can only treasure it in my wardrobe as your gift, and thus still very\ndear to me. You would make me very happy by soon writing me a kind letter.\nIf mine cause you any pleasure, I promise you to do as you wish, and write\nas often as it lies in my power; indeed everything is acceptable to me that\ncan serve to show you how truly I am your admiring and sincere friend,\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.\n\nP.S. The variations are rather difficult to play, especially the shake in\nthe _Coda_; but do not be alarmed at this, being so contrived that you only\nrequire to play the shake, and leave out the other notes, which also occur\nin the violin part. I never would have written it in this way, had I not\noccasionally observed that there was a certain individual in Vienna who,\nwhen I extemporized the previous evening, not unfrequently wrote down next\nday many of the peculiarities of my music, adopting them as his own [for\ninstance, the Abbé Gelinek]. Concluding, therefore, that some of these\nthings would soon appear, I resolved to anticipate this. Another reason\nalso was to puzzle some of the pianoforte teachers here, many of whom are\nmy mortal foes; so I wished to revenge myself on them in this way, knowing\nthat they would occasionally be asked to play the variations, when these\ngentlemen would not appear to much advantage.\n\nBEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "ELEONORE VON BREUNING,--BONN", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12 — TO PASTOR AMENDA,--COURLAND.", + "body": "Does Amenda think that I can ever forget him, because I do not write? in\nfact, never have written to him?--as if the memory of our friends could\nonly thus be preserved! The _best man I ever knew_ has a thousand times\nrecurred to my thoughts! Two persons alone once possessed my whole love,\none of whom still lives, and you are now the third. How can my remembrance\nof you ever fade? You will shortly receive a long letter about my present\ncircumstances and all that can interest you. Farewell, beloved, good, and\nnoble friend! Ever continue your love and friendship towards me, just as I\nshall ever be your faithful\n\nBEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "PASTOR AMENDA,--COURLAND", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13 — TO PASTOR AMENDA.", + "body": "1800.\n\nMY DEAR, MY GOOD AMENDA, MY WARM-HEARTED FRIEND,--\n\nI received and read your last letter with deep emotion, and with mingled\npain and pleasure. To what can I compare your fidelity and devotion to me?\nAh! it is indeed delightful that you still continue to love me so well. I\nknow how to prize you, and to distinguish you from all others; you are not\nlike my Vienna friends. No! you are one of those whom the soil of my\nfatherland is wont to bring forth; how often I wish that you were with me,\nfor your Beethoven is very unhappy. You must know that one of my most\nprecious faculties, that of hearing, is become very defective; even while\nyou were still with me I felt indications of this, though I said nothing;\nbut it is now much worse. Whether I shall ever be cured remains yet to be\nseen; it is supposed to proceed from the state of my digestive organs, but\nI am almost entirely recovered in that respect. I hope indeed that my\nhearing may improve, but I scarcely think so, for attacks of this kind are\nthe most incurable of all. How sad my life must now be!--forced to shun all\nthat is most dear and precious to me, and to live with such miserable\negotists as ----, &c. I can with truth say that of all my friends\nLichnowsky [Prince Carl] is the most genuine. He last year settled 600\nflorins on me, which, together with the good sale of my works, enables me\nto live free from care as to my maintenance. All that I now write I can\ndispose of five times over, and be well paid into the bargain. I have been\nwriting a good deal latterly, and as I hear that you have ordered some\npianos from ----, I will send you some of my compositions in the\npacking-case of one of these instruments, by which means they will not cost\nyou so much.\n\nTo my great comfort, a person has returned here with whom I can enjoy the\npleasures of society and disinterested friendship,--one of the friends of\nmy youth [Stephan von Breuning]. I have often spoken to him of you, and\ntold him that since I left my fatherland, you are one of those to whom my\nheart specially clings. Z. [Zmeskall?] does not seem quite to please him;\nhe is, and always will be, too weak for true friendship, and I look on him\nand ---- as mere instruments on which I play as I please, but never can\nthey bear noble testimony to my inner and outward energies, or feel true\nsympathy with me; I value them only in so far as their services deserve.\nOh! how happy should I now be, had I my full sense of hearing; I would then\nhasten to you; whereas, as it is, I must withdraw from everything. My best\nyears will thus pass away, without effecting what my talents and powers\nmight have enabled me to perform. How melancholy is the resignation in\nwhich I must take refuge! I had determined to rise superior to all this,\nbut how is it possible? If in the course of six months my malady be\npronounced incurable then, Amenda! I shall appeal to you to leave all else\nand come to me, when I intend to travel (my affliction is less distressing\nwhen playing and composing, and most so in intercourse with others), and\nyou must be my companion. I have a conviction that good fortune will not\nforsake me, for to what may I not at present aspire? Since you were here I\nhave written everything except operas and church music. You will not, I\nknow, refuse my petition; you will help your friend to bear his burden and\nhis calamity. I have also very much perfected my pianoforte playing, and I\nhope that a journey of this kind may possibly contribute to your own\nsuccess in life, and you would thenceforth always remain with me. I duly\nreceived all your letters, and though I did not reply to them, you were\nconstantly present with me, and my heart beats as tenderly as ever for you.\nI beg you will keep the fact of my deafness a profound secret, and not\nconfide it to any human being. Write to me frequently; your letters,\nhowever short, console and cheer me; so I shall soon hope to hear from you.\n\nDo not give your quartet to any one [in F, Op. 18, No. 1], as I have\naltered it very much, having only now succeeded in writing quartets\nproperly; this you will at once perceive when you receive it. Now,\nfarewell, my dear kind friend! If by any chance I can serve you here, I\nneed not say that you have only to command me.\n\nYour faithful and truly attached\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "PASTOR AMENDA", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15 — TO COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI.[1]", + "body": "Morning, July 6, 1800.\n\nMY ANGEL! MY ALL! MY SECOND SELF!\n\nOnly a few words to-day, written with a pencil (your own). My residence\ncannot be settled till to-morrow. What a tiresome loss of time! Why this\ndeep grief when necessity compels?--can our love exist without sacrifices,\nand by refraining from desiring all things? Can you alter the fact that you\nare not wholly mine, nor I wholly yours? Ah! contemplate the beauties of\nNature, and reconcile your spirit to the inevitable. Love demands all, and\nhas a right to do so, and thus it is _I feel towards you_ and _you towards\nme_; but you do not sufficiently remember that I must live both _for you_\nand _for myself_. Were we wholly united, you would feel this sorrow as\nlittle as I should. My journey was terrible. I did not arrive here till\nfour o'clock yesterday morning, as no horses were to be had. The drivers\nchose another route; but what a dreadful one it was! At the last stage I\nwas warned not to travel through the night, and to beware of a certain\nwood, but this only incited me to go forward, and I was wrong. The carriage\nbroke down, owing to the execrable roads, mere deep rough country lanes,\nand had it not been for the postilions I must have been left by the\nwayside. Esterhazy, travelling the usual road, had the same fate with eight\nhorses, whereas I had only four. Still I felt a certain degree of pleasure,\nwhich I invariably do when I have happily surmounted any difficulty. But I\nmust now pass from the outer to the inner man. We shall, I trust, soon meet\nagain; to-day I cannot impart to you all the reflections I have made,\nduring the last few days, on my life; were our hearts closely united\nforever, none of these would occur to me. My heart is overflowing with all\nI have to say to you. Ah! there are moments when I find that speech is\nactually nothing. Take courage! Continue to be ever my true and only love,\nmy all! as I am yours. The gods must ordain what is further to be and shall\nbe!\n\nYour faithful\n\nLUDWIG.\n\nMonday Evening, July 6.\n\nYou grieve! dearest of all beings! I have just heard that the letters must\nbe sent off very early. Mondays and Thursdays are the only days when the\npost goes to K. from here. You grieve! Ah! where I am, there you are ever\nwith me; how earnestly shall I strive to pass my life with you, and what a\nlife will it be!!! Whereas now!! without you!! and persecuted by the\nkindness of others, which I neither deserve nor try to deserve! The\nservility of man towards his fellow-man pains me, and when I regard myself\nas a component part of the universe, what am I, what is he who is called\nthe greatest?--and yet herein are displayed the godlike feelings of\nhumanity!--I weep in thinking that you will receive no intelligence from me\ntill probably Saturday. However dearly you may love me, I love you more\nfondly still. Never conceal your feelings from me. Good-night! As a patient\nat these baths, I must now go to rest [a few words are here effaced by\nBeethoven himself]. Oh, heavens! so near, and yet so far! Is not our love a\ntruly celestial mansion, but firm as the vault of heaven itself?\n\nJuly 7.\n\nGOOD-MORNING!\n\nEven before I rise, my thoughts throng to you, my immortal\nbeloved!--sometimes full of joy, and yet again sad, waiting to see whether\nFate will hear us. I must live either wholly with you, or not at all.\nIndeed I have resolved to wander far from you [see No. 13] till the moment\narrives when I can fly into your arms, and feel that they are my home, and\nsend forth my soul in unison with yours into the realm of spirits. Alas! it\nmust be so! You will take courage, for you know my fidelity. Never can\nanother possess my heart--never, never! Oh, heavens! Why must I fly from\nher I so fondly love? and yet my existence in W. was as miserable as here.\nYour love made me the most happy and yet the most unhappy of men. At my\nage, life requires a uniform equality; can this be found in our mutual\nrelations? My angel! I have this moment heard that the post goes every day,\nso I must conclude, that you may get this letter the sooner. Be calm! for\nwe can only attain our object of living together by the calm contemplation\nof our existence. Continue to love me. Yesterday, to-day, what longings for\nyou, what tears for you! for you! for you! my life! my all! Farewell! Oh!\nlove me forever, and never doubt the faithful heart of your lover, L.\n\nEver thine.\nEver mine.\nEver each other's.\n\n[Footnote 1: These letters to his \"immortal beloved,\" to whom the C sharp\nminor Sonata is dedicated, appear here for the first time in their\nintegrity, in accordance with the originals written in pencil on fine\nnotepaper, and given in Schindler's _Beethoven's Nachlass_. There has been\nmuch discussion about the date. It is certified, in the first place, in the\nchurch register which Alex. Thayer saw in Vienna, that Giulietta was\nmarried to Count Gallenberg in 1801; and in the next place, the 6th of July\nfalls on a Monday in 1800. The other reasons which induce me decidedly to\nfix this latter year as the date of the letter, I mean to give at full\nlength in the second volume of _Beethoven's Biography_. I may also state\nthat Beethoven was at baths in Hungary at that time. Whether the K---- in\nthe second letter means Komorn, I cannot tell.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "COUNTESS GIULIETTA GUICCIARDI.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16 — TO MATTHISSON.", + "body": "Vienna, August 4, 1800.\n\nMOST ESTEEMED FRIEND,--\n\nYou will receive with this one of my compositions published some years\nsince, and yet, to my shame, you probably have never heard of it. I cannot\nattempt to excuse myself, or to explain why I dedicated a work to you which\ncame direct from my heart, but never acquainted you with its existence,\nunless indeed in this way, that at first I did not know where you lived,\nand partly also from diffidence, which led me to think I might have been\npremature in dedicating a work to you before ascertaining that you approved\nof it. Indeed, even now I send you \"Adelaide\" with a feeling of timidity.\nYou know yourself what changes the lapse of some years brings forth in an\nartist who continues to make progress; the greater the advances we make in\nart, the less are we satisfied with our works of an earlier date. My most\nardent wish will be fulfilled if you are not dissatisfied with the manner\nin which I have set your heavenly \"Adelaide\" to music, and are incited by\nit soon to compose a similar poem; and if you do not consider my request\ntoo indiscreet, I would ask you to send it to me forthwith, that I may\nexert all my energies to approach your lovely poetry in merit. Pray regard\nthe dedication as a token of the pleasure which your \"Adelaide\" conferred\non me, as well as of the appreciation and intense delight your poetry\nalways has inspired, and _always will inspire in me_.\n\nWhen playing \"Adelaide,\" sometimes recall\n\nYour sincere admirer,\n\nBEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "MATTHISSON", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18 — TO HERR VON WEGELER.", + "body": "Vienna, Nov. 16, 1800.\n\nMY DEAR WEGELER,--\n\nI thank you for this fresh proof of your interest in me, especially as I so\nlittle deserve it. You wish to know how I am, and what remedies I use.\nUnwilling as I always feel to discuss this subject, still I feel less\nreluctant to do so with you than with any other person. For some months\npast Vering has ordered me to apply blisters on both arms, of a particular\nkind of bark, with which you are probably acquainted,--a disagreeable\nremedy, independent of the pain, as it deprives me of the free use of my\narms for a couple of days at a time, till the blisters have drawn\nsufficiently. The ringing and buzzing in my ears have certainly rather\ndecreased, particularly in the left ear, in which the malady first\ncommenced, but my hearing is not at all improved; in fact I fear that it is\nbecome rather worse. My health is better, and after using the tepid baths\nfor a time, I feel pretty well for eight or ten days. I seldom take tonics,\nbut I have begun applications of herbs, according to your advice. Vering\nwill not hear of plunge baths, but I am much dissatisfied with him; he is\nneither so attentive nor so indulgent as he ought to be to such a malady;\nif I did not go to him, which is no easy matter, I should never see him at\nall. What is your opinion of Schmidt [an army surgeon]? I am unwilling to\nmake any change, but it seems to me that Vering is too much of a\npractitioner to acquire new ideas by reading. On this point Schmidt appears\nto be a very different man, and would probably be less negligent with\nregard to my case. I hear wonders of galvanism; what do you say to it? A\nphysician told me that he knew a deaf and dumb child whose hearing was\nrestored by it (in Berlin), and likewise a man who had been deaf for seven\nyears, and recovered his hearing. I am told that your friend Schmidt is at\nthis moment making experiments on the subject.\n\nI am now leading a somewhat more agreeable life, as of late I have been\nassociating more with other people. You could scarcely believe what a sad\nand dreary life mine has been for the last two years; my defective hearing\neverywhere pursuing me like a spectre, making me fly from every one, and\nappear a misanthrope; and yet no one is in reality less so! This change has\nbeen wrought by a lovely fascinating girl [undoubtedly Giulietta], who\nloves me and whom I love. I have once more had some blissful moments during\nthe last two years, and it is the first time I ever felt that marriage\ncould make me happy. Unluckily, she is not in my rank of life, and indeed\nat this moment I can marry no one; I must first bestir myself actively in\nthe world. Had it not been for my deafness, I would have travelled half\nround the globe ere now, and this I must still do. For me there is no\npleasure so great as to promote and to pursue my art.\n\nDo not suppose that I could be happy with you. What indeed could make me\nhappier? Your very solicitude would distress me; I should read your\ncompassion every moment in your countenance, which would make me only still\nmore unhappy. What were my thoughts amid the glorious scenery of my\nfather-land? The hope alone of a happier future, which would have been mine\nbut for this affliction! Oh! I could span the world were I only free from\nthis! I feel that my youth is only now commencing. Have I not always been\nan infirm creature? For some time past my bodily strength has been\nincreasing, and it is the same with my mental powers. I feel, though I\ncannot describe it, that I daily approach the object I have in view, in\nwhich alone can your Beethoven live. No rest for him!--I know of none but\nin sleep, and I do grudge being obliged to sacrifice more time to it than\nformerly.[1] Were I only half cured of my malady, then I would come to you,\nand, as a more perfect and mature man, renew our old friendship.\n\nYou should then see me as happy as I am ever destined to be here below--not\nunhappy. No! that I could not endure; I will boldly meet my fate, never\nshall it succeed in crushing me. Oh! it is so glorious to live one's life a\nthousand times over! I feel that I am no longer made for a quiet existence.\nYou will write to me as soon as possible? Pray try to prevail on Steffen\n[von Breuning] to seek an appointment from the Teutonic Order somewhere.\nLife here is too harassing for his health; besides, he is so isolated that\nI do not see how he is ever to get on. You know the kind of existence here.\nI do not take it upon myself to say that society would dispel his\nlassitude, but he cannot be persuaded to go anywhere. A short time since, I\nhad some music in my house, but our friend Steffen stayed away. Do\nrecommend him to be more calm and self-possessed, which I have in vain\ntried to effect; otherwise he can neither enjoy health nor happiness. Tell\nme in your next letter whether you care about my sending you a large\nselection of music; you can indeed dispose of what you do not want, and\nthus repay the expense of the carriage, and have my portrait into the\nbargain. Say all that is kind and amiable from me to Lorchen, and also to\nmamma and Christoph. You still have some regard for me? Always rely on the\nlove as well as the friendship of your\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Too much sleep is hurtful\" is marked by a thick score in the\nOdyssey (45, 393) by Beethoven's hand. See Schindler's _Beethoven's\nNachlass_.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR VON WEGELER", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20 — TO KAPELLMEISTER HOFMEISTER.", + "body": "Vienna, Jan. 15 (or thereabouts), 1801.\n\nI read your letter, dear brother and friend, with much pleasure, and I\nthank you for your good opinion of me and of my works, and hope I may\ncontinue to deserve it. I also beg you to present all due thanks to Herr K.\n[Kühnel] for his politeness and friendship towards me. I, on my part,\nrejoice in your undertakings, and am glad that when works of art do turn\nout profitable, they fall to the share of true artists, rather than to that\nof mere tradesmen.\n\nYour intention to publish Sebastian Bach's works really gladdens my heart,\nwhich beats with devotion for the lofty and grand productions of this our\nfather of the science of harmony, and I trust I shall soon see them appear.\nI hope when golden peace is proclaimed, and your subscription list opened,\nto procure you many subscribers here.[1]\n\nWith regard to our own transactions, as you wish to know my proposals, they\nare as follows. I offer you at present the following works:--The Septet\n(which I already wrote to you about), 20 ducats; Symphony, 20 ducats;\nConcerto, 10 ducats; Grand Solo Sonata, _allegro, adagio, minuetto, rondo_,\n20 ducats. This Sonata [Op. 22] is well up to the mark, my dear brother!\n\nNow for explanations. You may perhaps be surprised that I make no\ndifference of price between the sonata, septet, and symphony. I do so\nbecause I find that a septet or a symphony has not so great a sale as a\nsonata, though a symphony ought unquestionably to be of the most value.\n(N.B. The septet consists of a short introductory _adagio_, an _allegro,\nadagio, minuetto, andante_, with variations, _minuetto_, and another short\n_adagio_ preceding a _presto_.) I only ask ten ducats for the concerto,\nfor, as I already wrote to you, I do not consider it one of my best. I\ncannot think that, taken as a whole, you will consider these prices\nexorbitant; at least, I have endeavored to make them as moderate as\npossible for you.\n\nWith regard to the banker's draft, as you give me my choice, I beg you will\nmake it payable by Germüller or Schüller. The entire sum for the four works\nwill amount to 70 ducats; I understand no currency but Vienna ducats, so\nhow many dollars in gold they make in your money is no affair of mine, for\nreally I am a very bad man of business and accountant. Now this\n_troublesome_ business is concluded;--I call it so, heartily wishing that\nit could be otherwise here below! There ought to be only one grand _dépôt_\nof art in the world, to which the artist might repair with his works, and\non presenting them receive what he required; but as it now is, one must be\nhalf a tradesman besides--and how is this to be endured? Good heavens! I\nmay well call it _troublesome_!\n\nAs for the Leipzig oxen,[2] let them talk!--they certainly will make no man\nimmortal by their prating, and as little can they deprive of immortality\nthose whom Apollo destines to attain it.\n\nNow may Heaven preserve you and your colleagues! I have been unwell for\nsome time; so it is rather difficult for me at present to write even music,\nmuch more letters. I trust we shall have frequent opportunities to assure\neach other how truly you are my friend, and I yours.\n\nI hope for a speedy answer. Adieu!\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: I have at this moment in my hands this edition of Bach, bound\nin one thick volume, together with the first part of Nägeli's edition of\nthe _Wohltemperirtes Clavier_, also three books of exercises (D, G, and C\nminor), the _Toccata in D Minor_, and _Twice Fifteen Inventions_.]\n\n[Footnote 2: It is thus that Schindler supplies the gap. It is probably an\nallusion to the _Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung_, founded about three\nyears previously.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "KAPELLMEISTER HOFMEISTER", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25 — TO HERR HOFMEISTER,--LEIPZIG.", + "body": "Vienna, April 8, 1802.\n\nDo you mean to go post-haste to the devil, gentlemen, by proposing that I\nshould write _such_ a _sonata_? During the revolutionary fever, a thing of\nthe kind might have been appropriate, but now, when everything is falling\nagain into the beaten track, and Bonaparte has concluded a _Concordat_ with\nthe Pope--such a sonata as this? If it were a _missa pro Sancta Maria à tre\nvoci_, or a _vesper_, &c., then I would at once take up my pen and write a\n_Credo in unum_, in gigantic semibreves. But, good heavens! such a sonata,\nin this fresh dawning Christian epoch. No, no!--it won't do, and I will\nhave none of it.\n\nNow for my answer in quickest _tempo_. The lady can have a sonata from me,\nand I am willing to adopt the general outlines of her plan in an\n_aesthetical_ point of view, without adhering to the keys named. The price\nto be five ducats; for this sum she can keep the work a year for her own\namusement, without either of us being entitled to publish it. After the\nlapse of a year, the sonata to revert to me--that is, I can and will then\npublish it, when, if she considers it any distinction, she may request me\nto dedicate it to her.\n\nI now, gentlemen, commend you to the grace of God. My Sonata [Op. 22] is\nwell engraved, but you have been a fine time about it! I hope you will\nusher my Septet into the world a little quicker, as the P---- is waiting\nfor it, and you know the Empress has it; and when there are in this\nimperial city people like ----, I cannot be answerable for the result; so\nlose no time!\n\nHerr ---- [Mollo?] has lately published my Quartets [Op. 18] full of faults\nand _errata_, both large and small, which swarm in them like fish in the\nsea; that is, they are innumerable. _Questo è un piacere per un\nautore_--this is what I call engraving [_stechen_, stinging] with a\nvengeance.[1] In truth, my skin is a mass of punctures and scratches from\nthis fine edition of my Quartets! Now farewell, and think of me as I do of\nyou. Till death, your faithful\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: In reference to the musical piracy at that time very prevalent\nin Austria.]\n\n\n26.[1]\n\nTO MY BROTHERS CARL AND JOHANN BEETHOVEN.\n\nHeiligenstadt, Oct. 6, 1802.\n\nOh! ye who think or declare me to be hostile, morose, and misanthropical,\nhow unjust you are, and how little you know the secret cause of what\nappears thus to you! My heart and mind were ever from childhood prone to\nthe most tender feelings of affection, and I was always disposed to\naccomplish something great. But you must remember that six years ago I was\nattacked by an incurable malady, aggravated by unskilful physicians,\ndeluded from year to year, too, by the hope of relief, and at length forced\nto the conviction of a _lasting affliction_ (the cure of which may go on\nfor years, and perhaps after all prove impracticable).\n\nBorn with a passionate and excitable temperament, keenly susceptible to the\npleasures of society, I was yet obliged early in life to isolate myself,\nand to pass my existence in solitude. If I at any time resolved to surmount\nall this, oh! how cruelly was I again repelled by the experience, sadder\nthan ever, of my defective hearing!--and yet I found it impossible to say\nto others: Speak louder; shout! for I am deaf! Alas! how could I proclaim\nthe deficiency of a sense which ought to have been more perfect with me\nthan with other men,--a sense which I once possessed in the highest\nperfection, to an extent, indeed, that few of my profession ever enjoyed!\nAlas, I cannot do this! Forgive me therefore when you see me withdraw from\nyou with whom I would so gladly mingle. My misfortune is doubly severe from\ncausing me to be misunderstood. No longer can I enjoy recreation in social\nintercourse, refined conversation, or mutual outpourings of thought.\nCompletely isolated, I only enter society when compelled to do so. I must\nlive like an exile. In company I am assailed by the most painful\napprehensions, from the dread of being exposed to the risk of my condition\nbeing observed. It was the same during the last six months I spent in the\ncountry. My intelligent physician recommended me to spare my hearing as\nmuch as possible, which was quite in accordance with my present\ndisposition, though sometimes, tempted by my natural inclination for\nsociety, I allowed myself to be beguiled into it. But what humiliation when\nany one beside me heard a flute in the far distance, while I heard\n_nothing_, or when others heard _a shepherd singing_, and I still heard\n_nothing_! Such things brought me to the verge of desperation, and wellnigh\ncaused me to put an end to my life. _Art! art_ alone, deterred me. Ah! how\ncould I possibly quit the world before bringing forth all that I felt it\nwas my vocation to produce?[2] And thus I spared this miserable life--so\nutterly miserable that any sudden change may reduce me at any moment from\nmy best condition into the worst. It is decreed that I must now choose\n_Patience_ for my guide! This I have done. I hope the resolve will not fail\nme, steadfastly to persevere till it may please the inexorable Fates to cut\nthe thread of my life. Perhaps I may get better, perhaps not. I am prepared\nfor either. Constrained to become a philosopher in my twenty-eighth\nyear![3] This is no slight trial, and more severe on an artist than on any\none else. God looks into my heart, He searches it, and knows that love for\nman and feelings of benevolence have their abode there! Oh! ye who may one\nday read this, think that you have done me injustice, and let any one\nsimilarly afflicted be consoled, by finding one like himself, who, in\ndefiance of all the obstacles of Nature, has done all in his power to be\nincluded in the ranks of estimable artists and men. My brothers Carl and\nJohann, as soon as I am no more, if Professor Schmidt [see Nos. 18 and 23]\nbe still alive, beg him in my name to describe my malady, and to add these\npages to the analysis of my disease, that at least, so far as possible, the\nworld may be reconciled to me after my death. I also hereby declare you\nboth heirs of my small fortune (if so it may be called). Share it fairly,\nagree together and assist each other. You know that anything you did to\ngive me pain has been long forgiven. I thank you, my brother Carl in\nparticular, for the attachment you have shown me of late. My wish is that\nyou may enjoy a happier life, and one more free from care, than mine has\nbeen. Recommend _Virtue_ to your children; that alone, and not wealth, can\nensure happiness. I speak from experience. It was _Virtue_ alone which\nsustained me in my misery; I have to thank her and Art for not having ended\nmy life by suicide. Farewell! Love each other. I gratefully thank all my\nfriends, especially Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmidt. I wish one of\nyou to keep Prince L----'s instruments; but I trust this will give rise to\nno dissension between you. If you think it more beneficial, however, you\nhave only to dispose of them. How much I shall rejoice if I can serve you\neven in the grave! So be it then! I joyfully hasten to meet Death. If he\ncomes before I have had the opportunity of developing all my artistic\npowers, then, notwithstanding my cruel fate, he will come too early for me,\nand I should wish for him at a more distant period; but even then I shall\nbe content, for his advent will release me from a state of endless\nsuffering. Come when he may, I shall meet him with courage. Farewell! Do\nnot quite forget me, even in death; I deserve this from you, because during\nmy life I so often thought of you, and wished to make you happy. Amen!\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.\n\n(_Written on the Outside._)\n\nThus, then, I take leave of you, and with sadness too. The fond hope I\nbrought with me here, of being to a certain degree cured, now utterly\nforsakes me. As autumn leaves fall and wither, so are my hopes blighted.\nAlmost as I came, I depart. Even the lofty courage that so often animated\nme in the lovely days of summer is gone forever. O Providence! vouchsafe me\none day of pure felicity! How long have I been estranged from the glad echo\nof true joy! When! O my God! when shall I again feel it in the temple of\nNature and of man?--never? Ah! that would be too hard!\n\n(_Outside._)\n\nTo be read and fulfilled after my death by my brothers Carl and Johann.\n\n[Footnote 1: This beautiful letter I regret not to have seen in the\noriginal, it being in the possession of the violin _virtuoso_ Ernst, in\nLondon. I have adhered to the version given in the Leipzig _Allgemeine\nMusikalische Zeitung_, Oct. 1827.]\n\n[Footnote 2: A large portion of the _Eroica_ was written in the course of\nthis summer, but not completed till August, 1804.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Beethoven did not at that time know in what year he was born.\nSee the subsequent letter of May 2, 1810. He was then far advanced in his\nthirty-third year.]\n\n\n27.\n\nNOTICE.\n\nNovember, 1802.\n\nI owe it to the public and to myself to state that the two quintets in C\nand E flat major--one of these (arranged from a symphony of mine) published\nby Herr Mollo in Vienna, and the other (taken from my Septet, Op. 20) by\nHerr Hofmeister in Leipzig--are not original quintets, but only versions of\nthe aforesaid works given by the publishers. Arrangements in these days (so\nfruitful in--arrangements) an author will find it vain to contend against;\nbut we may at least justly demand that the fact should be mentioned in the\ntitle-page, neither to injure the reputation of the author nor to deceive\nthe public. This notice is given to prevent anything of the kind in future.\nI also beg to announce that shortly a new original quintet of my\ncomposition, in C major, Op. 29, will appear at Breitkopf & Härtel's in\nLeipzig.\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR HOFMEISTER,--LEIPZIG", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 38 — TO HERR RIES.", + "body": "Berlin, July 24, 1804.\n\n... You were no doubt not a little surprised about the affair with\nBreuning; believe me, my dear friend, that the ebullition on my part was\nonly an outbreak caused by many previous scenes of a disagreeable nature. I\nhave the gift of being able to conceal and to repress my susceptibility on\nmany occasions; but if attacked at a time when I chance to be peculiarly\nirritable, I burst forth more violently than any one. Breuning certainly\npossesses many admirable qualities, but he thinks himself quite faultless;\nwhereas the very defects that he discovers in others are those which he\npossesses himself to the highest degree. From my childhood I have always\ndespised his petty mind. My powers of discrimination enabled me to foresee\nthe result with Breuning, for our modes of thinking, acting, and feeling\nare entirely opposite; and yet I believed that these difficulties might be\novercome, but experience has disproved this. So now I want no more of his\nfriendship! I have only found two friends in the world with whom I never\nhad a misunderstanding; but what men these were! One is dead, the other\nstill lives. Although for nearly six years past we have seen nothing of\neach other, yet I know that I still hold the first place in his heart, as\nhe does in mine [see No. 12]. The true basis of friendship is to be found\nin sympathy of heart and soul. I only wish you could have read the letter I\nwrote to Breuning, and his to me. No! never can he be restored to his\nformer place in my heart. The man who could attribute to his friend so base\na mode of thinking, and could himself have recourse to so base a mode of\nacting towards him, is no longer worthy of my friendship.\n\nDo not forget the affair of my apartments. Farewell! Do not be too much\naddicted to tailoring,[1] remember me to the fairest of the fair, and send\nme half a dozen needles.\n\nI never could have believed that I could be so idle as I am here. If this\nbe followed by a fit of industry, something worth while may be produced.\n\n_Vale!_ Your\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: Ries says, in Wegeler's _Biographical Notices_:--\"Beethoven\nnever visited me more frequently than when I lived in the house of a\ntailor, with three very handsome but thoroughly respectable daughters.\"]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR RIES", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 43 — TO HERR RÖCKEL.[1]", + "body": "DEAR RÖCKEL,--\n\nBe sure that you arrange matters properly with Mdlle. Milder, and say to\nher previously from me, that I hope she will not sing anywhere else. I\nintend to call on her to-morrow, to kiss the hem of her garment. Do not\nalso forget Marconi, and forgive me for giving you so much trouble.\n\nYours wholly,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: Röckel, in 1806 tenor at the Theatre \"an der Wien,\" sang the\npart of Florestan in the spring of that year, when _Fidelio_ was revived.\nMdlle. Milder, afterwards Mdme. Hauptmann, played Leonore; Mdme. Marconi\nwas also prima donna.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR RÖCKEL.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 47 — TO COUNT FRANZ VON OPPERSDORF.[1]", + "body": "Vienna, Nov. 1, 1808 [_sic!_].\n\nMY DEAR COUNT,--\n\nI fear you will look on me with displeasure when I tell you that necessity\ncompelled me not only to dispose of the symphony I wrote for you, but to\ntransfer another also to some one else. Be assured, however, that you shall\nsoon receive the one I intend for you. I hope that both you and the\nCountess, to whom I beg my kind regards, have been well since we met. I am\nat this moment staying with Countess Erdödy in the apartments below those\nof Prince Lichnowsky. I mention this in case you do me the honor to call on\nme when you are in Vienna. My circumstances are improving, without having\nrecourse to the intervention of people _who treat their friends\ninsultingly_. I have also the offer of being made _Kapellmeister_ to the\nKing of Westphalia, and it is possible that I may accept the proposal.\nFarewell, and sometimes think of your attached friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: The fourth Symphony is dedicated to Count Oppersdorf.]\n\n\n48.[1]\n\nI fear I am too late for to-day, but I have only now been able to get back\nyour memorial from C----, because H---- wished to add various items here\nand there. I do beg of you to dwell chiefly on the great importance to me\nof adequate opportunities to exercise my art; by so doing you will write\nwhat is most in accordance with my head and my heart. The preamble must set\nforth what I am to have in Westphalia--600 ducats in gold, 150 ducats for\ntravelling expenses; all I have to do in return for this sum being to\ndirect the King's [Jerome's] concerts, which are short and few in number. I\nam not even bound to direct any opera I may write. So, thus freed from all\ncare, I shall be able to devote myself entirely to the most important\nobject of my art--to write great works. An orchestra is also to be placed\nat my disposition.\n\nN.B. As member of a theatrical association, the title need not be insisted\non, as it can produce nothing but annoyance. With regard to the _Imperial\nservice_, I think that point requires delicate handling, and not less so\nthe solicitation for the title of _Imperial Kapellmeister_. It must,\nhowever, be made quite clear that I am to receive a sufficient salary from\nthe Court to enable me to renounce the annuity which I at present receive\nfrom the gentlemen in question [the Archduke Rudolph, Prince Kinsky, and\nPrince Lobkowitz], which I think will be most suitably expressed by my\nstating that it is my hope, and has ever been my most ardent wish, to enter\nthe Imperial service, when I shall be ready to give up as much of the above\nsalary as the sum I am to receive from His Imperial Majesty amounts to.\n(N.B. We must have it to-morrow at twelve o'clock, as we go to Kinsky then.\nI hope to see you to-day.)\n\n[Footnote 1: This note, now first published, refers to the call Beethoven\nhad received, mentioned in the previous No. The sketch of the memorial that\nfollows is not, however, in Beethoven's writing, and perhaps not even\ncomposed by him [see also No. 46]. It is well known that the Archduke\nRudolph, Prince Kinsky, and Prince Lobkowitz had secured to the _maestro_ a\nsalary of 4000 gulden.]\n\n\n49.\n\nThe aim and endeavor of every true artist must be to acquire a position in\nwhich he can occupy himself exclusively with the accomplishment of great\nworks, undisturbed by other avocations or by considerations of economy. A\ncomposer, therefore, can have no more ardent wish than to devote himself\nwholly to the creation of works of importance, to be produced before the\npublic. He must also keep in view the prospect of old age, in order to make\na sufficient provision for that period.\n\nThe King of Westphalia has offered Beethoven a salary of 600 gold ducats\nfor life, and 150 ducats for travelling expenses, in return for which his\nsole obligations are, occasionally to play before His Majesty, and to\nconduct his chamber concerts, which are both few and short. This proposal\nis of a most beneficial nature both to art and the artist.\n\nBeethoven, however, much prefers a residence in this capital, feeling so\nmuch gratitude for the many proofs of kindness he has received in it, and\nso much patriotism for his adopted father-land, that he will never cease to\nconsider himself an Austrian artist, nor take up his abode elsewhere, if\nanything approaching to the same advantages are conferred on him here.\n\nAs many persons of high, indeed of the very highest rank, have requested\nhim to name the conditions on which he would be disposed to remain here, in\ncompliance with their wish he states as follows:--\n\n1. Beethoven must receive from some influential nobleman security for a\npermanent salary for life: various persons of consideration might\ncontribute to make up the amount of this salary, which, at the present\nincreased price of all commodities, must not consist of less than 4000\nflorins _per annum_. Beethoven's wish is that the donors of this sum should\nbe considered as cooperating in the production of his future great works,\nby thus enabling him to devote himself entirely to these labors, and by\nrelieving him from all other occupations.\n\n2. Beethoven must always retain the privilege of travelling in the\ninterests of art, for in this way alone can he make himself known, and\nacquire some fortune.\n\n3. His most ardent desire and eager wish is to be received into the\nImperial service, when such an appointment would enable him partly or\nwholly to renounce the proposed salary. In the mean time the title of\n_Imperial Kapellmeister_ would be very gratifying to him; and if this wish\ncould be realized, the value of his abode here would be much enhanced in\nhis eyes.\n\nIf his desire be fulfilled, and a salary granted by His Majesty to\nBeethoven, he will renounce so much of the said 4000 florins as the\nImperial salary shall amount to; or if this appointment be 4000 florins, he\nwill give up the whole of the former sum.\n\n4. As Beethoven wishes from time to time to produce before the public at\nlarge his new great works, he desires an assurance from the present\ndirectors of the theatre on their part, and that of their successors, that\nthey will authorize him to give a concert for his own benefit every year on\nPalm Sunday, in the Theatre \"an der Wien.\" In return for which Beethoven\nagrees to arrange and direct an annual concert for the benefit of the poor,\nor, if this cannot be managed, at all events to furnish a new work of his\nown for such a concert.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "COUNT FRANZ VON OPPERSDORF.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 50 — TO ZMESKALL.", + "body": "December, 1808.\n\nMY EXCELLENT FRIEND,--\n\nAll would go well now if we had only a curtain, without it the _Aria_ [\"Ah!\nPerfido\"] _will be a failure_.[1] I only heard this to-day from S.\n[Seyfried], and it vexes me much: a curtain of any kind will do, even a\nbed-curtain, or merely a _kind of gauze screen_, which could be instantly\nremoved. There must be something; for the Aria is in the _dramatic style_,\nand better adapted for the stage than for effect in a concert-room.\n_Without a curtain, or something of the sort, the Aria will be devoid of\nall meaning, and ruined! ruined! ruined!! Devil take it all!_ The Court\nwill probably be present. Baron Schweitzer [Chamberlain of the Archduke\nAnton] requested me earnestly to make the application myself. Archduke Carl\ngranted me an audience and promised to come. The Empress _neither promised\nnor refused_.\n\nA hanging curtain!!!! or the Aria and I will both be hanged to-morrow.\nFarewell! I embrace you as cordially on this new year as in the old one.\n_With or without a curtain!_ Your\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: Reichardt, in his _Vertraute Briefe_ relates among other\nthings about the concert given by Beethoven in the Royal Theatre \"an der\nWien,\" Oct. 22, 1808, as follows:--\"Poor Beethoven, who derived from this\nconcert the first and only net profits which accrued to him during the\nwhole year, met with great opposition and very slender support in arranging\nand carrying it out. First came the _Pastoral Symphony; or, Reminiscences\nof Rural Life_; then followed, as the sixth piece, a long Italian _scena_,\nsung by Demoiselle Killitzky, a lovely Bohemian with a lovely voice.\" The\nabove note [to Zmeskall?] certainly refers to this concert.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "ZMESKALL", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 64 — TO WEGELER.", + "body": "Vienna, May 2, 1810.\n\nMY DEAR OLD FRIEND,--\n\nThese lines may very possibly cause you some surprise, and yet, though you\nhave no written proof of it, I always retain the most lively remembrance of\nyou. Among my MSS. is one that has long been destined for you, and which\nyou shall certainly receive this summer. For the last two years my secluded\nand quiet life has been at an end, and I have been forcibly drawn into the\nvortex of the world; though as yet I have attained no good result from\nthis,--nay, perhaps rather the reverse,--but who has not been affected by\nthe storms around us? Still I should not only be happy, but the happiest of\nmen, if a demon had not taken up his settled abode in my ears. Had I not\nsomewhere read that man must not voluntarily put an end to his life while\nhe can still perform even one good deed, I should long since have been no\nmore, and by my own hand too! Ah! how fair is life; but for me it is\nforever poisoned!\n\nYou will not refuse me one friendly service, which is to procure me my\nbaptismal certificate. As Steffen Breuning has an account with you, he can\npay any expenses you may incur, and I will repay him here. If you think it\nworth while to make the inquiry in person, and choose to make a journey\nfrom Coblenz to Bonn, you have only to charge it all to me. I must,\nhowever, warn you that I had an _elder brother_ whose name was also Ludwig,\nwith the second name of _Maria_, who died. In order to know my precise age,\nthe date of my birth must be first ascertained, this circumstance having\nalready led others into error, and caused me to be thought older than I\nreally am. Unluckily, I lived for some time without myself knowing my age\n[see Nos. 26 and 51]. I had a book containing all family incidents, but it\nhas been lost, Heaven knows how! So pardon my urgently requesting you to\ntry to discover _Ludwig Maria's_ birth, as well as that of the present\nLudwig. The sooner you can send me the certificate of baptism the more\nobliged shall I be.[1] I am told that you sing one of my songs in your\nFreemason Lodge, probably the one in E major, which I have not myself got;\nsend it to me, and I promise to compensate you threefold and fourfold.[2]\nThink of me with kindness, little as I apparently deserve it. Embrace your\ndear wife and children, and all whom you love, in the name of your friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: Wegeler says:--\"I discovered the solution of the enigma (why\nthe baptismal certificate was so eagerly sought) from a letter written to\nme three months afterwards by my brother-in-law, Stephan von Breuning, in\nwhich he said: 'Beethoven tells me at least once a week that he means to\nwrite to you; but I believe his _intended marriage is broken off_; he\ntherefore feels no ardent inclination to thank you for having procured his\nbaptismal certificate.'\"]\n\n[Footnote 2: Beethoven was mistaken; Wegeler had only supplied other music\nto the words of Matthisson's _Opfer Lied_.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "WEGELER", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 66 — TO BETTINA BRENTANO.[1]", + "body": "Vienna, August 11, 1810.\n\nMY DEAREST FRIEND,--\n\nNever was there a lovelier spring than this year; I say so, and feel it\ntoo, because it was then I first knew you. You have yourself seen that in\nsociety I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes and writhes, but cannot\nget away till some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the mighty ocean.\nI was indeed fairly stranded, dearest friend, when surprised by you at a\nmoment in which moroseness had entirely mastered me; but how quickly it\nvanished at your aspect! I was at once conscious that you came from another\nsphere than this absurd world, where, with the best inclinations, I cannot\nopen my ears. I am a wretched creature, and yet I complain of others!! You\nwill forgive this from the goodness of heart that beams in your eyes, and\nthe good sense manifested by your ears; at least they understand how to\nflatter, by the mode in which they listen. My ears are, alas! a\npartition-wall, through which I can with difficulty hold any intercourse\nwith my fellow-creatures. Otherwise, perhaps, I might have felt more\nassured with you; but I was only conscious of the full, intelligent glance\nfrom your eyes, which affected me so deeply that never can I forget it. My\ndear friend! dearest girl!--Art! who comprehends it? with whom can I\ndiscuss this mighty goddess? How precious to me were the few days when we\ntalked together, or, I should rather say, corresponded! I have carefully\npreserved the little notes with your clever, charming, most charming\nanswers; so I have to thank my defective hearing for the greater part of\nour fugitive intercourse being written down. Since you left this I have had\nsome unhappy hours,--hours of the deepest gloom, when I could do nothing.\nI wandered for three hours in the Schönbrunn Allée after you left us, but\nno _angel_ met me there to take possession of me as you did. Pray forgive,\nmy dear friend, this deviation from the original key, but I must have such\nintervals as a relief to my heart. You have no doubt written to Goethe\nabout me? I would gladly bury my head in a sack, so that I might neither\nsee nor hear what goes on in the world, because I shall meet you there no\nmore; but I shall get a letter from you? Hope sustains me, as it does half\nthe world; through life she has been my close companion, or what would have\nbecome of me? I send you \"Kennst Du das Land,\" written with my own hand, as\na remembrance of the hour when I first knew you; I send you also another\nthat I composed since I bade you farewell, my dearest, fairest sweetheart!\n\n Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben,\n Was bedränget dich so sehr;\n Welch ein neues fremdes Leben,\n Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr.\n\nNow answer me, my dearest friend, and say what is to become of me since my\nheart has turned such a rebel. Write to your most faithful friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: The celebrated letters to Bettina are given here exactly as\npublished in her book, _Ilius Pamphilius und die Ambrosia_ (Berlin, Arnim,\n1857) in two volumes. I never myself had any doubts of their being genuine\n(with the exception of perhaps some words in the middle of the third\nletter), nor can any one now distrust them, especially after the\npublication of _Beethoven's Letters_. But for the sake of those for whom\nthe weight of innate conviction is not sufficient proof, I may here mention\nthat in December, 1864, Professor Moritz Carrière, in Munich, when\nconversing with me about _Beethoven's Letters_, expressly assured me that\nthese three letters were genuine, and that he had seen them in Berlin at\nBettina v. Arnim's in 1839, and read them most attentively and with the\ndeepest interest. From their important contents, he urged their immediate\npublication; and when this shortly after ensued, no change whatever struck\nhim as having been made in the original text; on the contrary, he still\nperfectly remembered that the much-disputed phraseology (and especially the\nincident with Goethe) was precisely the same as in the originals. This\ntestimony seems to me the more weighty, as M. Carrière must not in such\nmatters be looked on as a novice, but as a competent judge, who has\ncarefully studied all that concerns our literary heroes, and who would not\npermit anything to be falsely imputed to Beethoven any more than to Goethe.\nBeethoven's biography is, however, the proper place to discuss more closely\nsuch things, especially his character and his conduct in this particular\ncase. At present we only refer in general terms to the first chapter of\n_Beethoven's Jugend_, which gives all the facts connected with these\nletters to Bettina and the following ones--a characteristic likeness of\nBeethoven thus impressed itself on the mind of the biographer, and was\nreproduced in a few bold outlines in his _Biography_. These letters could\nnot, however, possibly be given _in extenso_ in a general introduction to a\ncomprehensive biography.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "BETTINA BRENTANO.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 67 — TO BETTINA BRENTANO.", + "body": "Vienna, Feb. 10, 1811.\n\nDEAR AND BELOVED FRIEND,--\n\nI have now received two letters from you, while those to Tonie show that\nyou still remember me, and even too kindly. I carried your letter about\nwith me the whole summer, and it often made me feel very happy; though I do\nnot frequently write to you, and you never see me, still I write you\nletters by thousands in my thoughts. I can easily imagine what you feel at\nBerlin in witnessing all the noxious frivolity of the world's rabble,[1]\neven had you not written it to me yourself. Such prating about art, and yet\nno results!!! The best description of this is to be found in Schiller's\npoem \"Die Flüsse,\" where the river Spree is supposed to speak. You are\ngoing to be married, my dear friend, or are already so, and I have had no\nchance of seeing you even once previously. May all the felicity that\nmarriage ever bestowed on husband and wife attend you both! What can I say\nto you of myself? I can only exclaim with Johanna, \"Compassionate my fate!\"\nIf I am spared for some years to come, I will thank the Omniscient, the\nOmnipotent, for the boon, as I do for all other weal and woe. If you\nmention me when you write to Goethe, strive to find words expressive of my\ndeep reverence and admiration. I am about to write to him myself with\nregard to \"Egmont,\" for which I have written some music solely from my love\nfor his poetry, which always delights me. Who can be sufficiently grateful\nto a great poet,--the most precious jewel of a nation! Now no more, my dear\nsweet friend! I only came home this morning at four o'clock from an orgy,\nwhere I laughed heartily, but to-day I feel as if I could weep as sadly;\nturbulent pleasures always violently recoil on my spirits. As for Clemens\n[Brentano, her brother], pray thank him for his complaisance; with regard\nto the Cantata, the subject is not important enough for us here--it is very\ndifferent in Berlin; and as for my affection, the sister engrosses so large\na share, that little remains for the brother. Will he be content with this?\n\nNow farewell, my dear, dear friend; I imprint a sorrowful kiss on your\nforehead, thus impressing my thoughts on it as with a seal. Write soon,\nvery soon, to your brother,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: An expression which, as well as many others, he no doubt\nborrowed from Bettina, and introduced to please her.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "BETTINA BRENTANO", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 87 — TO THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH.", + "body": "1812.\n\nYOUR IMPERIAL HIGHNESS,--\n\nI was unable till to-day, when I leave my bed for the first time, to answer\nyour gracious letter. It will be impossible for me to wait on you\nto-morrow, but perhaps the day after. I have suffered much during the last\nfew days, and I may say two-fold from not being in a condition to devote a\ngreat part of my time to you, according to my heartfelt wish. I hope now,\nhowever, to have cleared off all scores for spring and summer (I mean as to\nhealth).\n\nI am your Imperial Highness's most obedient servant,\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 93 — TO BETTINA VON ARNIM.", + "body": "Töplitz, August 15, 1812.\n\nMY MOST DEAR KIND FRIEND,--\n\nKings and princes can indeed create professors and privy-councillors, and\nconfer titles and decorations, but they cannot make great men,--spirits\nthat soar above the base turmoil of this world. There their powers fail,\nand this it is that forces them to respect us.[1] When two persons like\nGoethe and myself meet, these grandees cannot fail to perceive what such as\nwe consider great. Yesterday, on our way home, we met the whole Imperial\nfamily; we saw them coming some way off, when Goethe withdrew his arm from\nmine, in order to stand aside; and, say what I would, I could not prevail\non him to make another step in advance. I pressed down my hat more firmly\non my head, buttoned up my great-coat, and, crossing my arms behind me, I\nmade my way through the thickest portion of the crowd. Princes and\ncourtiers formed a lane for me; Archduke Rudolph took off his hat, and the\nEmpress bowed to me first. These great ones of the earth _know me_. To my\ninfinite amusement, I saw the procession defile past Goethe, who stood\naside with his hat off, bowing profoundly. I afterwards took him sharply to\ntask for this; I gave him no quarter, and upbraided him with all his sins,\nespecially towards you, my dear friend, as we had just been speaking of\nyou. Heavens! if I could have lived with you as _he_ did, believe me I\nshould have produced far greater things. A musician is also a poet, he too\ncan feel himself transported into a brighter world by a pair of fine eyes,\nwhere loftier spirits sport with him and impose heavy tasks on him. What\nthoughts rushed into my mind when I first saw you in the Observatory during\na refreshing May shower, so fertilizing to me also![2] The most beautiful\nthemes stole from your eyes into my heart, which shall yet enchant the\nworld when Beethoven no longer _directs_. If God vouchsafes to grant me a\nfew more years of life, I must then see you once more, my dear, most dear\nfriend, for the voice within, to which I always listen, demands this.\nSpirits may love one another, and I shall ever woo yours. Your approval is\ndearer to me than all else in the world. I told Goethe my sentiments as to\nthe influence praise has over men like us, and that we desire our equals to\nlisten to us with their understanding. Emotion suits women only; (forgive\nme!) music ought to strike fire from the soul of a man. Ah! my dear girl,\nhow long have our feelings been identical on all points!!! The sole real\ngood is some bright kindly spirit to sympathize with us, whom we thoroughly\ncomprehend, and from whom we need not hide our thoughts. _He who wishes to\nappear something, must in reality be something._ The world must acknowledge\nus, it is not always unjust; but for this I care not, having a higher\npurpose in view. I hope to get a letter from you in Vienna; write to me\nsoon and fully, for a week hence I shall be there. The Court leaves this\nto-morrow, and to-day they have another performance. The Empress has\nstudied her part thoroughly. The Emperor and the Duke wished me to play\nsome of my own music, but I refused, for they are both infatuated with\n_Chinese porcelain_. A little indulgence is required, for reason seems to\nhave lost its empire; but I do not choose to minister to such perverse\nfolly--I will not be a party to such absurd doings to please those princes\nwho are constantly guilty of eccentricities of this sort. Adieu! adieu!\ndear one; your letter lay all night next my heart, and cheered me.\nMusicians permit themselves great license. _Heavens! how I love you!_ Your\nmost faithful friend and deaf brother,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: Fräulein Giannatasio del Rio, in the journal she sent to the\n_Grenz Boten_ in 1857, states that Beethoven once declared, \"It is very\npleasant to associate with the great of the earth, but one must possess\nsome quality which inspires them with respect.\"]\n\n[Footnote 2: According to Bettina (see _Goethe's Correspondence with a\nChild_, II. 193), their first acquaintance was made in Beethoven's\napartments.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "BETTINA VON ARNIM", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 111 — TO THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH.", + "body": "Vienna, July 24, 1813.\n\nFrom day to day I have been expecting to return to Baden; in the mean time,\nthe discords that detain me here may possibly be resolved by the end of the\nensuing week. To me a residence in a town during the summer is misery, and\nwhen I also remember that I am thus prevented waiting on Y.R.H., it is\nstill more vexatious and annoying. It is, in fact, the Lobkowitz and Kinsky\naffairs that keep me here. Instead of pondering over a number of bars, I am\nobliged constantly to reflect on the number of peregrinations I am forced\nto make; but for this, I could scarcely endure to the end. Y.R.H. has no\ndoubt heard of Lobkowitz's misfortunes,[1] which are much to be regretted;\nbut after all, to be rich is no such great happiness! It is said that Count\nFries alone paid 1900 gold ducats to Duport, for which he had the security\nof the ancient Lobkowitz house. The details are beyond all belief. I hear\nthat Count Rasumowsky[2] intends to go to Baden, and to take his Quartet\nwith him, which is really very pretty, and I have no doubt that Y.R.H. will\nbe much pleased with it. I know no more charming enjoyment in the country\nthan quartet music. I beg Y.R.H. will accept my heartfelt wishes for your\nhealth, and also compassionate me for being obliged to pass my time here\nunder such disagreeable circumstances. But I will strive to compensate\ntwofold in Baden for what you have lost.\n\n[K.]\n\n[Footnote 1: Prince Lobkowitz's \"misfortunes\" probably refer to the great\npecuniary difficulties which befell this music and pomp loving Prince\nseveral years before his death. Beethoven seems to have made various\nattempts to induce the Prince to continue the payment of his share of the\nsalary agreed on, though these efforts were long fruitless. The subject,\nhowever, appears to have been again renewed in 1816, for on the 8th of\nMarch in this year Beethoven writes to Ries to say that his salary consists\nof 3400 florins E.S., and this sum he received till his death.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Those who played in Count Rasumowsky's Quartets, to whom\nBeethoven dedicated various compositions, were the _virtuosi_ Schuppanzigh\n(1st), Sina (2d violin), Linke (violoncello), Weiss (violin).]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 124 — TO COUNT MORITZ LICHNOWSKY.[1]", + "body": "My dear, victorious, and yet sometimes nonplussed (?) Count! I hope that\nyou rested well, most precious and charming of all Counts! Oh! most beloved\nand unparalleled Count! most fascinating and prodigious Count!\n\n[Music: Treble clef, E-flat Major, 2/2 time.\nGraf Graf Graf Graf (in 3-part harmony)\nGraf (in 3-part counterpoint)\nGraf Graf Graf, liebster Graf, liebstes Schaf,\nbester Graf, bestes Schaf! Schaf! Schaf!]\n\n(_To be repeated at pleasure_.)\n\nAt what hour shall we call on Walter to-day? My going or not depends\nentirely on you. Your\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: In Schindler's _Beethoven's Nachlass_ there is also an\nautograph Canon of Beethoven's in F major, 6/8, on Count Lichnowsky, on the\nwords, _Bester Herr Graf, Sie sind ein Schaf_, written (according to\nSchindler) Feb. 20th, 1823, in the coffee-house \"Die Goldne Birne,\" in the\nLandstrasse, where Beethoven usually went every evening, though he\ngenerally slipped in by the backdoor.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "COUNT MORITZ LICHNOWSKY.[1]", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 128 — TO HERR J. KAUKA, DOCTOR OF LAWS IN PRAGUE, IN THE KINGDOM OF BOHEMIA.", + "body": "The Summer of 1814.\n\nA thousand thanks, my esteemed Kauka. At last I meet with a _legal\nrepresentative_ and a _man_, who can both write and think without using\nunmeaning formulas. You can scarcely imagine how I long for the end of this\naffair, as it not only interferes with my domestic expenditure, but is\ninjurious to me in various ways. You know yourself that a sensitive spirit\nought not to be fettered by miserable anxieties, and much that might render\nmy life happy is thus abstracted from it. Even my inclination and the duty\nI assigned myself, to serve suffering humanity by means of my art, I have\nbeen obliged to limit, and must continue to do so.[1]\n\nI write nothing about our monarchs and monarchies, for the newspapers give\nyou every information on these subjects.[2] The intellectual realm is the\nmost precious in my eyes, and far above all temporal and spiritual\nmonarchies. Write to me, however, what you wish _for yourself_ from my poor\nmusical capabilities, that I may, in so far as it lies in my power, supply\nsomething for your own musical sense and feeling. Do you not require all\nthe papers connected with the Kinsky case? If so I will send them to you,\nas they contain most important testimony, which, indeed, I believe you read\nwhen with me. Think of me and do not forget that you represent a\ndisinterested artist in opposition to a niggardly family. How gladly do men\nwithhold from the poor artist in one respect _what they pay him in\nanother_, and there is no longer a Zeus with whom an artist can invite\nhimself to feast on ambrosia. Strive, my dear friend, to accelerate the\ntardy steps of justice. Whenever I feel myself elevated high, and in happy\nmoments revel in my artistic sphere, circumstances drag me down again, and\nnone more than these two lawsuits. You too have your disagreeable moments,\nthough with the views and capabilities I know you to possess, especially in\nyour profession, I could scarcely have believed this; still I must recall\nyour attention to myself. I have drunk to the dregs a cup of bitter sorrow,\nand already earned martyrdom in art through my beloved artistic disciples\nand colleagues. I beg you will think of me every day, and imagine it to be\nan _entire world_, for it is really asking rather too much of you to think\nof so humble an _individual_ as myself.\n\nI am, with the highest esteem and friendship,\n\nYour obedient\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: He supported a consumptive brother and his wife and child.]\n\n[Footnote 2: At the Vienna Congress Beethoven was received with much\ndistinction by the potentates present.]\n\n\n129.\n\nADDRESS AND APPEAL TO LONDON ARTISTS BY L. VAN BEETHOVEN.\n\nVienna, July 25, 1814.\n\nHerr Maelzel, now in London, on his way thither performed my \"Battle\nSymphony\" and \"Wellington's Battle of Vittoria\" in Munich, and no doubt he\nintends to produce them at London concerts, as he wished to do in\nFrankfort. This induces me to declare that I never in any way made over or\ntransferred the said works to Herr Maelzel; that no one possesses a copy of\nthem, and that the only one verified by me I sent to his Royal Highness the\nPrince Regent of England. The performance of these works, therefore, by\nHerr Maelzel is either an imposition on the public, as the above\ndeclaration proves that he does not possess them, or if he does, he has\nbeen guilty of a breach of faith towards me, inasmuch as he must have got\nthem in a surreptitious manner.\n\nBut even in the latter case the public will still be deluded, for the works\nthat Herr Maelzel performs under the titles of \"Wellington's Battle of\nVittoria\" and \"Battle Symphony\" are beyond all doubt spurious and\nmutilated, as he never had any portion of either of these works of mine,\nexcept some of the parts for a few days.\n\nThis suspicion becomes a certainty from the testimony of various artists\nhere, whose names I am authorized to give if necessary. These gentlemen\nstate that Herr Maelzel, before he left Vienna, declared that he was in\npossession of these works, and showed various portions, which, however, as\nI have already proved, must be counterfeit. The question whether Herr\nMaelzel be capable of doing me such an injury is best solved by the\nfollowing fact,--In the public papers he named himself as sole giver of the\nconcert on behalf of our wounded soldiers, whereas my works alone were\nperformed there, and yet he made no allusion whatsoever to me.\n\nI therefore appeal to the London musicians not to permit such a grievous\nwrong to be done to their fellow-artist by Herr Maelzel's performance of\nthe \"Battle of Vittoria\" and the \"Battle Symphony,\" and also to prevent the\nLondon public being so shamefully imposed upon.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR J. KAUKA, DOCTOR OF LAWS IN PRAGUE, IN THE KINGDOM OF BOHEMIA", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 131 — TO COUNT MORITZ LICHNOWSKY.", + "body": "Baden, Sept. 21, 1841.[1]\n\nMOST ESTEEMED COUNT AND FRIEND,--\n\nI unluckily only got your letter yesterday. A thousand thanks for your\nremembrance of me. Pray express my gratitude also to your charming Princess\nChristiane [wife of Prince Carl Lichnowsky]. I had a delightful walk\nyesterday with a friend in the Brühl, and in the course of our friendly\nchat you were particularly mentioned, and lo! and behold! on my return I\nfound your kind letter. I see you are resolved to continue to load me with\nbenefits.\n\nAs I am unwilling you should suppose that a step I have already taken is\nprompted by your recent favors, or by any motive of the sort, I must tell\nyou that a sonata of mine [Op. 90] is about to appear, _dedicated to you_.\nI wished to give you a surprise, as this dedication has been long designed\nfor you, but your letter of yesterday induces me to name the fact. I\nrequired no new motive thus publicly to testify my sense of your friendship\nand kindness. But as for anything approaching to a gift in return, you\nwould only distress me, by thus totally misinterpreting my intentions, and\nI should at once decidedly refuse such a thing.\n\nI beg to kiss the hand of the Princess for her kind message and all her\ngoodness to me. _Never have I forgotten what I owe to you all_, though an\nunfortunate combination of circumstances prevented my testifying this as I\ncould have wished.\n\nFrom what you tell me about Lord Castlereagh, I think the matter in the\nbest possible train. If I were to give an opinion on the subject, I should\nsay that Lord Castlereagh ought to hear the work given here before writing\nto Wellington. I shall soon be in Vienna, when we can consult together\nabout a grand concert. Nothing is to be effected at Court; I made the\napplication, but--but--\n\n[Music: Treble clef, C major, 4/4 time, Adagio.\nal-lein al-lein al-lein]\n\n_Silentium!!!_\n\nFarewell, my esteemed friend; pray continue to esteem me worthy of your\nfriendship. Yours,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\nA thousand compliments to the illustrious Princess.\n\n[Footnote 1: The date reversed, as written by Beethoven, is here given.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "COUNT MORITZ LICHNOWSKY", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 141 — TO HERR KAUKA.", + "body": "1815.\n\nMY DEAR AND ESTEEMED K.,--\n\nWhat can I think, or say, or feel? As for W. [Wolf], it seems to me that he\nnot only showed _his weak points_, but gave himself no trouble to conceal\nthem. It is impossible that he can have drawn up his statement in\naccordance with all the actual evidence he had. The order on the treasury\nabout the rate of exchange was given by Kinsky previous to his consent to\npay me my salary in _Einlösung Schein_, as the documents prove; indeed it\nis only necessary to examine the date to show this, so the first\ninstruction is of importance. The _species facti_ prove that I was more\nthan six months absent from Vienna. As I was not anxious to get the money,\nI allowed the affair to stand over; so the Prince thus forgot to recall his\nformer order to the treasury, but that he neither forgot his promise to me,\nnor to Varnhagen [an officer] in my behalf, is evident by the testimony of\nHerr von Oliva, to whom shortly before his departure from hence--and indeed\ninto another world--he repeated his promise, making an appointment to see\nhim when he should return to Vienna, in order to arrange the matter with\nthe treasury, which of course was prevented by his untimely death.\n\nThe testimony of the officer Varnhagen is accompanied by a document (he\nbeing at present with the Russian army), in which he states that he is\nprepared to _take his oath_ on the affair. The evidence of Herr Oliva is\nalso to the effect that he is willing to confirm his evidence by oath\nbefore the Court. As I have sent away the testimony of Col. Count Bentheim,\nI am not sure of its tenor, but I believe the Count also says that he is\nprepared at any time to make an affidavit on the matter in Court, and I am\nmyself _ready to swear before the Court_ that Prince Kinsky said to me in\nPrague, \"he thought it only fair to me that my salary should be paid in\n_Einlösung Schein_.\" These were his own words.\n\nHe gave me himself sixty gold ducats in Prague, on account (good for about\n600 florins), as, owing to my state of health, I could remain no longer,\nand set off for Töplitz. The Prince's word was _sacred_ in my eyes, never\nhaving heard anything of him to induce me either to bring two witnesses\nwith me or to ask him for any written pledge. I see from all this that Dr.\nWolf has miserably mismanaged the business, and has not made you\nsufficiently acquainted with the papers.\n\nNow as to the step I have just taken. The Archduke Rudolph asked me some\ntime since whether the Kinsky affair was yet terminated, having probably\nheard something of it. I told him that it looked very bad, as I knew\nnothing, absolutely nothing, of the matter. He offered to write himself,\nbut desired me to add a memorandum, and also to make him acquainted with\nall the papers connected with the Kinsky case. After having informed\nhimself on the affair, he wrote to the _Oberstburggraf_, and enclosed my\nletter to him.\n\nThe _Oberstburggraf_ answered both the Duke and myself immediately. In the\nletter to me he said \"that I was to present a petition to the Provincial\nCourt of Justice in Prague, along with all the proofs, whence it would be\nforwarded to him, and that he would do his utmost to further my cause.\" He\nalso wrote in the most polite terms to the Archduke; indeed, he expressly\nsaid \"that he was thoroughly cognizant of the late Prince Kinsky's\nintentions with regard to me and this affair, and that I might present a\npetition,\" &c. The Archduke instantly sent for me, and desired me to\nprepare the document and to show it to him; he also thought that I ought to\nsolicit payment in _Einlösung Schein_, as there was ample proof, if not in\nstrictly legal form, of the intentions of the Prince, and no one could\ndoubt that if he had survived he would have adhered to his promise. If he\n[the Archduke] were this day the heir, _he would demand no other proofs\nthan those already furnished_. I sent this paper to Baron Pasqualati, who\nis kindly to present it himself to the Court. Not till after the affair had\ngone so far did Dr. Adlersburg receive a letter from Dr. Wolf, in which he\nmentioned that he had made a claim for 1500 florins. As we have come so far\nas 1500 florins with the _Oberstburggraf_, we may possibly get on to 1800\nflorins. I do not esteem this any _favor_, for the late Prince was one of\nthose who urged me most to refuse a salary of 600 gold ducats per annum,\noffered to me from Westphalia; and he said at the time \"that he was\nresolved I should have no chance of eating hams in Westphalia.\" Another\nsummons to Naples somewhat later I equally declined, and I am entitled to\ndemand a fair compensation for the loss I incurred. If the salary were to\nbe paid in bank-notes, what should I get? Not 400 florins in\n_Conventionsgeld_!!! in lieu of such a salary as 600 ducats! There are\nample proofs for those who wish to act justly; and what does the _Einlösung\nSchein_ now amount to??!!! It is even at this moment no equivalent for what\nI refused. This affair was pompously announced in all the newspapers while\nI was nearly reduced to beggary. The intentions of the Prince are evident,\nand in my opinion the family are bound to act in accordance with them\nunless they wish to be disgraced. Besides, the revenues have rather\nincreased than diminished by the death of the Prince; so there is no\nsufficient ground for curtailing my salary.\n\nI received your friendly letter yesterday, but am too weary at this moment\nto write all that I feel towards you. I can only commend my case to your\nsagacity. It appears that the _Oberstburggraf_ is the chief person; so what\nhe wrote to the Archduke must be kept a profound secret, for it might not\nbe advisable that any one should know of it but you and Pasqualati. You\nhave sufficient cause on looking through the papers to show how improperly\nDr. Wolf has conducted the affair, and that another course of action is\nnecessary. I rely on your friendship to act as you think best for my\ninterests.\n\nRest assured of my warmest thanks, and pray excuse my writing more to-day,\nfor a thing of this kind is very fatiguing,--more so than the greatest\nmusical undertaking. My heart has found something for you to which yours\nwill respond, and this you shall soon receive.\n\nDo not forget me, poor tormented creature that I am! and _act for me_ and\n_effect for me_ all that is possible.\n\nWith high esteem, your true friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR KAUKA", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 145 — TO HERR KAUKA.", + "body": "Vienna, Feb. 24, 1815.\n\nMY MUCH ESTEEMED K.,--\n\nI have repeatedly thanked you through Baron Pasqualati for your friendly\nexertions on my behalf, and I now beg to express one thousand thanks\nmyself. The intervention of the Archduke could not be very palatable to\nyou, and perhaps has prejudiced you against me. You had already done all\nthat was possible when the Archduke interfered. If this had been the case\nsooner, and we had not employed that one-sided, or many-sided, or\nweak-sided Dr. Wolf, then, according to the assurances of the\n_Oberstburggraf_ himself, the affair might have had a still more favorable\nresult. I shall therefore ever and always be grateful to you for your\nservices. The Court now deduct the sixty ducats I mentioned of my own\naccord, and to which the late Prince never alluded either to his treasurer\nor any one else. Where truth could injure me it has been accepted, so why\nreject it when it could have benefited me? How unfair! Baron Pasqualati\nrequires information from you on various points.\n\nI am again very tired to-day, having been obliged to discuss many things\nwith poor P.; such matters exhaust me more than the greatest efforts in\ncomposition. It is a new field, the soil of which I ought not to be\nrequired to till. This painful business has cost me many tears and much\nsorrow. The time draws near when Princess Kinsky must be written to. Now I\nmust conclude. How rejoiced shall I be when I can write you the pure\neffusions of my heart once more; and this I mean to do as soon as I am\nextricated from all these troubles. Pray accept again my heartfelt thanks\nfor all that you have done for me, and continue your regard for\n\nYour attached friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR KAUKA", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 162 — TO RIES.", + "body": "Vienna, Wednesday, Nov. 22, 1815.\n\nMY DEAR RIES,--\n\nI hasten to apprise you that I have to-day forwarded by post the pianoforte\narrangement of the Symphony in A, to the care of Messrs Coutts. As the\nCourt is absent, few, indeed almost no couriers go from here; moreover, the\npost is the safest way. The Symphony ought to be brought out about March;\nthe precise day I will fix myself. So much time has already been lost on\nthis occasion that I could not give an earlier notice of the period of\npublication. The Trio in [??] and the violin Sonata may be allowed more\ntime, and both will be in London a few weeks hence. I earnestly entreat\nyou, dear Ries, to take charge of these matters, and also to see that I get\nthe money; I require it, and it costs me a good deal before all is sent\noff.\n\nI have lost 600 florins of my yearly salary; at the time of the\n_bank-notes_ there was no loss, but then came the _Einlösungsscheine_\n[reduced paper-money], which deprives me of these 600 florins, after\nentailing on me several years of annoyance, and now the total loss of my\nsalary. We are at present arrived at a point when the _Einlösungsscheine_\nare even lower than the _bank-notes_ ever were. I pay 1000 florins for\nhouse-rent: you may thus conceive all the misery caused by paper-money.\n\nMy poor unhappy brother [Carl v. Beethoven, a cashier in Vienna] is just\ndead [Nov. 15th, 1815]; he had a bad wife. For some years past he has been\nsuffering from consumption, and from my wish to make his life less irksome\nI may compute what I gave him at 10,000 florins (_Wiener Währung_). This\nindeed does not seem much to an Englishman, but it is a great deal for a\npoor German, or rather Austrian. The unhappy man was latterly much changed,\nand I must say I lament him from my heart, though I rejoice to think I left\nnothing undone that could contribute to his comfort.\n\nTell Mr. Birchall that he is to repay the postage of my letters to you and\nMr. Salomon, and also yours to me; he may deduct this from the sum he owes\nme; I am anxious that those who work for me should lose as little as\npossible by it. \"Wellington's Victory at Vittoria\"[1] must have arrived\nlong ago through the Messrs. Coutts. Mr. Birchall need not send payment\ntill he is in possession of all the works; only do not delay letting me\nknow when the day is fixed for the publication of the pianoforte\narrangement. For to-day, I only further earnestly recommend my affairs to\nyour care; I shall be equally at your service at any time. Farewell, dear\nRies.\n\nYour friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"This is also to be the title of the pianoforte arrangement.\"\n(Note by Beethoven.)]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "RIES", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 165 — TO RIES", + "body": "Vienna, Jan. 20, 1816.\n\nDEAR RIES,--\n\nThe Symphony is to be dedicated to the Empress of Russia. The pianoforte\nscore of the Symphony in A must not, however, appear before June, for the\npublisher here cannot be ready sooner. Pray, dear Ries, inform Mr. Birchall\nof this at once. The Sonata with violin accompaniment, which will be sent\nfrom here by the next post, can likewise be published in London in May, but\nthe Trio at a later date (it follows by the next post); I will myself name\nthe time for its publication. And now, dear Ries, pray receive my heartfelt\nthanks for your kindness, and especially for the corrections of the proofs.\nMay Heaven bless you more and more, and promote your progress, in which I\ntake the most sincere interest. My kind regards to your wife. Now as ever,\n\nYour sincere friend,\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "RIES", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 172 — TO G. DEL RIO.", + "body": "1816.\n\nI heard yesterday evening, unluckily at too late an hour, that you had\nsomething to give me; had it not been for this, I would have called on you.\nI beg, however, that you will send it, as I have no doubt it is a letter\nfor me from the \"Queen of the Night.\"[1] Although you gave me permission to\nfetch Carl twice already, I must ask you to let him come to me when I send\nfor him at eleven o'clock to-morrow, as I wish to take him with me to hear\nsome interesting music. It is also my intention to make him play to me\nto-morrow, as it is now some time since I heard him. I hope you will urge\nhim to study more closely than usual to-day, that he may in some degree\nmake up for his holiday. I embrace you cordially, and remain,\n\nYours truly,\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.\n\n[Footnote 1: The \"Queen of the Night\" was the name given to Carl's mother\nby Beethoven. She was a person of great levity of conduct and bad\nreputation, and every effort was made by Beethoven to withdraw her son from\nher influence, on which account he at once removed him from her care, and\nplaced him in this institution. She consequently appealed to the law\nagainst him,--the first step in a long course of legal proceedings of the\nmost painful nature.]", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "G. DEL RIO", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 186 — TO HERR KAUKA.", + "body": "Baden, Sept. 6, 1816.\n\nMY WORTHY K.,--\n\nI send you herewith the receipt, according to your request, and beg that\nyou will kindly arrange that I should have the money by the 1st October,\nand without any deduction, which has hitherto been the case; I also\nparticularly beg _you will not assign the money to Baron P._ (I will tell\nyou why when we meet; for the present let this remain between ourselves.)\nSend it either direct to myself, or, if it must come through another\nperson, do not let it be Baron P. It would be best for the future, as the\nhouse-rent is paid here for the great house belonging to Kinsky, that my\nmoney should be paid at the same time. This is only my own idea. The Terzet\nyou heard of will soon be engraved, which is infinitely preferable to all\nwritten music; you shall therefore receive an engraved copy, and likewise\nsome more of my unruly offspring. In the mean time I beg that you will see\nonly what is truly good in them, and look with an indulgent eye on the\nhuman frailties of these poor innocents. Besides, I am full of cares, being\nin reality father to my late brother's child; indeed I might have ushered\ninto the world a second part of the \"Flauto Magico,\" having also been\nbrought into contact with a \"Queen of the Night.\" I embrace you from my\nheart, and hope soon in so far to succeed that you may owe some thanks to\nmy Muse. My dear, worthy Kauka, I ever am your truly attached friend,\n\nBEETHOVEN.\n\n\n187.\n\nQUERY?\n\nWhat would be the result were I to leave this, and indeed the kingdom of\nAustria altogether? Would the life-certificate, if signed by the\nauthorities of a non-Austrian place, still be valid?\n\n_A tergo._\n\nI beg you will let me know the postage all my letters have cost you.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "HERR KAUKA", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 190 — TO WEGELER.", + "body": "I take the opportunity through J. Simrock to remind you of myself. I hope\nyou received the engraving of me [by Letronne], and likewise the Bohemian\nglass. When I next make a pilgrimage through Bohemia you shall have\nsomething more of the same kind. Farewell! You are a husband and a father;\nso am I, but without a wife. My love to your dear ones--to _our_ dear ones.\n\nYour friend,\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.\n\n\n191.\n\nWRITTEN IN ENGLISH TO MR. BIRCHALL, MUSIC SELLER, LONDON.\n\nVienna, 1. Oct. 1816.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--\n\nI have duly received the £5 and thought previously you would non increase\nthe number of Englishmen neglecting their word and honor, as I had the\nmisfortune of meeting with two of this sort. In replic to the other topics\nof your favor, I have no objection to write variations according to your\nplan, and I hope you will not find £30 too much, the Accompaniment will be\na Flute or Violin or a Violoncello; you'll either decide it when you send\nme the approbation of the price, or you'll leave it to me. I expect to\nreceive the songs or poetry--the sooner the better, and you'll favor me\nalso with the probable number of Works of Variations you are inclined to\nreceive of me. The Sonata in G with the accompan't of a Violin to his\nImperial Highnesse Archduke Rodolph of Austria--it is Op'a 96. The Trio in\nBb is dedicated to the same and is Op. 97. The Piano arrangement of the\nSymphony in A is dedicated to the Empress of the Russians--meaning the Wife\nof the Emp'r Alexander--Op. 98.\n\nConcerning the expences of copying and packing it is not possible to fix\nhim before hand, they are at any rate not considerable, and you'll please\nto consider that you have to deal with a man of honor, who will not charge\none 6p. more than he is charged for himself. Messrs. Fries & Co. will\naccount with Messrs. Coutts & Co.--The postage may be lessened as I have\nbeen told. I offer you of my Works the following new ones. A Grand Sonata\nfor the Pianoforte alone £40. A Trio for the Piano with accomp't of Violin\nand Violoncello for £50. It is possible that somebody will offer you other\nworks of mine to purchase, for ex. the score of the Grand Symphony in\nA.--With regard to the arrangement of this Symphony for the Piano I beg you\nnot to forget that you are not to publish it until I have appointed the day\nof its publication here in Vienna. This cannot be otherwise without making\nmyself guilty of a dishonorable act--but the Sonata with the Violin and the\nTrio in B fl. may be published without any delay.\n\nWith all the _new works_, which you will have of me or which I offer you,\nit rests with you to name the day of their publication at your own choice:\nI entreat you to honor me as soon as possible with an answer having many\nordres for compositions and that you may not be delayed. My address or\ndirection is\n\nMonsieur Louis van Beethoven\n\nNo. 1055 & 1056 Sailerstette 3d. Stock. Vienna.\n\nYou may send your letter, if you please, direct to your most humble servant\n\nLUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "WEGELER", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 195 — TO G. DEL RIO.", + "body": "Nov. 16, 1816.\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND,--\n\nMy household seems about to make shipwreck, or something very like it. You\nknow that I was duped into taking this house on false pretexts; besides, my\nhealth does not seem likely to improve in a hurry. To engage a tutor under\nsuch circumstances, whose character and whose very exterior even are\nunknown to me, and thus to intrust my Carl's education to hap-hazard, is\nquite out of the question, no matter how great the sacrifices which I shall\nbe again called on to make. I beg you, therefore, to keep Carl for the\nensuing quarter, commencing on the 9th. I will in so far comply with your\nproposal as to the cultivation of the science of music, that Carl may come\nto me two or three times a week, leaving you at six o'clock in the evening\nand staying with me till the following morning, when he can return to you\nby eight o'clock. It would be too fatiguing for Carl to come every day, and\nindeed too great an effort and tie for me likewise, as the lessons must be\ngiven at the same fixed hour.\n\nDuring this quarter we can discuss more minutely the most suitable plan for\nCarl, taking into consideration both his interests and my own. I must,\nalas! mention my own also in these times, which are daily getting worse. If\nyour garden residence had agreed with my health, everything might have been\neasily adjusted. With regard to my debt to you for the present quarter, I\nbeg you will be so obliging as to call on me, that I may discharge it; the\nbearer of this has the good fortune to be endowed by Providence with a vast\namount of stupidity, which I by no means grudge him the benefit of,\nprovided others do not suffer by it. As to the remaining expenses incurred\nfor Carl, either during his illness or connected with it, I must, for a few\ndays only, request your indulgence, having great calls on me at present\nfrom all quarters. I wish also to know what fee I ought to give Smetana for\nthe successful operation he performed; were I rich, or not in the same sad\nposition in which all are who have linked their fate to this country\n(always excepting _Austrian usurers_), I would make no inquiries on the\nsubject; and I only wish you to give me a rough estimate of the proper fee.\nFarewell! I cordially embrace you, and shall always look on you as a friend\nof mine and of Carl's.\n\nI am, with esteem, your\n\nL. V. BEETHOVEN.", + "author": "Ludwig van Beethoven", + "recipient": "G. DEL RIO", + "source": "Beethoven's Letters 1790–1826", + "period": "1790–1826" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/browning.json b/letters/browning.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..63f20be --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/browning.json @@ -0,0 +1,2250 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey.\n [Post-mark, January 10, 1845.]\n\nI love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett,--and this is\nno off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write,--whatever else,\nno prompt matter-of-course recognition of your genius, and there a\ngraceful and natural end of the thing. Since the day last week when I\nfirst read your poems, I quite laugh to remember how I have been\nturning and turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you\nof their effect upon me, for in the first flush of delight I thought I\nwould this once get out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, when\nI do really enjoy, and thoroughly justify my admiration--perhaps even,\nas a loyal fellow-craftsman should, try and find fault and do you some\nlittle good to be proud of hereafter!--but nothing comes of it all--so\ninto me has it gone, and part of me has it become, this great living\npoetry of yours, not a flower of which but took root and grew--Oh, how\ndifferent that is from lying to be dried and pressed flat, and prized\nhighly, and put in a book with a proper account at top and bottom,\nand shut up and put away ... and the book called a 'Flora,' besides!\nAfter all, I need not give up the thought of doing that, too, in time;\nbecause even now, talking with whoever is worthy, I can give a reason\nfor my faith in one and another excellence, the fresh strange music,\nthe affluent language, the exquisite pathos and true new brave\nthought; but in this addressing myself to you--your own self, and for\nthe first time, my feeling rises altogether. I do, as I say, love\nthese books with all my heart--and I love you too. Do you know I was\nonce not very far from seeing--really seeing you? Mr. Kenyon said to\nme one morning 'Would you like to see Miss Barrett?' then he went to\nannounce me,--then he returned ... you were too unwell, and now it is\nyears ago, and I feel as at some untoward passage in my travels, as if\nI had been close, so close, to some world's-wonder in chapel or crypt,\nonly a screen to push and I might have entered, but there was some\nslight, so it now seems, slight and just sufficient bar to admission,\nand the half-opened door shut, and I went home my thousands of miles,\nand the sight was never to be?\n\nWell, these Poems were to be, and this true thankful joy and pride\nwith which I feel myself,\n\n Yours ever faithfully,\n\n ROBERT BROWNING.\n\nMiss Barrett,[1]\n 50 Wimpole St.\nR. Browning.\n\n[Footnote 1: With this and the following letter the addresses on the\nenvelopes are given; for all subsequent letters the addresses are the\nsame. The correspondence passed through the post.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Wimpole Street: Jan. 11, 1845.\n\nI thank you, dear Mr. Browning, from the bottom of my heart. You meant\nto give me pleasure by your letter--and even if the object had not\nbeen answered, I ought still to thank you. But it is thoroughly\nanswered. Such a letter from such a hand! Sympathy is dear--very dear\nto me: but the sympathy of a poet, and of such a poet, is the\nquintessence of sympathy to me! Will you take back my gratitude for\nit?--agreeing, too, that of all the commerce done in the world, from\nTyre to Carthage, the exchange of sympathy for gratitude is the most\nprincely thing!\n\nFor the rest you draw me on with your kindness. It is difficult to get\nrid of people when you once have given them too much pleasure--_that_\nis a fact, and we will not stop for the moral of it. What I was going\nto say--after a little natural hesitation--is, that if ever you emerge\nwithout inconvenient effort from your 'passive state,' and will _tell_\nme of such faults as rise to the surface and strike you as important\nin my poems, (for of course, I do not think of troubling you with\ncriticism in detail) you will confer a lasting obligation on me, and\none which I shall value so much, that I covet it at a distance. I do\nnot pretend to any extraordinary meekness under criticism and it is\npossible enough that I might not be altogether obedient to yours. But\nwith my high respect for your power in your Art and for your\nexperience as an artist, it would be quite impossible for me to hear a\ngeneral observation of yours on what appear to you my master-faults,\nwithout being the better for it hereafter in some way. I ask for only\na sentence or two of general observation--and I do not ask even for\n_that_, so as to tease you--but in the humble, low voice, which is so\nexcellent a thing in women--particularly when they go a-begging! The\nmost frequent general criticism I receive, is, I think, upon the\nstyle,--'if I _would_ but change my style'! But _that_ is an objection\n(isn't it?) to the writer bodily? Buffon says, and every sincere\nwriter must feel, that '_Le style c'est l'homme_'; a fact, however,\nscarcely calculated to lessen the objection with certain critics.\n\nIs it indeed true that I was so near to the pleasure and honour of\nmaking your acquaintance? and can it be true that you look back upon\nthe lost opportunity with any regret? _But_--you know--if you had\nentered the 'crypt,' you might have caught cold, or been tired to\ndeath, and _wished_ yourself 'a thousand miles off;' which would have\nbeen worse than travelling them. It is not my interest, however, to\nput such thoughts in your head about its being 'all for the best'; and\nI would rather hope (as I do) that what I lost by one chance I may\nrecover by some future one. Winters shut me up as they do dormouse's\neyes; in the spring, _we shall see_: and I am so much better that I\nseem turning round to the outward world again. And in the meantime I\nhave learnt to know your voice, not merely from the poetry but from\nthe kindness in it. Mr. Kenyon often speaks of you--dear Mr.\nKenyon!--who most unspeakably, or only speakably with tears in my\neyes,--has been my friend and helper, and my book's friend and helper!\ncritic and sympathiser, true friend of all hours! You know him well\nenough, I think, to understand that I must be grateful to him.\n\nI am writing too much,--and notwithstanding that I am writing too\nmuch, I will write of one thing more. I will say that I am your\ndebtor, not only for this cordial letter and for all the pleasure\nwhich came with it, but in other ways, and those the highest: and I\nwill say that while I live to follow this divine art of poetry, in\nproportion to my love for it and my devotion to it, I must be a devout\nadmirer and student of your works. This is in my heart to say to\nyou--and I say it.\n\nAnd, for the rest, I am proud to remain\n\n Your obliged and faithful\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.\n\nRobert Browning, Esq.\n New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey.\n Jan. 13, 1845.\n\nDear Miss Barrett,--I just shall say, in as few words as I can, that\nyou make me very happy, and that, now the beginning is over, I dare\nsay I shall do better, because my poor praise, number one, was nearly\nas felicitously brought out, as a certain tribute to no less a\npersonage than Tasso, which I was amused with at Rome some weeks ago,\nin a neat pencilling on the plaister-wall by his tomb at\nSant'Onofrio--'Alla cara memoria--di--(please fancy solemn interspaces\nand grave capital letters at the new lines) di--Torquato Tasso--il\nDottore Bernardini--offriva--il seguente Carme--_O tu_'--and no\nmore,--the good man, it should seem, breaking down with the overload\nof love here! But my 'O tu'--was breathed out most sincerely, and now\nyou have taken it in gracious part, the rest will come after.\nOnly,--and which is why I write now--it looks as if I have introduced\nsome phrase or other about 'your faults' so cleverly as to give\nexactly the opposite meaning to what I meant, which was, that in my\nfirst ardour I had thought to tell you of _everything_ which impressed\nme in your verses, down, even, to whatever 'faults' I could find,--a\ngood earnest, when I had got to _them_, that I had left out not much\nbetween--as if some Mr. Fellows were to say, in the overflow of his\nfirst enthusiasm of rewarded adventure: 'I will describe you all the\nouter life and ways of these Lycians, down to their very\nsandal-thongs,' whereto the be-corresponded one rejoins--'Shall I get\nnext week, then, your dissertation on sandal-thongs'? Yes, and a\nlittle about the 'Olympian Horses,' and God-charioteers as well!\n\nWhat 'struck me as faults,' were not matters on the removal of which,\none was to have--poetry, or high poetry,--but the very highest poetry,\nso I thought, and that, to universal recognition. For myself, or any\nartist, in many of the cases there would be a positive loss of time,\npeculiar artist's pleasure--for an instructed eye loves to see where\nthe brush has dipped twice in a lustrous colour, has lain insistingly\nalong a favourite outline, dwelt lovingly in a grand shadow; for these\n'too muches' for the everybody's picture are so many helps to the\nmaking out the real painter's picture as he had it in his brain. And\nall of the Titian's Naples Magdalen must have once been golden in its\ndegree to justify that heap of hair in her hands--the _only_ gold\neffected now!\n\nBut about this soon--for night is drawing on and I go out, yet cannot,\nquiet at conscience, till I report (to _myself_, for I never said it\nto you, I think) that your poetry must be, cannot but be, infinitely\nmore to me than mine to you--for you _do_ what I always wanted, hoped\nto do, and only seem now likely to do for the first time. You speak\nout, _you_,--I only make men and women speak--give you truth broken\ninto prismatic hues, and fear the pure white light, even if it is in\nme, but I am going to try; so it will be no small comfort to have your\ncompany just now, seeing that when you have your men and women\naforesaid, you are busied with them, whereas it seems bleak,\nmelancholy work, this talking to the wind (for I have begun)--yet I\ndon't think I shall let _you_ hear, after all, the savage things about\nPopes and imaginative religions that I must say.\n\nSee how I go on and on to you, I who, whenever now and then pulled, by\nthe head and hair, into letter-writing, get sorrowfully on for a line\nor two, as the cognate creature urged on by stick and string, and then\ncome down 'flop' upon the sweet haven of page one, line last, as\nserene as the sleep of the virtuous! You will never more, I hope, talk\nof 'the honour of my acquaintance,' but I will joyfully wait for the\ndelight of your friendship, and the spring, and my Chapel-sight after\nall!\n\n Ever yours most faithfully,\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\nFor Mr. Kenyon--I have a convenient theory about _him_, and his\notherwise quite unaccountable kindness to me; but 'tis quite night\nnow, and they call me.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Wimpole Street: Jan. 15, 1845.\n\nDear Mr. Browning,--The fault was clearly with me and not with you.\n\nWhen I had an Italian master, years ago, he told me that there was an\nunpronounceable English word which absolutely expressed me, and which\nhe would say in his own tongue, as he could not in mine--'_testa\nlunga_.' Of course, the signor meant _headlong_!--and now I have had\nenough to tame me, and might be expected to stand still in my stall.\nBut you see I do not. Headlong I was at first, and headlong I\ncontinue--precipitously rushing forward through all manner of nettles\nand briars instead of keeping the path; guessing at the meaning of\nunknown words instead of looking into the dictionary--tearing open\nletters, and never untying a string,--and expecting everything to be\ndone in a minute, and the thunder to be as quick as the lightning. And\nso, at your half word I flew at the whole one, with all its possible\nconsequences, and wrote what you read. Our common friend, as I think\nhe is, Mr. Horne, is often forced to entreat me into patience and\ncoolness of purpose, though his only intercourse with me has been by\nletter. And, by the way, you will be sorry to hear that during his\nstay in Germany _he_ has been 'headlong' (out of a metaphor) twice;\nonce, in falling from the Drachenfels, when he only just saved himself\nby catching at a vine; and once quite lately, at Christmas, in a fall\non the ice of the Elbe in skating, when he dislocated his left\nshoulder in a very painful manner. He is doing quite well, I believe,\nbut it was sad to have such a shadow from the German Christmas tree,\nand he a stranger.\n\nIn art, however, I understand that it does not do to be headlong, but\npatient and laborious--and there is a love strong enough, even in me,\nto overcome nature. I apprehend what you mean in the criticism you\njust intimate, and shall turn it over and over in my mind until I get\npractical good from it. What no mere critic sees, but what you, an\nartist, know, is the difference between the thing desired and the\nthing attained, between the idea in the writer's mind and the [Greek:\neidôlon] cast off in his work. All the effort--the quick'ning of the\nbreath and beating of the heart in pursuit, which is ruffling and\ninjurious to the general effect of a composition; all which you call\n'insistency,' and which many would call superfluity, and which _is_\nsuperfluous in a sense--_you_ can pardon, because you understand. The\ngreat chasm between the thing I say, and the thing I would say, would\nbe quite dispiriting to me, in spite even of such kindnesses as yours,\nif the desire did not master the despondency. 'Oh for a horse with\nwings!' It is wrong of me to write so of myself--only you put your\nfinger on the root of a fault, which has, to my fancy, been a little\nmisapprehended. I do not _say everything I think_ (as has been said of\nme by master-critics) but I _take every means to say what I think_,\nwhich is different!--or I fancy so!\n\nIn one thing, however, you are wrong. Why should you deny the full\nmeasure of my delight and benefit from your writings? I could tell you\nwhy you should not. You have in your vision two worlds, or to use the\nlanguage of the schools of the day, you are both subjective and\nobjective in the habits of your mind. You can deal both with abstract\nthought and with human passion in the most passionate sense. Thus, you\nhave an immense grasp in Art; and no one at all accustomed to consider\nthe usual forms of it, could help regarding with reverence and\ngladness the gradual expansion of your powers. Then you are\n'masculine' to the height--and I, as a woman, have studied some of\nyour gestures of language and intonation wistfully, as a thing beyond\nme far! and the more admirable for being beyond.\n\nOf your new work I hear with delight. How good of you to tell me. And\nit is not dramatic in the strict sense, I am to understand--(am I\nright in understanding so?) and you speak, in your own person 'to the\nwinds'? no--but to the thousand living sympathies which will awake to\nhear you. A great dramatic power may develop itself otherwise than in\nthe formal drama; and I have been guilty of wishing, before this hour\n(for reasons which I will not thrust upon you after all my tedious\nwriting), that you would give the public a poem unassociated directly\nor indirectly with the stage, for a trial on the popular heart. I\nreverence the drama, but--\n\n_But_ I break in on myself out of consideration for you. I might have\ndone it, you will think, before. I vex your 'serene sleep of the\nvirtuous' like a nightmare. Do not say 'No.' I am _sure_ I do! As to\nthe vain parlance of the world, I did not talk of the 'honour of your\nacquaintance' without a true sense of honour, indeed; but I shall\nwillingly exchange it all (and _now_, if you please, at this moment,\nfor fear of worldly mutabilities) for the 'delight of your\nfriendship.'\n\n Believe me, therefore, dear Mr. Browning,\n\n Faithfully yours, and gratefully,\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.\n\nFor Mr. Kenyon's kindness, as _I_ see it, no theory will account. I\nclass it with mesmerism for that reason.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "New Cross, Hatcham, Monday Night.\n [Post-mark, January 28, 1845.]\n\nDear Miss Barrett,--Your books lie on my table here, at arm's length\nfrom me, in this old room where I sit all day: and when my head aches\nor wanders or strikes work, as it now or then will, I take my chance\nfor either green-covered volume, as if it were so much fresh trefoil\nto feel in one's hands this winter-time,--and round I turn, and,\nputting a decisive elbow on three or four half-done-with 'Bells' of\nmine, read, read, read, and just as I have shut up the book and walked\nto the window, I recollect that you wanted me to find faults there,\nand that, in an unwise hour, I engaged to do so. Meantime, the days\ngo by (the whitethroat is come and sings now) and as I would not have\nyou 'look down on me from your white heights' as promise breaker,\nevader, or forgetter, if I could help: and as, if I am very candid and\ncontrite, you may find it in your heart to write to me again--who\nknows?--I shall say at once that the said faults cannot be lost, must\nbe _somewhere_, and shall be faithfully brought you back whenever they\nturn up,--as people tell one of missing matters. I am rather exacting,\nmyself, with my own gentle audience, and get to say spiteful things\nabout them when they are backward in their dues of appreciation--but\nreally, _really_--could I be quite sure that anybody as good as--I\nmust go on, I suppose, and say--as myself, even, were honestly to feel\ntowards me as I do, towards the writer of 'Bertha,' and the 'Drama,'\nand the 'Duchess,' and the 'Page' and--the whole two volumes, I should\nbe paid after a fashion, I know.\n\nOne thing I can do--pencil, if you like, and annotate, and dissertate\nupon that I love most and least--I think I can do it, that is.\n\nHere an odd memory comes--of a friend who,--volunteering such a\nservice to a sonnet-writing somebody, gave him a taste of his quality\nin a side-column of short criticisms on sonnet the First, and starting\noff the beginning three lines with, of course, 'bad, worse,\nworst'--made by a generous mintage of words to meet the sudden run of\nhis epithets, 'worser, worserer, worserest' pay off the second terzet\nin full--no 'badder, badderer, badderest' fell to the _Second's_\nallowance, and 'worser' &c. answered the demands of the Third;\n'worster, worsterer, worsterest' supplied the emergency of the Fourth;\nand, bestowing his last 'worserestest and worstestest' on lines 13 and\n14, my friend (slapping his forehead like an emptied strong-box)\nfrankly declared himself bankrupt, and honourably incompetent, to\nsatisfy the reasonable expectations of the rest of the series!\n\nWhat an illustration of the law by which opposite ideas suggest\nopposite, and contrary images come together!\n\nSee now, how, of that 'Friendship' you offer me (and here Juliet's\nword rises to my lips)--I feel sure once and for ever. I have got\nalready, I see, into this little pet-handwriting of mine (not anyone\nelse's) which scratches on as if theatrical copyists (ah me!) and\nBRADBURY AND EVANS' READER were not! But you shall get something\nbetter than this nonsense one day, if you will have patience with\nme--hardly better, though, because this does me real good, gives real\nrelief, to write. After all, you know nothing, next to nothing of me,\nand that stops me. Spring is to come, however!\n\nIf you hate writing to me as I hate writing to nearly everybody, I\npray you never write--if you do, as you say, care for anything I have\ndone. I will simply assure you, that meaning to begin work in deep\nearnest, _begin_ without affectation, God knows,--I do not know what\nwill help me more than hearing from you,--and therefore, if you do not\nso very much hate it, I know I _shall_ hear from you--and very little\nmore about your 'tiring me.'\n\n Ever yours faithfully,\n\n ROBERT BROWNING.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Walpole Street: Feb. 3, 1845.\n[Transcriber's Note: So in original. Should be \"Wimpole Street.\"]\n\nWhy how could I hate to write to you, dear Mr. Browning? Could you\nbelieve in such a thing? If nobody likes writing to everybody (except\nsuch professional letter writers as you and I are _not_), yet\neverybody likes writing to somebody, and it would be strange and\ncontradictory if I were not always delighted both to hear from _you_\nand to write to _you_, this talking upon paper being as good a social\npleasure as another, when our means are somewhat straitened. As for\nme, I have done most of my talking by post of late years--as people\nshut up in dungeons take up with scrawling mottoes on the walls. Not\nthat I write to many in the way of regular correspondence, as our\nfriend Mr. Horne predicates of me in his romances (which is mere\nromancing!), but that there are a few who will write and be written to\nby me without a sense of injury. Dear Miss Mitford, for instance. You\ndo not know her, I think, personally, although she was the first to\ntell me (when I was very ill and insensible to all the glories of the\nworld except poetry), of the grand scene in 'Pippa Passes.' _She_ has\nfilled a large drawer in this room with delightful letters, heart-warm\nand soul-warm, ... driftings of nature (if sunshine could drift like\nsnow), and which, if they should ever fall the way of all writing,\ninto print, would assume the folio shape as a matter of course, and\ntake rank on the lowest shelf of libraries, with Benedictine editions\nof the Fathers, [Greek: k.t.l.]. I write this to you to show how I can\nhave pleasure in letters, and never think them too long, nor too\nfrequent, nor too illegible from being written in little 'pet hands.'\nI can read any MS. except the writing on the pyramids. And if you will\nonly promise to treat me _en bon camarade_, without reference to the\nconventionalities of 'ladies and gentlemen,' taking no thought for\nyour sentences (nor for mine), nor for your blots (nor for mine), nor\nfor your blunt speaking (nor for mine), nor for your badd speling (nor\nfor mine), and if you agree to send me a blotted thought whenever you\nare in the mind for it, and with as little ceremony and less\nlegibility than you would think it necessary to employ towards your\nprinter--why, _then_, I am ready to sign and seal the contract, and to\nrejoice in being 'articled' as your correspondent. Only _don't_ let us\nhave any constraint, any ceremony! _Don't_ be civil to me when you\nfeel rude,--nor loquacious when you incline to silence,--nor yielding\nin the manners when you are perverse in the mind. See how out of the\nworld I am! Suffer me to profit by it in almost the only profitable\ncircumstance, and let us rest from the bowing and the courtesying,\nyou and I, on each side. You will find me an honest man on the whole,\nif rather hasty and prejudging, which is a different thing from\nprejudice at the worst. And we have great sympathies in common, and I\nam inclined to look up to you in many things, and to learn as much of\neverything as you will teach me. On the other hand you must prepare\nyourself to forbear and to forgive--will you? While I throw off the\nceremony, I hold the faster to the kindness.\n\nIs it true, as you say, that I 'know so \"little\"' of you? And is it\ntrue, as others say, that the productions of an artist do not partake\nof his real nature, ... that in the minor sense, man is not made in\nthe image of God? It is _not_ true, to my mind--and therefore it is\nnot true that I know little of you, except in as far as it is true\n(which I believe) that your greatest works are to come. Need I assure\nyou that I shall always hear with the deepest interest every word you\nwill say to me of what you are doing or about to do? I hear of the\n'old room' and the '\"Bells\" lying about,' with an interest which you\nmay guess at, perhaps. And when you tell me besides, of _my poems\nbeing there_, and of your caring for them so much beyond the tide-mark\nof my hopes, the pleasure rounds itself into a charm, and prevents its\nown expression. Overjoyed I am with this cordial sympathy--but it is\nbetter, I feel, to try to justify it by future work than to thank you\nfor it now. I think--if I may dare to name myself with you in the\npoetic relation--that we both have high views of the Art we follow,\nand stedfast purpose in the pursuit of it, and that we should not,\neither of _us_, be likely to be thrown from the course, by the casting\nof any Atalanta-ball of speedy popularity. But I do not know, I cannot\nguess, whether you are liable to be pained deeply by hard criticism\nand cold neglect, such as original writers like yourself are too often\nexposed to--or whether the love of Art is enough for you, and the\nexercise of Art the filling joy of your life. Not that praise must not\nalways, of necessity, be delightful to the artist, but that it may be\nredundant to his content. Do you think so? or not? It appears to me\nthat poets who, like Keats, are highly susceptible to criticism, must\nbe jealous, in their own persons, of the future honour of their works.\nBecause, if a work is worthy, honour must follow it, though the worker\nshould not live to see that following overtaking. Now, is it not\nenough that the work be honoured--enough I mean, for the worker? And\nis it not enough to keep down a poet's ordinary wearing anxieties, to\nthink, that if his work be worthy it will have honour, and, if not,\nthat 'Sparta must have nobler sons than he'? I am writing nothing\napplicable, I see, to anything in question, but when one falls into a\nfavourite train of thought, one indulges oneself in thinking on. I\nbegan in thinking and wondering what sort of artistic constitution you\nhad, being determined, as you may observe (with a sarcastic smile at\nthe impertinence), to set about knowing as much as possible of you\nimmediately. Then you spoke of your 'gentle audience' (_you began_),\nand I, who know that you have not one but many enthusiastic\nadmirers--the 'fit and few' in the intense meaning--yet not the\n_diffused_ fame which will come to you presently, wrote on, down the\nmargin of the subject, till I parted from it altogether. But, after\nall, we are on the proper matter of sympathy. And after all, and after\nall that has been said and mused upon the 'natural ills,' the anxiety,\nand wearing out experienced by the true artist,--is not the _good_\nimmeasurably greater than the _evil_? Is it not great good, and great\njoy? For my part, I wonder sometimes--I surprise myself wondering--how\nwithout such an object and purpose of life, people find it worth while\nto live at all. And, for happiness--why, my only idea of happiness, as\nfar as my personal enjoyment is concerned, (but I have been\nstraightened in some respects and in comparison with the majority of\nlivers!) lies deep in poetry and its associations. And then, the\nescape from pangs of heart and bodily weakness--when you throw off\n_yourself_--what you feel to be _yourself_--into another atmosphere\nand into other relations where your life may spread its wings out new,\nand gather on every separate plume a brightness from the sun of the\nsun! Is it possible that imaginative writers should be so fond of\ndepreciating and lamenting over their own destiny? Possible,\ncertainly--but reasonable, not at all--and grateful, less than\nanything!\n\nMy faults, my faults--Shall I help you? Ah--you see them too well, I\nfear. And do you know that _I_ also have something of your feeling\nabout 'being about to _begin_,' or I should dare to praise you for\nhaving it. But in you, it is different--it is, in you, a virtue. When\nPrometheus had recounted a long list of sorrows to be endured by Io,\nand declared at last that he was [Greek: mêdepô en prooimiois],[1]\npoor Io burst out crying. And when the author of 'Paracelsus' and the\n'Bells and Pomegranates' says that he is only 'going to begin' we may\nwell (to take 'the opposite idea,' as you write) rejoice and clap our\nhands. Yet I believe that, whatever you may have done, you _will_ do\nwhat is greater. It is my faith for you.\n\nAnd how I should like to know what poets have been your sponsors, 'to\npromise and vow' for you,--and whether you have held true to early\ntastes, or leapt violently from them, and what books you read, and\nwhat hours you write in. How curious I could prove myself!--(if it\nisn't proved already).\n\nBut this is too much indeed, past all bearing, I suspect. Well, but if\nI ever write to you again--I mean, if you wish it--it may be in the\nother extreme of shortness. So do not take me for a born heroine of\nRichardson, or think that I sin always to this length, else,--you\nmight indeed repent your quotation from Juliet--which I guessed at\nonce--and of course--\n\n I have no joy in this contract to-day!\n It is too unadvised, too rash and sudden.\n\n Ever faithfully yours,\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.\n\n[Footnote 1: 'Not yet reached the prelude' (Aesch. _Prom._ 741).]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Hatcham, Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, February 11, 1845.]\n\nDear Miss Barrett,--People would hardly ever tell falsehoods about a\nmatter, if they had been let tell truth in the beginning, for it is\nhard to prophane one's very self, and nobody who has, for instance,\nused certain words and ways to a mother or a father _could_, even if\nby the devil's help he _would_, reproduce or mimic them with any\neffect to anybody else that was to be won over--and so, if 'I love\nyou' were always outspoken when it might be, there would, I suppose,\nbe no fear of its desecration at any after time. But lo! only last\nnight, I had to write, on the part of Mr. Carlyle, to a certain\nungainly, foolish gentleman who keeps back from him, with all the\nfussy impotence of stupidity (not bad feeling, alas! for _that_ we\ncould deal with) a certain MS. letter of Cromwell's which completes\nthe collection now going to press; and this long-ears had to be 'dear\nSir'd and obedient servanted' till I _said_ (to use a mild word)\n'commend me to the sincerities of this kind of thing.'! When I spoke\nof you knowing little of me, one of the senses in which I meant so was\nthis--that I would not well vowel-point my common-place letters and\nsyllables with a masoretic _other_ sound and sense, make my 'dear'\nsomething intenser than 'dears' in ordinary, and 'yours ever' a\nthought more significant than the run of its like. And all this came\nof your talking of 'tiring me,' 'being too envious,' &c. &c., which I\nshould never have heard of had the plain truth looked out of my letter\nwith its unmistakable eyes. _Now_, what you say of the 'bowing,' and\nconvention that is to be, and _tant de façons_ that are not to be,\nhelps me once and for ever--for have I not a right to say simply that,\nfor reasons I know, for other reasons I don't exactly know, but might\nif I chose to think a little, and for still other reasons, which, most\nlikely, all the choosing and thinking in the world would not make me\nknow, I had rather hear from you than see anybody else. Never you\ncare, dear noble Carlyle, nor you, my own friend Alfred over the sea,\nnor a troop of true lovers!--Are not their fates written? there! Don't\nyou answer this, please, but, mind it is on record, and now then, with\na lighter conscience I shall begin replying to your questions. But\nthen--what I have printed gives _no_ knowledge of me--it evidences\nabilities of various kinds, if you will--and a dramatic sympathy with\ncertain modifications of passion ... _that_ I think--But I never have\nbegun, even, what I hope I was born to begin and end--'R.B. a\npoem'--and next, if I speak (and, God knows, feel), as if what you\nhave read were sadly imperfect demonstrations of even mere ability, it\nis from no absurd vanity, though it might seem so--these scenes and\nsong-scraps _are_ such mere and very escapes of my inner power, which\nlives in me like the light in those crazy Mediterranean phares I have\nwatched at sea, wherein the light is ever revolving in a dark gallery,\nbright and alive, and only after a weary interval leaps out, for a\nmoment, from the one narrow chink, and then goes on with the blind\nwall between it and you; and, no doubt, _then_, precisely, does the\npoor drudge that carries the cresset set himself most busily to trim\nthe wick--for don't think I want to say I have not worked hard--(this\nhead of mine knows better)--but the work has been _inside_, and not\nwhen at stated times I held up my light to you--and, that there is no\nself-delusion here, I would prove to you (and nobody else), even by\nopening this desk I write on, and showing what stuff, in the way of\nwood, I _could_ make a great bonfire with, if I might only knock the\nwhole clumsy top off my tower! Of course, every writing body says the\nsame, so I gain nothing by the avowal; but when I remember how I have\ndone what was published, and half done what may never be, I say with\nsome right, you can know but little of me. Still, I _hope_ sometimes,\nthough phrenologists will have it that I _cannot_, and am doing\nbetter with this darling 'Luria'--so safe in my head, and a tiny slip\nof paper I cover with my thumb!\n\nThen you inquire about my 'sensitiveness to criticism,' and I shall be\nglad to tell you exactly, because I have, more than once, taken a\ncourse you might else not understand. I shall live always--that is for\nme--I am living here this 1845, that is for London. I write from a\nthorough conviction that it is the duty of me, and with the belief\nthat, after every drawback and shortcoming, I do my best, all things\nconsidered--that is for _me_, and, so being, the not being listened to\nby one human creature would, I hope, in nowise affect me. But of\ncourse I must, if for merely scientific purposes, know all about this\n1845, its ways and doings, and something I do know, as that for a\ndozen cabbages, if I pleased to grow them in the garden here, I might\ndemand, say, a dozen pence at Covent Garden Market,--and that for a\ndozen scenes, of the average goodness, I may challenge as many\nplaudits at the theatre close by; and a dozen pages of verse, brought\nto the Rialto where verse-merchants most do congregate, ought to bring\nme a fair proportion of the Reviewers' gold currency, seeing the other\ntraders pouch their winnings, as I do see. Well, when they won't pay\nme for my cabbages, nor praise me for my poems, I may, if I please,\nsay 'more's the shame,' and bid both parties 'decamp to the crows,' in\nGreek phrase, and _yet_ go very lighthearted back to a garden-full of\nrose-trees, and a soul-full of comforts. If they had bought my greens\nI should have been able to buy the last number of _Punch_, and go\nthrough the toll-gate of Waterloo Bridge, and give the blind\nclarionet-player a trifle, and all without changing my gold. If they\nhad taken to my books, my father and mother would have been proud of\nthis and the other 'favourable critique,' and--at least so folks\nhold--I should have to pay Mr. Moxon less by a few pounds,\nwhereas--but you see! Indeed I force myself to say ever and anon, in\nthe interest of the market-gardeners regular, and Keatses proper,\n'It's nothing to _you_, critics, hucksters, all of you, if I _have_\nthis garden and this conscience--I might go die at Rome, or take to\ngin and the newspaper, for what _you_ would care!' So I don't quite\nlay open my resources to everybody. But it does so happen, that I have\nmet with much more than I could have expected in this matter of kindly\nand prompt recognition. I never wanted a real set of good hearty\npraisers--and no bad reviewers--I am quite content with my share.\nNo--what I laughed at in my 'gentle audience' is a sad trick the real\nadmirers have of admiring at the wrong place--enough to make an\napostle swear. _That_ does make me savage--_never_ the other kind of\npeople; why, think now--take your own 'Drama of Exile' and let _me_\nsend it to the first twenty men and women that shall knock at your\ndoor to-day and after--of whom the first five are the Postman, the\nseller of cheap sealing-wax, Mr. Hawkins Junr, the Butcher for orders,\nand the Tax-gatherer--will you let me, by Cornelius Agrippa's\nassistance, force these five and these fellows to read, and report on,\nthis 'Drama'--and, when I have put these faithful reports into fair\nEnglish, do you believe they would be better than, if as good, as, the\ngeneral run of Periodical criticisms? Not they, I will venture to\naffirm. But then--once again, I get these people together and give\nthem your book, and persuade them, moreover, that by praising it, the\nPostman will be helping its author to divide Long Acre into two beats,\none of which she will take with half the salary and all the red\ncollar,--that a sealing-wax vendor will see red wafers brought into\nvogue, and so on with the rest--and won't you just wish for your\n_Spectators_ and _Observers_ and Newcastle-upon-Tyne--Hebdomadal\n_Mercuries_ back again! You see the inference--I do sincerely esteem\nit a perfectly providential and miraculous thing that they are so\nwell-behaved in ordinary, these critics; and for Keats and Tennyson to\n'go softly all their days' for a gruff word or two is quite\ninexplicable to me, and always has been. Tennyson reads the\n_Quarterly_ and does as they bid him, with the most solemn face in the\nworld--out goes this, in goes that, all is changed and ranged. Oh me!\n\nOut comes the sun, in comes the _Times_ and eleven strikes (it _does_)\nalready, and I have to go to Town, and I have no alternative but that\nthis story of the Critic and Poet, 'the Bear and the Fiddle,' should\n'begin but break off in the middle'; yet I doubt--nor will you\nhenceforth, I know, say, 'I vex you, I am sure, by this lengthy\nwriting.' Mind that spring is coming, for all this snow; and know me\nfor yours ever faithfully,\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\nI don't dare--yet I will--ask _can_ you read this? Because I _could_\nwrite a little better, but not so fast. Do you keep writing just as\nyou do now!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Wimpole Street, February 17, 1845.\n\nDear Mr. Browning,--To begin with the end (which is only\ncharacteristic of the perverse like myself), I assure you I read your\nhandwriting as currently as I could read the clearest type from font.\nIf I had practised the art of reading your letters all my life, I\ncouldn't do it better. And then I approve of small MS. upon principle.\nThink of what an immense quantity of physical energy must go to the\nmaking of those immense sweeping handwritings achieved by some persons\n... Mr. Landor, for instance, who writes as if he had the sky for a\ncopybook and dotted his _i_'s in proportion. People who do such things\nshould wear gauntlets; yes, and have none to wear; or they wouldn't\nwaste their time so. People who write--by profession--shall I\nsay?--never should do it, or what will become of them when most of\ntheir strength retires into their head and heart, (as is the case with\nsome of us and may be the case with all) and when they have to write a\npoem twelve times over, as Mr. Kenyon says I should do if I were\nvirtuous? Not that I do it. Does anybody do it, I wonder? Do _you_,\never? From what you tell me of the trimming of the light, I imagine\nnot. And besides, one may be laborious as a writer, without copying\ntwelve times over. I believe there are people who will tell you in a\nmoment what three times six is, without 'doing it' on their fingers;\nand in the same way one may work one's verses in one's head quite as\nlaboriously as on paper--I maintain it. I consider myself a very\npatient, laborious writer--though dear Mr. Kenyon laughs me to scorn\nwhen I say so. And just see how it could be otherwise. If I were\nnetting a purse I might be thinking of something else and drop my\nstitches; or even if I were writing verses to please a popular taste,\nI might be careless in it. But the pursuit of an Ideal acknowledged by\nthe mind, _will_ draw and concentrate the powers of the mind--and Art,\nyou know, is a jealous god and demands the whole man--or woman. I\ncannot conceive of a sincere artist who is also a careless one--though\none may have a quicker hand than another, in general,--and though all\nare liable to vicissitudes in the degree of facility--and to\nentanglements in the machinery, notwithstanding every degree of\nfacility. You may write twenty lines one day--or even three like\nEuripides in three days--and a hundred lines in one more day--and yet\non the hundred, may have been expended as much good work, as on the\ntwenty and the three. And also, as you say, the lamp is trimmed behind\nthe wall--and the act of utterance is the evidence of foregone study\nstill more than it is the occasion to study. The deep interest with\nwhich I read all that you had the kindness to write to me of yourself,\nyou must trust me for, as I find it hard to express it. It is sympathy\nin one way, and interest every way! And now, see! Although you proved\nto me with admirable logic that, for reasons which you know and\nreasons which you don't know, I couldn't possibly know anything about\nyou; though that is all true--and proven (which is better than\ntrue)--I really did understand of you before I was told, exactly what\nyou told me. Yes, I did indeed. I felt sure that as a poet you fronted\nthe future--and that your chief works, in your own apprehension, were\nto come. Oh--I take no credit of sagacity for it; as I did not long\nago to my sisters and brothers, when I professed to have knowledge of\nall their friends whom I never saw in my life, by the image coming\nwith the name; and threw them into shouts of laughter by giving out\nall the blue eyes and black eyes and hazel eyes and noses Roman and\nGothic ticketed aright for the Mr. Smiths and Miss Hawkinses,--and hit\nthe bull's eye and the true features of the case, ten times out of\ntwelve! But _you_ are different. _You_ are to be made out by the\ncomparative anatomy system. You have thrown out fragments of _os_ ...\n_sublime_ ... indicative of soul-mammothism--and you live to develop\nyour nature,--_if_ you live. That is easy and plain. You have taken a\ngreat range--from those high faint notes of the mystics which are\nbeyond personality ... to dramatic impersonations, gruff with nature,\n'gr-r-r- you swine'; and when these are thrown into harmony, as in a\nmanner they are in 'Pippa Passes' (which I could find in my heart to\ncovet the authorship of, more than any of your works--), the\ncombinations of effect must always be striking and noble--and you must\nfeel yourself drawn on to such combinations more and more. But I do\nnot, you say, know yourself--you. I only know abilities and faculties.\nWell, then, teach me yourself--you. I will not insist on the\nknowledge--and, in fact, you have not written the R.B. poem yet--your\nrays fall obliquely rather than directly straight. I see you only in\nyour moon. Do tell me all of yourself that you can and will ... before\nthe R.B. poem comes out. And what is 'Luria'? A poem and not a drama?\nI mean, a poem not in the dramatic form? Well! I have wondered at you\nsometimes, not for daring, but for bearing to trust your noble works\ninto the great mill of the 'rank, popular' playhouse, to be ground to\npieces between the teeth of vulgar actors and actresses. I, for one,\nwould as soon have 'my soul among lions.' 'There is a fascination in\nit,' says Miss Mitford, and I am sure there must be, to account for\nit. Publics in the mass are bad enough; but to distil the dregs of the\npublic and baptise oneself in that acrid moisture, where can be the\ntemptation? I could swear by Shakespeare, as was once sworn 'by those\ndead at Marathon,' that I do not see where. I love the drama too. I\nlook to our old dramatists as to our Kings and princes in poetry. I\nlove them through all the deeps of their abominations. But the theatre\nin those days was a better medium between the people and the poet; and\nthe press in those days was a less sufficient medium than now. Still,\nthe poet suffered by the theatre even then; and the reasons are very\nobvious.\n\nHow true--how true ... is all you say about critics. My convictions\nfollow you in every word. And I delighted to read your views of the\npoet's right aspect towards criticism--I read them with the most\ncomplete appreciation and sympathy. I have sometimes thought that it\nwould be a curious and instructive process, as illustrative of the\nwisdom and apprehensiveness of critics, if anyone would collect the\ncritical soliloquies of every age touching its own literature, (as far\nas such may be extant) and _confer_ them with the literary product of\nthe said ages. Professor Wilson has begun something of the kind\napparently, in his initiatory paper of the last _Blackwood_ number on\ncritics, beginning with Dryden--but he seems to have no design in his\nnotice--it is a mere critique on the critic. And then, he should have\nbegun earlier than Dryden--earlier even than Sir Philip Sydney, who in\nthe noble 'Discourse on Poetry,' gives such singular evidence of being\nstone-critic-blind to the gods who moved around him. As far as I can\nremember, he saw even Shakespeare but indifferently. Oh, it was in his\neyes quite an unillumed age, that period of Elizabeth which _we_ see\nfull of suns! and few can see what is close to the eyes though they\nrun their heads against it; the denial of contemporary genius is the\nrule rather than the exception. No one counts the eagles in the nest,\ntill there is a rush of wings; and lo! they are flown. And here we\nspeak of understanding men, such as the Sydneys and the Drydens. Of\nthe great body of critics you observe rightly, that they are better\nthan might be expected of their badness, only the fact of their\n_influence_ is no less undeniable than the reason why they should not\nbe influential. The brazen kettles will be taken for oracles all the\nworld over. But the influence is for to-day, for this hour--not for\nto-morrow and the day after--unless indeed, as you say, the poet do\nhimself perpetuate the influence by submitting to it. Do you know\nTennyson?--that is, with a face to face knowledge? I have great\nadmiration for him. In execution, he is exquisite,--and, in music, a\nmost subtle weigher out to the ear of fine airs. That such a poet\nshould submit blindly to the suggestions of his critics, (I do not say\nthat suggestions from without may not be accepted with discrimination\nsometimes, to the benefit of the acceptor), blindly and implicitly to\nthe suggestions of his critics, is much as if Babbage were to take my\nopinion and undo his calculating machine by it. Napoleon called poetry\n_science creuse_--which, although he was not scientific in poetry\nhimself, is true enough. But anybody is qualified, according to\neverybody, for giving opinions upon poetry. It is not so in chymistry\nand mathematics. Nor is it so, I believe, in whist and the polka. But\nthen these are more serious things.\n\nYes--and it does delight me to hear of your garden full of roses and\nsoul full of comforts! You have the right to both--you have the key to\nboth. You have written enough to live by, though only beginning to\nwrite, as you say of yourself. And this reminds me to remind you that\nwhen I talked of coveting most the authorship of your 'Pippa,' I did\nnot mean to call it your finest work (you might reproach me for\n_that_), but just to express a personal feeling. Do you know what it\nis to covet your neighbour's poetry?--not his fame, but his poetry?--I\ndare say not. You are too generous. And, in fact, beauty is beauty,\nand, whether it comes by our own hand or another's, blessed be the\ncoming of it! _I_, besides, feel _that_. And yet--and yet, I have been\naware of a feeling within me which has spoken two or three times to\nthe effect of a wish, that I had been visited with the vision of\n'Pippa,' before you--and _confiteor tibi_--I confess the baseness of\nit. The conception is, to my mind, most exquisite and altogether\noriginal--and the contrast in the working out of the plan, singularly\nexpressive of various faculty.\n\nIs the poem under your thumb, emerging from it? and in what metre? May\nI ask such questions?\n\nAnd does Mr. Carlyle tell you that he has forbidden all 'singing' to\nthis perverse and froward generation, which should work and not sing?\nAnd have you told Mr. Carlyle that song is work, and also the\ncondition of work? I am a devout sitter at his feet--and it is an\neffort to me to think him wrong in anything--and once when he told me\nto write prose and not verse, I fancied that his opinion was I had\nmistaken my calling,--a fancy which in infinite kindness and\ngentleness he stooped immediately to correct. I never shall forget the\ngrace of that kindness--but then! For _him_ to have thought ill of\n_me_, would not have been strange--I often think ill of myself, as God\nknows. But for Carlyle to think of putting away, even for a season,\nthe poetry of the world, was wonderful, and has left me ruffled in my\nthoughts ever since. I do not know him personally at all. But as his\ndisciple I ventured (by an exceptional motive) to send him my poems,\nand I heard from him as a consequence. 'Dear and noble' he is\nindeed--and a poet unaware of himself; all but the sense of music. You\nfeel it so--do you not? And the 'dear sir' has let him have the\n'letter of Cromwell,' I hope; and satisfied 'the obedient servant.'\nThe curious thing in this world is not the stupidity, but the\nupper-handism of the stupidity. The geese are in the Capitol, and the\nRomans in the farmyard--and it seems all quite natural that it should\nbe so, both to geese and Romans!\n\nBut there are things you say, which seem to me supernatural, for\nreasons which I know and for reasons which I don't know. You will let\nme be grateful to you,--will you not? You must, if you will or not.\nAnd also--I would not wait for more leave--if I could but see your\ndesk--as I do your death's heads and the spider-webs appertaining; but\nthe soul of Cornelius Agrippa fades from me.\n\n Ever faithfully yours,\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning--Spring!\n [Post-mark, February 26, 1845.]\n\nReal warm Spring, dear Miss Barrett, and the birds know it; and in\nSpring I shall see you, surely see you--for when did I once fail to\nget whatever I had set my heart upon? As I ask myself sometimes, with\na strange fear.\n\nI took up this paper to write a great deal--now, I don't think I shall\nwrite much--'I shall see you,' I say!\n\nThat 'Luria' you enquire about, shall be my last play--for it is but a\nplay, woe's me! I have one done here, 'A Soul's Tragedy,' as it is\nproperly enough called, but _that_ would not do to end with (end I\nwill), and Luria is a Moor, of Othello's country, and devotes himself\nto something he thinks Florence, and the old fortune follows--all in\nmy brain yet, but the bright weather helps and I will soon loosen my\nBraccio and Puccio (a pale discontented man), and Tiburzio (the Pisan,\ngood true fellow, this one), and Domizia the Lady--loosen all these on\ndear foolish (ravishing must his folly be), golden-hearted Luria, all\nthese with their worldly-wisdom and Tuscan shrewd ways; and, for me,\nthe misfortune is, I sympathise just as much with these as with\nhim,--so there can no good come of keeping this wild company any\nlonger, and 'Luria' and the other sadder ruin of one Chiappino--these\ngot rid of, I will do as you bid me, and--say first I have some\nRomances and Lyrics, all dramatic, to dispatch, and _then_, I shall\nstoop of a sudden under and out of this dancing ring of men and women\nhand in hand, and stand still awhile, should my eyes dazzle, and when\nthat's over, they will be gone and you will be there, _pas vrai_? For,\nas I think I told you, I always shiver involuntarily when I look--no,\nglance--at this First Poem of mine to be. '_Now_,' I call it, what,\nupon my soul,--for a solemn matter it is,--what is to be done _now_,\nbelieved _now_, so far as it has been revealed to me--solemn words,\ntruly--and to find myself writing them to any one else! Enough now.\n\nI know Tennyson 'face to face,'--no more than that. I know Carlyle and\nlove him--know him so well, that I would have told you he had shaken\nthat grand head of his at 'singing,' so thoroughly does he love and\nlive by it. When I last saw him, a fortnight ago, he turned, from I\ndon't know what other talk, quite abruptly on me with, 'Did you never\ntry to write a _Song_? Of all things in the world, _that_ I should be\nproudest to do.' Then came his definition of a song--then, with an\nappealing look to Mrs. C., 'I always say that some day in _spite of\nnature and my stars_, I shall burst into a song' (he is not\nmechanically 'musical,' he meant, and the music is the poetry, he\nholds, and should enwrap the thought as Donne says 'an amber-drop\nenwraps a bee'), and then he began to recite an old Scotch song,\nstopping at the first rude couplet, 'The beginning words are merely to\nset the tune, they tell me'--and then again at the couplet about--or,\nto the effect that--'give me' (but in broad Scotch) 'give me but my\nlass, I care not for my cogie.' '_He says_,' quoth Carlyle\nmagisterially, 'that if you allow him the love of his lass, you may\ntake away all else, even his cogie, his cup or can, and he cares not,'\njust as a professor expounds Lycophron. And just before I left\nEngland, six months ago, did not I hear him croon, if not certainly\nsing, 'Charlie is my darling' ('my _darling_' with an adoring\nemphasis), and then he stood back, as it were, from the song, to look\nat it better, and said 'How must that notion of ideal wondrous\nperfection have impressed itself in this old Jacobite's \"young\nCavalier\"--(\"They go to save their land, and the _young\nCavalier_!!\")--when I who care nothing about such a rag of a man,\ncannot but feel as he felt, in speaking his words after him!' After\nsaying which, he would be sure to counsel everybody to get their heads\nclear of all singing! Don't let me forget to clap hands, we got the\nletter, dearly bought as it was by the 'Dear Sirs,' &c., and\ninsignificant scrap as it proved, but still it is got, to my\nencouragement in diplomacy.\n\nWho told you of my sculls and spider webs--Horne? Last year I petted\nextraordinarily a fine fellow, (a _garden_ spider--there was the\nsingularity,--the thin clever-even-for-a-spider-sort, and they are\n_so_ 'spirited and sly,' all of them--this kind makes a long cone of\nweb, with a square chamber of vantage at the end, and there he sits\nloosely and looks about), a great fellow that housed himself, with\nreal gusto, in the jaws of a great scull, whence he watched me as I\nwrote, and I remember speaking to Horne about his good points.\nPhrenologists look gravely at that great scull, by the way, and hope,\nin their grim manner, that its owner made a good end. He looks\nquietly, now, out at the green little hill behind. I have no little\ninsight to the feelings of furniture, and treat books and prints with\na reasonable consideration. How some people use their pictures, for\ninstance, is a mystery to me; very revolting all the same--portraits\nobliged to face each other for ever,--prints put together in\nportfolios. My Polidoro's perfect Andromeda along with 'Boors\nCarousing,' by Ostade,--where I found her,--my own father's doing, or\nI would say more.\n\nAnd when I have said I like 'Pippa' better than anything else I have\ndone yet, I shall have answered all you bade me. And now may _I_\nbegin questioning? No,--for it is all a pure delight to me, so that\nyou do but write. I never was without good, kind, generous friends and\nlovers, so they say--so they were and are,--perhaps they came at the\nwrong time--I never wanted them--though that makes no difference in my\ngratitude I trust,--but I know myself--surely--and always have done\nso, for is there not somewhere the little book I first printed when a\nboy, with John Mill, the metaphysical head, _his_ marginal note that\n'the writer possesses a deeper self-consciousness than I ever knew in\na sane human being.' So I never deceived myself much, nor called my\nfeelings for people other than they were. And who has a right to say,\nif I have not, that I had, but I said that, supernatural or no. Pray\ntell me, too, of your present doings and projects, and never write\nyourself 'grateful' to me, who _am_ grateful, very grateful to\nyou,--for none of your words but I take in earnest--and tell me if\nSpring _be not_ coming, come, and I will take to writing the gravest\nof letters, because this beginning is for gladness' sake, like\nCarlyle's song couplet. My head aches a little to-day too, and, as\npoor dear Kirke White said to the moon, from his heap of mathematical\npapers,\n\n 'I throw aside the learned sheet;\n I cannot choose but gaze, she looks so--mildly sweet.'\n\nOut on the foolish phrase, but there's hard rhyming without it.\n\n Ever yours faithfully,\n\n ROBERT BROWNING.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Wimpole Street: Feb. 27, 1845.\n\nYes, but, dear Mr. Browning, I want the spring according to the new\n'style' (mine), and not the old one of you and the rest of the poets.\nTo me unhappily, the snowdrop is much the same as the snow--it feels\nas cold underfoot--and I have grown sceptical about 'the voice of the\nturtle,' the east winds blow so loud. April is a Parthian with a dart,\nand May (at least the early part of it) a spy in the camp. _That_ is\nmy idea of what you call spring; mine, in the _new style_! A little\nlater comes my spring; and indeed after such severe weather, from\nwhich I have just escaped with my life, I may thank it for coming at\nall. How happy you are, to be able to listen to the 'birds' without\nthe commentary of the east wind, which, like other commentaries,\nspoils the music. And how happy I am to listen to you, when you write\nsuch kind open-hearted letters to me! I am delighted to hear all you\nsay to me of yourself, and 'Luria,' and the spider, and to do him no\ndishonour in the association, of the great teacher of the age,\nCarlyle, who is also yours and mine. He fills the office of a\npoet--does he not?--by analysing humanity back into its elements, to\nthe destruction of the conventions of the hour. That is--strictly\nspeaking--the office of the poet, is it not?--and he discharges it\nfully, and with a wider intelligibility perhaps as far as the\ncontemporary period is concerned, than if he did forthwith 'burst into\na song.'\n\nBut how I do wander!--I meant to say, and I will call myself back to\nsay, that spring will really come some day I hope and believe, and the\nwarm settled weather with it, and that then I shall be probably fitter\nfor certain pleasures than I can appear even to myself now.\n\nAnd, in the meantime, I seem to see 'Luria' instead of you; I have\nvisions and dream dreams. And the 'Soul's Tragedy,' which sounds to me\nlike the step of a ghost of an old Drama! and you are not to think\nthat I blaspheme the Drama, dear Mr. Browning; or that I ever thought\nof exhorting you to give up the 'solemn robes' and tread of the\nbuskin. It is the theatre which vulgarises these things; the modern\ntheatre in which we see no altar! where the thymelé is replaced by the\ncaprice of a popular actor. And also, I have a fancy that your great\ndramatic power would work more clearly and audibly in the less\ndefinite mould--but you ride your own faculty as Oceanus did his\nsea-horse, 'directing it by your will'; and woe to the impertinence,\nwhich would dare to say 'turn this way' or 'turn from that way'--it\nshould not be _my_ impertinence. Do not think I blaspheme the Drama. I\nhave gone through 'all such reading as should never be read' (that is,\nby women!), through my love of it on the contrary. And the dramatic\nfaculty is strong in you--and therefore, as 'I speak unto a wise man,\njudge what I say.'\n\nFor myself and my own doings, you shall hear directly what I have been\ndoing, and what I am about to do. Some years ago, as perhaps you may\nhave heard, (but I hope not, for the fewer who hear of it the\nbetter)--some years ago, I translated or rather _undid_ into English,\nthe 'Prometheus' of Æschylus. To speak of this production moderately\n(not modestly), it is the most miserable of all miserable versions of\nthe class. It was completed (in the first place) in thirteen days--the\niambics thrown into blank verse, the lyrics into rhymed octosyllabics\nand the like,--and the whole together as cold as Caucasus, and as flat\nas the nearest plain. To account for this, the haste may be something;\nbut if my mind had been properly awakened at the time, I might have\nmade still more haste and done it better. Well,--the comfort is, that\nthe little book was unadvertised and unknown, and that most of the\ncopies (through my entreaty of my father) are shut up in the wardrobe\nof his bedroom. If ever I get well I shall show my joy by making a\nbonfire of them. In the meantime, the recollection of this sin of mine\nhas been my nightmare and daymare too, and the sin has been the 'Blot\non my escutcheon.' I could look in nobody's face, with a 'Thou canst\nnot say I did it'--I know, I did it. And so I resolved to wash away\nthe transgression, and translate the tragedy over again. It was an\nhonest straightforward proof of repentance--was it not? and I have\ncompleted it, except the transcription and last polishing. If\nÆschylus stands at the foot of my bed now, I shall have a little\nbreath to front him. I have done my duty by him, not indeed according\nto his claims, but in proportion to my faculty. Whether I shall ever\npublish or not (remember) remains to be considered--that is a\ndifferent side of the subject. If I do, it _may_ be in a\nmagazine--or--but this is another ground. And then, I have in my head\nto associate with the version, a monodrama of my own,--not a long\npoem, but a monologue of Æschylus as he sate a blind exile on the\nflats of Sicily and recounted the past to his own soul, just before\nthe eagle cracked his great massy skull with a stone.\n\nBut my chief _intention_ just now is the writing of a sort of\nnovel-poem--a poem as completely modern as 'Geraldine's Courtship,'\nrunning into the midst of our conventions, and rushing into\ndrawing-rooms and the like, 'where angels fear to tread'; and so,\nmeeting face to face and without mask the Humanity of the age, and\nspeaking the truth as I conceive of it out plainly. That is my\nintention. It is not mature enough yet to be called a plan. I am\nwaiting for a story, and I won't take one, because I want to make one,\nand I like to make my own stories, because then I can take liberties\nwith them in the treatment.\n\nWho told me of your skulls and spiders? Why, couldn't I know it\nwithout being told? Did Cornelius Agrippa know nothing without being\ntold? Mr. Horne never spoke it to my ears--(I never saw him face to\nface in my life, although we have corresponded for long and long), and\nhe never wrote it to my eyes. Perhaps he does not know that I know it.\nWell, then! if I were to say that _I heard it from you yourself_, how\nwould you answer? _And it was so._ Why, are you not aware that these\nare the days of mesmerism and clairvoyance? Are you an infidel? I have\nbelieved in your skulls for the last year, for my part.\n\nAnd I have some sympathy in your habit of feeling for chairs and\ntables. I remember, when I was a child and wrote poems in little\nclasped books, I used to kiss the books and put them away tenderly\nbecause I had been happy near them, and take them out by turns when I\nwas going from home, to cheer them by the change of air and the\npleasure of the new place. This, not for the sake of the verses\nwritten in them, and not for the sake of writing more verses in them,\nbut from pure gratitude. Other books I used to treat in a like\nmanner--and to talk to the trees and the flowers, was a natural\ninclination--but between me and that time, the cypresses grow thick\nand dark.\n\nIs it true that your wishes fulfil themselves? And when they _do_, are\nthey not bitter to your taste--do you not wish them _un_fulfilled? Oh,\nthis life, this life! There is comfort in it, they say, and I almost\nbelieve--but the brightest place in the house, is the leaning out of\nthe window--at least, for me.\n\nOf course you are _self-conscious_--How could you be a poet otherwise?\nTell me.\n\n Ever faithfully yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nAnd was the little book written with Mr. Mill, pure metaphysics, or\nwhat?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Night, March 1 [1845].\n\nDear Miss Barrett,--I seem to find of a sudden--surely I knew\nbefore--anyhow, I _do_ find now, that with the octaves on octaves of\nquite new golden strings you enlarged the compass of my life's harp\nwith, there is added, too, such a tragic chord, that which you\ntouched, so gently, in the beginning of your letter I got this\nmorning, 'just escaping' &c. But if my truest heart's wishes avail, as\nthey have hitherto done, you shall laugh at East winds yet, as I do!\nSee now, this sad feeling is so strange to me, that I must write it\nout, _must_, and you might give me great, the greatest pleasure for\nyears and yet find me as passive as a stone used to wine libations,\nand as ready in expressing my sense of them, but when I am pained, I\nfind the old theory of the uselessness of communicating the\ncircumstances of it, singularly untenable. I have been 'spoiled' in\nthis world--to such an extent, indeed, that I often _reason_ out--make\nclear to myself--that I might very properly, so far as myself am\nconcerned, take any step that would peril the whole of my future\nhappiness--because the past is gained, secure, and on record; and,\nthough not another of the old days should dawn on me, I shall not have\nlost my life, no! Out of all which you are--please--to make a sort of\nsense, if you can, so as to express that I have been deeply struck to\nfind a new real unmistakable sorrow along with these as real but not\nso new joys you have given me. How strangely this connects itself in\nmy mind with another subject in your note! I looked at that\ntranslation for a minute, not longer, years ago, knowing nothing about\nit or you, and I _only_ looked to see what rendering a passage had\nreceived that was often in my thoughts.[1] I forget your version (it\nwas not _yours_, my _'yours' then_; I mean I had no extraordinary\ninterest about it), but the original makes Prometheus (telling over\nhis bestowments towards human happiness) say, as something [Greek:\nperaiterô tônde], that he stopped mortals [Greek: mê proderkesthai\nmoron--to poion eurôn], asks the Chorus, [Greek: têsde pharmakon\nnosou]? Whereto he replies, [Greek: tuphlas en autois elpidas\nkatôkisa] (what you hear men dissertate upon by the hour, as proving\nthe immortality of the soul apart from revelation, undying yearnings,\nrestless longings, instinctive desires which, unless to be eventually\nindulged, it were cruel to plant in us, &c. &c.). But, [Greek: meg'\nôphelêma tout' edôrêsô brotois]! concludes the chorus, like a sigh\nfrom the admitted Eleusinian Æschylus was! You cannot think how this\nfoolish circumstance struck me this evening, so I thought I would e'en\ntell you at once and be done with it. Are you not my dear friend\nalready, and shall I not use you? And pray you not to 'lean out of the\nwindow' when my own foot is only on the stair; do wait a little for\n\n Yours _ever_,\n\n R.B.\n\n[Footnote 1: The following is the version of the passage in Mrs.\nBrowning's later translation of the 'Prometheus' (II. 247-251 of the\noriginal):\n\n_Prom._ I did restrain besides\n My mortals from premeditating death.\n\n_Cho._ How didst thou medicine the plague-fear of death?\n\n_Prom._ I set blind hopes to inhabit in their house.\n\n_Cho._ By that gift thou didst help thy mortals well.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "March 5, 1845.\n\nBut I did not mean to strike a 'tragic chord'; indeed I did not!\nSometimes one's melancholy will be uppermost and sometimes one's\nmirth,--the world goes round, you know--and I suppose that in that\nletter of mine the melancholy took the turn. As to 'escaping with my\nlife,' it was just a phrase--at least it did not signify more than\nthat the sense of mortality, and discomfort of it, is peculiarly\nstrong with me when east winds are blowing and waters freezing. For\nthe rest, I am _essentially better_, and have been for several\nwinters; and I feel as if it were intended for me to live and not die,\nand I am reconciled to the feeling. Yes! I am satisfied to 'take up'\nwith the blind hopes again, and have them in the house with me, for\nall that I sit by the window. By the way, did the chorus utter scorn\nin the [Greek: meg' ôphelêma]. I think not. It is well to fly towards\nthe light, even where there may be some fluttering and bruising of\nwings against the windowpanes, is it not?\n\nThere is an obscurer passage, on which I covet your thoughts, where\nPrometheus, after the sublime declaration that, with a full knowledge\nof the penalty reserved for him, he had sinned of free will and\nchoice--goes on to say--or to seem to say--that he had _not_, however,\nforeseen the extent and detail of the torment, the skiey rocks, and\nthe friendless desolation. See v. 275. The intention of the poet\nmight have been to magnify to his audience the torment of the\nmartyrdom--but the heroism of the martyr diminishes in proportion--and\nthere appears to be a contradiction, and oversight. Or is my view\nwrong? Tell me. And tell me too, if Æschylus not the divinest of all\nthe divine Greek souls? People say after Quintilian, that he is savage\nand rude; a sort of poetic Orson, with his locks all wild. But I will\nnot hear it of my master! He is strong as Zeus is--and not as a\nboxer--and tender as Power itself, which always is tenderest.\n\nBut to go back to the view of Life with the blind Hopes; you are not\nto think--whatever I may have written or implied--that I lean either\nto the philosophy or affectation which beholds the world through\ndarkness instead of light, and speaks of it wailingly. Now, may God\nforbid that it should be so with me. I am not desponding by nature,\nand after a course of bitter mental discipline and long bodily\nseclusion, I come out with two learnt lessons (as I sometimes say and\noftener feel),--the wisdom of cheerfulness--and the duty of social\nintercourse. Anguish has instructed me in joy, and solitude in\nsociety; it has been a wholesome and not unnatural reaction. And\naltogether, I may say that the earth looks the brighter to me in\nproportion to my own deprivations. The laburnum trees and rose trees\nare plucked up by the roots--but the sunshine is in their places, and\nthe root of the sunshine is above the storms. What we call Life is a\ncondition of the soul, and the soul must improve in happiness and\nwisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these\nfaintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.\n\nAnd I do like to hear testimonies like yours, to _happiness_, and I\nfeel it to be a testimony of a higher sort than the obvious one.\nStill, it is obvious too that you have been spared, up to this time,\nthe great natural afflictions, against which we are nearly all called,\nsooner or later, to struggle and wrestle--or your step would not be\n'on the stair' quite so lightly. And so, we turn to you, dear Mr.\nBrowning, for comfort and gentle spiriting! Remember that as you owe\nyour unscathed joy to God, you should pay it back to His world. And I\nthank you for some of it already.\n\nAlso, writing as from friend to friend--as you say rightly that we\nare--I ought to confess that of one class of griefs (which has been\ncalled too the bitterest), I know as little as you. The cruelty of the\nworld, and the treason of it--the unworthiness of the dearest; of\nthese griefs I have scanty knowledge. It seems to me from my personal\nexperience that there is kindness everywhere in different proportions,\nand more goodness and tenderheartedness than we read of in the\nmoralists. People have been kind to _me_, even without understanding\nme, and pitiful to me, without approving of me:--nay, have not the\nvery critics tamed their beardom for me, and roared delicately as\nsucking doves, on behalf of me? I have no harm to say of your world,\nthough I am not of it, as you see. And I have the cream of it in your\nfriendship, and a little more, and I do not envy much the milkers of\nthe cows.\n\nHow kind you are!--how kindly and gently you speak to me! Some things\nyou say are very touching, and some, surprising; and although I am\naware that you unconsciously exaggerate what I can be to you, yet it\nis delightful to be broad awake and think of you as my friend.\n\nMay God bless you!\n\n Faithfully yours,\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 12, 1845.]\n\nYour letter made me so happy, dear Miss Barrett, that I have kept\nquiet this while; is it too great a shame if I begin to want more\ngood news of you, and to say so? Because there has been a bitter wind\never since. Will you grant me a great favour? Always when you write,\nthough about your own works, not Greek plays merely, put me in,\n_always_, a little official bulletin-line that shall say 'I am better'\nor 'still better,' will you? That is done, then--and now, what do I\nwish to tell you first? The poem you propose to make, for the times;\nthe fearless fresh living work you describe, is the _only_ Poem to be\nundertaken now by you or anyone that _is_ a Poet at all; the only\nreality, only effective piece of service to be rendered God and man;\nit is what I have been all my life intending to do, and now shall be\nmuch, much nearer doing, since you will along with me. And you _can_\ndo it, I know and am sure--so sure, that I could find in my heart to\nbe jealous of your stopping in the way even to translate the\nPrometheus; though the accompanying monologue will make amends too. Or\nshall I set you a task I meant for myself once upon a time?--which,\noh, how you would fulfil! Restore the Prometheus [Greek: purphoros] as\nShelley did the [Greek: Lyomenos]; when I say 'restore,' I know, or\nvery much fear, that the [Greek: purphoros] was the same with the\n[Greek: purkaeus] which, by a fragment, we sorrowfully ascertain to\nhave been a Satyric Drama; but surely the capabilities of the subject\nare much greater than in this, we now wonder at; nay, they include all\nthose of this last--for just see how magnificently the story unrolls\nitself. The beginning of Jupiter's dynasty, the calm in Heaven after\nthe storm, the ascending--(stop, I will get the book and give the\nwords), [Greek: opôs tachista ton patrôon eis thronon kathezet',\neuthus daimosin nemei gera alloisin alla--k.t.l.],[1] all the while\nPrometheus being the first among the first in honour, as [Greek:\nkaitoi theoisi tois neois toutois gera tis allos, ê 'gô, pantelôs\ndiôrise]?[2] then the one black hand-cloudlet storming the joyous\nblue and gold everywhere, [Greek: brotôn de tôn talaipôrôn logon ouk\neschen oudena],[3] and the design of Zeus to blot out the whole race,\nand plant a new one. And Prometheus with his grand solitary [Greek:\negô d' etolmêsa],[4] and his saving them, as the _first_ good, from\nannihilation. Then comes the darkening brow of Zeus, and estrangement\nfrom the benign circle of grateful gods, and the dissuasion of old\nconfederates, and all the Right that one may fancy in Might, the\nstrongest reasons [Greek: pauesthai tropou philanthrôpou][5] coming\nfrom the own mind of the Titan, if you will, and all the while he\nshall be proceeding steadily in the alleviation of the sufferings of\nmortals whom, [Greek: nêpious ontas to prin, ennous kai phrenôn\nepêbolous ethêke],[6] while still, in proportion, shall the doom he is\nabout to draw on himself, manifest itself more and more distinctly,\ntill at the last, he shall achieve the salvation of man, body (by the\ngift of fire) and soul (by even those [Greek: tuphlai elpides],[7]\nhopes of immortality), and so having rendered him utterly, according\nto the mythos here, _independent_ of Jove--for observe, Prometheus in\nthe play never talks of helping mortals more, of fearing for them\nmore, of even benefiting them more by his sufferings. The rest is\nbetween Jove and himself; he will reveal the master-secret to Jove\nwhen he shall have released him, &c. There is no stipulation that the\ngifts to mortals shall be continued; indeed, by the fact that it is\nPrometheus who hangs on Caucasus while 'the ephemerals possess fire,'\none sees that somehow mysteriously _they_ are past Jove's harming now.\nWell, this wholly achieved, the price is as wholly accepted, and off\ninto the darkness passes in calm triumphant grandeur the Titan, with\nStrength and Violence, and Vulcan's silent and downcast eyes, and then\nthe gold clouds and renewed flushings of felicity shut up the scene\nagain, with Might in his old throne again, yet with a new element of\nmistrust, and conscious shame, and fear, that writes significantly\nenough above all the glory and rejoicing that all is not as it was,\nnor will ever be. Such might be the framework of your Drama, just what\ncannot help striking one at first glance, and would not such a Drama\ngo well before your translation? Do think of this and tell me--it\nnearly writes itself. You see, I meant the [Greek: meg' ôphelêma][8]\nto be a deep great truth; if there were no life beyond this, I think\nthe hope in one would be an incalculable blessing _for_ this life,\nwhich is melancholy for one like Æschylus to feel, if he could _only_\nhope, because the argument as to the ulterior good of those hopes is\ncut clean away, and what had he left?\n\nI do not find it take away from my feeling of the magnanimity of\nPrometheus that he should, in truth, complain (as he does from\nbeginning to end) of what he finds himself suffering. He could have\nprevented all, and can stop it now--of that he never thinks for a\nmoment. That was the old Greek way--they never let an antagonistic\npassion neutralise the other which was to influence the man to his\npraise or blame. A Greek hero fears exceedingly and battles it out,\ncries out when he is wounded and fights on, does not say his love or\nhate makes him see no danger or feel no pain. Æschylus from first word\nto last ([Greek: idesthe me, oia paschô][9] to [Greek: esoras me, hôs\nekdika paschô][10]) insists on the unmitigated reality of the\npunishment which only the sun, and divine ether, and the godhead of\nhis mother can comprehend; still, still that is only what I suppose\nÆschylus to have done--in your poem you shall make Prometheus our way.\n\nAnd now enough of Greek, which I am fast forgetting (for I never look\nat books I loved once)--it was your mention of the translation that\nbrought out the old fast fading outlines of the Poem in my brain--the\nGreek poem, that is. You think--for I must get to _you_--that I\n'unconsciously exaggerate what you are to me.' Now, you don't know\nwhat _that_ is, nor can I very well tell you, because the language\nwith which I talk to myself of these matters is spiritual Attic, and\n'loves contractions,' as grammarians say; but I read it myself, and\nwell know what it means, that's why I told you I was self-conscious--I\nmeant that I never yet mistook my own feelings, one for\nanother--there! Of what use is talking? Only do you stay here with me\nin the 'House' these few short years. Do you think I shall see you in\ntwo months, three months? I may travel, perhaps. So you have got to\nlike society, and would enjoy it, you think? For me, I always hated\nit--have put up with it these six or seven years past, lest by\nforegoing it I should let some unknown good escape me, in the true\ntime of it, and only discover my fault when too late; and now that I\nhave done most of what is to be done, _any_ lodge in a garden of\ncucumbers for me! I don't even care about reading now--the world, and\npictures of it, rather than writings about the world! But you must\nread books in order to get words and forms for 'the public' if you\n_write_, and _that_ you needs must do, if you fear God. I have no\npleasure in writing myself--none, in the mere act--though all pleasure\nin the sense of fulfilling a duty, whence, if I have done my real\nbest, judge how heart-breaking a matter must it be to be pronounced a\npoor creature by critic this and acquaintance the other! But I think\nyou like the operation of writing as I should like that of painting or\nmaking music, do you not? After all, there is a great delight in the\nheart of the thing; and use and forethought have made me ready at all\ntimes to set to work--but--I don't know why--my heart sinks whenever I\nopen this desk, and rises when I shut it. Yet but for what I have\nwritten you would never have heard of me--and _through_ what you have\nwritten, not properly _for_ it, I love and wish you well! Now, will\nyou remember what I began my letter by saying--how you have promised\nto let me know if my wishing takes effect, and if you still continue\nbetter? And not even ... (since we are learned in magnanimity) don't\neven tell me that or anything else, if it teases you,--but wait your\nown good time, and know me for ... if these words were but my own, and\nfresh-minted for this moment's use!...\n\n Yours ever faithfully,\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\n[Footnote 1: Aeschylus, _Prometheus_, 228ff.:\n\n 'When at first\n He filled his father's throne, he instantly\n Made various gifts of glory to the gods.']\n\n[Footnote 2: _Ib._ 439, 440:\n\n 'For see--their honours to these new-made gods,\n What other gave but I?']\n\n[Footnote 3: _Ib._ 231, 232:\n\n 'Alone of men,\n Of miserable men, he took no count.']\n\n[Footnote 4: _Ib._ 235: 'But I dared it.']\n\n[Footnote 5: _Ib._ 11: 'Leave off his old trick of loving man.']\n\n[Footnote 6: _Ib._ 443, 444:\n\n 'Being fools before,\n I made them wise and true in aim of soul.']\n\n[Footnote 7: _Ib._ 250: 'Blind hopes.']\n\n[Footnote 8: _Ib._ 251: 'A great benefit.']\n\n[Footnote 9: _Ib._ 92: 'Behold what I suffer.']\n\n[Footnote 10: _Ib._ 1093: 'Dost see how I suffer this wrong?']", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "50 Wimpole Street: March 20, 1845.\n\nWhenever I delay to write to you, dear Mr. Browning, it is not, be\nsure, that I take my 'own good time,' but submit to my own bad time.\nIt was kind of you to wish to know how I was, and not unkind of me to\nsuspend my answer to your question--for indeed I have not been very\nwell, nor have had much heart for saying so. This implacable weather!\nthis east wind that seems to blow through the sun and moon! who can be\nwell in such a wind? Yet for me, I should not grumble. There has been\nnothing very bad the matter with me, as there used to be--I only grow\nweaker than usual, and learn my lesson of being mortal, in a\ncorner--and then all this must end! April is coming. There will be\nboth a May and a June if we live to see such things, and perhaps,\nafter all, we may. And as to seeing _you_ besides, I observe that you\ndistrust me, and that perhaps you penetrate my morbidity and guess how\nwhen the moment comes to see a living human face to which I am not\naccustomed, I shrink and grow pale in the spirit. Do you? You are\nlearned in human nature, and you know the consequences of leading such\na secluded life as mine--notwithstanding all my fine philosophy about\nsocial duties and the like--well--if you have such knowledge or if you\nhave it not, I cannot say, but I do say that I will indeed see you\nwhen the warm weather has revived me a little, and put the earth 'to\nrights' again so as to make pleasures of the sort possible. For if you\nthink that I shall not _like_ to see you, you are wrong, for all your\nlearning. But I shall be afraid of you at first--though I am not, in\nwriting thus. You are Paracelsus, and I am a recluse, with nerves that\nhave been all broken on the rack, and now hang loosely--quivering at a\nstep and breath.\n\nAnd what you say of society draws me on to many comparative thoughts\nof your life and mine. You seem to have drunken of the cup of life\nfull, with the sun shining on it. I have lived only inwardly; or with\n_sorrow_, for a strong emotion. Before this seclusion of my illness, I\nwas secluded still, and there are few of the youngest women in the\nworld who have not seen more, heard more, known more, of society, than\nI, who am scarcely to be called young now. I grew up in the\ncountry--had no social opportunities, had my heart in books and\npoetry, and my experience in reveries. My sympathies drooped towards\nthe ground like an untrained honeysuckle--and but for _one_, in my own\nhouse--but of this I cannot speak. It was a lonely life, growing green\nlike the grass around it. Books and dreams were what I lived in--and\ndomestic life only seemed to buzz gently around, like the bees about\nthe grass. And so time passed, and passed--and afterwards, when my\nillness came and I seemed to stand at the edge of the world with all\ndone, and no prospect (as appeared at one time) of ever passing the\nthreshold of one room again; why then, I turned to thinking with some\nbitterness (after the greatest sorrow of my life had given me room and\ntime to breathe) that I had stood blind in this temple I was about to\nleave--that I had seen no Human nature, that my brothers and sisters\nof the earth were _names_ to me, that I had beheld no great mountain\nor river, nothing in fact. I was as a man dying who had not read\nShakespeare, and it was too late! do you understand? And do you also\nknow what a disadvantage this ignorance is to my art? Why, if I live\non and yet do not escape from this seclusion, do you not perceive that\nI labour under signal disadvantages--that I am, in a manner, as a\n_blind poet_? Certainly, there is a compensation to a degree. I have\nhad much of the inner life, and from the habit of self-consciousness\nand self-analysis, I make great guesses at Human nature in the main.\nBut how willingly I would as a poet exchange some of this lumbering,\nponderous, helpless knowledge of books, for some experience of life\nand man, for some....\n\nBut all grumbling is a vile thing. We should all thank God for our\nmeasures of life, and think them enough for each of us. I write so,\nthat you may not mistake what I wrote before in relation to society,\nalthough you do not see from my point of view; and that you may\nunderstand what I mean fully when I say, that I have lived all my\nchief _joys_, and indeed nearly all emotions that go warmly by that\nname and relate to myself personally, in poetry and in poetry alone.\nLike to write? Of course, of course I do. I seem to live while I\nwrite--it is life, for me. Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink\nand breathe,--but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of\nbeing, passionately and joyfully. And thus, one lives in composition\nsurely--not always--but when the wheel goes round and the procession\nis uninterrupted. Is it not so with you? oh--it must be so. For the\nrest, there will be necessarily a reaction; and, in my own particular\ncase, whenever I see a poem of mine in print, or even smoothly\ntranscribed, the reaction is most painful. The pleasure, the sense of\npower, without which I could not write a line, is gone in a moment;\nand nothing remains but disappointment and humiliation. I never wrote\na poem which you could not persuade me to tear to pieces if you took\nme at the right moment! I have a _seasonable_ humility, I do assure\nyou.\n\nHow delightful to talk about oneself; but as you 'tempted me and I did\neat,' I entreat your longsuffering of my sin, and ah! if you would\nbut sin back so in turn! You and I seem to meet in a mild contrarious\nharmony ... as in the 'si no, si no' of an Italian duet. I want to see\nmore of men, and you have seen too much, you say. I am in ignorance,\nand you, in satiety. 'You don't even care about reading now.' Is it\npossible? And I am as 'fresh' about reading, as ever I was--as long as\nI keep out of the shadow of the dictionaries and of theological\ncontroversies, and the like. Shall I whisper it to you under the\nmemory of the last rose of last summer? _I am very fond of romances_;\nyes! and I read them not only as some wise people are known to do, for\nthe sake of the eloquence here and the sentiment there, and the\ngraphic intermixtures here and there, but for the story! just as\nlittle children would, sitting on their papa's knee. My childish love\nof a story never wore out with my love of plum cake, and now there is\nnot a hole in it. I make it a rule, for the most part, to read all the\nromances that other people are kind enough to write--and woe to the\nmiserable wight who tells me how the third volume endeth. Have you in\nyou any surviving innocence of this sort? or do you call it idiocy? If\nyou do, I will forgive you, only smiling to myself--I give you\nnotice,--with a smile of superior pleasure! Mr. Chorley made me quite\nlaugh the other day by recommending Mary Hewitt's 'Improvisatore,'\nwith a sort of deprecating reference to the _descriptions_ in the\nbook, just as if I never read a novel--_I!_ I wrote a confession back\nto him which made him shake his head perhaps, and now I confess to\n_you_, unprovoked. I am one who could have forgotten the plague,\nlistening to Boccaccio's stories; and I am not ashamed of it. I do not\neven 'see the better part,' I am so silly.\n\nAh! you tempt me with a grand vision of Prometheus! _I_, who have just\nescaped with my life, after treading Milton's ground, you would send\nme to Æschylus's. No, _I do not dare_. And besides ... I am inclined\nto think that we want new _forms_, as well as thoughts. The old gods\nare dethroned. Why should we go back to the antique moulds, classical\nmoulds, as they are so improperly called? If it is a necessity of Art\nto do so, why then those critics are right who hold that Art is\nexhausted and the world too worn out for poetry. I do not, for my\npart, believe this: and I believe the so-called necessity of Art to be\nthe mere feebleness of the artist. Let us all aspire rather to _Life_,\nand let the dead bury their dead. If we have but courage to face these\nconventions, to touch this low ground, we shall take strength from it\ninstead of losing it; and of that, I am intimately persuaded. For\nthere is poetry _everywhere_; the 'treasure' (see the old fable) lies\nall over the field. And then Christianity is a worthy _myth_, and\npoetically acceptable.\n\nI had much to say to you, or at least something, of the 'blind hopes'\n&c., but am ashamed to take a step into a new sheet. If you mean 'to\ntravel,' why, I shall have to miss you. Do you really mean it? How is\nthe play going on? and the poem?\n\nMay God bless you!\n\n Ever and truly yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 31, 1845.]\n\nWhen you read Don Quixote, my dear romance-reader, do you ever notice\nthat flower of an incident of good fellowship where the friendly\nSquire of Him of the Moon, or the Looking glasses, (I forget which)\npasses to Sancho's dry lips, (all under a cork-tree one morning)--a\nplump wine-skin,--and do you admire dear brave Miguel's knowledge of\nthirsty nature when he tells you that the Drinker, having seriously\nconsidered for a space the Pleiads, or place where they should be,\nfell, as he slowly returned the shrivelled bottle to its donor, into a\ndeep musing of an hour's length, or thereabouts, and then ... mark ...\nonly _then_, fetching a profound sigh, broke silence with ... such a\npiece of praise as turns pale the labours in that way of Rabelais and\nthe Teian (if he wasn't a Byzantine monk, alas!) and our Mr. Kenyon's\nstately self--(since my own especial poet _à moi_, that can do all\nwith anybody, only 'sips like a fly,' she says, and so cares not to\ncompete with these behemoths that drink up Jordan)--Well, then ...\n(oh, I must get quick to the sentence's end, and be brief as an\noracle-explainer!)--the giver is you and the taker is I, and the\nletter is the wine, and the star-gazing is the reading the same, and\nthe brown study is--how shall I deserve and be grateful enough to this\nnew strange friend of my own, that has taken away my reproach among\nmen, that have each and all their friend, so they say (... not that I\nbelieve all they say--they boast too soon sometimes, no doubt,--I once\nwas shown a letter wherein the truth stumbled out after this fashion\n'Dere Smith,--I calls you \"_dere_\" ... because you are so in your\nshop!')--and the great sigh is,--there is no deserving nor being\ngrateful at all,--and the breaking silence is, and the praise is ...\nah, there, enough of it! This sunny morning is as if I wished it for\nyou--10 strikes by the clock now--tell me if at 10 this morning you\nfeel any good from my heart's wishes for you--I would give you all you\nwant out of my own life and gladness and yet keep twice the stock that\nshould by right have sufficed the thin white face that is laughing at\nme in the glass yonder at the fancy of its making anyone afraid ...\nand now, with another kind of laugh, at the thought that when its\nowner 'travels' next, he will leave off Miss Barrett along with port\nwine--_Dii meliora piis_, and, among them to\n\n Yours every where, and at all times yours\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\nI have all to say yet--next letter. R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Night.\n [Post-mark, April 16, 1845.]\n\nI heard of you, dear Miss Barrett, between a Polka and a Cellarius the\nother evening, of Mr. Kenyon--how this wind must hurt you! And\nyesterday I had occasion to go your way--past, that is, Wimpole\nStreet, the end of it,--and, do you know, I did not seem to have leave\nfrom you to go down it yet, much less count number after number till I\ncame to yours,--much least than less, look up when I did come there.\nSo I went on to a viperine she-friend of mine who, I think, rather\nloves me she does so hate me, and we talked over the chances of\ncertain other friends who were to be balloted for at the 'Athenæum'\nlast night,--one of whom, it seems, was in a fright about it--'to such\nlittle purpose' said my friend--'for he is so inoffensive--now, if one\nwere to style _you_ that--' 'Or you'--I said--and so we hugged\nourselves in our grimness like tiger-cats. Then there is a deal in the\npapers to-day about Maynooth, and a meeting presided over by Lord\nMayor Gibbs, and the Reverend Mr. Somebody's speech. And Mrs. Norton\nhas gone and book-made at a great rate about the Prince of Wales,\npleasantly putting off till his time all that used of old to be put\noff till his mother's time;--altogether, I should dearly like to hear\nfrom you, but not till the wind goes, and sun comes--because I shall\nsee Mr. Kenyon next week and get him to tell me some more. By the way,\ndo you suppose anybody else looks like him? If you do, the first room\nfull of real London people you go among you will fancy to be lighted\nup by a saucer of burning salt and spirits of wine in the back ground.\n\nMonday--last night when I could do nothing else I began to write to\nyou, such writing as you have seen--strange! The proper time and\nseason for good sound sensible and profitable forms of speech--when\nought it to have occurred, and how did I evade it in these letters of\nmine? For people begin with a graceful skittish levity, lest you\nshould be struck all of a heap with what is to come, and _that_ is\nsure to be the stuff and staple of the man, full of wisdom and\nsorrow,--and then again comes the fringe of reeds and pink little\nstones on the other side, that you may put foot on land, and draw\nbreath, and think what a deep pond you have swum across. But _you_ are\nthe real deep wonder of a creature,--and I sail these paper-boats on\nyou rather impudently. But I always mean to be very grave one\nday,--when I am in better spirits and can go _fuori di me_.\n\nAnd one thing I want to persuade you of, which is, that all you gain\nby travel is the discovery that you have gained nothing, and have done\nrightly in trusting to your innate ideas--or not rightly in\ndistrusting them, as the case may be. You get, too, a little ...\nperhaps a considerable, good, in finding the world's accepted _moulds_\neverywhere, into which you may run and fix your own fused metal,--but\nnot a grain Troy-weight do you get of new gold, silver or brass. After\nthis, you go boldly on your own resources, and are justified to\nyourself, that's all. Three scratches with a pen,[1] even with this\npen,--and you have the green little Syrenusa where I have sate and\nheard the quails sing. One of these days I shall describe a country I\nhave seen in my soul only, fruits, flowers, birds and all.\n\n Ever yours, dear Miss Barrett,\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\n[Footnote 1: A rough sketch follows in the original.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, April 18, 1845.]\n\nIf you did but know dear Mr. Browning how often I have written ... not\nthis letter I am about to write, but another better letter to you, ...\nin the midst of my silence, ... you would not think for a moment that\nthe east wind, with all the harm it does to me, is able to do the\ngreat harm of putting out the light of the thought of you to my mind;\nfor this, indeed, it has no power to do. I had the pen in my hand once\nto write; and why it fell out, I cannot tell you. And you see, ... all\nyour writing will not change the wind! You wished all manner of good\nto me one day as the clock struck ten; yes, and I assure you I was\nbetter that day--and I must not forget to tell you so though it is so\nlong since. And _therefore_, I was logically bound to believe that you\nhad never thought of me since ... unless you thought east winds of me!\n_That_ was quite clear; was it not? or would have been; if it had not\nbeen for the supernatural conviction, I had above all, of your\nkindness, which was too large to be taken in the hinge of a syllogism.\nIn fact I have long left off thinking that logic proves anything--it\n_doesn't_, you know.\n\nBut your Lamia has taught you some subtle 'viperine' reasoning and\n_motiving_, for the turning down one street instead of another. It was\nconclusive.\n\nAh--but you will never persuade me that I am the better, or as well,\nfor the thing that I have not. We look from different points of view,\nand yours is the point of attainment. Not that you do not truly say\nthat, when all is done, we must come home to place our engines, and\nact by our own strength. I do not want material as material; no one\ndoes--but every life requires a full experience, a various\nexperience--and I have a profound conviction that where a poet has\nbeen shut from most of the outward aspects of life, he is at a\nlamentable disadvantage. Can you, speaking for yourself, separate the\nresults in you from the external influences at work around you, that\nyou say so boldly that you get nothing from the world? You do not\n_directly_, I know--but you do indirectly and by a rebound. Whatever\nacts upon you, becomes _you_--and whatever you love or hate, whatever\ncharms you or is scorned by you, acts on you and becomes _you_. Have\nyou read the 'Improvisatore'? or will you? The writer seems to feel,\njust as I do, the good of the outward life; and he is a poet in his\nsoul. It is a book full of beauty and had a great charm to me.\n\nAs to the Polkas and Cellariuses I do not covet them of course ... but\nwhat a strange world you seem to have, to me at a distance--what a\nstrange husk of a world! How it looks to me like mandarin-life or\nsomething as remote; nay, not mandarin-life but mandarin _manners_,\n... life, even the outer life, meaning something deeper, in my account\nof it. As to dear Mr. Kenyon I do not make the mistake of fancying\nthat many can look like him or talk like him or _be_ like him. I know\nenough to know otherwise. When he spoke of me he should have said that\nI was better notwithstanding the east wind. It is really true--I am\ngetting slowly up from the prostration of the severe cold, and feel\nstronger in myself.\n\nBut Mrs. Norton discourses excellent music--and for the rest, there\nare fruits in the world so over-ripe, that they will fall, ... without\nbeing gathered. Let Maynooth witness to it! _if you think it worth\nwhile_!\n\n Ever yours,\n\n ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.\n\nAnd _is it_ nothing to be 'justified to one's self in one's\nresources?' '_That's all_,' indeed! For the 'soul's country' we will\nhave it also--and I know how well the birds sing in it. How glad I was\nby the way to see your letter!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, April 30, 1845.]\n\nIf you did but know, dear Miss Barrett, how the 'full stop' after\n'Morning' just above, has turned out the fullest of stops,--and how\nfor about a quarter of an hour since the ink dried I have been\nreasoning out the why and wherefore of the stopping, the wisdom of it,\nand the folly of it....\n\nBy this time you see what you have got in me--You ask me questions,\n'if I like novels,' 'if the \"Improvisatore\" is not good,' 'if travel\nand sightseeing do not effect this and that for one,' and 'what I am\ndevising--play or poem,'--and I shall not say I could not answer at\nall manner of lengths--but, let me only begin some good piece of\nwriting of the kind, and ... no, you shall have it, have what I was\ngoing to tell you stops such judicious beginnings,--in a parallel\ncase, out of which your ingenuity shall, please, pick the\nmeaning--There is a story of D'Israeli's, an old one, with an episode\nof strange interest, or so I found it years ago,--well, you go\nbreathlessly on with the people of it, page after page, till at last\nthe end _must_ come, you feel--and the tangled threads draw to one,\nand an out-of-door feast in the woods helps you ... that is, helps\nthem, the people, wonderfully on,--and, lo, dinner is done, and Vivian\nGrey is here, and Violet Fane there,--and a detachment of the party is\ndrafted off to go catch butterflies, and only two or three stop\nbehind. At this moment, Mr. Somebody, a good man and rather the lady's\nuncle, 'in answer to a question from Violet, drew from his pocket a\nsmall neatly written manuscript, and, seating himself on an inverted\nwine-cooler, proceeded to read the following brief remarks upon the\ncharacteristics of the Moeso-gothic literature'--this ends the\npage,--which you don't turn at once! But when you _do_, in bitterness\nof soul, turn it, you read--'On consideration, I' (Ben, himself)\n'shall keep them for Mr. Colburn's _New Magazine_'--and deeply you\ndraw thankful breath! (Note this 'parallel case' of mine is pretty\nsure to meet the usual fortune of my writings--you will ask what it\nmeans--and this it means, or should mean, all of it, instance and\nreasoning and all,--that I am naturally earnest, in earnest about\nwhatever thing I do, and little able to write about one thing while I\nthink of another)--\n\nI think I will really write verse to you some day--_this_ day, it is\nquite clear I had better give up trying.\n\nNo, spite of all the lines in the world, I will make an end of it, as\nOphelia with her swan's-song,--for it grows too absurd. But remember\nthat I write letters to nobody but you, and that I want method and\nmuch more. That book you like so, the Danish novel, must be full of\ntruth and beauty, to judge from the few extracts I have seen in\nReviews. That a Dane should write so, confirms me in an old\nbelief--that Italy is stuff for the use of the North, and no\nmore--pure Poetry there is none, nearly as possible none, in Dante\neven--material for Poetry in the pitifullest romancist of their\nthousands, on the contrary--strange that those great wide black eyes\nshould stare nothing out of the earth that lies before them! Alfieri,\nwith even grey eyes, and a life of travel, writes you some fifteen\ntragedies as colourless as salad grown under a garden glass with\nmatting over it--as free, that is, from local colouring, touches of\nthe soil they are said to spring from,--think of 'Saulle,' and his\nGreek attempts!\n\nI expected to see Mr. Kenyon, at a place where I was last week, but he\nkept away. Here is the bad wind back again, and the black sky. I am\nsure I never knew till now whether the East or West or South were the\nquarter to pray for--But surely the weather was a little better last\nweek, and you, were you not better? And do you know--but it's all\nself-flattery I believe,--still I cannot help fancying the East wind\ndoes my head harm too!\n\n Ever yours faithfully,\n\n R. BROWNING.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 2, 1845.]\n\nPeople say of you and of me, dear Mr. Browning, that we love the\ndarkness and use a sphinxine idiom in our talk; and really you do talk\na little like a sphinx in your argument drawn from 'Vivian Grey.' Once\nI sate up all night to read 'Vivian Grey'; but I never drew such an\nargument from him. Not that I give it up (nor _you_ up) for a mere\nmystery. Nor that I can '_see what you have got in you_,' from a mere\nguess. But just observe! If I ask questions about novels, is it not\nbecause I want to know how much elbow-room there may be for our\nsympathies ... and whether there is room for my loose sleeves, and the\nlace lappets, as well as for my elbows; and because I want to see\n_you_ by the refracted lights as well as by the direct ones; and\nbecause I am willing for you to know _me_ from the beginning, with all\nmy weaknesses and foolishnesses, ... as they are accounted by people\nwho say to me 'no one would ever think, without knowing you, that you\nwere so and so.' Now if I send all my idle questions to _Colburn's\nMagazine_, with other Gothic literature, and take to standing up in a\nperpendicular personality like the angel on the schoolman's needle, in\nmy letters to come, without further leaning to the left or the\nright--why the end would be that _you_ would take to 'running after\nthe butterflies,' for change of air and exercise. And then ... oh ...\nthen, my 'small neatly written manuscripts' might fall back into my\ndesk...! (_Not_ a 'full stop'!.)\n\nIndeed ... I do assure you ... I never for a moment thought of 'making\nconversation' about the 'Improvisatore' or novels in general, when I\nwrote what I did to you. I might, to other persons ... perhaps.\nCertainly not to _you_. I was not dealing round from one pack of cards\nto you and to others. That's what you meant to reproach me for you\nknow,--and of that, I am not guilty at all. I never could think of\n'making conversation' in a letter to _you_--never. Women are said to\npartake of the nature of children--and my brothers call me 'absurdly\nchildish' sometimes: and I am capable of being childishly 'in earnest'\nabout novels, and straws, and such 'puppydogs' tails' as my Flush's!\nAlso I write more letters than you do, ... I write in fact almost as\nyou pay visits, ... and one has to 'make conversation' in turn, of\ncourse. _But_--give me something to vow by--whatever you meant in the\n'Vivian Grey' argument, you were wrong in it! and you never can be\nmuch more wrong--which is a comfortable reflection.\n\nYet you leap very high at Dante's crown--or you do not leap, ... you\nsimply extend your hand to it, and make a rustling among the laurel\nleaves, which is somewhat prophane. Dante's poetry only materials for\nthe northern rhymers! I must think of that ... if you please ...\nbefore I agree with you. Dante's poetry seems to come down in hail,\nrather than in rain--but count me the drops congealed in one\nhailstone! Oh! the 'Flight of the Duchess'--do let us hear more of\nher! Are you (I wonder) ... not a 'self-flatterer,' ... but ... a\nflatterer.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 3, 1845.]\n\nNow shall you see what you shall see--here shall be 'sound speech not\nto be reproved,'--for this morning you are to know that the soul of me\nhas it all her own way, dear Miss Barrett, this green cool\nnine-in-the-morning time for my chestnut tree over there, and for me\nwho only coaxed my good-natured--(really)--body up, after its\nthree-hours' night-rest on condition it should lounge, or creep about,\nincognito and without consequences--and so it shall, all but my\nright-hand which is half-spirit and 'cuts' its poor relation, and\npasses itself off for somebody (that is, some soul) and is doubly\nactive and ready on such occasions--Now I shall tell you all about it,\nfirst what last letter meant, and then more. You are to know, then\nthat for some reason, that looked like an instinct, I thought I ought\nnot to send shaft on shaft, letter-plague on letter, with such an\nuninterrupted clanging ... that I ought to wait, say a week at least\nhaving killed all your mules for you, before I shot down your\ndogs--but not being exactly Phoibos Apollon, you are to know further\nthat when I _did_ think I might go modestly on, ... [Greek: ômoi], let\nme get out of this slough of a simile, never mind with what\ndislocation of ancles! Plainly, from waiting and turning my eyes away\n(not from _you_, but from you in your special capacity of being\n_written_-to, not spoken-to) when I turned again you had grown\nformidable somehow--though that's not the word,--nor are you the\nperson, either,--it was my fortune, my privilege of being your friend\nthis one way, that it seemed a shame for me to make no better use of\nthan taking it up with talk about books and I don't know what. Write\nwhat I will, you would read for once, I think--well, then,--what I\nshall write shall be--something on this book, and the other book, and\nmy own books, and Mary Hewitt's books, and at the end of it--good bye,\nand I hope here is a quarter of an hour rationally spent. So the\nthought of what I should find in my heart to say, and the contrast\nwith what I suppose I ought to say ... all these things are against\nme. But this is very foolish, all the same, I need not be told--and is\npart and parcel of an older--indeed primitive body of mine, which I\nshall never wholly get rid of, of desiring to do nothing when I cannot\ndo all; seeing nothing, getting, enjoying nothing, where there is no\nseeing and getting and enjoying _wholly_--and in this case, moreover,\nyou are _you_, and know something about me, if not much, and have read\nBos on the art of supplying Ellipses, and (after, particularly, I have\nconfessed all this, why and how it has been) you will _subaudire_ when\nI pull out my Mediæval-Gothic-Architectural-Manuscript (so it was, I\nremember now,) and instruct you about corbeils and ogives ... though,\nafter all, it was none of Vivian's doing, that,--all the uncle kind or\nman's, which I never professed to be. Now you see how I came to say\nsome nonsense (I very vaguely think _what_) about Dante--some\ndesperate splash I know I made for the beginning of my picture, as\nwhen a painter at his wits' end and hunger's beginning says 'Here\nshall the figure's hand be'--and spots _that_ down, meaning to reach\nit naturally from the other end of his canvas,--and leaving off tired,\nthere you see the spectral disjoined thing, and nothing between it and\nrationality. I intended to shade down and soften off and put in and\nleave out, and, before I had done, bring Italian Poets round to their\nold place again in my heart, giving new praise if I took old,--anyhow\nDante is out of it all, as who knows but I, with all of him in my head\nand heart? But they do fret one, those tantalizing creatures, of fine\npassionate class, with such capabilities, and such a facility of being\nmade pure mind of. And the special instance that vexed me, was that a\nman of sands and dog-roses and white rock and green sea-water just\nunder, should come to Italy where my heart lives, and discover the\nsights and sounds ... certainly discover them. And so do all Northern\nwriters; for take up handfuls of sonetti, rime, poemetti, doings of\nthose who never did anything else,--and try and make out, for\nyourself, what ... say, what flowers they tread on, or trees they walk\nunder,--as you might bid _them_, those tree and flower loving\ncreatures, pick out of _our_ North poetry a notion of what _our_\ndaisies and harebells and furze bushes and brambles are--'Odorosi\nfioretti, rose porporine, bianchissimi gigli.' And which of you\neternal triflers was it called yourself 'Shelley' and so told me years\nago that in the mountains it was a feast\n\n When one should find those globes of deep red gold--\n Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear,\n Suspended in their emerald atmosphere.\n\nso that when my Uncle walked into a sorb-tree, not to tumble sheer\nover Monte Calvano, and I felt the fruit against my face, the little\nragged bare-legged guide fairly laughed at my knowing them so\nwell--'Niursi--sorbi!' No, no,--does not all Naples-bay and half\nSicily, shore and inland, come flocking once a year to the Piedigrotta\nfête only to see the blessed King's Volanti, or livery servants all in\ntheir best; as though heaven opened; and would not I engage to bring\nthe whole of the Piano (of Sorrento) in likeness to a red velvet\ndressing gown properly spangled over, before the priest that held it\nout on a pole had even begun his story of how Noah's son Shem, the\nfounder of Sorrento, threw it off to swim thither, as the world knows\nhe did? Oh, it makes one's soul angry, so enough of it. But never\nenough of telling you--bring all your sympathies, come with loosest\nsleeves and longest lace-lappets, and you and yours shall find 'elbow\nroom,' oh, shall you not! For never did man, woman or child, Greek,\nHebrew, or as Danish as our friend, like a thing, not to say love it,\nbut I liked and loved it, one liking neutralizing the rebellious stir\nof its fellow, so that I don't go about now wanting the fixed stars\nbefore my time; this world has not escaped me, thank God; and--what\nother people say is the best of it, may not escape me after all,\nthough until so very lately I made up my mind to do without\nit;--perhaps, on that account, and to make fair amends to other\npeople, who, I have no right to say, complain without cause. I have\nbeen surprised, rather, with something not unlike illness of late--I\nhave had a constant pain in the head for these two months, which only\nvery rough exercise gets rid of, and which stops my 'Luria' and much\nbesides. I thought I never could be unwell. Just now all of it is\ngone, thanks to polking all night and walking home by broad daylight\nto the surprise of the thrushes in the bush here. And do you know I\nsaid 'this must _go_, cannot mean to stay, so I will not tell Miss\nBarrett why this and this is not done,'--but I mean to tell you all,\nor more of the truth, because you call me 'flatterer,' so that my eyes\nwidened again! I, and in what? And of whom, pray? not of _you_, at all\nevents,--of whom then? _Do_ tell me, because I want to stand with\nyou--and am quite in earnest there. And 'The Flight of the Duchess,'\nto leave nothing out, is only the beginning of a story written some\ntime ago, and given to poor Hood in his emergency at a day's\nnotice,--the true stuff and story is all to come, the 'Flight,' and\nwhat you allude to is the mere introduction--but the Magazine has\npassed into other hands and I must put the rest in some 'Bell' or\nother--it is one of my Dramatic Romances. So is a certain 'Saul' I\nshould like to show you one day--an ominous liking--for nobody ever\nsees what I do till it is printed. But as you _do_ know the printed\nlittle part of me, I should not be sorry if, in justice, you knew all\nI have _really_ done,--written in the portfolio there,--though that\nwould be far enough from _this_ me, that wishes to you now. I should\nlike to write something in concert with you, how I would try!\n\nI have read your letter through again. Does this clear up all the\ndifficulty, and do you see that I never dreamed of 'reproaching you\nfor dealing out one sort of cards to me and everybody else'--but that\n... why, '_that_' which I have, I hope, said, so need not resay. I\nwill tell you--Sydney Smith laughs somewhere at some Methodist or\nother whose wont was, on meeting an acquaintance in the street, to\nopen at once on him with some enquiry after the state of his\nsoul--Sydney knows better now, and sees that one might quite as wisely\nask such questions as the price of Illinois stock or condition of\nglebe-land,--and I _could_ say such--'could,'--the plague of it! So no\nmore at present from your loving.... Or, let me tell you I am going to\nsee Mr. Kenyon on the 12th inst.--that you do not tell me how you are,\nand that yet if you do not continue to improve in health ... I shall\nnot see you--not--not--not--what 'knots' to untie! Surely the wind\nthat sets my chestnut-tree dancing, all its baby-cone-blossoms, green\nnow, rocking like fairy castles on a hill in an earthquake,--that is\nSouth West, surely! God bless you, and me in that--and do write to me\nsoon, and tell me who was the 'flatterer,' and how he never was\n\n Yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday--and Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 6, 1845.]\n\nSo when wise people happen to be ill, they sit up till six o'clock in\nthe morning and get up again at nine? Do tell me how Lurias can ever\nbe made out of such ungodly imprudences. If the wind blows east or\nwest, where can any remedy be, while such evil deeds are being\ncommitted? And what is to be the end of it? And what is the\nreasonableness of it in the meantime, when we all know that thinking,\ndreaming, creating people like yourself, have two lives to bear\ninstead of one, and therefore ought to sleep more than others, ...\nthrowing over and buckling in that fold of death, to stroke the\nlife-purple smoother. You have to live your own personal life, and\nalso Luria's life--and therefore you should sleep for both. It is\nlogical indeed--and rational, ... which logic is not always ... and if\nI had 'the tongue of men and of angels,' I would use it to persuade\nyou. Polka, for the rest, may be good; but sleep is better. I think\nbetter of sleep than I ever did, now that she will not easily come\nnear me except in a red hood of poppies. And besides, ... praise your\n'goodnatured body' as you like, ... it is only a seeming goodnature!\nBodies bear malice in a terrible way, be very sure!--appear mild and\nsmiling for a few short years, and then ... out with a cold steel; and\nthe _soul has it_, 'with a vengeance,' ... according to the phrase!\nYou will not persist, (will you?) in this experimental homicide. Or\ntell me if you will, that I may do some more tearing. It really,\nreally is wrong. Exercise is one sort of rest and you feel relieved by\nit--and sleep is another: one being as necessary as the other.\n\nThis is the first thing I have to say. The next is a question. _What\ndo you mean about your manuscripts ... about 'Saul' and the\nportfolio?_ for I am afraid of hazardously supplying ellipses--and\nyour 'Bos' comes to [Greek: bous epi glôssê].[1] I get half bribed to\nsilence by the very pleasure of fancying. But if it could be possible\nthat you should mean to say you would show me.... Can it be? or am I\nreading this 'Attic contraction' quite the wrong way? You see I am\nafraid of the difference between flattering myself and being\nflattered; the fatal difference. And now will you understand that I\nshould be too overjoyed to have revelations from the 'Portfolio,' ...\nhowever incarnated with blots and pen-scratches, ... to be able to ask\nimpudently of them now? Is that plain?\n\nIt must be, ... at any rate, ... that if _you_ would like to 'write\nsomething together' with me, _I_ should like it still better. I should\nlike it for some ineffable reasons. And I should not like it a bit the\nless for the grand supply of jests it would administer to the critical\nBoard of Trade, about visible darkness, multiplied by two, mounting\ninto palpable obscure. We should not mind ... should we? _you_ would\nnot mind, if you had got over certain other considerations\ndeconsiderating to your coadjutor. Yes--but I dare not do it, ... I\nmean, think of it, ... just now, if ever: and I will tell you why in a\nMediæval-Gothic-architectural manuscript.\n\nThe only poet by profession (if I may say so,) except yourself, with\nwhom I ever had much intercourse even on paper, (if this is near to\n'much') has been Mr. Horne. We approached each other on the point of\none of Miss Mitford's annual editorships; and ever since, he has had\nthe habit of writing to me occasionally; and when I was too ill to\nwrite at all, in my dreary Devonshire days, I was his debtor for\nvarious little kindnesses, ... for which I continue his debtor. In my\nopinion he is a truehearted and generous man. Do you not think so?\nWell--long and long ago, he asked me to write a drama with him on the\nGreek model; that is, for me to write the choruses, and for him to do\nthe dialogue. Just then it was quite doubtful in my own mind, and\nworse than doubtful, whether I ever should write again; and the very\ndoubtfulness made me speak my 'yes' more readily. Then I was desired\nto make a subject, ... to conceive a plan; and my plan was of a man,\nhaunted by his own soul, ... (making her a separate personal Psyche, a\ndreadful, beautiful Psyche)--the man being haunted and terrified\nthrough all the turns of life by her. Did you ever feel afraid of your\nown soul, as I have done? I think it is a true wonder of our\nhumanity--and fit subject enough for a wild lyrical drama. I should\nlike to write it by myself at least, well enough. But with him I will\nnot now. It was delayed ... delayed. He cut the plan up into scenes\n... I mean into a list of scenes ... a sort of ground-map to work\non--and there it lies. Nothing more was done. It all lies in one\nsheet--and I have offered to give up my copyright of idea in it--if he\nlikes to use it alone--or I should not object to work it out alone on\nmy own side, since it comes from me: only I will not consent now to a\n_double work_ in it. There are objections--none, be it well\nunderstood, in Mr. Horne's disfavour,--for I think of him as well at\nthis moment, and the same in all essential points, as I ever did. He\nis a man of fine imagination, and is besides good and generous. In the\ncourse of our acquaintance (on paper--for I never saw him) I never was\nangry with him except once; and then, _I_ was quite wrong and had to\nconfess it. But this is being too 'mediæval.' Only you will see from\nit that I am a little entangled on the subject of compound works, and\nmust look where I tread ... and you will understand (if you ever hear\nfrom Mr. Kenyon or elsewhere that I am going to write a compound-poem\nwith Mr. Horne) how it _was_ true, and isn't true any more.\n\nYes--you are going to Mr. Kenyon's on the 12th--and yes--my brother\nand sister are going to meet you and your sister there one day to\ndinner. Shall I have courage to see you soon, I wonder! If you ask me,\nI must ask myself. But oh, this make-believe May--it can't be May\nafter all! If a south-west wind sate in your chestnut tree, it was but\nfor a few hours--the east wind 'came up this way' by the earliest\nopportunity of succession. As the old 'mysteries' showed 'Beelzebub\nwith a bearde,' even so has the east wind had a 'bearde' of late, in a\nfull growth of bristling exaggerations--the English spring-winds have\nexcelled themselves in evil this year; and I have not been down-stairs\nyet.--_But_ I am certainly stronger and better than I was--that is\nundeniable--and I _shall_ be better still. You are not going away\nsoon--are you? In the meantime you do not know what it is to be ... a\nlittle afraid of Paracelsus. So right about the Italians! and the\n'rose porporine' which made me smile. How is the head?\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nIs the 'Flight of the Duchess' in the portfolio? Of course you must\nring the Bell. That poem has a strong heart in it, to begin _so_\nstrongly. Poor Hood! And all those thoughts fall mixed together. May\nGod bless you.\n\n[Footnote 1: Aeschylus, _Agamemnon_ 36: 'An ox hath trodden on my\ntongue'--a Greek proverb implying silence.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday--in the last hour of it.\n [Post-mark, May 12, 1845.]\n\nMay I ask how the head is? just under the bag? Mr. Kenyon was here\nto-day and told me such bad news that I cannot sleep to-night\n(although I did think once of doing it) without asking such a question\nas this, dear Mr. Browning.\n\nLet me hear how you are--Will you? and let me hear (if I can) that it\nwas prudence or some unchristian virtue of the sort, and not a dreary\nnecessity, which made you put aside the engagement for Tuesday--for\nMonday. I had been thinking so of seeing you on Tuesday ... with my\nsister's eyes--for the first sight.\n\nAnd now if you have done killing the mules and the dogs, let me have\na straight quick arrow for myself, if you please. Just a word, to say\nhow you are. I ask for no more than a word, lest the writing should be\nhurtful to you.\n\n May God bless you always.\n\n Your friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, May 12, 1845.]\n\nMy dear, own friend, I am quite well now, or next to it--but this is\nhow it was,--I have gone out a great deal of late, and my head took to\nringing such a literal alarum that I wondered what was to come of it;\nand at last, a few evenings ago, as I was dressing for a dinner\nsomewhere, I got really bad of a sudden, and kept at home to my\nfriend's heartrending disappointment. Next morning I was no\nbetter--and it struck me that I should be really disappointing dear\nkind Mr. Kenyon, and wasting his time, if that engagement, too, were\nbroken with as little warning,--so I thought it best to forego all\nhopes of seeing him, at such a risk. And that done, I got rid of every\nother promise to pay visits for next week and next, and told\neverybody, with considerable dignity, that my London season was over\nfor this year, as it assuredly is--and I shall be worried no more, and\nlet walk in the garden, and go to bed at ten o'clock, and get done\nwith what is most expedient to do, and my 'flesh shall come again like\na little child's,' and one day, oh the day, I shall see you with my\nown, own eyes ... for, how little you understand me; or rather,\nyourself,--if you think I would dare see you, without your leave, that\nway! Do you suppose that your power of giving and refusing ends when\nyou have shut your room-door? Did I not tell you I turned down another\nstreet, even, the other day, and why not down yours? And often as I\nsee Mr. Kenyon, have I ever dreamed of asking any but the merest\nconventional questions about you; your health, and no more?\n\nI will answer your letter, the last one, to-morrow--I have said\nnothing of what I want to say.\n\n Ever yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 13, 1845.]\n\nDid I thank you with any effect in the lines I sent yesterday, dear\nMiss Barrett? I know I felt most thankful, and, of course, began\nreasoning myself into the impropriety of allowing a 'more' or a 'most'\nin feelings of that sort towards you. I am thankful for you, all about\nyou--as, do you not know?\n\nThank you, from my soul.\n\nNow, let me never pass occasion of speaking well of Horne, who\ndeserves your opinion of him,--it is my own, too.--He has unmistakable\ngenius, and is a fine, honest, enthusiastic chivalrous fellow--it is\nthe fashion to affect to sneer at him, of late, I think--the people he\nhas praised fancying that they 'pose' themselves sculpturesquely in\nplaying the Greatly Indifferent, and the other kind shaking each\nother's hands in hysterical congratulations at having escaped such a\ndishonour: _I_ feel grateful to him, I know, for his generous\ncriticism, and glad and proud of in any way approaching such a man's\nstandard of poetical height. And he might be a disappointed man\ntoo,--for the players trifled with and teased out his very nature,\nwhich has a strange aspiration for the horrible tin-and-lacquer\n'crown' they give one from their clouds (of smooth shaven deal done\nover blue)--and he don't give up the bad business yet, but thinks a\n'small' theatre would somehow not be a theatre, and an actor not quite\nan actor ... I forget in what way, but the upshot is, he bates not a\njot in that rouged, wigged, padded, empty-headed, heartless tribe of\ngrimacers that came and canted me; not I, them;--a thing he cannot\nunderstand--_so_, I am not the one he would have picked out to\npraise, had he not been _loyal_. I know he admires your poetry\nproperly. God help him, and send some great artist from the country,\n(who can read and write beside comprehending Shakspeare, and who\n'exasperates his H's' when the feat is to be done)--to undertake the\npart of Cosmo, or Gregory, or what shall most soothe his spirit! The\nsubject of your play is tempting indeed--and reminds one of that wild\nDrama of Calderon's which frightened Shelley just before his\ndeath--also, of Fuseli's theory with reference to his own Picture of\nMacbeth in the witches' cave ... wherein the apparition of the armed\nhead from the cauldron is Macbeth's own.\n\n'If you ask me, I must ask myself'--that is, when I am to see you--I\nwill _never_ ask you! You do _not_ know what I shall estimate that\npermission at,--nor do I, quite--but you do--do not you? know so much\nof me as to make my 'asking' worse than a form--I do not 'ask' you to\nwrite to me--not _directly_ ask, at least.\n\nI will tell you--I ask you _not_ to see me so long as you are unwell,\nor mistrustful of--\n\nNo, no, that is being too grand! Do see me when you can, and let me\nnot be only writing myself\n\n Yours\n\n R.B.\n\nA kind, so kind, note from Mr. Kenyon came. We, I and my sister, are\nto go in June instead.... I shall go nowhere till then; I am nearly\nwell--all save one little wheel in my head that keeps on its\n\n[Illustration: Music: bass clef, B-flat, _Sostenuto_]\n\nThat you are better I am most thankful.\n\n'Next letter' to say how you must help me with all my new Romances and\nLyrics, and Lays and Plays, and read them and heed them and end them\nand mend them!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 16, 1845.]\n\nBut how 'mistrustfulness'? And how 'that way?' What have I said or\ndone, _I_, who am not apt to _be_ mistrustful of anybody and should be\na miraculous monster if I began with _you_! What can I have said, I\nsay to myself again and again.\n\nOne thing, at any rate, I have done, 'that way' or this way! I have\nmade what is vulgarly called a 'piece of work' about little; or seemed\nto make it. Forgive me. I am shy by nature:--and by position and\nexperience, ... by having had my nerves shaken to excess, and by\nleading a life of such seclusion, ... by these things together and by\nothers besides, I have appeared shy and ungrateful to you. Only not\nmistrustful. You could not mean to judge me so. Mistrustful people do\nnot write as I write, surely! for wasn't it a Richelieu or Mazarin (or\nwho?) who said that with five lines from anyone's hand, he could take\noff his head for a corollary? I think so.\n\nWell!--but this is to prove that I am not mistrustful, and to say,\nthat if you care to come to see me you can come; and that it is my\ngain (as I feel it to be) and not yours, whenever you do come. You\nwill not talk of having come afterwards I know, because although I am\n'fast bound' to see one or two persons this summer (besides yourself,\nwhom I receive of choice and willingly) I _cannot_ admit visitors in a\ngeneral way--and putting the question of health quite aside, it would\nbe unbecoming to lie here on the sofa and make a company-show of an\ninfirmity, and hold a beggar's hat for sympathy. I should blame it in\nanother woman--and the sense of it has had its weight with me\nsometimes.\n\nFor the rest, ... when you write, that _I_ do not know how you would\nvalue, &c. _nor yourself quite_, you touch very accurately on the\ntruth ... and _so_ accurately in the last clause, that to read it,\nmade me smile 'tant bien que mal.' Certainly you cannot 'quite know,'\nor know at all, whether the least straw of pleasure can go to you from\nknowing me otherwise than on this paper--and I, for my part, 'quite\nknow' my own honest impression, dear Mr. Browning, that none is likely\nto go to you. There is nothing to see in me; nor to hear in me--I\nnever learnt to talk as you do in London; although I can admire that\nbrightness of carved speech in Mr. Kenyon and others. If my poetry is\nworth anything to any eye, it is the flower of me. I have lived most\nand been most happy in it, and so it has all my colours; the rest of\nme is nothing but a root, fit for the ground and the dark. And if I\nwrite all this egotism, ... it is for shame; and because I feel\nashamed of having made a fuss about what is not worth it; and because\nyou are extravagant in caring so for a permission, which will be\nnothing to you afterwards. Not that I am not touched by your caring so\nat all! I am deeply touched now; and presently, ... I shall\nunderstand. Come then. There will be truth and simplicity for you in\nany case; and a friend. And do not answer this--I do not write it as a\nfly trap for compliments. Your spider would scorn me for it too much.\nAlso, ... as to the how and when. You are not well now, and it cannot\nbe good for you to do anything but be quiet and keep away that\ndreadful musical note in the head. I entreat you not to think of\ncoming until _that_ is all put to silence satisfactorily. When it is\ndone, ... you must choose whether you would like best to come with Mr.\nKenyon or to come alone--and if you would come alone, you must just\ntell me on what day, and I will see you on any day unless there should\nbe an unforeseen obstacle, ... any day after two, or before six. And\nmy sister will bring you up-stairs to me; and we will talk; or _you_\nwill talk; and you will try to be indulgent, and like me as well as\nyou can. If, on the other hand, you would rather come with Mr. Kenyon,\nyou must wait, I imagine, till June,--because he goes away on Monday\nand is not likely immediately to return--no, on Saturday, to-morrow.\n\nIn the meantime, why I should be '_thanked_,' is an absolute mystery\nto me--but I leave it!\n\nYou are generous and impetuous; _that_, I can see and feel; and so far\nfrom being of an inclination to mistrust you or distrust you, I do\nprofess to have as much faith in your full, pure loyalty, as if I had\nknown you personally as many years as I have appreciated your genius.\nBelieve this of me--for it is spoken truly.\n\nIn the matter of Shakespeare's 'poor players' you are severe--and yet\nI was glad to hear you severe--it is a happy excess, I think. When men\nof intense reality, as all great poets must be, give their hearts to\nbe trodden on and tied up with ribbons in turn, by men of masks, there\nwill be torture if there is not desecration. Not that I know much of\nsuch things--but I have _heard_. Heard from Mr. Kenyon; heard from\nMiss Mitford; who however is passionately fond of the theatre as a\nwriter's medium--_not at all_, from Mr. Horne himself, ... except what\nhe has printed on the subject.\n\nYes--he has been infamously used on the point of the 'New\nSpirit'--only he should have been prepared for the infamy--it was\nleaping into a gulph, ... not to 'save the republic,' but '_pour\nrire_': it was not merely putting one's foot into a hornet's nest, but\ntaking off a shoe and stocking to do it. And to think of Dickens being\ndissatisfied! To think of Tennyson's friends grumbling!--he himself\ndid not, I hope and trust. For you, you certainly were not adequately\ntreated--and above all, you were not placed with your _peers_ in that\nchapter--but that there was an intention to do you justice, and that\nthere _is_ a righteous appreciation of you in the writer, I know and\nam sure,--and that _you_ should be sensible to this, is only what I\nshould know and be sure of _you_. Mr. Horne is quite above the narrow,\nvicious, hateful jealousy of contemporaries, which we hear reproached,\ntoo justly sometimes, on men of letters.\n\nI go on writing as if I were not going to see you--soon perhaps.\nRemember that the how and the when rest with you--except that it\ncannot be before next week at the soonest. You are to decide.\n\n Always your friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Night.\n [Post-mark, May 17, 1845.]\n\nMy friend is not 'mistrustful' of me, no, because she don't fear I\nshall make mainprize of the stray cloaks and umbrellas down-stairs, or\nturn an article for _Colburn's_ on her sayings and doings\nup-stairs,--but spite of that, she does mistrust ... _so_ mistrust my\ncommon sense,--nay, uncommon and dramatic-poet's sense, if I am put on\nasserting it!--all which pieces of mistrust I could detect, and catch\nstruggling, and pin to death in a moment, and put a label in, with\nname, genus and species, just like a horrible entomologist; only I\nwon't, because the first visit of the Northwind will carry the whole\ntribe into the Red Sea--and those horns and tails and scalewings are\nbest forgotten altogether. And now will I say a cutting thing and have\ndone. Have I trusted _my_ friend so,--or said even to myself, much\nless to her, she is even as--'Mr. Simpson' who desireth the honour of\nthe acquaintance of Mr. B. whose admirable works have long been his,\nSimpson's, especial solace in private--and who accordingly is led to\nthat personage by a mutual friend--Simpson blushing as only adorable\ningenuousness can, and twisting the brim of his hat like a sailor\ngiving evidence. Whereupon Mr. B. beginneth by remarking that the\nrooms are growing hot--or that he supposes Mr. S. has not heard if\nthere will be another adjournment of the House to-night--whereupon Mr.\nS. looketh up all at once, brusheth the brim smooth again with his\nsleeve, and takes to his assurance once more, in something of a huff,\nand after staying his five minutes out for decency's sake, noddeth\nfamiliarly an adieu, and spinning round on his heel ejaculateth\nmentally--'Well, I _did_ expect to see something different from that\nlittle yellow commonplace man ... and, now I come to think, there\n_was_ some precious trash in that book of his'--Have _I_ said 'so will\nMiss Barrett ejaculate?'\n\nDear Miss Barrett, I thank you for the leave you give me, and for the\ninfinite kindness of the way of giving it. I will call at 2 on\nTuesday--not sooner, that you may have time to write should any\nadverse circumstances happen ... not that they need inconvenience you,\nbecause ... what I want particularly to tell you for now and\nhereafter--do not mind my coming in the least, but--should you be\nunwell, for instance,--just send or leave word, and I will come again,\nand again, and again--my time is of _no_ importance, and I have\nacquaintances thick in the vicinity.\n\nNow if I do not seem grateful enough to you, _am_ I so much to blame?\nYou see it is high time you _saw_ me, for I have clearly written\nmyself _out_!\n\n Ever yours,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, May 17, 1845.]\n\nI shall be ready on Tuesday I hope, but I hate and protest against\nyour horrible 'entomology.' Beginning to explain, would thrust me\nlower and lower down the circles of some sort of an 'Inferno'; only\nwith my dying breath I would maintain that I never could, consciously\nor unconsciously, mean to distrust you; or, the least in the world, to\nSimpsonize you. What I said, ... it was _you_ that put it into my head\nto say it--for certainly, in my usual disinclination to receive\nvisitors, such a feeling does not enter. There, now! There, I am a\nwhole 'giro' lower! Now, you will say perhaps that I distrust _you_,\nand nobody else! So it is best to be silent, and bear all the 'cutting\nthings' with resignation! _that_ is certain.\n\nStill I must really say, under this dreadful incubus-charge of\nSimpsonism, ... that you, who know everything, or at least make awful\nguesses at everything in one's feelings and motives, and profess to be\nable to pin them down in a book of classified inscriptions, ... should\nhave been able to understand better, or misunderstand less, in a\nmatter like this--Yes! I think so. I think you should have made out\nthe case in some such way as it was in nature--viz. that you had\nlashed yourself up to an exorbitant wishing to see me, ... (you who\ncould see, any day, people who are a hundredfold and to all social\npurposes, my superiors!) because I was unfortunate enough to be shut\nup in a room and silly enough to make a fuss about opening the door;\nand that I grew suddenly abashed by the consciousness of this. How\ndifferent from a distrust of _you_! how different!\n\nAh--if, after this day, you ever see any interpretable sign of\ndistrustfulness in me, you may be 'cutting' again, and I will not cry\nout. In the meantime here is a fact for your 'entomology.' I have not\nso much _distrust_, as will make a _doubt_, as will make a _curiosity_\nfor next Tuesday. Not the simplest modification of _curiosity_ enters\ninto the state of feeling with which I wait for Tuesday:--and if you\nare angry to hear me say so, ... why, you are more unjust than ever.\n\n(Let it be three instead of two--if the hour be as convenient to\nyourself.)\n\nBefore you come, try to forgive me for my 'infinite kindness' in the\nmanner of consenting to see you. Is it 'the cruellest cut of all' when\nyou talk of infinite kindness, yet attribute such villainy to me?\nWell! but we are friends till Tuesday--and after perhaps.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nIf on Tuesday you should be not well, _pray do not come_--Now, that is\nmy request to your kindness.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Envelope endorsed by Robert Browning:--Tuesday, May 20,\n1845, 3-4-1/2 p.m.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 21, 1845.]\n\nI trust to you for a true account of how you are--if tired, if not\ntired, if I did wrong in any thing,--or, if you please, _right_ in any\nthing--(only, not one more word about my 'kindness,' which, to get\ndone with, I will grant is exceptive)--but, let us so arrange matters\nif possible,--and why should it not be--that my great happiness, such\nas it will be if I see you, as this morning, from time to time, may be\nobtained at the cost of as little inconvenience to you as we can\ncontrive. For an instance--just what strikes me--they all say here I\nspeak very loud--(a trick caught from having often to talk with a deaf\nrelative of mine). And did I stay too long?\n\nI will tell _you_ unhesitatingly of such 'corrigenda'--nay, I will\nagain say, do not humiliate me--_do not_ again,--by calling me 'kind'\nin that way.\n\nI am proud and happy in your friendship--now and ever. May God bless\nyou!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 22, 1845.]\n\nIndeed there was nothing wrong--how could there be? And there was\neverything right--as how should there not be? And as for the 'loud\nspeaking,' I did not hear any--and, instead of being worse, I ought to\nbe better for what was certainly (to speak it, or be silent of it,)\nhappiness and honour to me yesterday.\n\nWhich reminds me to observe that you are so restricting our\nvocabulary, as to be ominous of silence in a full sense, presently.\nFirst, one word is not to be spoken--and then, another is not. And\nwhy? Why deny me the use of such words as have natural feelings\nbelonging to them--and how can the use of such be 'humiliating' to\n_you_? If my heart were open to you, you could see nothing offensive\nto you in any thought there or trace of thought that has been\nthere--but it is hard for you to understand, with all your psychology\n(and to be reminded of it I have just been looking at the preface of\nsome poems by some Mr. Gurney where he speaks of 'the reflective\nwisdom of a Wordsworth and the profound psychological utterances of a\nBrowning') it is hard for you to understand what my mental position is\nafter the peculiar experience I have suffered, and what [Greek: ti\nemoi kai soi][1] a sort of feeling is irrepressible from me to you,\nwhen, from the height of your brilliant happy sphere, you ask, as you\ndid ask, for personal intercourse with me. What words but 'kindness'\n... but 'gratitude'--but I will not in any case be _un_kind and\n_un_grateful, and do what is displeasing to you. And let us both leave\nthe subject with the words--because we perceive in it from different\npoints of view; we stand on the black and white sides of the shield;\nand there is no coming to a conclusion.\n\nBut you will come really on Tuesday--and again, when you like and can\ntogether--and it will not be more 'inconvenient' to me to be pleased,\nI suppose, than it is to people in general--will it, do you think?\nAh--how you misjudge! Why it must obviously and naturally be\ndelightful to me to receive you here when you like to come, and it\ncannot be necessary for me to say so in set words--believe it of\n\n Your friend,\n\n E.B.B.\n\n[Mr. Browning's letter, to which the following is in answer was\ndestroyed, see page 268 of the present volume.]\n\n[Footnote 1: 'What have I to do with thee?']", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 24, 1845.]\n\nI intended to write to you last night and this morning, and could\nnot,--you do not know what pain you give me in speaking so wildly. And\nif I disobey you, my dear friend, in speaking, (I for my part) of your\nwild speaking, I do it, not to displease you, but to be in my own\neyes, and before God, a little more worthy, or less unworthy, of a\ngenerosity from which I recoil by instinct and at the first glance,\nyet conclusively; and because my silence would be the most disloyal of\nall means of expression, in reference to it. Listen to me then in\nthis. You have said some intemperate things ... fancies,--which you\nwill not say over again, nor unsay, but _forget at once_, and _for\never, having said at all_; and which (so) will die out between _you\nand me alone_, like a misprint between you and the printer. And this\nyou will do _for my sake_ who am your friend (and you have none\ntruer)--and this I ask, because it is a condition necessary to our\nfuture liberty of intercourse. You remember--surely you do--that I am\nin the most exceptional of positions; and that, just _because of it_,\nI am able to receive you as I did on Tuesday; and that, for me to\nlisten to 'unconscious exaggerations,' is as unbecoming to the\nhumilities of my position, as unpropitious (which is of more\nconsequence) to the prosperities of yours. Now, if there should be one\nword of answer attempted to this; or of reference; _I must not_ ... I\n_will not see you again_--and you will justify me later in your heart.\nSo for my sake you will not say it--I think you will not--and spare me\nthe sadness of having to break through an intercourse just as it is\npromising pleasure to me; to me who have so many sadnesses and so few\npleasures. You will!--and I need not be uneasy--and I shall owe you\nthat tranquillity, as one gift of many. For, that I have much to\nreceive from you in all the free gifts of thinking, teaching,\nmaster-spirits, ... _that_, I know!--it is my own praise that I\nappreciate you, as none can more. Your influence and help in poetry\nwill be full of good and gladness to me--for with many to love me in\nthis house, there is no one to judge me ... _now_. Your friendship and\nsympathy will be dear and precious to me all my life, if you indeed\nleave them with me so long or so little. Your mistakes in me ... which\n_I_ cannot mistake (--and which have humbled me by too much\nhonouring--) I put away gently, and with grateful tears in my eyes;\nbecause _all that hail_ will beat down and spoil crowns, as well as\n'blossoms.'\n\nIf I put off next Tuesday to the week after--I mean your visit,--shall\nyou care much? For the relations I named to you, are to be in London\nnext week; and I am to see one of my aunts whom I love, and have not\nmet since my great affliction--and it will all seem to come over\nagain, and I shall be out of spirits and nerves. On Tuesday week you\ncan bring a tomahawk and do the criticism, and I shall try to have my\ncourage ready for it--Oh, you will do me so much good--and Mr. Kenyon\ncalls me 'docile' sometimes I assure you; when he wants to flatter me\nout of being obstinate--and in good earnest, I believe I shall do\neverything you tell me. The 'Prometheus' is done--but the monodrama is\nwhere it was--and the novel, not at all. But I think of some half\npromises half given, about something I read for 'Saul'--and the\n'Flight of the Duchess'--where is she?\n\nYou are not displeased with me? _no, that_ would be hail and lightning\ntogether--I do not write as I might, of some words of yours--but you\nknow that I am not a stone, even if silent like one. And if in the\n_un_silence, I have said one word to vex you, pity me for having had\nto say it--and for the rest, may God bless you far beyond the reach of\nvexation from my words or my deeds!\n\n Your friend in grateful regard,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 24, 1845.]\n\nDon't you remember I told you, once on a time that you 'knew nothing\nof me'? whereat you demurred--but I meant what I said, and knew it was\nso. To be grand in a simile, for every poor speck of a Vesuvius or a\nStromboli in my microcosm there are huge layers of ice and pits of\nblack cold water--and I make the most of my two or three fire-eyes,\nbecause I know by experience, alas, how these tend to extinction--and\nthe ice grows and grows--still this last is true part of me, most\ncharacteristic part, _best_ part perhaps, and I disown\nnothing--only,--when you talked of '_knowing_ me'! Still, I am utterly\nunused, of these late years particularly, to dream of communicating\nanything about _that_ to another person (all my writings are purely\ndramatic as I am always anxious to say) that when I make never so\nlittle an attempt, no wonder if I _bungle_ notably--'language,' too is\nan organ that never studded this heavy heavy head of mine. Will you\nnot think me very brutal if I tell you I could almost smile at your\nmisapprehension of what I meant to write?--Yet I _will_ tell you,\nbecause it will undo the bad effect of my thoughtlessness, and at the\nsame time exemplify the point I have all along been honestly earnest\nto set you right upon ... my real inferiority to you; just that and no\nmore. I wrote to you, in an unwise moment, on the spur of being again\n'thanked,' and, unwisely writing just as if thinking to myself, said\nwhat must have looked absurd enough as seen apart from the horrible\ncounterbalancing never-to-be-written _rest of me_--by the side of\nwhich, could it be written and put before you, my note would sink to\nits proper and relative place, and become a mere 'thank you' for your\ngood opinion--which I assure you is far too generous--for I really\nbelieve you to be my superior in many respects, and feel uncomfortable\ntill _you_ see that, too--since I hope for your sympathy and\nassistance, and 'frankness is everything in such a case.' I do assure\nyou, that had you read my note, _only_ having '_known_' so much of me\nas is implied in having inspected, for instance, the contents, merely,\nof that fatal and often-referred-to 'portfolio' there (_Dii meliora\npiis!_), you would see in it, (the note not the portfolio) the\nblandest utterance ever mild gentleman gave birth to. But I forgot\nthat one may make too much noise in a silent place by playing the few\nnotes on the 'ear-piercing fife' which in Othello's regimental band\nmight have been thumped into decent subordination by his\n'spirit-stirring drum'--to say nothing of gong and ophicleide. Will\nyou forgive me, on promise to remember for the future, and be more\nconsiderate? Not that you must too much despise me, neither; nor, of\nall things, apprehend I am attitudinizing à la Byron, and giving you\nto understand unutterable somethings, longings for Lethe and all\nthat--far from it! I never committed murders, and sleep the soundest\nof sleeps--but 'the heart is desperately wicked,' that is true, and\nthough I dare not say 'I know' mine, yet I have had signal\nopportunities, I who began life from the beginning, and can forget\nnothing (but names, and the date of the battle of Waterloo), and have\nknown good and wicked men and women, gentle and simple, shaking hands\nwith Edmund Kean and Father Mathew, you and--Ottima! Then, I had a\ncertain faculty of self-consciousness, years and years ago, at which\nJohn Mill wondered, and which ought to be improved by this time, if\nconstant use helps at all--and, meaning, on the whole, to be a Poet,\nif not _the_ Poet ... for I am vain and ambitious some nights,--I do\nmyself justice, and dare call things by their names to myself, and say\nboldly, this I love, this I hate, this I would do, this I would not\ndo, under all kinds of circumstances,--and talking (thinking) in this\nstyle _to myself_, and beginning, however tremblingly, in spite of\nconviction, to write in this style _for myself_--on the top of the\ndesk which contains my 'Songs of the Poets--NO. I M.P.', I\nwrote,--what you now forgive, I know! Because I am, from my heart,\nsorry that by a foolish fit of inconsideration I should have given\npain for a minute to you, towards whom, on every account, I would\nrather soften and 'sleeken every word as to a bird' ... (and, not such\na bird as my black self that go screeching about the world for 'dead\nhorse'--corvus (picus)--mirandola!) I, too, who have been at such\npains to acquire the reputation I enjoy in the world,--(ask Mr.\nKenyon,) and who dine, and wine, and dance and enhance the company's\npleasure till they make me ill and I keep house, as of late: Mr.\nKenyon, (for I only quote where you may verify if you please) _he_\nsays my common sense strikes him, and its contrast with my muddy\nmetaphysical poetry! And so it shall strike you--for though I am glad\nthat, since you _did_ misunderstand me, you said so, and have given me\nan opportunity of doing by another way what I wished to do in\n_that_,--yet, if you had _not_ alluded to my writing, as I meant you\nshould not, you would have certainly understood _something_ of its\ndrift when you found me next Tuesday precisely the same quiet (no, for\nI feel I speak too loudly, in spite of your kind disclaimer, but--)\nthe same mild man-about-town you were gracious to, the other\nmorning--for, indeed, my own way of worldly life is marked out long\nago, as precisely as yours can be, and I am set going with a hand,\nwinker-wise, on each side of my head, and a directing finger before my\neyes, to say nothing of an instinctive dread I have that a certain\nwhip-lash is vibrating somewhere in the neighbourhood in playful\nreadiness! So 'I hope here be proofs,' Dogberry's satisfaction that,\nfirst, I am but a very poor creature compared to you and entitled by\nmy wants to look up to you,--all I meant to say from the first of the\nfirst--and that, next, I shall be too much punished if, for this piece\nof mere inconsideration, you deprive me, more or less, or sooner or\nlater, of the pleasure of seeing you,--a little over boisterous\ngratitude for which, perhaps, caused all the mischief! The reasons you\ngive for deferring my visits next week are too cogent for me to\ndispute--that is too true--and, being now and henceforward 'on my good\nbehaviour,' I will at once cheerfully submit to them, if needs\nmust--but should your mere kindness and forethought, as I half\nsuspect, have induced you to take such a step, you will now smile with\nme, at this new and very unnecessary addition to the 'fears of me' I\nhave got so triumphantly over in your case! Wise man, was I not, to\nclench my first favourable impression so adroitly ... like a recent\nCambridge worthy, my sister heard of; who, being on his theological\n(or rather, scripture-historical) examination, was asked by the Tutor,\nwho wished to let him off easily, 'who was the first King of\nIsrael?'--'Saul' answered the trembling youth. 'Good!' nodded\napprovingly the Tutor. 'Otherwise called _Paul_,' subjoined the youth\nin his elation! Now I have begged pardon, and blushingly assured you\n_that_ was only a slip of the tongue, and that I did really _mean_ all\nthe while, (Paul or no Paul), the veritable son of Kish, he that owned\nthe asses, and found listening to the harp the best of all things for\nan evil spirit! Pray write me a line to say, 'Oh ... if _that's_ all!'\nand remember me for good (which is very compatible with a moment's\nstupidity) and let me not for one fault, (and that the only one that\nshall be), lose _any pleasure_ ... for your friendship I am sure I\nhave not lost--God bless you, my dear friend!\n\n R. BROWNING.\n\nAnd by the way, will it not be better, as co-operating with you more\neffectually in your kind promise to forget the 'printer's error' in my\nblotted proof, to send me back that same 'proof,' if you have not\ninflicted proper and summary justice on it? When Mephistopheles last\ncame to see us in this world outside here, he counselled sundry of us\n'never to write a letter,--and never to burn one'--do you know that?\nBut I never mind what I am told! Seriously, I am ashamed.... I shall\nnext ask a servant for my paste in the 'high fantastical' style of my\nown 'Luria.'", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday\n [May 25, 1845].\n\nI owe you the most humble of apologies dear Mr. Browning, for having\nspent so much solemnity on so simple a matter, and I hasten to pay it;\nconfessing at the same time (as why should I not?) that I am quite as\nmuch ashamed of myself as I ought to be, which is not a little. You\nwill find it difficult to believe me perhaps when I assure you that I\nnever made such a mistake (I mean of over-seriousness to indefinite\ncompliments), no, never in my life before--indeed my sisters have\noften jested with me (in matters of which they were cognizant) on my\nsupernatural indifference to the superlative degree in general, as if\nit meant nothing in grammar. I usually know well that 'boots' may be\ncalled for in this world of ours, just as you called for yours; and\nthat to bring '_Bootes_,' were the vilest of mal-à-pro-pos-ities.\nAlso, I should have understood 'boots' where you wrote it, in the\nletter in question; if it had not been for _the relation of two\nthings_ in it--and now I perfectly seem to see _how_ I mistook that\nrelation; ('_seem to see_'; because I have not looked into the letter\nagain since your last night's commentary, and will not--) inasmuch as\nI have observed before in my own mind, that a good deal of what is\ncalled obscurity in you, arises from a habit of very subtle\nassociation; so subtle, that you are probably unconscious of it, ...\nand the effect of which is to throw together on the same level and in\nthe same light, things of likeness and unlikeness--till the reader\ngrows confused as I did, and takes one for another. I may say however,\nin a poor justice to myself, that I wrote what I wrote so\nunfortunately, _through reverence for you_, and not at all from vanity\nin my own account ... although I do feel palpably while I write these\nwords here and now, that I might as well leave them unwritten; for\nthat no man of the world who ever lived in the world (not even _you_)\ncould be expected to believe them, though said, sung, and sworn.\n\nFor the rest, it is scarcely an apposite moment for you to talk, even\n'dramatically,' of my 'superiority' to you, ... unless you mean, which\nperhaps you do mean, my superiority in _simplicity_--and, verily, to\nsome of the 'adorable ingenuousness,' sacred to the shade of Simpson,\nI may put in a modest claim, ... 'and have my claim allowed.' 'Pray do\nnot mock me' I quote again from your Shakespeare to you who are a\ndramatic poet; ... and I will admit anything that you like, (being\nhumble just now)--even that I _did not know you_. I was certainly\ninnocent of the knowledge of the 'ice and cold water' you introduce me\nto, and am only just shaking my head, as Flush would, after a first\nwholesome plunge. Well--if I do not know you, I shall learn, I\nsuppose, in time. I am ready to try humbly to learn--and I may\nperhaps--if you are not done in Sanscrit, which is too hard for me,\n... notwithstanding that I had the pleasure yesterday to hear, from\nAmerica, of my profound skill in 'various languages less known than\nHebrew'!--a liberal paraphrase on Mr. Horne's large fancies on the\nlike subject, and a satisfactory reputation in itself--as long as it\nis not necessary to deserve it. So I here enclose to you your letter\nback again, as you wisely desire; although you never could doubt, I\nhope, for a moment, of its safety with me in the completest of senses:\nand then, from the heights of my superior ... stultity, and other\nqualities of the like order, ... I venture to advise you ... however\n(to speak of the letter critically, and as the dramatic composition it\nis) it is to be admitted to be very beautiful, and well worthy of the\nrest of its kin in the portfolio, ... 'Lays of the Poets,' or\notherwise, ... I venture to advise you to burn it at once. And then,\nmy dear friend, I ask you (having some claim) to burn at the same time\nthe letter I was fortunate enough to write to you on Friday, and this\npresent one--don't send them back to me; I hate to have letters sent\nback--but burn them for me and never mind Mephistopheles. After which\nfriendly turn, you will do me the one last kindness of forgetting all\nthis exquisite nonsense, and of refraining from mentioning it, by\nbreath or pen, _to me or another_. Now I trust you so far:--you will\nput it with the date of the battle of Waterloo--and I, with every date\nin chronology; seeing that I can remember none of them. And we will\nshuffle the cards and take patience, and begin the game again, if you\nplease--and I shall bear in mind that you are a dramatic poet, which\nis not the same thing, by any means, with _us_ of the primitive\nsimplicities, who don't tread on cothurns nor shift the mask in the\nscene. And I will reverence you both as 'a poet' and as '_the_ poet';\nbecause it is no false 'ambition,' but a right you have--and one which\nthose who live longest, will see justified to the uttermost.... In the\nmeantime I need not ask Mr. Kenyon if you have any sense, because I\nhave no doubt that you have quite sense enough--and even if I had a\ndoubt, I shall prefer judging for myself without interposition; which\nI can do, you know, as long as you like to come and see me. And you\ncan come this week if you do like it--because our relations don't come\ntill the end of it, it appears--not that I made a pretence 'out of\nkindness'--pray don't judge me so outrageously--but if you like to\ncome ... not on Tuesday ... but on Wednesday at three o'clock, I shall\nbe very glad to see you; and I, for one, shall have forgotten\neverything by that time; being quick at forgetting my own faults\nusually. If Wednesday does not suit you, I am not sure that I _can_\nsee you this week--but it depends on circumstances. Only don't think\nyourself _obliged_ to come on Wednesday. You know I _began_ by\nentreating you to be open and sincere with me--and no more--I\n_require_ no 'sleekening of every word.' I love the truth and can bear\nit--whether in word or deed--and those who have known me longest would\ntell you so fullest. Well!--May God bless you. We shall know each\nother some day perhaps--and I am\n\n Always and faithfully your friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, May 26, 1845.]\n\nNay--I _must_ have last word--as all people in the wrong desire to\nhave--and then, no more of the subject. You said I had given you\n_great pain_--so long as I stop _that_, think anything of me you\nchoose or can! But _before_ your former letter came, I saw the\npre-ordained uselessness of mine. Speaking is to some _end_, (apart\nfrom foolish self-relief, which, after all, I can do without)--and\nwhere there is _no_ end--you see! or, to finish\ncharacteristically--since the offering to cut off one's right-hand to\nsave anybody a headache, is in vile taste, even for our melodramas,\nseeing that it was never yet believed in on the stage or off it,--how\nmuch worse to really make the ugly chop, and afterwards come\nsheepishly in, one's arm in a black sling, and find that the\ndelectable gift had changed aching to nausea! There! And now, 'exit,\nprompt-side, nearest door, Luria'--and enter R.B.--next Wednesday,--as\nboldly as he suspects most people do just after they have been soundly\nfrightened!\n\nI shall be most happy to see you on the day and at the hour you\nmention.\n\n God bless you, my dear friend,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 27, 1845.]\n\nYou will think me the most changeable of all the changeable; but\nindeed it is _not_ my fault that I cannot, as I wished, receive you on\nWednesday. There was a letter this morning; and our friends not only\ncome to London but come to this house on Tuesday (to-morrow) to pass\ntwo or three days, until they settle in an hotel for the rest of the\nseason. Therefore you see, it is doubtful whether the two days may not\nbe three, and the three days four; but if they go away in time, and\nif Saturday should suit you, I will let you know by a word; and you\ncan answer by a yea or nay. While they are in the house, I must give\nthem what time I can--and indeed, it is something to dread altogether.\n\n Tuesday.\n\nI send you the note I had begun before receiving yours of last night,\nand also a fragment[1] from Mrs. Hedley's herein enclosed, a full and\ncomplete certificate, ... that you may know ... quite _know_, ... what\nthe real and only reason of the obstacle to Wednesday is. On Saturday\nperhaps, or on Monday more certainly, there is likely to be no\nopposition, ... at least not on the 'côté gauche' (_my_ side!) to our\nmeeting--but I will let you know more.\n\nFor the rest, we have both been a little unlucky, there's no denying,\nin overcoming the embarrassments of a first acquaintance--but suffer\nme to say as one other last word, (and _quite, quite the last this\ntime_!) in case there should have been anything approaching, however\nremotely, to a distrustful or unkind tone in what I wrote on Sunday,\n(and I have a sort of consciousness that in the process of my\nself-scorning I was not in the most sabbatical of moods perhaps--)\nthat I do recall and abjure it, and from my heart entreat your pardon\nfor it, and profess, notwithstanding it, neither to 'choose' nor 'to\nbe able' to think otherwise of you than I have done, ... as of one\n_most_ generous and _most_ loyal; for that if I chose, I could not;\nand that if I could, I should not choose.\n\n Ever and gratefully your friend,\n\n E.B.B.\n\n--And now we shall hear of 'Luria,' shall we not? and much besides.\nAnd Miss Mitford has sent me the most high comical of letters to\nread, addressed to her by 'R.B. Haydon historical painter' which has\nmade me quite laugh; and would make _you_; expressing his righteous\nindignation at the 'great fact' and gross impropriety of any man who\nhas 'thoughts too deep for tears' agreeing to wear a 'bag-wig' ... the\ncase of poor Wordsworth's going to court, you know.--Mr. Haydon being\ninfinitely serious all the time, and yet holding the doctrine of the\ndivine right of princes in his left hand.\n\nHow is your head? may I be hoping the best for it? May God bless you.\n\n[Footnote 1: ... me on Tuesday, or Wednesday? if on Tuesday, I shall\ncome by the three o'clock train; if on Wednesday, _early_ in the\nmorning, as I shall be anxious to secure rooms ... so that your Uncle\nand Arabel may come up on Thursday.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, May 28, 1845.]\n\nSaturday, Monday, as you shall appoint--no need to say that, or my\nthanks--but this note troubles you, out of my bounden duty to help\nyou, or Miss Mitford, to make the Painter run violently down a steep\nplace into the sea, if that will amuse you, by further informing him,\nwhat I know on the best authority, that Wordsworth's 'bag-wig,' or at\nleast, the more important of his court-habiliments, were considerately\nfurnished for the nonce by _Mr. Rogers_ from his own wardrobe, to the\nmanifest advantage of the Laureate's pocket, but more problematic\nimprovement of his person, when one thinks on the astounding\ndifference of 'build' in the two Poets:--the fact should be put on\nrecord, if only as serving to render less chimerical a promise\nsometimes figuring in the columns of provincial newspapers--that the\ntwo apprentices, some grocer or other advertises for, will be 'boarded\nand _clothed_ like _one_ of the family.' May not your unfinished\n(really good) head of the great man have been happily kept waiting for\nthe body which can now be added on, with all this picturesqueness of\ncircumstances. Precept on precept ... but then, _line upon line_, is\nallowed by as good authority, and may I not draw _my_ confirming black\nline after yours, yet not break pledge? I am most grateful to you for\ndoing me justice--doing yourself, your own judgment, justice, since\neven the play-wright of Theseus and the Amazon found it one of his\nhardest devices to 'write me a speech, lest the lady be frightened,\nwherein it shall be said that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but &c. &c.'\nGod bless you--one thing more, but one--you _could never have_\nmisunderstood the _asking for the letter again_, I feared you might\nrefer to it 'pour constater le fait'--\n\n And now I am yours--\n\n R.B.\n\nMy head is all but well now; thank you.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 30, 1845.]\n\nJust one word to say that if Saturday, to-morrow, should be\nfine--because in the case of its raining I _shall not expect you_; you\nwill find me at three o'clock.\n\nYes--the circumstances of the costume were mentioned in the letter;\nMr. Rogers' bag-wig and the rest, and David Wilkie's sword--and also\nthat the Laureate, so equipped, fell down upon both knees in the\nsuperfluity of etiquette, and had to be picked up by two\nlords-in-waiting. It is a large exaggeration I do not doubt--and then\nI never sympathised with the sighing kept up by people about that\nacceptance of the Laureateship which drew the bag-wig as a corollary\nafter it. Not that the Laureateship honoured _him_, but that he\nhonoured it; and that, so honouring it, he preserves a symbol\ninstructive to the masses, who are children and to be taught by\nsymbols now as formerly. Isn't it true? or at least may it not be\ntrue? And won't the court laurel (such as it is) be all the worthier\nof _you_ for Wordsworth's having worn it first?\n\nAnd in the meantime I shall see you to-morrow perhaps? or if it should\nrain, on Monday at the same hour.\n\n Ever yours, my dear friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 7, 1845.]\n\nWhen I see all you have done for me in this 'Prometheus,' I feel more\nthan half ashamed both of it and of me for using your time so, and\nforced to say in my own defence (not to you but myself) that I never\nthought of meaning to inflict such work on you who might be doing so\nmuch better things in the meantime both for me and for\nothers--because, you see, it is not the mere reading of the MS., but\nthe 'comparing' of the text, and the melancholy comparisons between\nthe English and the Greek, ... quite enough to turn you from your\n[Greek: philanthrôpou tropou][1] that I brought upon you; and indeed I\ndid not mean so much, nor so soon! Yet as you have done it for me--for\nme who expected a few jottings down with a pencil and a general\nopinion; it is of course of the greatest value, besides the pleasure\nand pride which come of it; and I must say of the translation, (before\nputting it aside for the nonce), that the circumstance of your paying\nit so much attention and seeing any good in it, is quite enough reward\nfor the writer and quite enough motive for self-gratulation, if it\nwere all torn to fragments at this moment--which is a foolish thing to\nsay because it is so obvious, and because you would know it if I said\nit or not.\n\nAnd while you were doing this for me, you thought it unkind of me not\nto write to you; yes, and you think me at this moment the very\nprincess of apologies and excuses and depreciations and all the rest\nof the small family of distrust--or of hypocrisy ... who knows? Well!\nbut you are wrong ... wrong ... to think so; and you will let me say\none word to show where you are wrong--not for you to controvert, ...\nbecause it must relate to myself especially, and lies beyond your\ncognizance, and is something which I _must know best_ after all. And\nit is, ... that you persist in putting me into a false position, with\nrespect to _fixing days_ and the like, and in making me feel somewhat\nas I did when I was a child, and Papa used to put me up on the\nchimney-piece and exhort me to stand up straight like a hero, which I\ndid, straighter and straighter, and then suddenly 'was 'ware' (as we\nsay in the ballads) of the walls' growing alive behind me and\nextending two stony hands to push me down that frightful precipice to\nthe rug, where the dog lay ... dear old Havannah, ... and where he and\nI were likely to be dashed to pieces together and mix our uncanonised\nbones. Now my present false position ... which is not the\nchimney-piece's, ... is the necessity you provide for me in the shape\nof my having to name this day, or that day, ... and of your coming\nbecause I name it, and of my having to think and remember that you\ncome because I name it. Through a weakness, perhaps, or morbidness, or\none knows not how to define it, I _cannot help_ being uncomfortable in\nhaving to do this,--it is impossible. Not that I distrust _you_--you\nare the last in the world I could distrust: and then (although you may\nbe sceptical) I am naturally given to trust ... to a fault ... as some\nsay, or to a sin, as some reproach me:--and then again, if I were ever\nsuch a distruster, it could not be of _you_. But if you knew me--! I\nwill tell you! if one of my brothers omits coming to this room for two\ndays, ... I never ask why it happened! if my own father omits coming\nup-stairs to say 'good night,' I never say a word; and not from\nindifference. Do try to make out these readings of me as a _dixit\nCasaubonus_; and don't throw me down as a corrupt text, nor convict me\nfor an infidel which I am not. On the contrary I am grateful and happy\nto believe that you like to come here; and even if you came here as a\npure act of charity and pity to me, as long as you _chose to come_ I\nshould not be too proud to be grateful and happy still. I could not be\nproud to _you_, and I hope you will not fancy such a possibility,\nwhich is the remotest of all. Yes, and _I_ am anxious to ask you to be\nwholly generous and leave off such an interpreting philosophy as you\nmade use of yesterday, and forgive me when I beg you to fix your own\ndays for coming for the future. Will you? It is the same thing in one\nway. If you like to come really every week, there is no hindrance to\nit--you can do it--and the privilege and obligation remain equally\nmine:--and if you name a day for coming on any week, where there is an\nobstacle on my side, you will learn it from me in a moment. Why I\nmight as well charge _you_ with distrusting _me_, because you persist\nin making me choose the days. And it is not for me to do it, but for\nyou--I must feel that--and I cannot help chafing myself against the\nthought that for me to begin to fix days in this way, just because you\nhave quick impulses (like all imaginative persons), and wish me to do\nit now, may bring me to the catastrophe of asking you to come when you\nwould rather not, ... which, as you say truly, would not be an\nimportant vexation to you; but to me would be worse than vexation; to\n_me_--and therefore I shrink from the very imagination of the\npossibility of such a thing, and ask you to bear with me and let it be\nas I prefer ... left to your own choice of the moment. And bear with\nme above all--because this shows no want of faith in you ... none ...\nbut comes from a simple fact (with its ramifications) ... that you\nknow little of me personally yet, and that _you guess_, even, but very\nlittle of the influence of a peculiar experience over me and out of\nme; and if I wanted a proof of this, we need not seek further than the\nvery point of discussion, and the hard worldly thoughts you thought I\nwas thinking of you yesterday,--I, who thought not one of them! But I\nam so used to discern the correcting and ministering angels by the\nsame footsteps on the ground, that it is not wonderful I should look\ndown there at any approach of a [Greek: philia taxis] whatever to this\npersonal _me_. Have I not been ground down to browns and blacks? and\nis it my fault if I am not green? Not that it is my _complaint_--I\nshould not be justified in complaining; I believe, as I told you, that\nthere is more gladness than sadness in the world--that is, generally:\nand if some natures have to be refined by the sun, and some by the\nfurnace (the less genial ones) both means are to be recognised as\n_good_, ... however different in pleasurableness and painfulness, and\nthough furnace-fire leaves scorched streaks upon the fruit. I assured\nyou there was nothing I had any power of teaching you: and there _is_\nnothing, except grief!--which I would not teach you, you know, if I\nhad the occasion granted.\n\nIt is a multitude of words about nothing at all, ... this--but I am\nlike Mariana in the moated grange and sit listening too often to the\nmouse in the wainscot. Be as forbearing as you can--and believe how\nprofoundly it touches me that you should care to come here at all,\nmuch more, so often! and try to understand that if I did not write as\nyou half asked, it was just because I failed at the moment to get up\nenough pomp and circumstance to write on purpose to certify the\nimportant fact of my being a little stronger or a little weaker on one\nparticular morning. That I am always ready and rejoiced to write to\nyou, you know perfectly well, and I have proved, by 'superfluity of\nnaughtiness' and prolixity through some twenty posts:--and this, and\ntherefore, you will agree altogether to attribute no more to me on\nthese counts, and determine to read me no more backwards with your\nHebrew, putting in your own vowel points without my leave! Shall it be\nso?\n\nHere is a letter grown from a note which it meant to be--and I have\nbeen interrupted in the midst of it, or it should have gone to you\nearlier. Let what I have said in it of myself pass unquestioned and\nunnoticed, because it is of _me_ and not of _you_, ... and, if in any\nwise lunatical, all the talking and writing in the world will not put\nthe implied moon into another quarter. Only be patient with me a\nlittle, ... and let us have a smooth ground for the poems which I am\nforeseeing the sight of with such pride and delight--Such pride and\ndelight!\n\nAnd one thing ... which is chief, though it seems to come last!... you\n_will_ have advice (will you not?) if that pain does not grow much\nbetter directly? It cannot be prudent or even _safe_ to let a pain in\nthe head go on so long, and no remedy be attempted for it, ... and you\ncannot be sure that it is a merely nervous pain and that it may not\nhave consequences; and this, quite apart from the consideration of\nsuffering. So you will see some one with an opinion to give, and take\nit? _Do_, I beseech you. You will not say 'no'? Also ... if on\nWednesday you should be less well than usual, you will come on\nThursday instead, I hope, ... seeing that it must be right for you to\nbe quiet and silent when you suffer so, and a journey into London can\nlet you be neither. Otherwise, I hold to my day, ... Wednesday. And\nmay God bless you my dear friend.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nYou are right I see, nearly everywhere, if not quite everywhere in the\ncriticisms--but of course I have not looked very closely--that is, I\nhave read your papers but not in connection with a _my_ side of the\nargument--but I shall lose the post after all.\n\n[Footnote 1: Aeschylus, _Prometheus_ II.: 'trick of loving men,' see\nnote 3, on p. 39 above.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning,\n [Post-mark, June 7, 1845.]\n\nI ventured to hope this morning might bring me news of you--First\nEast-winds on you, then myself, then those criticisms!--I do assure\nyou I am properly apprehensive. How are you? May I go on Wednesday\nwithout too much [Greek: anthadia].\n\nPray remember what I said and wrote, to the effect that my exceptions\nwere, in almost every case, to the 'reading'--not to your version of\nit: but I have not specified the particular ones--not written down the\nGreek, of my suggested translations--have I? And if you do not find\nthem in the margin of your copy, how you must wonder! Thus, in the\nlast speech but one, of Hermes, I prefer Porson and Blomfield's\n[Greek: ei mêd' atychôn ti chala maniôn];--to the old combinations\nthat include [Greek: eutychê]--though there is no MS. authority for\nemendation, it seems. But in what respect does Prometheus 'fare\n_well_,' or 'better' even, since the beginning? And is it not the old\nargument over again, that when a man _fails_ he should repent of his\nways?--And while thinking of Hermes, let me say that '[Greek: mêde moi\ndiplas odous prosbalês]' is surely--'Don't subject me to the trouble\nof a second journey ... by paying no attention to the first.' So says\nScholiast A, and so backs him Scholiast B, especially created, it\nshould appear, to show there could be _in rerum naturâ_ such another\nas his predecessor. A few other remarks occur to me, which I will tell\nyou if you please; _now_, I really want to know how you are, and write\nfor that.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, June 9, 1845.]\n\nJust after my note left, yours came--I will try so to answer it as to\nplease you; and I begin by promising cheerfully to do all you bid me\nabout naming days &c. I do believe we are friends now and for ever.\nThere can be no reason, therefore, that I should cling tenaciously to\nany one or other time of meeting, as if, losing that, I lost\neverything--and, for the future, I will provide against sudden\nengagements, outrageous weather &c., to your heart's content. Nor am I\ngoing to except against here and there a little wrong I could get up,\nas when you _imply_ from my quick impulses and the like. No, my dear\nfriend--for I seem sure I shall have quite, quite time enough to do\nmyself justice in your eyes--Let time show!\n\nPerhaps I feel none the less sorely, when you 'thank' me for such\ncompany as mine, that I cannot avoid confessing to myself that it\nwould not be so absolutely out of my power, perhaps, to contrive\nreally and deserve thanks in a certain acceptation--I _might_ really\n_try_, at all events, and amuse you a little better, when I do have\nthe opportunity,--and I _do not_--but there is the thing! It is all of\na piece--I _do not_ seek your friendship in order to do you good--any\ngood--only to do myself good. Though I _would_, God knows, do that\ntoo.\n\nEnough of this.\n\nI am much better, indeed,--but will certainly follow your advice\nshould the pain return. And you--you have tried a new journey from\nyour room, have you not?\n\nDo recollect, at any turn, any chance so far in my favour,--that I am\nhere and yours should you want any fetching and carrying in this\noutside London world. Your brothers may have their own business to\nmind, Mr. Kenyon is at New York, we will suppose; here am I--what\nelse, _what else_ makes me count my cleverness to you, as I know I\nhave done more than once, by word and letter, but the real wish to be\nset at work? I should have, I hope, better taste than to tell any\neveryday acquaintance, who could not go out, one single morning even,\non account of a headache, that the weather was delightful, much less\nthat I had been walking five miles and meant to run ten--yet to you I\nboasted once of polking and waltzing and more--but then would it not\nbe a very superfluous piece of respect in the four-footed bird to keep\nhis wings to himself because his Master Oceanos could fly forsooth?\nWhereas he begins to wave a flap and show how ready they are to be\noff--for what else were the good of him? Think of this--and\n\n Know me for yours\n\n R.B.\n\nFor good you are, to those notes--you shall have more,--that is, the\nrest--on Wednesday then, at 3, except as you except. God bless you.\n\nOh, let me tell you--I suppose Mr. Horne must be in town--as I\nreceived a letter two days ago, from the contriver of some literary\nsociety or other who had before written to get me to belong to it,\nprotesting _against_ my reasons for refusing, and begging that 'at all\nevents I would suspend my determination till I had been visited by Mr.\nH. on the subject'--and, as they can hardly mean to bring him express\nfrom the Drachenfels for just that, he is returned no doubt--and as he\nis your friend, I take the opportunity of mentioning the course I\nshall pursue with him or any other friend of yours I may meet,--(and\neverybody else, I may add--) the course I understand you to desire,\nwith respect to our own intimacy. While I may acknowledge, I believe,\nthat I correspond with you, I shall not, in any case, suffer it to be\nknown that I see, or have seen you. This I just remind you of, lest\nany occasion of embarrassment should arise, for a moment, from your\nnot being quite sure how _I_ had acted in any case.--Con che, le bacio\nle mani--a rivederla!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 10, 1845.]\n\nI must thank you by one word for all your kindness and\nconsideration--which could not be greater; nor more felt by me. In the\nfirst place, afterwards (if that should not be Irish dialect) do\nunderstand that my letter passed from my hands to go to yours on\n_Friday_, but was thrown aside carelessly down stairs and 'covered up'\nthey say, so as not to be seen until late on Saturday; and I can only\nhumbly hope to have been cross enough about it (having conscientiously\ntried) to secure a little more accuracy another time.--And then, ...\nif ever I should want anything done or found, ... (a roc's egg or the\nlike) you may believe me that I shall not scruple to ask you to be the\nfinder; but at this moment I want nothing, indeed, except your poems;\nand that is quite the truth. Now do consider and think what I could\npossibly want in your 'outside London world'; you, who are the 'Genius\nof the lamp'!--Why if you light it and let me read your romances, &c.,\nby it, is not that the best use for it, and am I likely to look for\nanother? Only I shall remember what you say, gratefully and seriously;\nand if ever I should have a good fair opportunity of giving you\ntrouble (as if I had not done it already!), you may rely upon my evil\nintentions; even though dear Mr. Kenyon should not actually be at New\nYork, ... which he is not, I am glad to say, as I saw him on Saturday.\n\nWhich reminds me that _he_ knows of your having been here, of course!\nand will not mention it; as he understood from me that _you_ would\nnot.--Thank you! Also there was an especial reason which constrained\nme, on pain of appearing a great hypocrite, to tell Miss Mitford the\nbare fact of my having seen you--and reluctantly I did it, though\nplacing some hope in her promise of discretion. And how necessary the\ndiscretion is, will appear in the awful statistical fact of our having\nat this moment, as my sisters were calculating yesterday, some forty\nrelations in London--to say nothing of the right wing of the enemy.\nFor Mr. Horne, I could have told you, and really I thought I _had_\ntold you of his being in England.\n\nLast paragraph of all is, that I _don't want to be amused_, ... or\nrather that I _am_ amused by everything and anything. Why surely,\nsurely, you have some singular ideas about me! So, till to-morrow,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nInstead of writing this note to you yesterday, as should have been, I\nwent down-stairs--or rather was carried--and am not the worse.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, June 14, 1845.]\n\nYes, the poem _is_ too good in certain respects for the prizes given\nin colleges, (when all the pure parsley goes naturally to the\nrabbits), and has a great deal of beauty here and there in image and\nexpression. Still I do not quite agree with you that it reaches the\nTennyson standard any wise; and for the blank verse, I cannot for a\nmoment think it comparable to one of the grand passages in 'Oenone,'\nand 'Arthur' and the like. In fact I seem to hear more in that latter\nblank verse than you do, ... to hear not only a 'mighty line' as in\nMarlowe, but a noble full orbicular wholeness in complete\npassages--which always struck me as the mystery of music and great\npeculiarity in Tennyson's versification, inasmuch as he attains to\nthese complete effects without that shifting of the pause practised by\nthe masters, ... Shelley and others. A 'linked music' in which there\nare no links!--_that_, you would take to be a contradiction--and yet\nsomething like that, my ear has always seemed to perceive; and I have\nwondered curiously again and again how there could be so much union\nand no fastening. Only of course it is not model versification--and\nfor dramatic purposes, it must be admitted to be bad.\n\nWhich reminds me to be astonished for the second time how you could\nthink such a thing of me as that I wanted to read only your lyrics,\n... or that I 'preferred the lyrics' ... or something barbarous in\nthat way? You don't think me 'ambidexter,' or 'either-handed' ... and\nboth hands open for what poems you will vouchsafe to me; and yet if\nyou would let me see anything you may have in a readable state by you,\n... 'The Flight of the Duchess' ... or act or scene of 'The Soul's\nTragedy,' ... I shall be so glad and grateful to you! Oh--if you\nchange your mind and choose to be _bien prié_, I will grant it is your\nright, and begin my liturgy directly. But this is not teazing (in the\nintention of it!) and I understand all about the transcription, and\nthe inscrutableness of rough copies,--that is, if you write as I do,\nso that my guardian angel or M. Champollion cannot read what is\nwritten. Only whatever they can, (remember!) _I_ can: and you are not\nto mind trusting me with the cacistography possible to mortal readers.\n\nThe sun shines so that nobody dares complain of the east wind--and\nindeed I am better altogether. May God bless you, my dear friend.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, June 14, 1845.]\n\nWhen I ask my wise self what I really do remember of the Prize poem,\nthe answer is--both of Chapman's lines a-top, quite worth any prize\nfor their quoter--then, the good epithet of 'Green Europe' contrasting\nwith Africa--then, deep in the piece, a picture of a Vestal in a\nvault, where I see a dipping and winking lamp plainest, and last of\nall the ominous 'all was dark' that dismisses you. I read the poem\nmany years ago, and never since, though I have an impression that the\nversification is good, yet from your commentary I see I must have said\na good deal more in its praise than that. But have you not discovered\nby this time that I go on talking with my thoughts away?\n\nI know, I have always been jealous of my own musical faculty (I can\nwrite music).--Now that I see the uselessness of such jealousy, and am\nfor loosing and letting it go, it may be cramped possibly. Your music\nis more various and exquisite than any modern writer's to my ear. One\nshould study the mechanical part of the art, as nearly all that there\nis to be studied--for the more one sits and thinks over the creative\nprocess, the more it confirms itself as 'inspiration,' nothing more\nnor less. Or, at worst, you write down old inspirations, what you\nremember of them ... but with _that_ it begins. 'Reflection' is\nexactly what it names itself--a _re_-presentation, in scattered rays\nfrom every angle of incidence, of what first of all became present in\na great light, a whole one. So tell me how these lights are born, if\nyou can! But I can tell anybody how to make melodious verses--let him\ndo it therefore--it should be exacted of all writers.\n\nYou do not understand what a new feeling it is for me to have someone\nwho is to like my verses or I shall not ever like them after! So far\ndifferently was I circumstanced of old, that I used rather to go about\nfor a subject of offence to people; writing ugly things in order to\nwarn the ungenial and timorous off my grounds at once. I shall never\ndo so again at least! As it is, I will bring all I dare, in as great\nquantities as I can--if not next time, after then--certainly. I must\nmake an end, print this Autumn my last four 'Bells,' Lyrics, Romances,\n'The Tragedy,' and 'Luna,' and then go on with a whole heart to my own\nPoem--indeed, I have just resolved not to begin any new song, even,\ntill this grand clearance is made--I will get the Tragedy transcribed\nto bring--\n\n'To bring!' Next Wednesday--if you know how happy you make me! may I\nnot say _that_, my dear friend, when I feel it from my soul?\n\nI thank God that you are better: do pray make fresh endeavours to\nprofit by this partial respite of the weather! All about you must urge\nthat: but even from my distance some effect might come of such wishes.\nBut you _are_ better--look so and speak so! God bless you.\n\n R.B.\n\nYou let 'flowers be sent you in a letter,' every one knows, and this\nhot day draws out our very first yellow rose.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, June 17, 1845.]\n\nYes, I quite believe as you do that what is called the 'creative\nprocess' in works of Art, is just inspiration and no less--which made\nsomebody say to me not long since; And so you think that Shakespeare's\n'Othello' was of the effluence of the Holy Ghost?'--rather a startling\ndeduction, ... only not quite as final as might appear to somebodies\nperhaps. At least it does not prevent my going on to agree with the\nsaying of _Spiridion_, ... do you remember?... 'Tout ce que l'homme\nappelle inspiration, je l'appelle aussi revelation,' ... if there is\nnot something too self-evident in it after all--my sole objection! And\nis it not true that your inability to analyse the mental process in\nquestion, is one of the proofs of the fact of inspiration?--as the\ngods were known of old by not being seen to move their feet,--coming\nand going in an equal sweep of radiance.--And still more wonderful\nthan the first transient great light you speak of, ... and far beyond\nany work of _re_flection, except in the pure analytical sense in which\nyou use the word, ... appears that gathering of light on light upon\nparticular points, as you go (in composition) step by step, till you\nget intimately near to things, and see them in a fullness and\nclearness, and an intense trust in the truth of them which you have\nnot in any sunshine of noon (called _real_!) but which you have _then_\n... and struggle to communicate:--an ineffectual struggle with most\nwriters (oh, how ineffectual!) and when effectual, issuing in the\n'Pippa Passes,' and other master-pieces of the world.\n\nYou will tell me what you mean exactly by being jealous of your own\nmusic? You said once that you had had a false notion of music, or had\npractised it according to the false notions of other people: but did\nyou mean besides that you ever had meant to despise music\naltogether--because _that_, it is hard to set about trying to believe\nof you indeed. And then, you _can_ praise my verses for music?--Why,\nare you aware that people blame me constantly for wanting\nharmony--from Mr. Boyd who moans aloud over the indisposition of my\n'trochees' ... and no less a person than Mr. Tennyson, who said to\nsomebody who repeated it, that in the want of harmony lay the chief\ndefect of the poems, 'although it might verily be retrieved, as he\ncould fancy that I had an ear by nature.' Well--but I am pleased that\nyou should praise me--right or wrong--I mean, whether I am right or\nwrong in being pleased! and I say so to you openly, although my belief\nis that you are under a vow to our Lady of Loretto to make giddy with\nall manner of high vanities, some head, ... not too strong for such\nthings, but too low for them, ... before you see again the embroidery\non her divine petticoat. Only there's a flattery so far beyond praise\n... even _your_ praise--as where you talk of your verses being liked\n&c., and of your being happy to bring them here, ... that is scarcely\na lawful weapon; and see if the Madonna may not signify so much to\nyou!--Seriously, you will not hurry too uncomfortably, or\nuncomfortably at all, about the transcribing? Another day, you know,\nwill do as well--and patience is possible to me, if not 'native to the\nsoil.'\n\nAlso I am behaving very well in going out into the noise; not quite\nout of doors yet, on account of the heat--and I am better as you say,\nwithout any doubt at all, and stronger--only my looks are a little\ndeceitful; and people are apt to be heated and flushed in this\nweather, one hour, to look a little more ghastly an hour or two after.\nNot that it _is_ not true of me that I am better, mind! Because I am.\n\nThe 'flower in the letter' was from one of my sisters--from Arabel\n(though many of these poems are _ideal_ ... will you understand?) and\nyour rose came quite alive and fresh, though in act of dropping its\nbeautiful leaves, because of having to come to me instead of living on\nin your garden, as it intended. But I thank you--for this, and all, my\ndear friend.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 19, 1845.]\n\nWhen I next see you, do not let me go on and on to my confusion about\nmatters I am more or less ignorant of, but always ignorant. I tell\nyou plainly I only trench on them, and intrench in them, from\ngaucherie, pure and respectable ... I should certainly grow\ninstructive on the prospects of hay-crops and pasture-land, if\ndeprived of this resource. And now here is a week to wait before I\nshall have any occasion to relapse into Greek literature when I am\nthinking all the while, 'now I will just ask simply, what flattery\nthere was,' &c. &c., which, as I had not courage to say then, I keep\nto myself for shame now. This I will say, then--wait and know me\nbetter, as you will one long day at the end.\n\nWhy I write now, is because you did not promise, as before, to let me\nknow how you are--this morning is miserably cold again--Will you tell\nme, at your own time?\n\nGod bless you, my dear friend.\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 20, 1845.]\n\nIf on Greek literature or anything else it is your pleasure to\ncultivate a reputation for ignorance, I will respect your desire--and\nindeed the point of the deficiency in question being far above my\nsight I am not qualified either to deny or assert the existence of it;\nso you are free to have it all your own way.\n\nAbout the 'flattery' however, there is a difference; and I must deny a\nlittle having ever used such a word ... as far as I can recollect, and\nI have been trying to recollect, ... as that word of flattery. Perhaps\nI said something about your having vowed to make me vain by writing\nthis or that of my liking your verses and so on--and perhaps I said it\ntoo lightly ... which happened because when one doesn't know whether\nto laugh or to cry, it is far best, as a general rule, to laugh. But\nthe serious truth is that it was all nonsense together what I wrote,\nand that, instead of talking of your making me vain, I should have\ntalked (if it had been done sincerely) of your humbling me--inasmuch\nas nothing does humble anybody so much as being lifted up too high.\nYou know what vaulting Ambition did once for himself? and when it is\ndone for him by another, his fall is still heavier. And one moral of\nall this general philosophy is, that if when your poems come, you\npersist in giving too much importance to what I may have courage to\nsay of this or of that in them, you will make me a dumb critic and I\nshall have no help for my dumbness. So I tell you beforehand--nothing\nextenuating nor exaggerating nor putting down in malice. I know so\nmuch of myself as to be sure of it. Even as it is, the 'insolence'\nwhich people blame me for and praise me for, ... the 'recklessness'\nwhich my friends talk of with mitigating countenances ... seems\ngradually going and going--and really it would not be very strange\n(without that) if _I_ who was born a hero worshipper and have so\ncontinued, and who always recognised your genius, should find it\nimpossible to bring out critical doxies on the workings of it. Well--I\nshall do what I can--as far as _impressions_ go, you understand--and\n_you_ must promise not to attach too much importance to anything said.\nSo that is a covenant, my dear friend!--\n\nAnd I am really gaining strength--and I will not complain of the\nweather. As long as the thermometer keeps above sixty I am content for\none; and the roses are not quite dead yet, which they would have been\nin the heat. And last and not least--may I ask if you were told that\nthe pain in the head was not important (or was) in the causes, ... and\nwas likely to be well soon? or was not? I am at the end.\n\n E.B.B.\n\nUpon second or third thoughts, isn't it true that you are a little\nsuspicious of me? suspicious at least of suspiciousness?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, June 23, 1845.]\n\nAnd if I am 'suspicious of your suspiciousness,' who gives cause,\npray? The matter was long ago settled, I thought, when you first took\nexception to what I said about higher and lower, and I consented to\nthis much--that you should help seeing, if you could, our true\nintellectual and moral relation each to the other, so long as you\nwould allow _me_ to see what _is_ there, fronting me. 'Is my eye evil\nbecause yours is not good?' My own friend, if I wished to 'make you\nvain,' if having 'found the Bower' I did really address myself to the\nwise business of spoiling its rose-roof,--I think that at least where\nthere was such a will, there would be also something not unlike a\nway,--that I should find a proper hooked stick to tear down flowers\nwith, and write you other letters than these--quite, quite others, I\nfeel--though I am far from going to imagine, even for a moment, what\nmight be the precise prodigy--like the notable Son of Zeus, that _was_\nto have been, and done the wonders, only he did not, because &c. &c.\n\nBut I have a restless head to-day, and so let you off easily. Well,\nyou ask me about it, that head, and I am not justified in being\npositive when my Doctor is dubious; as for the causes, they are\nneither superfluity of study, nor fancy, nor care, nor any special\nnaughtiness that I know how to amend. So if I bring you 'nothing to\nsignify' on Wednesday ... though I hope to do more than that ... you\nwill know exactly why it happens. I will finish and transcribe the\n'Flight of the Duchess' since you spoke of that first.\n\nI am truly happy to hear that your health improves still.\n\nFor me, going out does me good--reading, writing, and, what is\nodd,--infinitely most of all, _sleeping_ do me the harm,--never any\nvery great harm. And all the while I am yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, June 24, 1845.]\n\nI had begun to be afraid that I did not deserve to have my questions\nanswered; and I was afraid of asking them over again. But it is worse\nto be afraid that you are not better at all in any essential manner\n(after all your assurances) and that the medical means have failed so\nfar. Did you go to somebody who knows anything?--because there is no\nexcuse, you see, in common sense, for not having the best and most\nexperienced opinion when there is a choice of advice--and I am\nconfident that that pain should not be suffered to go on without\nsomething being done. What I said about _nerves_, related to what you\nhad told me of your mother's suffering and what you had fancied of the\nrelation of it to your own, and not that I could be thinking about\nimaginary complaints--I wish I could. Not (either) that I believe in\nthe relation ... because such things are not hereditary, are they? and\nthe bare coincidence is improbable. Well, but, I wanted particularly\nto say this--_Don't bring the 'Duchess' with you on Wednesday._ I\nshall not expect anything, I write distinctly to tell you--and I would\nfar far rather that you did not bring it. You see it is just as I\nthought--for that whether too much thought or study did or did not\nbring on the illness, ... yet you admit that reading and writing\nincrease it ... as they would naturally do any sort of pain in the\nhead--therefore if you will but be in earnest and try to get well\n_first_, we will do the 'Bells' afterwards, and there will be time for\na whole peal of them, I hope and trust, before the winter. Now do\nadmit that this is reasonable, and agree reasonably to it. And if it\ndoes you good to go out and take exercise, why not go out and take it?\nnay, why not go _away_ and take it? Why not try the effect of a little\nchange of air--or even of a great change of air--if it should be\nnecessary, or even expedient? Anything is better, you know ... or if\nyou don't know, _I_ know--than to be ill, really, seriously--I mean\nfor _you_ to be ill, who have so much to do and to enjoy in the world\nyet ... and all those bells waiting to be hung! So that if you will\nagree to be well first, I will promise to be ready afterwards to help\nyou in any thing I can do ... transcribing or anything ... to get the\nbooks through the press in the shortest of times--and I am capable of\na great deal of that sort of work without being tired, having the\nhabit of writing in any sort of position, and the long habit, ...\nsince, before I was ill even, I never used to write at a table (or\nscarcely ever) but on the arm of a chair, or on the seat of one,\nsitting myself on the floor, and calling myself a Lollard for dignity.\nSo you will put by your 'Duchess' ... will you not? or let me see just\nthat one sheet--if one should be written--which is finished? ... up to\nthis moment, you understand? finished _now_.\n\nAnd if I have tired and teazed you with all these words it is a bad\nopportunity to take--and yet I will persist in saying through good and\nbad opportunities that I never did 'give cause' as you say, to your\nbeing 'suspicious of my suspiciousness' as I believe I said before. I\ndeny my 'suspiciousness' altogether--it is not one of my faults. Nor\nis it quite my fault that you and I should always be quarrelling about\nover-appreciations and under-appreciations--and after all I have no\ninterest nor wish, I do assure you, to depreciate myself--and you are\nnot to think that I have the remotest claim to the Monthyon prize for\ngood deeds in the way of modesty of self-estimation. Only when I know\nyou better, as you talk of ... and when _you_ know _me_ too well, ...\nthe right and the wrong of these conclusions will appear in a fuller\nlight than ever so much arguing can produce now. Is it unkindly\nwritten of me? _no_--I _feel_ it is not!--and that 'now and ever we\nare friends,' (just as you think) _I_ think besides and am happy in\nthinking so, and could not be distrustful of you if I tried. So may\nGod bless you, my ever dear friend--and mind to forget the 'Duchess'\nand to remember every good counsel!--Not that I do particularly\nconfide in the medical oracles. They never did much more for _me_\nthan, when my pulse was above a hundred and forty with fever, to give\nme digitalis to make me weak--and, when I could not move without\nfainting (with weakness), to give me quinine to make me feverish\nagain. Yes--and they could tell from the stethoscope, how very little\nwas really wrong in me ... if it were not on a vital organ--and how I\nshould certainly live ... if I didn't die sooner. But then, nothing\n_has_ power over affections of the chest, except God and his\nwinds--and I do hope that an obvious quick remedy may be found for\nyour head. But _do_ give up the writing and all that does harm!--\n\n Ever yours, my dear friend,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nMiss Mitford talked of spending Wednesday with me--and I have put it\noff to Thursday:--and if you should hear from Mr. Chorley that he is\ncoming to see _her and me together on any day_, do understand that it\nwas entirely her proposition and not mine, and that certainly it won't\nbe acceded to, as far as _I_ am concerned; as I have explained to her\nfinally. I have been vexed about it--but she can see him down-stairs\nas she has done before--and if she calls me perverse and capricious\n(which she will do) I shall stop the reflection by thanking her again\nand again (as I can do sincerely) for her kindness and goodness in\ncoming to see me herself, so far!--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning,\n [Post-mark, June 24, 1845.]\n\n(So my friend did not in the spirit see me write that _first_ letter,\non Friday, which was too good and true to send, and met, five minutes\nafter, its natural fate accordingly. Then on Saturday I thought to\ntake health by storm, and walked myself half dead all the\nmorning--about town too: last post-hour from this Thule of a\nsuburb--4 P.M. on Saturdays, next expedition of letters, 8 A.M. on\nMondays;--and then my real letter set out with the others--and, it\nshould seem, set at rest a 'wonder whether thy friend's questions\ndeserved answering'--de-served--answer-ing--!)\n\nParenthetically so much--I want most, though, to tell you--(leaving\nout any slightest attempt at thanking you) that I am much better,\nquite well to-day--that my doctor has piloted me safely through two or\nthree illnesses, and knows all about me, I do think--and that he talks\nconfidently of getting rid of all the symptoms complained of--and\n_has_ made a good beginning if I may judge by to-day. As for going\nabroad, that is just the thing I most want to avoid (for a reason not\nso hard to guess, perhaps, as why my letter was slow in arriving).\n\nSo, till to-morrow,--my light through the dark week.\n\n God ever bless you, dear friend,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 25, 1845.]\n\nWhat will you think when I write to ask you _not_ to come to-morrow,\nWednesday; but ... on Friday perhaps, instead? But do see how it is;\nand judge if it is to be helped.\n\nI have waited hour after hour, hoping to hear from Miss Mitford that\nshe would agree to take Thursday in change for Wednesday,--and just as\nI begin to wonder whether she can have received my letter at all, or\nwhether she may not have been vexed by it into taking a vengeance and\nadhering to her own devices; (for it appealed to her esprit de sexe on\nthe undeniable axiom of women having their way ... and she might\nchoose to act it out!) just as I wonder over all this, and consider\nwhat a confusion of the elements it would be if you came and found her\nhere, and Mr. Chorley at the door perhaps, waiting for some of the\nlight of her countenance;--comes a note from Mr. Kenyon, to the\neffect that _he_ will be here at four o'clock P.M.--and comes a final\nnote from my aunt Mrs. Hedley (supposed to be at Brighton for several\nmonths) to the effect that _she_ will be here at twelve o'clock, M.!!\nSo do observe the constellation of adverse stars ... or the covey of\n'bad birds,' as the Romans called them, and that there is no choice,\nbut to write as I am writing. It can't be helped--can it? For take\naway the doubt about Miss Mitford, and Mr. Kenyon remains--and take\naway Mr. Kenyon, and there is Mrs. Hedley--and thus it _must be for\nFriday_ ... which will learn to be a fortunate day for the\nnonce--unless Saturday should suit you better. I do not speak of\nThursday, because of the doubt about Miss Mitford--and if any harm\nshould happen to Friday, I will write again; but if you do not hear\nagain, and are able to come then, you _will_ come perhaps then.\n\nIn the meantime I thank you for the better news in your note--if it is\nreally, really to be trusted in--but you know, you have said so often\nthat you were better and better, without being really better, that it\nmakes people ... 'suspicious.' Yet it is full amends for the\ndisappointment to hope ... here I must break off or be too late. May\nGod bless you my dear friend.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "12. Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, June 25, 1845.]\n\nPomegranates you may cut deep down the middle and see into, but not\nhearts,--so why should I try and speak?\n\nFriday is best day because nearest, but Saturday is next best--it is\nnext near, you know: if I get no note, therefore, Friday is my day.\n\nNow is Post-time,--which happens properly.\n\nGod bless you, and so your own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 27, 1845.]\n\nAfter all it must be for Saturday, as Mrs. Hedley comes again on\nFriday, to-morrow, from _New Cross_,--or just beyond it, Eltham\nPark--to London for a few days, on account of the illness of one of\nher children. I write in the greatest haste after Miss Mitford has\nleft me ... and _so_ tired! to say this, that if you can and will come\non Saturday, ... or if not on Monday or Tuesday, there is no reason\nagainst it.\n\n Your friend always,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 27, 1845.]\n\nLet me make haste and write down _To-morrow_, Saturday, and not later,\nlest my selfishness be thoroughly got under in its struggle with a\nbetter feeling that tells me you must be far too tired for another\nvisitor this week.\n\nWhat shall I decide on?\n\nWell--Saturday is said--but I will stay not quite so long, nor talk\nnearly so loud as of old-times; nor will you, if you understand\nanything of me, fail to send down word should you be at all\nindisposed. I should not have the heart to knock at the door unless I\nreally believed you would do that. Still saying this and providing\nagainst the other does not amount, I well know, to the generosity, or\njustice rather, of staying away for a day or two altogether. But--what\n'a day or two' may not bring forth! Change to you, change to me--\n\nNot all of me, however, can change, thank God--\n\n Yours ever\n\n R.B.\n\nOr, write, as last night, if needs be: Monday, Tuesday is not so long\nto wait. Will you write?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 28, 1845.]\n\nYou are very kind and always--but really _that_ does not seem a good\nreason against your coming to-morrow--so come, if it should not rain.\nIf it rains, it _concludes_ for Monday ... or Tuesday; whichever may\nbe clear of rain. I was tired on Wednesday by the confounding\nconfusion of more voices than usual in this room; but the effect\npassed off, and though Miss Mitford was with me for hours yesterday I\nam not unwell to-day. And pray speak _bona verba_ about the awful\nthings which are possible between this now and Wednesday. You continue\nto be better, I do hope? I am forced to the brevity you see, by the\npost on one side, and my friends on the other, who have so long\noverstayed the coming of your note--but it is enough to assure you\nthat you will do no harm by coming--only give pleasure.\n\n Ever yours, my dear friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [June 30, 1845.]\n\nI send back the prize poems which have been kept far too long even if\nI do not make excuses for the keeping--but our sins are not always to\nbe measured by our repentance for them. Then I am well enough this\nmorning to have thought of going out till they told me it was not at\nall a right day for it ... too windy ... soft and delightful as the\nair seems to be--particularly after yesterday, when we had some winter\nback again in an episode. And the roses do not die; which is quite\nmagnanimous of them considering their reverses; and their buds are\ncoming out in most exemplary resignation--like birds singing in a\ncage. Now that the windows may be open, the flowers take heart to live\na little in this room.\n\nAnd think of my forgetting to tell you on Saturday that I had known of\na letter being received by somebody from Miss Martineau, who is at\nAmbleside at this time and so entranced with the lakes and mountains\nas to be dreaming of taking or making a house among them, to live in\nfor the rest of her life. Mrs. Trollope, you may have heard, had\nsomething of the same nympholepsy--no, her daughter was 'settled' in\nthe neighbourhood--_that_ is the more likely reason for Mrs. Trollope!\nand the spirits of the hills conspired against her the first winter\nand almost slew her with a fog and drove her away to your Italy where\nthe Oreadocracy has gentler manners. And Miss Martineau is practising\nmesmerism and miracles on all sides she says, and counts on Archbishop\nWhately as a new adherent. I even fancy that he has been to see her in\nthe character of a convert. All this from Mr. Kenyon.\n\nThere's a strange wild book called the Autobiography of Heinrich\nStilling ... one of those true devout deep-hearted Germans who believe\neverything, and so are nearer the truth, I am sure, than the wise who\nbelieve nothing; but rather over-German sometimes, and redolent of\nsauerkraut--and _he_ gives a tradition ... somewhere between mesmerism\nand mysticism, ... of a little spirit with gold shoebuckles, who was\nhis familiar spirit and appeared only in the sunshine I think ...\nmottling it over with its feet, perhaps, as a child might snow. Take\naway the shoebuckles and I believe in the little spirit--don't _you_?\nBut these English mesmerists make the shoebuckles quite conspicuous\nand insist on them broadly; and the Archbishops Whately may be drawn\nby _them_ (who can tell?) more than by the little spirit itself. How\nis your head to-day? now really, and nothing extenuating? I will not\nask of poems, till the 'quite well' is _authentic_. May God bless you\nalways! my dear friend!\n\n E.B.B.\n\nAfter all the book must go another day. I live in chaos do you know?\nand I am too hurried at this moment ... yes it is here.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n\nHow are you--may I hope to hear soon?\n\nI don't know exactly what possessed me to set my next day so far off\nas Saturday--as it was said, however, so let it be. And I will bring\nthe rest of the 'Duchess'--four or five hundred lines,--'heu, herba\nmala crescit'--(as I once saw mournfully pencilled on a white wall at\nAsolo)--but will you tell me if you quite remember the main of the\n_first_ part--(_parts_ there are none except in the necessary process\nof chopping up to suit the limits of a magazine--and I gave them as\nmuch as I could transcribe at a sudden warning)--because, if you\nplease, I can bring the whole, of course.\n\nAfter seeing _you_, that Saturday, I was caught up by a friend and\ncarried to see Vidocq--who did the honours of his museum of knives and\nnails and hooks that have helped great murderers to their purposes--he\nscarcely admits, I observe, an implement with only one attestation to\nits efficacy; but the one or two exceptions rather justify his\nlatitude in their favour--thus one little sort of dessert knife _did_\nonly take _one_ life.... 'But then,' says Vidocq, 'it was the man's\nown mother's life, with fifty-two blows, and all for' (I think)\n'fifteen francs she had got?' So prattles good-naturedly Vidocq--one\nof his best stories of that Lacénaire--'jeune homme d'un caractère\nfort avenant--mais c'était un poète,' quoth he, turning sharp on _me_\nout of two or three other people round him.\n\nHere your letter breaks in, and sunshine too.\n\nWhy do you send me that book--not let me take it? What trouble for\nnothing!\n\nAn old French friend of mine, a dear foolish, very French heart and\nsoul, is coming presently--his poor brains are whirling with mesmerism\nin which he believes, as in all other unbelief. He and I are to dine\nalone (I have not seen him these two years)--and I shall never be able\nto keep from driving the great wedge right through his breast and\ndescending lower, from riveting his two foolish legs to the wintry\nchasm; for I that stammer and answer hap-hazard with you, get\nproportionately valiant and voluble with a mere cupful of Diderot's\nrinsings, and a man into the bargain.\n\nIf you were prevented from leaving the house yesterday, assuredly\nto-day you will never attempt such a thing--the wind, rain--all is\nagainst it: I trust you will not make the first experiment except\nunder really favourable auspices ... for by its success you will\nnaturally be induced to go on or leave off--Still you are _better_! I\nfully believe, dare to believe, _that_ will continue. As for me, since\nyou ask--find me but something _to do_, and see if I shall not be\nwell!--Though I _am_ well now almost.\n\nHow good you are to my roses--they are not of my making, to be sure.\nNever, by the way, did Miss Martineau work such a miracle as I now\nwitness in the garden--I gathered at Rome, close to the fountain of\nEgeria, a handful of _fennel_-seeds from the most indisputable plant\nof fennel I ever chanced upon--and, lo, they are come up ... hemlock,\nor something akin! In two places, moreover. Wherein does hemlock\nresemble fennel? How could I mistake? No wonder that a stone's cast\noff from that Egeria's fountain is the Temple of the God Ridiculus.\n\nWell, on Saturday then--at three: and I will certainly bring the\nverses you mention--and trust to find you still better.\n\nVivi felice--my dear friend, God bless you!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday-Thursday Evening\n [Post-mark, July 4, 1845.]\n\nYes--I know the first part of the 'Duchess' and have it here--and for\nthe rest of the poem, don't mind about being very legible, or even\nlegible in the usual sense; and remember how it is my boast to be able\nto read all such manuscript writing as never is read by people who\ndon't like caviare. Now you won't mind? really I rather like blots\nthan otherwise--being a sort of patron-saint of all manner of\nuntidyness ... if Mr. Kenyon's reproaches (of which there's a\nstereotyped edition) are justified by the fact--and he has a great\norgan of order, and knows 'disorderly persons' at a glance, I suppose.\nBut you won't be particular with _me_ in the matter of transcription?\n_that_ is what I want to make sure of. And even if you are not\nparticular, I am afraid you are not well enough to be troubled by\nwriting, and writing and the thinking that comes with it--it would be\nwiser to wait till you are quite well--now wouldn't it?--and my fear\nis that the 'almost well' means 'very little better.' And why, when\nthere is no motive for hurrying, run any risk? Don't think that I will\nhelp you to make yourself ill. That I refuse to do even so much work\nas the 'little dessert-knife' in the way of murder, ... _do_ think! So\nupon the whole, I expect nothing on Saturday from this distance--and\nif it comes unexpectedly (I mean the Duchess and not Saturday) _let_\nit be at no cost, or at the least cost possible, will you? I am\ndelighted in the meanwhile to hear of the quantity of 'mala herba';\nand hemlock does not come up from every seed you sow, though you call\nit by ever such bad names.\n\nTalking of poetry, I had a newspaper 'in help of social and political\nprogress' sent to me yesterday from America--addressed to--just my\nname ... _poetess, London_! Think of the simplicity of those wild\nAmericans in 'calculating' that 'people in general' here in England\nknow what a poetess is!--Well--the post office authorities, after\ndeep meditation, I do not doubt, on all probable varieties of the\nchimpanzee, and a glance to the Surrey Gardens on one side, and the\nZoological department of Regent's Park on the other, thought of\n'Poet's Corner,' perhaps, and wrote at the top of the parcel, 'Enquire\nat Paternoster Row'! whereupon the Paternoster Row people wrote again,\n'Go to Mr. Moxon'--and I received my newspaper.\n\nAnd talking of poetesses, I had a note yesterday (again) which quite\ntouched me ... from Mr. Hemans--Charles, the son of Felicia--written\nwith so much feeling, that it was with difficulty I could say my\nperpetual 'no' to his wish about coming to see me. His mother's memory\nis surrounded to him, he says, 'with almost a divine lustre'--and 'as\nit cannot be to those who knew the writer alone and not the woman.' Do\nyou not like to hear such things said? and is it not better than your\ntradition about Shelley's son? and is it not pleasant to know that\nthat poor noble pure-hearted woman, the Vittoria Colonna of our\ncountry, should be so loved and comprehended by some ... by one at\nleast ... of her own house? Not that, in naming Shelley, I meant for a\nmoment to make a comparison--there is not equal ground for it.\nVittoria Colonna does not walk near Dante--no. And if you promised\nnever to tell Mrs. Jameson ... nor Miss Martineau ... I would confide\nto you perhaps my secret profession of faith--which is ... which is\n... that let us say and do what we please and can ... there _is_ a\nnatural inferiority of mind in women--of the intellect ... not by any\nmeans, of the moral nature--and that the history of Art and of genius\ntestifies to this fact openly. Oh--I would not say so to Mrs. Jameson\nfor the world. I believe I was a coward to her altogether--for when\nshe denounced carpet work as 'injurious to the mind,' because it led\nthe workers into 'fatal habits of reverie,' I defended the carpet work\nas if I were striving _pro aris et focis_, (_I_, who am so innocent of\nall that knowledge!) and said not a word for the poor reveries which\nhave frayed away so much of silken time for me ... and let her go\naway repeating again and again ... 'Oh, but _you_ may do carpet work\nwith impunity--yes! _because_ you can be writing poems all the\nwhile.'!\n\nThink of people making poems and rugs at once. There's complex\nmachinery for you!\n\nI told you that I had a sensation of cold blue steel from her\neyes!--And yet I really liked and like and shall like her. She is very\nkind I believe--and it was my mistake--and I correct my impressions of\nher more and more to perfection, as _you_ tell me who know more of her\nthan I.\n\nOnly I should not dare, ... _ever_, I think ... to tell her that I\nbelieve women ... all of us in a mass ... to have minds of quicker\nmovement, but less power and depth ... and that we are under your\nfeet, because we can't stand upon our own. Not that we should either\nbe quite under your feet! so you are not to be too proud, if you\nplease--and there is certainly some amount of wrong--: but it never\nwill be righted in the manner and to the extent contemplated by\ncertain of our own prophetesses ... nor ought to be, I hold in\nintimate persuasion. One woman indeed now alive ... and only _that_\none down all the ages of the world--seems to me to justify for a\nmoment an opposite opinion--that wonderful woman George Sand; who has\nsomething monstrous in combination with her genius, there is no\ndenying at moments (for she has written one book, Leila, which I could\nnot read, though I am not easily turned back,) but whom, in her good\nand evil together, I regard with infinitely more admiration than all\nother women of genius who are or have been. Such a colossal nature in\nevery way,--with all that breadth and scope of faculty which women\nwant--magnanimous, and loving the truth and loving the people--and\nwith that 'hate of hate' too, which you extol--so eloquent, and yet\nearnest as if she were dumb--so full of a living sense of beauty, and\nof noble blind instincts towards an ideal purity--and so proving a\nright even in her wrong. By the way, what you say of the Vidocq museum\nreminds me of one of the chamber of masonic trial scenes in\n'Consuelo.' Could you like to see those knives?\n\nI began with the best intentions of writing six lines--and see what is\nwritten! And all because I kept my letter back ... from a _doubt about\nSaturday_--but it has worn away, and the appointment stands good ...\nfor me: I have nothing to say against it.\n\nBut belief in mesmerism is not the same thing as general unbelief--to\ndo it justice--now is it? It may be super-belief as well. Not that\nthere is not something ghastly and repelling to me in the thought of\nDr. Elliotson's great bony fingers seeming to 'touch the stops' of a\nwhole soul's harmonies--as in phreno-magnetism. And I should have\nliked far better than hearing and seeing _that_, to have heard _you_\npour the 'cupful of Diderot's rinsings,' out,--and indeed I can fancy\na little that you and how you could do it--and break the cup too\nafterwards!\n\nAnother sheet--and for what?\n\nWhat is written already, if you read, you do so meritoriously--and\nit's an example of bad writing, if you want one in the poems. I am\nashamed, you may see, of having written too much, (besides)--which is\n_much_ worse--but one writes and writes: _I_ do at least--for _you_\nare irreproachable. Ever yours my dear friend, as if I had not written\n... or _had_!\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark July 7, 1845.]\n\nWhile I write this,--3 o'clock you may be going out, I will hope, for\nthe day is very fine, perhaps all the better for the wind: yet I got\nup this morning sure of bad weather. I shall not try to tell you how\nanxious I am for the result and to know it. You will of course feel\nfatigued at first--but persevering, as you mean to do, do you\nnot?--persevering, the event must be happy.\n\nI thought, and still think, to write to you about George Sand, and\nthe vexed question, a very Bermoothes of the 'Mental Claims of the\nSexes Relatively Considered' (so was called the, ... I do believe, ...\nworst poem I ever read in my life), and Mrs. Hemans, and all and some\nof the points referred to in your letter--but 'by my fay, I cannot\nreason,' to-day: and, by a consequence, I feel the more--so I say how\nI want news of you ... which, when they arrive, I shall read\n'meritoriously'--do you think? My friend, what ought I to tell you on\nthat head (or the reverse rather)--of your discourse? I should like to\nmatch you at a fancy-flight; if I could, give you nearly as pleasant\nan assurance that 'there's no merit in the case,' but the hot weather\nand lack of wit get the better of my good will--besides, I remember\nonce to have admired a certain enticing simplicity in the avowal of\nthe Treasurer of a Charitable Institution at a Dinner got up in its\nbehalf--the Funds being at lowest, Debt at highest ... in fact, this\nDinner was the last chance of the Charity, and this Treasurer's speech\nthe main feature in the chance--and our friend, inspired by the\nemergency, went so far as to say, with a bland smile--'Do not let it\nbe supposed that we--_despise_ annual contributors,--we\n_rather_--solicit their assistance.' All which means, do not think\nthat I take any 'merit' for making myself supremely happy, I rather\n&c. &c.\n\nAlways rather mean to deserve it a little better--but never shall: so\nit should be, for you and me--and as it was in the beginning so it is\nstill. You are the--But you know and why should I tease myself with\nwords?\n\nLet me send this off now--and to-morrow some more, because I trust to\nhear you have made the first effort and with success.\n\n Ever yours, my dear friend,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, July 8, 1845.]\n\nWell--I have really been out; and am really alive after it--which is\nmore surprising still--alive enough I mean, to write even _so_,\nto-night. But perhaps I say so with more emphasis, to console myself\nfor failing in my great ambition of getting into the Park and of\nreaching Mr. Kenyon's door just to leave a card there vaingloriously,\n... all which I did fail in, and was forced to turn back from the\ngates of Devonshire Place. The next time it will be better\nperhaps--and this time there was no fainting nor anything very wrong\n... not even cowardice on the part of the victim (be it recorded!) for\none of my sisters was as usual in authority and ordered the turning\nback just according to her own prudence and not my selfwill. Only you\nwill not, any of you, ask me to admit that it was all\ndelightful--pleasanter work than what you wanted to spare me in taking\ncare of your roses on Saturday! don't ask _that_, and I will try it\nagain presently.\n\nI ought to be ashamed of writing this I and me-ism--but since your\nkindness made it worth while asking about I must not be over-wise and\nsilent on my side.\n\n_Tuesday._--Was it fair to tell me to write though, and be silent of\nthe 'Duchess,' and when I was sure to be so delighted--and _you knew\nit_? _I_ think not indeed. And, to make the obedience possible, I go\non fast to say that I heard from Mr. Horne a few days since and that\n_he_ said--'your envelope reminds me of'--_you_, he said ... and so,\nasked if you were in England still, and meant to write to you. To\nwhich I have answered that I believe you to be in England--thinking it\nstrange about the envelope; which, as far as I remember, was one of\nthose long ones, used, the more conveniently to enclose to him back\nagain a MS. of his own I had offered with another of his, by his\ndesire, to _Colburn's Magazine_, as the productions of a friend of\nmine, when he was in Germany and afraid of his proper fatal\nonymousness, yet in difficulty how to approach the magazines as a\nnameless writer (you will not mention this of course). And when he was\nin Germany, I remember, ... writing just as your first letter came ...\nthat I mentioned it to him, and was a little frankly proud of it! but\nsince, your name has not occurred once--not once, certainly!--and it\nis strange.... Only he _can't_ have heard of your having been here,\nand it _must_ have been a chance-remark--altogether! taking an\nimaginary emphasis from my evil conscience perhaps. Talking of evils,\nhow wrong of you to make that book for me! and how ill I thanked you\nafter all! Also, I couldn't help feeling more grateful still for the\nDuchess ... who is under ban: and for how long I wonder?\n\n My dear friend, I am ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 9, 1845.]\n\nYou are all that is good and kind: I am happy and thankful the\nbeginning (and worst of it) is over and so well. The Park and Mr.\nKenyon's all in good time--and your sister was most prudent--and you\nmean to try again: God bless you, all to be said or done--but, as I\nsay it, no vain word. No doubt it was a mere chance-thought, and _à\npropos de bottes_ of Horne--neither he or any other _can_ know or even\nfancy how it is. Indeed, though on other grounds I should be all so\nproud of being known for your friend by everybody, yet there's no\ndenying the deep delight of playing the Eastern Jew's part here in\nthis London--they go about, you know by travel-books, with the tokens\nof extreme destitution and misery, and steal by blind ways and\nby-paths to some blank dreary house, one obscure door in it--which\nbeing well shut behind them, they grope on through a dark corridor or\nso, and then, a blaze follows the lifting a curtain or the like, for\nthey are in a palace-hall with fountains and light, and marble and\ngold, of which the envious are never to dream! And I, too, love to\nhave few friends, and to live alone, and to see you from week to week.\nDo you not suppose I am grateful?\n\nAnd you do like the 'Duchess,' as much as you have got of it? that\ndelights me, too--for every reason. But I fear I shall not be able to\nbring you the rest to-morrow--Thursday, my day--because I have been\nbroken in upon more than one morning; nor, though much better in my\nhead, can I do anything at night just now. All will come right\neventually, I hope, and I shall transcribe the other things you are to\njudge.\n\nTo-morrow then--only (and that is why I would write) do, do _know_ me\nfor what I am and treat me as I deserve in that _one_ respect, and _go\nout_, without a moment's thought or care, if to-morrow should suit\nyou--leave word to that effect and I shall be as glad as if I saw you\nor more--_reasoned_ gladness, you know. Or you can write--though that\nis not necessary at all,--do think of all this!\n\n I am yours ever, dear friend,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, July 12, 1845.]\n\nYou understand that it was not a resolution passed in favour of\nformality, when I said what I did yesterday about not going out at the\ntime you were coming--surely you do; whatever you might signify to a\ndifferent effect. If it were necessary for me to go out every day, or\nmost days even, it would be otherwise; but as it is, I may certainly\nkeep the day you come, free from the fear of carriages, let the sun\nshine its best or worst, without doing despite to you or injury to\nme--and that's all I meant to insist upon indeed and indeed. You see,\nJupiter Tonans was good enough to come to-day on purpose to deliver\nme--one evil for another! for I confess with shame and contrition,\nthat I never wait to enquire whether it thunders to the left or the\nright, to be frightened most ingloriously. Isn't it a disgrace to\nanyone with a pretension to poetry? Dr. Chambers, a part of whose\noffice it is, Papa says, 'to reconcile foolish women to their\nfollies,' used to take the side of my vanity, and discourse at length\non the passive obedience of some nervous systems to electrical\ninfluences; but perhaps my faint-heartedness is besides traceable to a\nhalf-reasonable terror of a great storm in Herefordshire, where great\nstorms most do congregate, (such storms!) round the Malvern Hills,\nthose mountains of England. We lived four miles from their roots,\nthrough all my childhood and early youth, in a Turkish house my father\nbuilt himself, crowded with minarets and domes, and crowned with metal\nspires and crescents, to the provocation (as people used to observe)\nof every lightning of heaven. Once a storm of storms happened, and we\nall thought the house was struck--and a tree was so really, within two\nhundred yards of the windows while I looked out--the bark, rent from\nthe top to the bottom ... torn into long ribbons by the dreadful fiery\nhands, and dashed out into the air, over the heads of other trees, or\nleft twisted in their branches--torn into shreds in a moment, as a\nflower might be, by a child! Did you ever see a tree after it has been\nstruck by lightning? The whole trunk of that tree was bare and\npeeled--and up that new whiteness of it, ran the finger-mark of the\nlightning in a bright beautiful rose-colour (none of your roses\nbrighter or more beautiful!) the fever-sign of the certain\ndeath--though the branches themselves were for the most part\nuntouched, and spread from the peeled trunk in their full summer\nfoliage; and birds singing in them three hours afterwards! And, in\nthat same storm, two young women belonging to a festive party were\nkilled on the Malvern Hills--each sealed to death in a moment with a\nsign on the chest which a common seal would cover--only the sign on\nthem was not rose-coloured as on our tree, but black as charred wood.\nSo I get 'possessed' sometimes with the effects of these impressions,\nand so does one, at least, of my sisters, in a lower degree--and\noh!--how amusing and instructive all this is to you! When my father\ncame into the room to-day and found me hiding my eyes from the\nlightning, he was quite angry and called 'it disgraceful to anybody\nwho had ever learnt the alphabet'--to which I answered humbly that 'I\nknew it was'--but if I had been impertinent, I _might_ have added that\nwisdom does not come by the alphabet but in spite of it? Don't you\nthink so in a measure? _non obstantibus_ Bradbury and Evans? There's a\nprofane question--and ungrateful too ... after the Duchess--I except\nthe Duchess and her peers--and be sure she will be the world's Duchess\nand received as one of your most striking poems. Full of various power\nthe poem is.... I cannot say how deeply it has impressed me--but\nthough I want the conclusion, I don't _wish_ for it; and in this, am\nreasonable for once! You will not write and make yourself ill--will\nyou? or read 'Sybil' at unlawful hours even? Are you better at all?\nWhat a letter! and how very foolishly to-day\n\n I am yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 14, 1845.]\n\nVery well--I shall say no more on the subject--though it was not any\npiece of formality on your part that I deprecated; nor even your\nover-kindness exactly--I rather wanted you to be really, wisely kind,\nand do me a greater favour then the next great one in degree; but you\nmust understand this much in me, how you can lay me under deepest\nobligation. I daresay you think you have some, perhaps many, to whom\nyour well-being is of deeper interest than to me. Well, if that be\nso, do for their sakes make every effort with the remotest chance of\nproving serviceable to you; nor _set yourself against_ any little\nirksomeness these carriage-drives may bring with them just at the\nbeginning; and you may say, if you like, 'how I shall delight those\nfriends, if I can make this newest one grateful'--and, as from the\nknown quantity one reasons out the unknown, this newest friend will be\none glow of gratitude, he knows that, if you can warm your finger-tips\nand so do yourself that much real good, by setting light to a dozen\n'Duchesses': why ought I not to say this when it is so true? Besides,\npeople profess as much to their merest friends--for I have been\nlooking through a poem-book just now, and was told, under the head of\nAlbum-verses alone, that for A. the writer would die, and for B. die\ntoo but a crueller death, and for C. too, and D. and so on. I wonder\nwhether they have since wanted to borrow money of him on the strength\nof his professions. But you must remember we are in July; the 13th it\nis, and summer will go and cold weather stay ('_come_' forsooth!)--and\nnow is the time of times. Still I feared the rain would hinder you on\nFriday--but the thunder did not frighten me--for you: your father must\npardon me for holding most firmly with Dr. Chambers--his theory is\nquite borne out by my own experience, for I have seen a man it were\nfoolish to call a coward, a great fellow too, all but die away in a\nthunderstorm, though he had quite science enough to explain why there\nwas no immediate danger at all--whereupon his younger brother\nsuggested that he should just go out and treat us to a repetition of\nFranklin's experiment with the cloud and the kite--a well-timed\nproposition which sent the Explainer down with a white face into the\ncellar. What a grand sight your tree was--_is_, for I see it. My\nfather has a print of a tree so struck--torn to ribbons, as you\ndescribe--but the rose-mark is striking and new to me. We had a good\nstorm on our last voyage, but I went to bed at the end, as I\nthought--and only found there had been lightning next day by the bare\npoles under which we were riding: but the finest mountain fit of the\nkind I ever saw has an unfortunately ludicrous association. It was at\nPossagno, among the Euganean Hills, and I was at a poor house in the\ntown--an old woman was before a little picture of the Virgin, and at\nevery fresh clap she lighted, with the oddest sputtering muttering\nmouthful of prayer imaginable, an inch of guttery candle, which, the\ninstant the last echo had rolled away, she as constantly blew out\nagain for saving's sake--having, of course, to _light the smoke_ of\nit, about an instant after that: the expenditure in wax at which the\nelements might be propitiated, you see, was a matter for curious\ncalculation. I suppose I ought to have bought the whole taper for some\nfour or five centesimi (100 of which make 8d. English) and so kept the\ncountryside safe for about a century of bad weather. Leigh Hunt tells\nyou a story he had from Byron, of kindred philosophy in a Jew who was\nsurprised by a thunderstorm while he was dining on bacon--he tried to\neat between-whiles, but the flashes were as pertinacious as he, so at\nlast he pushed his plate away, just remarking with a compassionate\nshrug, 'all this fuss about a piece of pork!' By the way, what a\ncharacteristic of an Italian _late_ evening is Summer-lightning--it\nhangs in broad slow sheets, dropping from cloud to cloud, so long in\ndropping and dying off. The 'bora,' which you only get at Trieste,\nbrings wonderful lightning--you are in glorious June-weather, fancy,\nof an evening, under green shock-headed acacias, so thick and green,\nwith the cicalas stunning you above, and all about you men, women,\nrich and poor, sitting standing and coming and going--and through all\nthe laughter and screaming and singing, the loud clink of the spoons\nagainst the glasses, the way of calling for fresh 'sorbetti'--for all\nthe world is at open-coffee-house at such an hour--when suddenly there\nis a stop in the sunshine, a blackness drops down, then a great white\ncolumn of dust drives straight on like a wedge, and you see the acacia\nheads snap off, now one, then another--and all the people scream 'la\nbora, la bora!' and you are caught up in their whirl and landed in\nsome interior, the man with the guitar on one side of you, and the boy\nwith a cageful of little brown owls for sale, on the other--meanwhile,\nthe thunder claps, claps, with such a persistence, and the rain, for a\nfinale, falls in a mass, as if you had knocked out the whole bottom of\na huge tank at once--then there is a second stop--out comes the\nsun--somebody clinks at his glass, all the world bursts out laughing,\nand prepares to pour out again,--but _you_, the stranger, _do_ make\nthe best of your way out, with no preparation at all; whereupon you\ninfallibly put your foot (and half your leg) into a river, really\nthat, of rainwater--that's a _Bora_ (and that comment of yours, a\njustifiable pun!) Such things you get in Italy, but better, better,\nthe best of all things you do not (_I_ do not) get those. And I shall\nsee you on Wednesday, please remember, and bring you the rest of the\npoem--that you should like it, gratifies me more than I will try to\nsay, but then, do not you be tempted by that pleasure of pleasing\nwhich I think is your besetting sin--may it not be?--and so cut me off\nfrom the other pleasure of being profited. As I told you, I like so\nmuch to fancy that you see, and will see, what I do as _I_ see it,\nwhile it is doing, as nobody else in the world should, certainly, even\nif they thought it worth while to want--but when I try and build a\ngreat building I shall want you to come with me and judge it and\ncounsel me before the scaffolding is taken down, and while you have to\nmake your way over hods and mortar and heaps of lime, and trembling\ntubs of size, and those thin broad whitewashing brushes I always had a\ndesire to take up and bespatter with. And now goodbye--I am to see you\non Wednesday I trust--and to hear you say you are better, still\nbetter, much better? God grant that, and all else good for you, dear\nfriend, and so for R.B.\n\n ever yours.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, July 18, 1845.]\n\nI suppose nobody is ever expected to acknowledge his or her 'besetting\nsin'--it would be unnatural--and therefore you will not be surprised\nto hear me deny the one imputed to me for mine. I deny it quite and\ndirectly. And if my denial goes for nothing, which is but reasonable,\nI might call in a great cloud of witnesses, ... a thundercloud, ...\n(talking of storms!) and even seek no further than this table for a\nfirst witness; this letter, I had yesterday, which calls me ... let me\nsee how many hard names ... 'unbending,' ... 'disdainful,' ... 'cold\nhearted,' ... 'arrogant,' ... yes, 'arrogant, as women always are when\nmen grow humble' ... there's a charge against all possible and\nprobable petticoats beyond mine and through it! Not that either they\nor mine deserve the charge--we do not; to the lowest hem of us! for I\ndon't pass to the other extreme, mind, and adopt besetting sins 'over\nthe way' and in antithesis. It's an undeserved charge, and unprovoked!\nand in fact, the very flower of self-love self-tormented into ill\ntemper; and shall remain unanswered, for _me_, ... and _should_, ...\neven if I could write mortal epigrams, as your Lamia speaks them. Only\nit serves to help my assertion that people in general who know\nsomething of me, my dear friend, are not inclined to agree with you in\nparticular, about my having an 'over-pleasure in pleasing,' for a\nbesetting sin. If you had spoken of my sister Henrietta indeed, you\nwould have been right--_so_ right! but for _me_, alas, my sins are not\nhalf as amiable, nor given to lean to virtue's side with half such a\ngrace. And then I have a pretension to speak the truth like a Roman,\neven in matters of literature, where Mr. Kenyon says falseness is a\nfashion--and really and honestly I should not be afraid ... I should\nhave no reason to be afraid, ... if all the notes and letters written\nby my hand for years and years about presentation copies of poems and\nother sorts of books were brought together and 'conferred,' as they\nsay of manuscripts, before my face--I should not shrink and be\nashamed. Not that I always tell the truth as I see it--_but_ I _never\ndo_ speak falsely with intention and consciousness--never--and I do\nnot find that people of letters are sooner offended than others are,\nby the truth told in gentleness;--I do not remember to have offended\nanyone in this relation, and by these means. Well!--but _from me to\nyou_; it is all different, you know--you must know how different it\nis. I can tell you truly what I think of this thing and of that thing\nin your 'Duchess'--but I must of a necessity hesitate and fall into\nmisgiving of the adequacy of my truth, so called. To judge at all of a\nwork of yours, I must _look up to it_, and _far up_--because whatever\nfaculty _I_ have is included in your faculty, and with a great rim all\nround it besides! And thus, it is not at all from an over-pleasure in\npleasing _you_, not at all from an inclination to depreciate myself,\nthat I speak and feel as I do and must on some occasions; it is simply\nthe consequence of a true comprehension of you and of me--and apart\nfrom it, I should not be abler, I think, but less able, to assist you\nin anything. I do wish you would consider all this reasonably, and\nunderstand it as a third person would in a moment, and consent not to\nspoil the real pleasure I have and am about to have in your poetry, by\nnailing me up into a false position with your gold-headed nails of\nchivalry, which won't hold to the wall through this summer. Now you\nwill not answer this?--you will only understand it and me--and that I\nam not servile but sincere, but earnest, but meaning what I say--and\nwhen I say I am afraid, you will believe that I am afraid; and when I\nsay I have misgivings, you will believe that I have misgivings--you\nwill _trust_ me so far, and give me liberty to breathe and feel\nnaturally ... according to my own nature. Probably, or certainly\nrather, I have one advantage over you, ... one, of which women are not\nfond of boasting--that of _being older by years_--for the 'Essay on\nMind,' which was the first poem published by me (and rather more\nprinted than published after all), the work of my earliest youth, half\nchildhood, half womanhood, was published in 1826 I see. And if I told\nMr. Kenyon not to let you see that book, it was not for the date, but\nbecause Coleridge's daughter was right in calling it a mere 'girl's\nexercise'; because it is just _that_ and no more, ... no expression\nwhatever of my nature as it ever was, ... pedantic, and in some things\npert, ... and such as altogether, and to do myself justice (which I\nwould fain do of course), I was not in my whole life. Bad books are\nnever like their writers, you know--and those under-age books are\ngenerally bad. Also I have found it hard work to _get into\nexpression_, though I began rhyming from my very infancy, much as you\ndid (and this, with no sympathy near to me--I have had to do without\nsympathy in the full sense--), and even in my 'Seraphim' days, my\ntongue clove to the roof of my mouth,--from leading so conventual\nrecluse a life, perhaps--and all my better poems were written last\nyear, the very best thing to come, if there should be any life or\ncourage to come; I scarcely know. Sometimes--it is the real truth--I\nhave haste to be done with it all. It is the real truth; however to\nsay so may be an ungrateful return for your kind and generous words,\n... which I _do_ feel gratefully, let me otherwise feel as I will, ...\nor must. But then you know you are liable to such prodigious mistakes\nabout besetting sins and even besetting virtues--to such a set of\nsmall delusions, that are sure to break one by one, like other\nbubbles, as you draw in your breath, ... as I see by the law of my own\nstar, my own particular star, the star I was born under, the star\n_Wormwood_, ... on the opposite side of the heavens from the\nconstellations of 'the Lyre and the Crown.' In the meantime, it is\ndifficult to thank you, or _not_ to thank you, for all your\nkindnesses--[Greek: algos de sigan]. Only Mrs. Jameson told me of Lady\nByron's saying 'that she knows she is burnt every day in effigy by\nhalf the world, but that the effigy is so unlike herself as to be\ninoffensive to her,' and just so, or rather just in the converse of\n_so_, is it with me and your kindnesses. They are meant for quite\nanother than I, and are too far to be so near. The comfort is ... in\nseeing you throw all those ducats out of the window, (and how many\nducats go in a figure to a 'dozen Duchesses,' it is profane to\ncalculate) the comfort is that you will not be the poorer for it in\nthe end; since the people beneath, are honest enough to push them back\nunder the door. Rather a bleak comfort and occupation though!--and you\nmay find better work for your friends, who are (some of them) weary\neven unto death of the uses of this life. And now, you who are\ngenerous, _be_ generous, and take no notice of all this. I speak of\nmyself, not of you so there is nothing for you to contradict or\ndiscuss--and if there were, you would be really kind and give me my\nway in it. Also you may take courage; for I promise not to vex you by\nthanking you against _your_ will,--more than may be helped.\n\nSome of this letter was written before yesterday and in reply of\ncourse to yours--so it is to pass for two letters, being long enough\nfor just six. Yesterday you must have wondered at me for being in such\na maze altogether about the poems--and so now I rise to explain that\nit was assuredly the wine song and no other which I read of yours in\n_Hood's_. And then, what did I say of the Dante and Beatrice? Because\nwhat I referred to was the exquisite page or two or three on that\nsubject in the 'Pentameron.' I do not remember anything else of\nLandor's with the same bearing--do you? As to Montaigne, with the\nthreads of my thoughts smoothly disentangled, I can see nothing\ncoloured by him ... nothing. Do bring all the _Hood_ poems of your\nown--inclusive of the 'Tokay,' because I read it in such haste as to\nwhirl up all the dust you saw, from the wheels of my chariot. The\n'Duchess' is past speaking of here--but you will see how I am\ndelighted. And we must make speed--only taking care of your head--for\nI heard to-day that Papa and my aunt are discussing the question of\nsending me off either to Alexandria or Malta for the winter. Oh--it\nis quite a passing talk and thought, I dare say! and it would not _be_\nin any case, until September or October; though in every case, I\nsuppose, _I_ should not be much consulted ... and all cases and places\nwould seem better to me (if I were) than Madeira which the physicians\nused to threaten me with long ago. So take care of your headache and\nlet us have the 'Bells' rung out clear before the summer ends ... and\npray don't say again anything about clear consciences or unclear ones,\nin granting me the privilege of reading your manuscripts--which is all\nclear privilege to me, with pride and gladness waiting on it. May God\nbless you always my dear friend!\n\n E.B.B.\n\nYou left behind your sister's little basket--but I hope you did not\nforget to thank her for my carnations.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[no date]\n\nI shall just say, at the beginning of a note as at the end, I am yours\n_ever_, and not till summer ends and my nails fall out, and my breath\nbreaks bubbles,--ought you to write thus having restricted me as you\nonce did, and do still? You tie me like a Shrove-Tuesday fowl to a\nstake and then pick the thickest cudgel out of your lot, and at my\nhead it goes--I wonder whether you remembered having predicted exactly\nthe same horror once before. 'I was to see you--and you were to\nunderstand'--_Do_ you? do you understand--my own friend--with that\nsuperiority in years, too! For I confess to that--you need not throw\nthat in my teeth ... as soon as I read your 'Essay on Mind'--(which of\ncourse I managed to do about 12 hours after Mr. K's positive refusal\nto keep his promise, and give me the book) from preface to the 'Vision\nof Fame' at the end, and reflected on my own doings about that time,\n1826--I did indeed see, and wonder at, your advance over me in\nyears--what then? I have got nearer you considerably--(if only\nnearer)--since then--and prove it by the remarks I make at favourable\ntimes--such as this, for instance, which occurs in a poem you are to\nsee--written some time ago--which advises nobody who thinks nobly of\nthe Soul, to give, if he or she can help, such a good argument to the\nmaterialist as the owning that any great choice of that Soul, which it\nis born to make and which--(in its determining, as it must, the whole\nfuture course and impulses of that soul)--which must endure for ever,\neven though the object that induced the choice should\ndisappear--owning, I say, that such a choice may be scientifically\ndetermined and produced, at any operator's pleasure, by a definite\nnumber of ingredients, so much youth, so much beauty, so much talent\n&c. &c., with the same certainty and precision that another kind of\noperator will construct you an artificial volcano with so much steel\nfilings and flower of sulphur and what not. There is more in the soul\nthan rises to the surface and meets the eye; whatever does _that_, is\nfor this world's immediate uses; and were this world _all, all_ in us\nwould be producible and available for use, as it _is_ with the body\nnow--but with the soul, what is to be developed _afterward_ is the\nmain thing, and instinctively asserts its rights--so that when you\nhate (or love) you shall not be so able to explain 'why' ('You' is the\nordinary creature enough of my poem--_he_ might not be so able.)\n\nThere, I will write no more. You will never drop _me_ off the golden\nhooks, I dare believe--and the rest is with God--whose finger I see\nevery minute of my life. Alexandria! Well, and may I not as easily ask\nleave to come 'to-morrow at the Muezzin' as next Wednesday at three?\n\nGod bless you--do not be otherwise than kind to this letter which it\ncosts me pains, great pains to avoid writing better, as\ntruthfuller--this you get is not the first begun. Come, you shall not\nhave the heart to blame me; for, see, I will send all my sins of\ncommission with _Hood_,--blame _them_, tell me about them, and\nmeantime let me be, dear friend, yours,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, July 21, 1845.]\n\nBut I never _did_ strike you or touch you--and you are not in earnest\nin the complaint you make--and this is really all I am going to say\nto-day. What I said before was wrung from me by words on your part,\nwhile you know far too well how to speak so as to make them go\ndeepest, and which sometimes it becomes impossible, or over-hard to\nbear without deprecation:--as when, for instance, you talk of being\n'grateful' to _me_!!--Well! I will try that there shall be no more of\nit--no more provocation of generosities--and so, (this once) as you\nexpress it, I 'will not have the heart to blame' you--except for\nreading my books against my will, which was very wrong indeed. Mr.\nKenyon asked me, I remember, (he had a mania of sending my copybook\nliterature round the world to this person and that person, and I was\nroused at last into binding him by a vow to do so no more) I remember\nhe asked me ... 'Is Mr. Browning to be excepted?'; to which I answered\nthat nobody was to be excepted--and thus he was quite right in\nresisting to the death ... or to dinner-time ... just as you were\nquite wrong after dinner. Now, could a woman have been more curious?\nCould the very author of the book have done worse? But I leave my sins\nand yours gladly, to get into the _Hood_ poems which have delighted me\nso--and first to the St. Praxed's which is of course the finest and\nmost powerful ... and indeed full of the power of life ... and of\ndeath. It has impressed me very much. Then the 'Angel and Child,' with\nall its beauty and significance!--and the 'Garden Fancies' ... some of\nthe stanzas about the name of the flower, with such exquisite music in\nthem, and grace of every kind--and with that beautiful and musical use\nof the word 'meandering,' which I never remember having seen used in\nrelation to _sound_ before. It does to mate with your '_simmering_\nquiet' in Sordello, which brings the summer air into the room as sure\nas you read it. Then I like your burial of the pedant so much!--you\nhave quite the damp smell of funguses and the sense of creeping things\nthrough and through it. And the 'Laboratory' is hideous as you meant\nto make it:--only I object a little to your tendency ... which is\nalmost a habit, and is very observable in this poem I think, ... of\nmaking lines difficult for the reader to read ... see the opening\nlines of this poem. Not that music is required everywhere, nor in\n_them_ certainly, but that the uncertainty of rhythm throws the\nreader's mind off the _rail_ ... and interrupts his progress with you\nand your influence with him. Where we have not direct pleasure from\nrhythm, and where no peculiar impression is to be produced by the\nchanges in it, we should be encouraged by the poet to _forget it\naltogether_; should we not? I am quite wrong perhaps--but you see how\nI do not conceal my wrongnesses where they mix themselves up with my\nsincere impressions. And how could it be that no one within my hearing\never spoke of these poems? Because it is true that I never saw one of\nthem--never!--except the 'Tokay,' which is inferior to all; and that I\nwas quite unaware of your having printed so much with Hood--or at all,\nexcept this 'Tokay,' and this 'Duchess'! The world is very deaf and\ndumb, I think--but in the end, we need not be afraid of its not\nlearning its lesson.\n\nCould you come--for I am going out in the carriage, and will not stay\nto write of your poems even, any more to-day--could you come on\nThursday or Friday (the day left to your choice) instead of on\nWednesday? If I could help it I would not say so--it is not a caprice.\nAnd I leave it to you, whether Thursday or Friday. And Alexandria\nseems discredited just now for Malta--and 'anything but Madeira,' I go\non saying to myself. These _Hood_ poems are all to be in the next\n'Bells' of course--of necessity?\n\nMay God bless you my dear friend, my ever dear friend!--\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 22, 1845.]\n\nI will say, with your leave, Thursday (nor attempt to say anything\nelse without your leave).\n\nThe temptation of reading the 'Essay' was more than I could bear: and\na wonderful work it is every way; the other poems and their\nmusic--wonderful!\n\nAnd you go out still--so continue better!\n\nI cannot write this morning--I should say too much and have to be\nsorry and afraid--let me be safely yours ever, my own dear friend--\n\n R.B.\n\nI am but too proud of your praise--when will the blame come--at Malta?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, July 25, 1845.]\n\nAre you any better to-day? and will you say just the truth of it? and\nnot attempt to do any of the writing which does harm--nor of the\nreading even, which may do harm--and something does harm to you, you\nsee--and you told me not long ago that you knew how to avoid the harm\n... now, did you not? and what could it have been last week which you\ndid not avoid, and which made you so unwell? Beseech you not to think\nthat I am going to aid and abet in this wronging of yourself, for I\nwill not indeed--and I am only sorry to have given you my querulous\nqueries yesterday ... and to have omitted to say in relation to them,\ntoo, how they were to be accepted in any case as just passing thoughts\nof mine for _your_ passing thoughts, ... some right, it may be ...\nsome wrong, it must be ... and none, insisted on even by the thinker!\njust impressions, and by no means pretending to be judgments--now\n_will_ you understand? Also, I intended (as a proof of my fallacy) to\nstrike out one or two of my doubts before I gave the paper to you--so\n_whichever strikes you as the most foolish of them, of course must be\nwhat I meant to strike out_--(there's ingenuity for you!). The poem\ndid, for the rest, as will be suggested to you, give me the very\ngreatest pleasure, and astonish me in two ways ... by the\nversification, mechanically considered; and by the successful\nevolution of pure beauty from all that roughness and rudeness of the\nsin of the boar-pinner--successfully evolved, without softening one\nhoarse accent of his voice. But there is to be a pause now--you will\nnot write any more--no, nor come here on Wednesday, if coming into the\nroar of this London should make the pain worse, as I cannot help\nthinking it must--and you were not well yesterday morning, you\nadmitted. You _will_ take care? And if there should be a wisdom in\ngoing away...!\n\nWas it very wrong of me, doing what I told you of yesterday? Very\nimprudent, I am afraid--but I never knew how to be prudent--and then,\nthere is not a sharing of responsibility in any sort of imaginable\nmeasure; but a mere going away of so many thoughts, apart from the\nthinker, or of words, apart from the speaker, ... just as I might give\naway a pocket-handkerchief to be newly marked and mine no longer. I\ndid not do--and would not have done, ... one of those papers singly.\nIt would have been unbecoming of me in every way. It was simply a\nwriting of notes ... of slips of paper ... now on one subject, and now\non another ... which were thrown into the great cauldron and boiled up\nwith other matter, and re-translated from my idiom where there seemed\na need for it. And I am not much afraid of being ever guessed\nat--except by those Oedipuses who astounded me once for a moment and\nwere after all, I hope, baffled by the Sphinx--or ever betrayed;\nbecause besides the black Stygian oaths and indubitable honour of the\neditor, he has some interest, even as I have the greatest, in being\nsilent and secret. And nothing _is mine_ ... if something is _of me_\n... or _from_ me, rather. Yet it was wrong and foolish, I see\nplainly--wrong in all but the motives. How dreadful to write against\ntime, and with a side-ways running conscience! And then the literature\nof the day was wider than his knowledge, all round! And the\nbooksellers were barking distraction on every side!--I had some of the\nmottos to find too! But the paper relating to you I never was\nconsulted about--or in _one particular way_ it would have been\nbetter,--as easily it might have been. May God bless you, my dear\nfriend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 25, 1845.]\n\nYou would let me _now_, I dare say, call myself grateful to you--yet\nsuch is my jealousy in these matters--so do I hate the material when\nit puts down, (or tries) the immaterial in the offices of friendship;\nthat I could almost tell you I was _not_ grateful, and try if that way\nI could make you see the substantiality of those other favours you\nrefuse to recognise, and reality of the other gratitude you will not\nadmit. But truth is truth, and you are all generosity, and will draw\nnone but the fair inference, so I thank you as well as I can for this\n_also_--this last kindness. And you know its value, too--how if there\nwere another _you_ in the world, who had done all you have done and\nwhom I merely admired for that; if such an one had sent me such a\ncriticism, so exactly what I want and can use and turn to good; you\nknow how I would have told you, my _you_ I saw yesterday, all about\nit, and been sure of your sympathy and gladness:--but the two in one!\n\nFor the criticism itself, it is all true, except the over-eating--all\nthe suggestions are to be adopted, the improvements accepted. I so\nthoroughly understand your spirit in this, that, just in this\nbeginning, I should really like to have found some point in which I\ncould coöperate with your intention, and help my work by disputing the\neffect of any alteration proposed, if it ought to be disputed--_that_\nwould answer your purpose exactly as well as agreeing with you,--so\nthat the benefit to me were apparent; but this time I cannot dispute\none point. All is for best.\n\nSo much for this 'Duchess'--which I shall ever rejoice in--wherever\nwas a bud, even, in that strip of May-bloom, a live musical bee hangs\nnow. I shall let it lie (my poem), till just before I print it; and\nthen go over it, alter at the places, and do something for the places\nwhere I (really) wrote anyhow, almost, to get done. It is an odd fact,\nyet characteristic of my accomplishings one and all in this kind, that\nof _the poem_, the real conception of an evening (two years ago,\nfully)--of _that_, not a line is written,--though perhaps after all,\nwhat I am going to call the accessories in the story are real though\nindirect reflexes of the original idea, and so supersede properly\nenough the necessity of its personal appearance, so to speak. But, as\nI conceived the poem, it consisted entirely of the Gipsy's description\nof the life the Lady was to lead with her future Gipsy lover--a _real_\nlife, not an unreal one like that with the Duke. And as I meant to\nwrite it, all their wild adventures would have come out and the\ninsignificance of the former vegetation have been deducible only--as\nthe main subject has become now; of course it comes to the same thing,\nfor one would never show half by half like a cut orange.--\n\nWill you write to me? caring, though, so much for my best interests as\nnot to write if you can work for yourself, or save yourself fatigue. I\n_think_ before writing--or just after writing--such a sentence--but\nreflection only justifies my first feeling; I _would_ rather go\nwithout your letters, without seeing you at all, if that advantaged\nyou--my dear, first and last friend; my friend! And now--surely I\nmight dare say you may if you please get well through God's\ngoodness--with persevering patience, surely--and this next winter\nabroad--which you must get ready for now, every sunny day, will you\nnot? If I venture to weary you again with all this, is there not the\ncause of causes, and did not the prophet write that 'there was a tide\nin the affairs of men, which taken at the E.B.B.' led on to the\nfortune of\n\n Your R.B.\n\nOh, let me tell you in the bitterness of my heart, that it was only 4\no'clock--that clock I enquired about--and that, ... no, I shall never\nsay with any grace what I want to say ... and now dare not ... that\nyou all but owe me an extra quarter of an hour next time: as in the\nEast you give a beggar something for a few days running--then you miss\nhim; and next day he looks indignant when the regular dole falls and\nmurmurs--'And, for yesterday?'--Do I stay too long, I _want_ to\nknow,--too long for the voice and head and all but the spirit that may\nnot so soon tire,--knowing the good it does. If you would but tell me.\n\nGod bless you--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, July 28, 1845]\n\nYou say too much indeed in this letter which has crossed mine--and\nparticularly as there is not a word in it of what I most wanted to\nknow and want to know ... _how you are_--for you must observe, if you\nplease, that the very paper you pour such kindness on, was written\nafter your own example and pattern, when, in the matter of my\n'Prometheus' (such different wearying matter!), you took trouble for\nme and did me good. Judge from this, if even in inferior things, there\ncan be gratitude from you to me!--or rather, do not judge--but listen\nwhen I say that I am delighted to have met your wishes in writing as I\nwrote; only that you are surely wrong in refusing to see a single\nwrongness in all that heap of weedy thoughts, and that when you look\nagain, you must come to the admission of it. One of the thistles is\nthe suggestion about the line\n\n Was it singing, was it saying,\n\nwhich you wrote so, and which I proposed to amend by an intermediate\n'or.' Thinking of it at a distance, it grows clear to me that you were\nright, and that there should be and must be no 'or' to disturb the\nlistening pause. Now _should_ there? And there was something else,\nwhich I forget at this moment--and something more than the something\nelse. Your account of the production of the poem interests me very\nmuch--and proves just what I wanted to make out from your statements\nthe other day, and they refused, I thought, to let me, ... that you\nare more faithful to your first _Idea_ than to your first _plan_. Is\nit so? or not? 'Orange' is orange--but _which half_ of the orange is\nnot predestinated from all eternity--: is it _so_?\n\n_Sunday._--I wrote so much yesterday and then went out, not knowing\nvery well how to speak or how to be silent (is it better to-day?) of\nsome expressions of yours ... and of your interest in me--which are\ndeeply affecting to my feelings--whatever else remains to be said of\nthem. And you know that you make great mistakes, ... of fennel for\nhemlock, of four o'clocks for five o'clocks, and of other things of\nmore consequence, one for another; and may not be quite right besides\nas to my getting well '_if I please_!' ... which reminds me a little\nof what Papa says sometimes when he comes into this room unexpectedly\nand convicts me of having dry toast for dinner, and declares angrily\nthat obstinacy and dry toast have brought me to my present condition,\nand that if I _pleased_ to have porter and beefsteaks instead, I\nshould be as well as ever I was, in a month!... But where is the need\nof talking of it? What I wished to say was this--that if I get better\nor worse ... as long as I live and to the last moment of life, I shall\nremember with an emotion which cannot change its character, all the\ngenerous interest and feeling you have spent on me--_wasted_ on me I\nwas going to write--but I would not provoke any answering--and in one\nobvious sense, it need not be so. I never shall forget these things,\nmy dearest friend; nor remember them more coldly. God's goodness!--I\nbelieve in it, as in His sunshine here--which makes my head ache a\nlittle, while it comes in at the window, and makes most other people\ngayer--it does _me_ good too in a different way. And so, may God bless\nyou! and me in this ... just this, ... that I may never have the\nsense, ... intolerable in the remotest apprehension of it ... of\nbeing, in any way, directly or indirectly, the means of ruffling your\nsmooth path by so much as one of my flint-stones!--In the meantime you\ndo not tire me indeed even when you go later for sooner ... and I do\nnot tire myself even when I write longer and duller letters to you (if\nthe last is possible) than the one I am ending now ... as the most\ngrateful (leave me that word) of your friends.\n\n E.B.B.\n\nHow could you think that I should speak to Mr. Kenyon of the book? All\nI ever said to him has been that you had looked through my\n'Prometheus' for me--and that I was _not disappointed in you_, these\ntwo things on two occasions. I do trust that your head is better.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, July 28, 1845.]\n\nHow must I feel, and what can, or could I say even if you let me say\nall? I am most grateful, most happy--most happy, come what will!\n\nWill you let me try and answer your note to-morrow--before Wednesday\nwhen I am to see you? I will not hide from you that my head aches now;\nand I have let the hours go by one after one--I am better all the\nsame, and will write as I say--'Am I better' you ask!\n\n Yours I am, ever yours my dear friend R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 31, 1845.]\n\nIn all I say to you, write to you, I know very well that I trust to\nyour understanding me almost beyond the warrant of any human\ncapacity--but as I began, so I shall end. I shall believe you remember\nwhat I am forced to remember--you who do me the superabundant justice\non every possible occasion,--you will never do me injustice when I sit\nby you and talk about Italy and the rest.\n\n--To-day I cannot write--though I am very well otherwise--but I shall\nsoon get into my old self-command and write with as much 'ineffectual\nfire' as before: but meantime, _you_ will write to me, I hope--telling\nme how you are? I have but one greater delight in the world than in\nhearing from you.\n\nGod bless you, my best, dearest friend--think what I would speak--\n\n Ever yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, August 2, 1845.]\n\nLet me write one word ... not to have it off my mind ... because it is\nby no means heavily _on_ it; but lest I should forget to write it at\nall by not writing it at once. What could you mean, ... I have been\nthinking since you went away ... by applying such a grave expression\nas having a thing 'off your mind' to that foolish subject of the\nstupid book (mine), and by making it worth your while to account\nlogically for your wish about my not mentioning it to Mr. Kenyon? You\ncould not fancy for one moment that I was vexed in the matter of the\nbook? or in the other matter of your wish? Now just hear me. I\nexplained to you that I had been silent to Mr. Kenyon, first because\nthe fact was so; and next and a little, because I wanted to show how I\nanticipated your wish by a wish of my own ... though from a different\nmotive. _Your_ motive I really did take to be (never suspecting my\ndear kind cousin of treason) to be a natural reluctancy of being\nconvicted (forgive me!) of such an arch-womanly curiosity. For my own\nmotive ... motives ... they are more than one ... you must trust me;\nand refrain as far as you can from accusing me of an over-love of\nEleusinian mysteries when I ask you to say just as little about your\nvisits here and of me as you find possible ... _even to Mr. Kenyon_\n... as _to every other person whatever_. As you know ... and yet more\nthan you know ... I am in a peculiar position--and it does not follow\nthat you should be ashamed of my friendship or that I should not be\nproud of yours, if we avoid making it a subject of conversation in\nhigh places, or low places. There! _that_ is my request to you--or\ncommentary on what you put 'off your mind' yesterday--probably quite\nunnecessary as either request or commentary; yet said on the chance of\nits not being so, because you seemed to mistake my remark about Mr.\nKenyon.\n\nAnd your head, how is it? And do consider if it would not be wise and\nright on that account of your health, to go with Mr. Chorley? You can\nneither work nor enjoy while you are subject to attacks of the\nkind--and besides, and without reference to your present suffering and\ninconvenience, you _ought not_ to let them master you and gather\nstrength from time and habit; I am sure you ought not. Worse last week\nthan ever, you see!--and no prospect, perhaps, of bringing out your\n\"Bells\" this autumn, without paying a cost too heavy!--Therefore ...\nthe _therefore_ is quite plain and obvious!--\n\n_Friday._--Just as it is how anxious Flush and I are, to be delivered\nfrom you; by these sixteen heads of the discourse of one of us,\nwritten before your letter came. Ah, but I am serious--and you will\nconsider--will you not? what is best to be done? and do it. You could\nwrite to me, you know, from the end of the world; if you could take\nthe thought of me so far.\n\nAnd _for_ me, no, and yet yes,--I _will_ say this much; that I am not\ninclined to do you injustice, but justice, when you come here--the\njustice of wondering to myself how you can possibly, possibly, care to\ncome. Which is true enough to be _unanswerable_, if you please--or I\nshould not say it. '_As I began, so I shall end_--' Did you, as I hope\nyou did, thank your sister for Flush and for me? When you were gone,\nhe graciously signified his intention of eating the cakes--brought the\nbag to me and emptied it without a drawback, from my hand, cake after\ncake. And I forgot the basket once again.\n\nAnd talking of Italy and the cardinals, and thinking of some cardinal\npoints you are ignorant of, did you ever hear that I was one of\n\n 'those schismatiques\n of Amsterdam'\n\nwhom your Dr. Donne would have put into the dykes? unless he meant the\nBaptists, instead of the Independents, the holders of the Independent\nchurch principle. No--not '_schismatical_,' I hope, hating as I do\nfrom the roots of my heart all that rending of the garment of Christ,\nwhich Christians are so apt to make the daily week-day of this\nChristianity so called--and caring very little for most dogmas and\ndoxies in themselves--too little, as people say to me sometimes, (when\nthey send me 'New Testaments' to learn from, with very kind\nintentions)--and believing that there is only one church in heaven and\nearth, with one divine High Priest to it; let exclusive religionists\nbuild what walls they please and bring out what chrisms. But I used to\ngo with my father always, when I was able, to the nearest dissenting\nchapel of the Congregationalists--from liking the simplicity of that\npraying and speaking without books--and a little too from disliking\nthe theory of state churches. There is a narrowness among the\ndissenters which is wonderful; an arid, grey Puritanism in the clefts\nof their souls: but it seems to me clear that they know what the\n'liberty of Christ' _means_, far better than those do who call\nthemselves 'churchmen'; and stand altogether, as a body, on higher\nground. And so, you see, when I talked of the sixteen points of my\ndiscourse, it was the foreshadowing of a coming event, and you have\nhad it at last in the whole length and breadth of it. But it is not my\nfault if the wind began to blow so that I could not go out--as I\nintended--as I shall do to-morrow; and that you have received my\ndulness in a full libation of it, in consequence. My sisters said of\nthe roses you blasphemed, yesterday, that they 'never saw such flowers\nanywhere--anywhere here in London--' and therefore if I had thought so\nmyself before, it was not so wrong of me. I put your roses, you see,\nagainst my letter, to make it seem less dull--and yet I do not forget\nwhat you say about caring to hear from me--I mean, I do not _affect_\nto forget it.\n\nMay God bless you, far longer than I can say so.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 4, 1845.]\n\nI said what you comment on, about Mr. Kenyon, because I feel I _must_\nalways tell you the simple truth--and not being quite at liberty to\ncommunicate the whole story (though it would at once clear me from the\ncharge of over-curiosity ... if I much cared for _that_!)--I made my\nfirst request in order to prevent your getting at any part of it from\n_him_ which should make my withholding seem disingenuous for the\nmoment--that is, till my explanation came, if it had an opportunity of\ncoming. And then, when I fancied you were misunderstanding the reason\nof that request--and supposing I was ambitious of making a higher\nfigure in _his_ eyes than your own,--I then felt it 'on my mind' and\nso spoke ... a natural mode of relief surely! For, dear friend, I have\n_once_ been _untrue_ to you--when, and how, and why, you know--but I\nthought it pedantry and worse to hold by my words and increase their\nfault. You have forgiven me that one mistake, and I only refer to it\nnow because if you should ever make _that_ a precedent, and put any\nleast, most trivial word of mine under the same category, you would\nwrong me as you never wronged human being:--and that is done with. For\nthe other matter,--the talk of my visits, it is impossible that any\nhint of them can ooze out of the only three persons in the world to\nwhom I ever speak of them--my father, mother and sister--to whom my\nappreciation of your works is no novelty since some years, and whom I\nmade comprehend exactly your position and the necessity for the\nabsolute silence I enjoined respecting the permission to see you. You\nmay depend on them,--and Miss Mitford is in your keeping, mind,--and\ndear Mr. Kenyon, if there should be never so gentle a touch of\n'garrulous God-innocence' about those kind lips of his. Come, let me\nsnatch at _that_ clue out of the maze, and say how perfect, absolutely\nperfect, are those three or four pages in the 'Vision' which present\nthe Poets--a line, a few words, and the man there,--one twang of the\nbow and the arrowhead in the white--Shelley's 'white ideal all\nstatue-blind' is--perfect,--how can I coin words? And dear deaf old\nHesiod--and--all, all are perfect, perfect! But 'the Moon's regality\nwill hear no praise'--well then, will she hear blame? Can it be you,\nmy own you past putting away, _you_ are a schismatic and frequenter of\nIndependent Dissenting Chapels? And you confess this to _me_--whose\nfather and mother went this morning to the very Independent Chapel\nwhere they took me, all those years back, to be baptised--and where\nthey heard, this morning, a sermon preached by the very minister who\nofficiated on that other occasion! Now will you be particularly\nencouraged by this successful instance to bring forward any other\npoint of disunion between us that may occur to you? Please do not--for\nso sure as you begin proving that there is a gulf fixed between us, so\nsure shall I end proving that ... Anne Radcliffe avert it!... that you\nare just my sister: not that I am much frightened, but there are such\nsurprises in novels!--Blame the next,--yes, now this _is_ to be real\nblame!--And I meant to call your attention to it before. Why, why, do\nyou blot out, in that unutterably provoking manner, whole lines, not\nto say words, in your letters--(and in the criticism on the\n'Duchess')--if it is a fact that you have a second thought, does it\ncease to be as genuine a fact, that first thought you please to\nefface? Why give a thing and take a thing? Is there no significance in\nputting on record that your first impression was to a certain effect\nand your next to a certain other, perhaps completely opposite one? If\nany proceeding of yours could go near to deserve that harsh word\n'impertinent' which you have twice, in speech and writing, been\npleased to apply to your observations on me; certainly _this_ does go\nas near as can be--as there is but one step to take from Southampton\npier to New York quay, for travellers Westward. Now will you lay this\nto heart and perpend--lest in my righteous indignation I [some words\neffaced here]! For my own health--it improves, thank you! And I shall\ngo abroad all in good time, never fear. For my 'Bells,' Mr. Chorley\ntells me there is no use in the world of printing them before November\nat earliest--and by that time I shall get done with these Romances and\ncertainly one Tragedy (_that_ could go to press next week)--in proof\nof which I will bring you, if you let me, a few more hundreds of lines\nnext Wednesday. But, 'my poet,' if I would, as is true, sacrifice all\nmy works to do your fingers, even, good--what would I not offer up to\nprevent you staying ... perhaps to correct my very verses ... perhaps\nread and answer my very letters ... staying the production of more\n'Berthas' and 'Caterinas' and 'Geraldines,' more great and beautiful\npoems of which I shall be--how proud! Do not be punctual in paying\ntithes of thyme, mint, anise and cummin, and leaving unpaid the real\nweighty dues of the Law; nor affect a scrupulous acknowledgment of\n'what you owe me' in petty manners, while you leave me to settle such\na charge, as accessory to the hiding the Talent, as best I can! I have\nthought of this again and again, and would have spoken of it to you,\nhad I ever felt myself fit to speak of any subject nearer home and me\nand you than Rome and Cardinal Acton. For, observe, you have not done\n... yes, the 'Prometheus,' no doubt ... but with that exception _have_\nyou written much lately, as much as last year when 'you wrote all your\nbest things' you said, I think? Yet you are better now than then.\nDearest friend, _I_ intend to write more, and very likely be praised\nmore, now I care less than ever for it, but still more do I look to\nhave you ever before me, in your place, and with more poetry and more\npraise still, and my own heartfelt praise ever on the top, like a\nflower on the water. I have said nothing of yesterday's storm ...\n_thunder_ ... may you not have been out in it! The evening draws in,\nand I will walk out. May God bless you, and let you hold me by the\nhand till the end--Yes, dearest friend!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, August 8, 1845.]\n\nJust to show what may be lost by my crossings out, I will tell you the\nstory of the one in the 'Duchess'--and in fact it is almost worth\ntelling to a metaphysician like you, on other grounds, that you may\ndraw perhaps some psychological good from the absurdity of it. Hear,\nthen. When I had done writing the sheet of annotations and reflections\non your poem I took up my pencil to correct the passages reflected on\nwith the reflections, by the crosses you may observe, just glancing\nover the writing as I did so. Well! and, where that erasure is, I\nfound a line purporting to be extracted from your 'Duchess,' with\nsundry acute criticisms and objections quite undeniably strong,\nfollowing after it; only, to my amazement, as I looked and looked, the\nline so acutely objected to and purporting, as I say, to, be taken\nfrom the 'Duchess,' was by no means to be found in the 'Duchess,' ...\nnor anything like it, ... and I am certain indeed that, in the\n'Duchess' or out of it, you never wrote such a bad line in your life.\nAnd so it became a proved thing to me that I had been enacting, in a\nmystery, both poet and critic together--and one so neutralizing the\nother, that I took all that pains you remark upon to cross myself out\nin my double capacity, ... and am now telling the story of it\nnotwithstanding. And there's an obvious moral to the myth, isn't\nthere? for critics who bark the loudest, commonly bark at their own\nshadow in the glass, as my Flush used to do long and loud, before he\ngained experience and learnt the [Greek: gnôthi seauton] in the\napparition of the brown dog with the glittering dilating eyes, ... and\nas _I_ did, under the erasure. And another moral springs up of itself\nin this productive ground; for, you see, ... '_quand je m'efface il\nn'ya pas grand mal_.'\n\nAnd I am to be made to work very hard, am I? But you should remember\nthat if I did as much writing as last summer, I should not be able to\ndo much else, ... I mean, to go out and walk about ... for really I\nthink I _could_ manage to read your poems and write as I am writing\nnow, with ever so much head-work of my own going on at the same time.\nBut the bodily exercise is different, and I do confess that the\nnovelty of living more in the outer life for the last few months than\nI have done for years before, make me idle and inclined to be\nidle--and everybody is idle sometimes--even _you_ perhaps--are you\nnot? For me, you know, I do carpet-work--ask Mrs. Jameson--and I never\npretend to be in a perpetual motion of mental industry. Still it may\nnot be quite as bad as you think: I have done some work since\n'Prometheus'--only it is nothing worth speaking of and not a part of\nthe romance-poem which is to be some day if I live for it--lyrics for\nthe most part, which lie written illegibly in pure Egyptian--oh, there\nis time enough, and too much perhaps! and so let me be idle a little\nnow, and enjoy your poems while I can. It is pure enjoyment and must\nbe--but you do not know how much, or you would not talk as you do\nsometimes ... so wide of any possible application.\n\nAnd do _not_ talk again of what you would 'sacrifice' for _me_. If you\naffect me by it, which is true, you cast me from you farther than ever\nin the next thought. _That_ is true.\n\nThe poems ... yours ... which you left with me,--are full of various\npower and beauty and character, and you must let me have my own\ngladness from them in my own way.\n\nNow I must end this letter. Did you go to Chelsea and hear the divine\nphilosophy?\n\n_Tell me the truth always_ ... will you? I mean such truths as may be\npainful to me _though_ truths....\n\n May God bless you, ever dear friend.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, August 8, 1845.]\n\nThen there is one more thing 'off my mind': I thought it might be with\nyou as with _me_--not remembering how different are the causes that\noperate against us; different in kind as in degree:--_so_ much reading\nhurts me, for instance,--whether the reading be light or heavy,\nfiction or fact, and _so_ much writing, whether my own, such as you\nhave seen, or the merest compliment-returning to the weary tribe that\nexact it of one. But your health--that before all!... as assuring all\neventually ... and on the other accounts you must know! Never, pray,\n_pray_, never lose one sunny day or propitious hour to 'go out or walk\nabout.' But do not surprise _me_, one of these mornings, by 'walking'\nup to me when I am introduced' ... or I shall infallibly, in spite of\nall the after repentance and begging pardon--I shall [words effaced].\nSo here you learn the first 'painful truth' I have it in my power to\ntell you!\n\nI sent you the last of our poor roses this morning--considering that I\nfairly owed that kindness to them.\n\nYes, I went to Chelsea and found dear Carlyle alone--his wife is in\nthe country where he will join her as soon as his book's last sheet\nreturns corrected and fit for press--which will be at the month's end\nabout. He was all kindness and talked like his own self while he made\nme tea--and, afterward, brought chairs into the little yard, rather\nthan garden, and smoked his pipe with apparent relish; at night he\nwould walk as far as Vauxhall Bridge on my way home.\n\nIf I used the word 'sacrifice,' you do well to object--I can imagine\nnothing ever to be done by me worthy such a name.\n\nGod bless you, dearest friend--shall I hear from you before Tuesday?\n\n Ever your own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, August 8, 1845.]\n\nIt is very kind to send these flowers--too kind--why are they sent?\nand without one single word ... which is not too kind certainly. I\nlooked down into the heart of the roses and turned the carnations over\nand over to the peril of their leaves, and in vain! Not a word do I\ndeserve to-day, I suppose! And yet if I don't, I don't deserve the\nflowers either. There should have been an equal justice done to my\ndemerits, O Zeus with the scales!\n\nAfter all I do thank you for these flowers--and they are\nbeautiful--and they came just in a right current of time, just when I\nwanted them, or something like them--so I confess _that_ humbly, and\ndo thank you, at last, rather as I ought to do. Only you ought not to\ngive away all the flowers of your garden to _me_; and your sister\nthinks so, be sure--if as silently as you sent them. Now I shall not\nwrite any more, not having been written to. What with the Wednesday's\nflowers and these, you may think how I in this room, look down on the\ngardens of Damascus, let _your Jew_[1] say what he pleases of\n_them_--and the Wednesday's flowers are as fresh and beautiful, I must\nexplain, as the new ones. They were quite supererogatory ... the new\nones ... in the sense of being flowers. Now, the sense of what I am\nwriting seems questionable, does it not?--at least, more so, than the\nnonsense of it.\n\nNot a word, even under the little blue flowers!!!--\n\n E.B.B.\n\n[Footnote 1: 'R. Benjamin of Tudela' added in Robert Browning's\nhandwriting.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, August 11, 1845.]\n\nHow good you are to the smallest thing I try and do--(to show I\n_would_ please you for an instant if I could, rather than from any\nhope such poor efforts as I am restricted to, can please you or\nought.) And that you should care for the note that was not there!--But\nI was surprised by the summons to seal and deliver, since time and the\ncarrier were peremptory--and so, I dared divine, almost, I should hear\nfrom you by our mid-day post--which happened--and the answer to\n_that_, you received on Friday night, did you not? I had to go to\nHolborn, of all places,--not to pluck strawberries in the Bishop's\nGarden like Richard Crouchback, but to get a book--and there I carried\nmy note, thinking to expedite its delivery: this notelet of yours,\nquite as little in its kind as my blue flowers,--this came last\nevening--and here are my thanks, dear E.B.B.--dear friend.\n\nIn the former note there is a phrase I must not forget to call on you\nto account for--that where it confesses to having done 'some\nwork--only nothing worth speaking of.' Just see,--will you be first\nand only compact-breaker? Nor misunderstand me here, please, ... as I\nsaid, I am quite rejoiced that you go out now, 'walk about' now, and\nput off the writing that will follow thrice as abundantly, all because\nof the stopping to gather strength ... so I want no new word, not to\nsay poem, not to say the romance-poem--let the 'finches in the\nshrubberies grow restless in the dark'--_I_ am inside with the lights\nand music: but what is done, is done, _pas vrai_? And 'worth' is, dear\nmy friend, pardon me, not in your arbitration quite.\n\nLet me tell you an odd thing that happened at Chorley's the other\nnight. I must have mentioned to you that I forget my own verses so\nsurely after they are once on paper, that I ought, without\naffectation, to mend them infinitely better, able as I am to bring\nfresh eyes to bear on them--(when I say 'once on paper' that is just\nwhat I mean and no more, for after the sad revising begins they do\nleave their mark, distinctly or less so according to circumstances).\nWell, Miss Cushman, the new American actress (clever and\ntruthful-looking) was talking of a new novel by the Dane Andersen, he\nof the 'Improvisatore,' which will reach us, it should seem, in\ntranslation, _viâ_ America--she had looked over two or three proofs of\nthe work in the press, and Chorley was anxious to know something about\nits character. The title, she said, was capital--'Only a\nFiddler!'--and she enlarged on that word, 'Only,' and its\nsignificance, so put: and I quite agreed with her for several minutes,\ntill first one reminiscence flitted to me, then another and at last I\nwas obliged to stop my praises and say 'but, now I think of it, _I_\nseem to have written something with a similar title--nay, a play, I\nbelieve--yes, and in five acts--'Only an Actress'--and from that\ntime, some two years or more ago to this, I have been every way\nrelieved of it'!--And when I got home, next morning, I made a dark\npocket in my russet horror of a portfolio give up its dead, and there\nfronted me 'Only a Player-girl' (the real title) and the sayings and\ndoings of her, and the others--such others! So I made haste and just\ntore out one sample-page, being Scene the First, and sent it to our\nfriend as earnest and proof I had not been purely dreaming, as might\nseem to be the case. And what makes me recall it now is, that it was\nRussian, and about a fair on the Neva, and booths and droshkies and\nfish-pies and so forth, with the Palaces in the back ground. And in\nChorley's _Athenæum_ of yesterday you may read a paper of _very_\nsimple moony stuff about the death of Alexander, and that Sir James\nWylie I have seen at St. Petersburg (where he chose to mistake me for\nan Italian--'M. l'Italien' he said another time, looking up from his\ncards).... So I think to tell you.\n\nNow I may leave off--I shall see you start, on Tuesday--hear perhaps\nsomething definite about your travelling.\n\nDo you know, 'Consuelo' wearies me--oh, wearies--and the fourth volume\nI have all but stopped at--there lie the three following, but who\ncares about Consuelo after that horrible evening with the Venetian\nscamp, (where he bullies her, and it does answer, after all she says)\nas we say? And Albert wearies too--it seems all false, all\nwriting--not the first part, though. And what easy work these\nnovelists have of it! a Dramatic poet has to _make_ you love or admire\nhis men and women,--they must _do_ and _say_ all that you are to see\nand hear--really do it in your face, say it in your ears, and it is\nwholly for _you_, in _your_ power, to _name_, characterize and so\npraise or blame, _what_ is so said and done ... if you don't perceive\nof yourself, there is no standing by, for the Author, and telling you.\nBut with these novelists, a scrape of the pen--out blurting of a\nphrase, and the miracle is achieved--'Consuelo possessed to perfection\nthis and the other gift'--what would you more? Or, to leave dear\nGeorge Sand, pray think of Bulwer's beginning a 'character' by\ninforming you that lone, or somebody in 'Pompeii,' 'was endowed with\n_perfect_ genius'--'genius'! What though the obliging informer might\nwrite his fingers off before he gave the pitifullest proof that the\npoorest spark of that same, that genius, had ever visited _him_?\n_Ione_ has it '_perfectly_'--perfectly--and that is enough! Zeus with\nthe scales? with the false weights!\n\nAnd now--till Tuesday good-bye, and be willing to get well as (letting\nme send _porter_ instead of flowers--and beefsteaks too!) soon as may\nbe! and may God bless you, ever dear friend.\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, August 11, 1845.]\n\nBut if it 'hurts' you to read and write ever so little, why should I\nbe asked to write ... for instance ... 'before Tuesday?' And I did\nmean to say before to-day, that I wish you never would write to me\nwhen you are not _quite well_, as once or twice you have done if not\nmuch oftener; because there is not a necessity, ... and I do not\nchoose that there should ever be, or _seem_ a necessity, ... do you\nunderstand? And as a matter of personal preference, it is natural for\nme to like the silence that does not hurt you, better than the speech\nthat does. And so, remember.\n\nAnd talking of what may 'hurt' you and me, you would smile, as I have\noften done in the midst of my vexation, if you knew the persecution I\nhave been subjected to by the people who call themselves (_lucus a non\nlucendo_) 'the faculty,' and set themselves against the exercise of\nother people's faculties, as a sure way to death and destruction. The\nmodesty and simplicity with which one's physicians tell one not to\nthink or feel, just as they would tell one not to walk out in the dew,\nwould be quite amusing, if it were not too tryingly stupid sometimes.\nI had a doctor once who thought he had done everything because he had\ncarried the inkstand out of the room--'Now,' he said, 'you will have\nsuch a pulse to-morrow.' He gravely thought poetry a sort of\ndisease--a sort of fungus of the brain--and held as a serious opinion,\nthat nobody could be properly well who exercised it as an art--which\nwas true (he maintained) even of men--he had studied the physiology of\npoets, 'quotha'--but that for women, it was a mortal malady and\nincompatible with any common show of health under any circumstances.\nAnd then came the damnatory clause in his experience ... that he had\nnever known 'a system' approaching mine in 'excitability' ... except\nMiss Garrow's ... a young lady who wrote verses for Lady Blessington's\nannuals ... and who was the only other female rhymer he had had the\nmisfortune of attending. And she was to die in two years, though she\nwas dancing quadrilles then (and has lived to do the same by the\npolka), and _I_, of course, much sooner, if I did not ponder these\nthings, and amend my ways, and take to reading 'a course of history'!!\nIndeed I do not exaggerate. And just so, for a long while I was\npersecuted and pestered ... vexed thoroughly sometimes ... my own\nfamily, instructed to sing the burden out all day long--until the time\nwhen the subject was suddenly changed by my heart being broken by that\ngreat stone that fell out of Heaven. Afterwards I was let do anything\nI could best ... which was very little, until last year--and the\nworking, last year, did much for me in giving me stronger roots down\ninto life, ... much. But think of that absurd reasoning that went\nbefore!--the _niaiserie_ of it! For, granting all the premises all\nround, it is not the _utterance_ of a thought that _can_ hurt anybody;\nwhile only the utterance is dependent on the will; and so, what can\nthe taking away of an inkstand do? Those physicians are such\nmetaphysicians! It's curious to listen to them. And it's wise to leave\noff listening: though I have met with excessive kindness among them,\n... and do not refer to Dr. Chambers in any of this, of course.\n\nI am very glad you went to Chelsea--and it seemed finer afterwards, on\npurpose to make room for the divine philosophy. Which reminds me (the\ngoing to Chelsea) that my brother Henry confessed to me yesterday,\nwith shame and confusion of face, to having mistaken and taken your\numbrella for another belonging to a cousin of ours then in the house.\nHe saw you ... without conjecturing, just at the moment, who you were.\nDo _you_ conjecture sometimes that I live all alone here like Mariana\nin the moated Grange? It is not quite so--: but where there are many,\nas with us, every one is apt to follow his own devices--and my father\nis out all day and my brothers and sisters are in and out, and with\ntoo large a public of noisy friends for me to bear, ... and I see them\nonly at certain hours, ... except, of course, my sisters. And then as\nyou have 'a reputation' and are opined to talk generally in blank\nverse, it is not likely that there should be much irreverent rushing\ninto this room when you are known to be in it.\n\nThe flowers are ... so beautiful! Indeed it was wrong, though, to send\nme the last. It was not just to the lawful possessors and enjoyers of\nthem. That it was kind to _me_ I do not forget.\n\nYou are too teachable a pupil in the art of obliterating--and _omne\nignotum pro terrifico_ ... and therefore I won't frighten you by\nwalking to meet you for fear of being frightened myself.\n\nSo good-bye until Tuesday. I ought not to make you read all this, I\nknow, whether you like to read it or not: and I ought not to have\nwritten it, having no better reason than because I like to write on\nand on. _You_ have better reasons for thinking me very weak--and I,\ntoo good ones for not being able to reproach you for that natural and\nnecessary opinion.\n\n May God bless you my dearest friend.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 13, 1845.]\n\nWhat can I say, or hope to say to you when I see what you do for me?\n\n_This_--for myself, (nothing for _you_!)--_this_, that I think the\ngreat, great good I get by your kindness strikes me less than that\nkindness.\n\nAll is right, too--\n\nCome, I WILL have my fault-finding at last! So you can decypher my\n_utterest_ hieroglyphic? Now droop the eyes while I triumph: the\nplains cower, cower beneath the mountains their masters--and the\nPriests stomp over the clay ridges, (a palpable plagiarism from two\nlines of a legend that delighted my infancy, and now instruct my\nmaturer years in pretty nearly all they boast of the semi-mythologic\nera referred to--'In London town, when reigned King Lud, His lords\nwent stomping thro' the mud'--would all historic records were half as\npicturesque!)\n\nBut you know, yes, _you_ know you are too indulgent by far--and treat\nthese roughnesses as if they were advanced to many a stage! Meantime\nthe pure gain is mine, and better, the kind generous spirit is mine,\n(mine to profit by)--and best--best--best, the dearest friend is mine,\n\n So be happy\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, August 13, 1845.]\n\nYes, I admit that it was stupid to read that word so wrong. I thought\nthere was a mistake somewhere, but that it was _yours_, who had\nwritten one word, meaning to write another. 'Cower' puts it all right\nof course. But is there an English word of a significance different\nfrom 'stamp,' in 'stomp?' Does not the old word King Lud's men\nstomped withal, claim identity with our 'stamping.' The _a_ and _o_\nused to 'change about,' you know, in the old English writers--see\nChaucer for it. Still the 'stomp' with the peculiar significance, is\nbetter of course than the 'stamp' even with a rhyme ready for it, and\nI dare say you are justified in daring to put this old wine into the\nnew bottle; and we will drink to the health of the poem in it. It _is_\n'Italy in England'--isn't it? But I understand and understood\nperfectly, through it all, that it is _unfinished_, and in a rough\nstate round the edges. I could not help seeing _that_, even if I were\nstill blinder than when I read 'Lower' for 'Cower.'\n\nBut do not, I ask of you, speak of my 'kindness' ... my\nkindness!--mine! It is 'wasteful and ridiculous excess' and\nmis-application to use such words of me. And therefore, talking of\n'compacts' and the 'fas' and 'nefas' of them, I entreat you to know\nfor the future that whatever I write of your poetry, if it isn't to be\ncalled 'impertinence,' isn't to be called 'kindness,' any more, ... _a\nfortiori_, as people say when they are sure of an argument. Now, will\nyou try to understand?\n\nAnd talking still of compacts, how and where did I break any compact?\nI do not see.\n\nIt was very curious, the phenomenon about your 'Only a Player-Girl.'\nWhat an un-godlike indifference to your creatures though--your worlds,\nbreathed away from you like soap bubbles, and dropping and breaking\ninto russet portfolios unobserved! Only a god for the Epicurean, at\nbest, can you be? That Miss Cushman went to Three Mile Cross the other\nday, and visited Miss Mitford, and pleased her a good deal, I fancied\nfrom what she said, ... and with reason, from what _you_ say. And\n'Only a Fiddler,' as I forgot to tell you yesterday, is announced, you\nmay see in any newspaper, as about to issue from the English press by\nMary Howitt's editorship. So we need not go to America for it. But if\nyou complain of George Sand for want of art, how could you bear\nAndersen, who can see a thing under his eyes and place it under yours,\nand take a thought separately into his soul and express it insularly,\nbut has no sort of instinct towards wholeness and unity; and writes a\nbook by putting so many pages together, ... just so!--For the rest,\nthere can be no disagreeing with you about the comparative difficulty\nof novel-writing and drama-writing. I disagree a little, lower down in\nyour letter, because I could not deny (in my own convictions) a\ncertain proportion of genius to the author of 'Ernest Maltravers,' and\n'Alice' (did you ever read those books?), even if he had more\nimpotently tried (supposing it to be possible) for the dramatic\nlaurel. In fact his poetry, dramatic or otherwise, is 'nought'; but\nfor the prose romances, and for 'Ernest Maltravers' above all, I must\nlift up my voice and cry. And I read the _Athenæum_ about your Sir\nJames Wylie who took you for an Italian....\n\n 'Poi vi dirò Signor, che ne fu causa\n Ch' avio fatto al scriver debita pausa.'--\n\n Ever your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 15, 1845.]\n\nDo you know, dear friend, it is no good policy to stop up all the\nvents of my feeling, nor leave one for safety's sake, as you will do,\nlet me caution you never so repeatedly. I know, quite well enough,\nthat your 'kindness' is not _so_ apparent, even, in this instance of\ncorrecting my verses, as in many other points--but on such points, you\nlift a finger to me and I am dumb.... Am I not to be allowed a word\nhere neither?\n\nI remember, in the first season of German Opera here, when 'Fidelio's'\neffects were going, going up to the gallery in order to get the best\nof the last chorus--get its oneness which you do--and, while perched\nthere an inch under the ceiling, I was amused with the enormous\nenthusiasm of an elderly German (we thought,--I and a cousin of\nmine)--whose whole body broke out in billow, heaved and swayed in the\nperfection of his delight, hands, head, feet, all tossing and striving\nto utter what possessed him. Well--next week, we went again to the\nOpera, and again mounted at the proper time, but the crowd was\n_greater_, and our mild great faced white haired red cheeked German\nwas not to be seen, not at first--for as the glory was at its full, my\ncousin twisted me round and made me see an arm, only an arm, all the\nbody of its owner being amalgamated with a dense crowd on each side,\nbefore, and--not behind, because they, the crowd, occupied the last\nbenches, over which we looked--and this arm waved and exulted as if\n'for the dignity of the whole body,'--relieved it of its dangerous\naccumulation of repressed excitability. When the crowd broke up all\nthe rest of the man disengaged itself by slow endeavours, and there\nstood our friend confessed--as we were sure!\n\n--Now, you would have bade him keep his arm quiet? 'Lady Geraldine,\nyou _would_!'\n\nI have read those novels--but I must keep that word of words,\n'genius'--for something different--'talent' will do here surely.\n\nThere lies 'Consuelo'--done with!\n\nI shall tell you frankly that it strikes me as precisely what in\nconventional language with the customary silliness is styled a\n_woman's_ book, in its merits and defects,--and supremely timid in all\nthe points where one wants, and has a right to expect, some _fruit_ of\nall the pretence and George Sand_ism_. These are occasions when one\ndoes say, in the phrase of her school, 'que la Femme parle!' or what\nis better, let her act! and how does Consuelo comfort herself on such\nan emergency? Why, she bravely lets the uninspired people throw down\none by one their dearest prejudices at her feet, and then, like a\nvery actress, picks them up, like so many flowers, returning them to\nthe breast of the owners with a smile and a courtesy and trips off the\nstage with a glance at the Pit. Count Christian, Baron Frederic,\nBaroness--what is her name--all open their arms, and Consuelo will not\nconsent to entail disgrace &c. &c. No, you say--she leaves them in\norder to solve the problem of her true feeling, whether she can really\nlove Albert; but remember that this is done, (that is, so much of it\nas ever _is_ done, and as determines her to accept his hand at the\nvery last)--this is solved sometime about the next morning--or\nearlier--I forget--and in the meantime, Albert gets that 'benefit of\nthe doubt' of which chapter the last informs you. As for the\nhesitation and self examination on the matter of that Anzoleto--the\nwriter is turning over the leaves of a wrong dictionary, seeking help\nfrom Psychology, and pretending to forget there is such a thing as\nPhysiology. Then, that horrible Porpora:--if George Sand gives _him_\nto a Consuelo for an absolute master, in consideration of his services\nspecified, and is of opinion that _they_ warrant his conduct, or at\nleast, oblige submission to it,--then, I find her objections to the\nfatherly rule of Frederic perfectly impertinent--he having a few\nclaims upon the gratitude of Prussia also, in his way, I believe! If\nthe strong ones _will make_ the weak ones lead them--then, for\nHeaven's sake, let this dear old all-abused world keep on its course\nwithout these outcries and tearings of hair, and don't be for ever\ngoading the Karls and other trodden-down creatures till they get their\ncarbines in order (very rationally) to abate the nuisance--when you\nmake the man a long speech against some enormity he is about to\ncommit, and adjure and beseech and so forth, till he throws down the\naforesaid carbine, falls on his knees, and lets the Frederic go\nquietly on his way to keep on killing his thousands after the fashion\nthat moved your previous indignation. Now is that right,\nconsequential--that is, _inferential_; logically deduced, going\nstraight to the end--_manly_?\n\nThe accessories are not the Principal, the adjuncts--the essence, nor\nthe ornamental incidents the book's self, so what matters it if the\nportraits are admirable, the descriptions eloquent, (eloquent, there\nit is--that is her characteristic--what she _has_ to speak, she\n_speaks out_, speaks volubly _forth_, too well, inasmuch as you say,\nadvancing a step or two, 'And now speak as completely _here_'--and she\nsays nothing)--but all _that_, another could do, as others have\ndone--but 'la femme qui parle'--Ah, that, is _this_ all? So I am not\nGeorge Sand's--she teaches me nothing--I look to her for nothing.\n\nI am ever yours, dearest friend. How I write to you--page on page! But\nTuesday--who could wait till then! Shall I not hear from you?\n\n God bless you ever\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, August 16, 1845.]\n\nBut what likeness is there between opposites; and what has 'M.\nl'Italien' to do with the said 'elderly German'? See how little! For\nto bring your case into point, somebody should have been playing on a\nJew's harp for the whole of the orchestra; and the elderly German\nshould have quoted something about 'Harp of Judah' to the Venetian\nbehind him! And there, you would have proved your analogy!--Because\nyou see, my dear friend, it was not the expression, but the thing\nexpressed, I cried out against--the exaggeration in your mind. I am\nsorry when I write what you do not like--but I have instincts and\nimpulses too strong for me when you say things which put me into such\na miserably false position in respect to you--as for instance, when in\nthis very last letter (oh, I _must_ tell you!) you talk of my\n'correcting your verses'! My correcting your verses!!!--Now is _that_\na thing for you to say?--And do you really imagine that if I kept that\nhappily imagined phrase in my thoughts, I should be able to tell you\none word of my impressions from your poetry, ever, ever again? Do you\nnot see at once what a disqualifying and paralysing phrase it must be,\nof simple necessity? So it is _I_ who have reason to complain, ... it\nappears to _me_, ... and by no means _you_--and in your 'second\nconsideration' you become aware of it, I do not at all doubt.\n\nAs to 'Consuelo' I agree with nearly all that you say of it--though\nGeorge Sand, we are to remember, is greater than 'Consuelo,' and not\nto be depreciated according to the defects of that book, nor\nclassified as 'femme qui parle' ... she who is man and woman together,\n... judging her by the standard of even that book in the nobler\nportions of it. For the inconsequency of much in the book, I admit it\nof course--and _you_ will admit that it is the rarest of phenomena\nwhen men ... men of logic ... follow their own opinions into their\nobvious results--nobody, you know, ever thinks of doing such a thing:\nto pursue one's own inferences is to rush in where angels ... perhaps\n... do _not_ fear to tread, ... but where there will not be much other\ncompany. So the want of practical logic shall be a human fault rather\nthan a womanly one, if you please: and you must please also to\nremember that 'Consuelo' is only 'half the orange'; and that when you\ncomplain of its not being a whole one, you overlook that hand which is\nholding to you the 'Comtesse de Rudolstadt' in three volumes! Not that\nI, who have read the whole, profess a full satisfaction about Albert\nand the rest--and Consuelo is made to be happy by a mere clap-trap at\nlast: and Mme. Dudevant has her specialities,--in which, other women,\nI fancy, have neither part nor lot, ... even _here_!--Altogether, the\nbook is a sort of rambling 'Odyssey,' a female 'Odyssey,' if you like,\nbut full of beauty and nobleness, let the faults be where they may.\nAnd then, I like those long, long books, one can live away into ...\nleaving the world and above all oneself, quite at the end of the\navenue of palms--quite out of sight and out of hearing!--Oh, I have\nfelt something like _that_ so often--so often! and _you_ never felt\nit, and never will, I hope.\n\nBut if Bulwer had written nothing but the 'Ernest Maltravers' books,\nyou would think perhaps more highly of him. Do you _not_ think it\npossible now? It is his most impotent struggling into poetry, which\nsets about proving a negative of genius on him--_that_, which the\n_Athenæum praises_ as 'respectable attainment in various walks of\nliterature'--! _like_ the _Athenæum_, isn't it? and worthy praise, to\nbe administered by professed judges of art? What is to be expected of\nthe public, when the teachers of the public teach _so_?--\n\nWhen you come on Tuesday, do not forget the MS. if any is done--only\ndon't let it be done so as to tire and hurt you--mind! And good-bye\nuntil Tuesday, from\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 18, 1845.]\n\nI am going to propose to you to give up Tuesday, and to take your\nchoice of two or three other days, say Friday, or Saturday, or\nto-morrow ... Monday. Mr. Kenyon was here to-day and talked of leaving\nLondon on Friday, and of visiting me again on 'Tuesday' ... he said,\n... but that is an uncertainty, and it may be Tuesday or Wednesday or\nThursday. So I thought (wrong or right) that out of the three\nremaining days you would not mind choosing one. And if you do choose\nthe Monday, there will be no need to write--nor time indeed--; but if\nthe Friday or Saturday, I shall hear from you, perhaps. Above all\nthings remember, my dear friend, that I shall not expect you\nto-morrow, except as by a _bare possibility_. In great haste, signed\nand sealed this Sunday evening by\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday, 7 P.M.\n [Post-mark, August 19, 1845.]\n\nI this moment get your note--having been out since the early\nmorning--and I must write just to catch the post. You are pure\nkindness and considerateness, _no_ thanks to you!--(since you will\nhave it so--). I choose Friday, then,--but I shall hear from you\nbefore Thursday, I dare hope? I have all but passed your house\nto-day--with an Italian friend, from Rome, whom I must go about with a\nlittle on weariful sight seeing, so I shall earn Friday.\n\n Bless you\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, August 20, 1845.]\n\nI fancied it was just _so_--as I did not hear and did not see you on\nMonday. Not that you were expected particularly--but that you would\nhave written your own negative, it appeared to me, by some post in the\nday, if you had received my note in time. It happened well too,\naltogether, as you have a friend with you, though Mr. Kenyon does not\ncome, and will not come, I dare say; for he spoke like a doubter at\nthe moment; and as this Tuesday wears on, I am not likely to have any\nvisitors on it after all, and may as well, if the rain quite ceases,\ngo and spend my solitude on the park a little. Flush wags his tail at\nthat proposition when I speak it loud out. And I am to write to you\nbefore Friday, and so, am writing, you see ... which I should not,\nshould not have done if I had not been told; because it is not my turn\nto write, ... did you think it was?\n\nNot a word of Malta! except from Mr. Kenyon who talked homilies of it\nlast Sunday and wanted to speak them to Papa--but it would not do in\nany way--now especially--and in a little time there will be a\ndecision for or against; and I am afraid of _both_ ... which is a\nhappy state of preparation. Did I not tell you that early in the\nsummer I did some translations for Miss Thomson's 'Classical Album,'\nfrom Bion and Theocritus, and Nonnus the author of that large (not\ngreat) poem in some forty books of the 'Dionysiaca' ... and the\nparaphrases from Apuleius? Well--I had a letter from her the other\nday, full of compunction and ejaculation, and declaring the fact that\nMr. Burges had been correcting all the proofs of the poems; leaving\nout and emending generally, according to his own particular idea of\nthe pattern in the mount--is it not amusing? I have been wicked enough\nto write in reply that it is happy for her and all readers ... _sua si\nbona norint_ ... if during some half hour which otherwise might have\nbeen dedicated by Mr. Burges to patting out the lights of Sophocles\nand his peers, he was satisfied with the humbler devastation of E.B.B.\nupon Nonnus. You know it is impossible to help being amused. This\ncorrecting is a mania with that man! And then I, who wrote what I did\nfrom the 'Dionysiaca,' with no respect for 'my author,' and an\narbitrary will to 'put the case' of Bacchus and Ariadne as well as I\ncould, for the sake of the art-illustrations, ... those subjects Miss\nThomson sent me, ... and did it all with full liberty and persuasion\nof soul that nobody would think it worth while to compare English with\nGreek and refer me back to Nonnus and detect my wanderings from the\ntext!! But the critic was not to be cheated so! And I do not doubt\nthat he has set me all 'to rights' from beginning to end; and combed\nAriadne's hair close to her cheeks for me. Have _you_ known Nonnus,\n... _you_ who forget nothing? and have known everything, I think? For\nit is quite startling, I must tell you, quite startling and\nhumiliating, to observe how you combine such large tracts of\nexperience of outer and inner life, of books and men, of the world and\nthe arts of it; curious knowledge as well as general knowledge ... and\ndeep thinking as well as wide acquisition, ... and you, looking none\nthe older for it all!--yes, and being besides a man of genius and\nworking your faculty and not wasting yourself over a surface or away\nfrom an end. Dugald Stewart said that genius made naturally a\nlop-sided mind--did he not? He ought to have known _you_. And _I_ who\ndo ... a little ... (for I grow more loth than I was to assume the\nknowledge of you, my dear friend)--_I_ do not mean to use that word\n'humiliation' in the sense of having felt the thing myself in any\n_painful_ way, ... because I never for a moment did, or _could_, you\nknow,--never could ... never did ... except indeed when you have over\npraised me, which forced another personal feeling in. Otherwise it has\nalways been quite pleasant to me to be 'startled and humiliated'--and\nmore so perhaps than to be startled and exalted, if I might choose....\n\nOnly I did not mean to write all this, though you told me to write to\nyou. But the rain which keeps one in, gives one an example of pouring\non ... and you must endure as you can or will. Also ... as you have a\nfriend with you 'from Italy' ... 'from Rome,' and commended me for my\n'kindness and considerateness' in changing Tuesday to Friday ...\n(wasn't it?...) shall I still be more considerate and put off the\nvisit-day to next week? mind, you let it be as you like it best to\nbe--I mean, as is most convenient 'for the nonce' to you and your\nfriend--because all days are equal, as to that matter of convenience,\nto your other friend of this ilk,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 20, 1845.]\n\nMauvaise, mauvaise, mauvaise, you know as I know, just as much, that\nyour 'kindness and considerateness' consisted, not in putting off\nTuesday for another day, but in caring for my coming at all; for my\ncoming and being told at the door that you were engaged, and _I_ might\ncall another time! And you are NOT, NOT my 'other friend,' any more\nthan this head of mine is my _other_ head, seeing that I have got a\nviolin which has a head too! All which, beware lest you get fully told\nin the letter I will write this evening, when I have done with my\nRomans--who are, it so happens, here at this minute; that is, have\nleft the house for a few minutes with my sister--but are not 'with\nme,' as you seem to understand it,--in the house to stay. They were\nkind to me in Rome, (husband and wife), and I am bound to be of what\nuse I may during their short stay. Let me lose no time in begging and\npraying you to cry 'hands off' to that dreadful Burgess; have not I\ngot a ... but I will tell you to-night--or on Friday which is my day,\nplease--Friday. Till when, pray believe me, with respect and esteem,\n\nYour most obliged and disobliged at these blank endings--what have I\ndone? God bless you ever dearest friend.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday, 7 o'clock.\n [Post-mark, August 21, 1845.]\n\nI feel at home, this blue early morning, now that I sit down to write\n(or, _speak_, as I try and fancy) to you, after a whole day with those\n'other friends'--dear good souls, whom I should be so glad to serve,\nand to whom service must go by way of last will and testament, if a\nfew more hours of 'social joy,' 'kindly intercourse,' &c., fall to my\nportion. My friend the Countess began proceedings (when I first saw\nher, not yesterday) by asking 'if I had got as much money as I\nexpected by any works published of late?'--to which I answered, of\ncourse, 'exactly as much'--_è grazioso_! (All the same, if you were to\nask her, or the like of her, 'how much the stone-work of the Coliseum\nwould fetch, properly burned down to lime?'--she would shudder from\nhead to foot and call you 'barbaro' with good Trojan heart.) Now you\nsuppose--(watch my rhetorical figure here)--you suppose I am going to\ncongratulate myself on being so much for the better, _en pays de\nconnaissance_, with my 'other friend,' E.B.B., number 2--or 200, why\nnot?--whereas I mean to 'fulmine over Greece,' since thunder frightens\nyou, for all the laurels,--and to have reason for your taking my own\npart and lot to yourself--I do, will, must, and _will_, again, wonder\nat _you_ and admire _you_, and so on to the climax. It is a fixed,\nimmovable thing: so fixed that I can well forego talking about it. But\nif to talk you once begin, 'the King shall enjoy (or receive quietly)\nhis own again'--I wear no bright weapon out of that Panoply ... or\nPanoplite, as I think you call Nonnus, nor ever, like Leigh Hunt's\n'Johnny, ever blythe and bonny, went singing Nonny, nonny' and see\nto-morrow, what a vengeance I will take for your 'mere suspicion in\nthat kind'! But to the serious matter ... nay, I said yesterday, I\nbelieve--keep off that Burgess--he is stark staring mad--mad, do you\nknow? The last time I met him he told me he had recovered I forget how\nmany of the lost books of Thucydides--found them imbedded in Suidas (I\nthink), and had disengaged them from _his_ Greek, without loss of a\nletter, 'by an instinct he, Burgess, had'--(I spell his name wrongly\nto help the proper _hiss_ at the end). Then, once on a time, he found\nin the 'Christus Patiens,' an odd dozen of lines, clearly dropped out\nof the 'Prometheus,' and proving that Æschylus was aware of the\ninvention of gunpowder. He wanted to help Dr. Leonhard Schmitz in his\n'Museum'--and scared him, as Schmitz told me. What business has he,\nBurges, with English verse--and what on earth, or under it, has Miss\nThomson to do with _him_. If she must displease one of two, why is Mr.\nB. not to be thanked and 'sent to feed,' as the French say prettily?\nAt all events, do pray see what he has presumed to alter ... you can\nalter at sufficient warrant, profit by suggestion, I should think! But\nit is all Miss Thomson's shame and fault: because she is quite in her\npropriety, saying to such intermeddlers, gently for the sake of their\npoor weak heads, 'very good, I dare say, very desirable emendations,\nonly the work is not mine, you know, but my friend's, and you must no\nmore alter it without her leave, than alter this sketch, this\nillustration, because you think you could mend Ariadne's face or\nfigure,--Fecit Tizianus, scripsit E.B.B.' Dear friend, you will tell\nMiss Thomson to stop further proceedings, will you not? There! only,\ndo mind what I say?\n\nAnd now--till to-morrow! It seems an age since I saw you. I want to\ncatch our first post ... (this phrase I ought to get stereotyped--I\nneed it so constantly). The day is fine ... you will profit by it, I\ntrust. 'Flush, wag your tail and grow restless and scratch at the\ndoor!'\n\nGod bless you,--my one friend, without an 'other'--bless you ever--\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, August 25, 1845.]\n\nBut what have _I_ done that you should ask what have _you_ done? I\nhave not brought any accusation, have I ... no, nor _thought_ any, I\nam sure--and it was only the 'kindness and considerateness'--argument\nthat was irresistible as a thing to be retorted, when your thanks came\nso naturally and just at the corner of an application. And then, you\nknow, it is gravely true, seriously true, sadly true, that I am always\nexpecting to hear or to see how tired you are at last of me!--sooner\nor later, you know!--But I did not mean any seriousness in that\nletter. No, nor did I mean ... (to pass to another question ...) to\nprovoke you to the\n\n Mister Hayley ... so are _you_....\n\nreply complimentary. All I observed concerning yourself, was the\n_combination_--which not an idiom in chivalry could treat\ngrammatically as a thing common to _me_ and you, inasmuch as everyone\nwho has known me for half a day, may know that, if there is anything\npeculiar in me, it lies for the most part in an extraordinary\ndeficiency in this and this and this, ... there is no need to describe\nwhat. Only nuns of the strictest sect of the nunneries are rather\nwiser in some points, and have led less restricted lives than I have\nin others. And if it had not been for my 'carpet-work'--\n\nWell--and do you know that I have, for the last few years, taken quite\nto despise book-knowledge and its effect on the mind--I mean when\npeople _live by it_ as most readers by profession do, ... cloistering\ntheir souls under these roofs made with heads, when they might be\nunder the sky. Such people grow dark and narrow and low, with all\ntheir pains.\n\n_Friday._--I was writing you see before you came--and now I go on in\nhaste to speak 'off my mind' some things which are on it. First ... of\nyourself; how can it be that you are unwell again, ... and that you\nshould talk (now did you not?--did I not hear you say so?) of being\n'weary in your soul' ... _you_? What should make _you_, dearest\nfriend, weary in your soul; or out of spirits in any way?--Do ... tell\nme.... I was going to write without a pause--and almost I might,\nperhaps, ... even as one of the two hundred of your friends, ...\nalmost I might say out that 'Do tell me.' Or is it (which I am\ninclined to think most probable) that you are tired of a same life and\nwant change? It may happen to anyone sometimes, and is independent of\nyour will and choice, you know--and I know, and the whole world knows:\nand would it not therefore be wise of you, in that case, to fold your\nlife new again and go abroad at once? What can make you weary in your\nsoul, is a problem to me. You are the last from whom I should have\nexpected such a word. And you did say so, I _think_. I _think_ that it\nwas not a mistake of mine. And _you_, ... with a full liberty, and the\nworld in your hand for every purpose and pleasure of it!--Or is it\nthat, being unwell, your spirits are affected by _that_? But then you\nmight be more unwell than you like to admit--. And I am teasing you\nwith talking of it ... am I not?--and being disagreeable is only one\nthird of the way towards being useful, it is good to remember in time.\n\nAnd then the next thing to write off my mind is ... that you must not,\nyou must not, make an unjust opinion out of what I said to-day. I have\nbeen uncomfortable since, lest you should--and perhaps it would have\nbeen better if I had not said it apart from all context in that way;\nonly that you could not long be a friend of mine without knowing and\nseeing what so lies on the surface. But then, ... as far as I am\nconcerned, ... no one cares less for a 'will' than I do (and this\nthough I never had one, ... in clear opposition to your theory which\nholds generally nevertheless) for a will in the common things of life.\nEvery now and then there must of course be a crossing and\nvexation--but in one's mere pleasures and fantasies, one would rather\nbe crossed and vexed a little than vex a person one loves ... and it\nis possible to get used to the harness and run easily in it at last;\nand there is a side-world to hide one's thoughts in, and 'carpet-work'\nto be immoral on in spite of Mrs. Jameson, ... and the word\n'literature' has, with me, covered a good deal of liberty as you must\nsee ... real liberty which is never enquired into--and it has happened\nthroughout my life by an accident (as far as anything is accident)\nthat my own sense of right and happiness on any important point of\novert action, has never run contrariwise to the way of obedience\nrequired of me ... while in things not exactly _overt_, I and all of\nus are apt to act sometimes up to the limit of our means of acting,\nwith shut doors and windows, and no waiting for cognisance or\npermission. Ah--and that last is the worst of it all perhaps! to be\nforced into concealments from the heart naturally nearest to us; and\nforced away from the natural source of counsel and strength!--and\nthen, the disingenuousness--the cowardice--the 'vices of\nslaves'!--and everyone you see ... all my brothers, ... constrained\n_bodily_ into submission ... apparent submission at least ... by that\nworst and most dishonouring of necessities, the necessity of _living_,\neveryone of them all, except myself, being dependent in money-matters\non the inflexible will ... do you see? But what you do _not_ see, what\nyou _cannot_ see, is the deep tender affection behind and below all\nthose patriarchal ideas of governing grown up children 'in the way\nthey _must_ go!' and there never was (under the strata) a truer\naffection in a father's heart ... no, nor a worthier heart in itself\n... a heart loyaller and purer, and more compelling to gratitude and\nreverence, than his, as I see it! The evil is in the system--and he\nsimply takes it to be his duty to rule, and to make happy according to\nhis own views of the propriety of happiness--he takes it to be his\nduty to rule like the Kings of Christendom, by divine right. But he\nloves us through and through it--and _I_, for one, love _him_! and\nwhen, five years ago, I lost what I loved best in the world beyond\ncomparison and rivalship ... far better than himself as he knew ...\nfor everyone who knew _me_ could not choose but know what was my first\nand chiefest affection ... when I lost _that_, ... I felt that he\nstood the nearest to me on the closed grave ... or by the unclosing\nsea ... I do not know which nor could ask. And I will tell you that\nnot only he has been kind and patient and forbearing to me through the\ntedious trial of this illness (far more trying to standers by than you\nhave an idea of perhaps) but that he was generous and forbearing in\nthat hour of bitter trial, and never reproached me as he might have\ndone and as my own soul has not spared--never once said to me then or\nsince, that if it had not been for _me_, the crown of his house would\nnot have fallen. He _never did_ ... and he might have said it, and\nmore--and I could have answered nothing. Nothing, except that I had\npaid my own price--and that the price I paid was greater than his\n_loss_ ... his!! For see how it was; and how, 'not with my hand but\nheart,' I was the cause or occasion of that misery--and though not\nwith the intention of my heart but with its weakness, yet the\n_occasion_, any way!\n\nThey sent me down you know to Torquay--Dr. Chambers saying that I\ncould not live a winter in London. The worst--what people call the\nworst--was apprehended for me at that time. So I was sent down with my\nsister to my aunt there--and he, my brother whom I loved so, was sent\ntoo, to take us there and return. And when the time came for him to\nleave me, _I_, to whom he was the dearest of friends and brothers in\none ... the only one of my family who ... well, but I cannot write of\nthese things; and it is enough to tell you that he was above us all,\nbetter than us all, and kindest and noblest and dearest to _me_,\nbeyond comparison, any comparison, as I said--and when the time came\nfor him to leave me _I_, weakened by illness, could not master my\nspirits or drive back my tears--and my aunt kissed them away instead\nof reproving me as she should have done; and said that _she_ would\ntake care that I should not be grieved ... _she_! ... and so she sate\ndown and wrote a letter to Papa to tell him that he would 'break my\nheart' if he persisted in calling away my brother--As if hearts were\nbroken _so_! I have thought bitterly since that my heart did not break\nfor a good deal more than _that_! And Papa's answer was--burnt into\nme, as with fire, it is--that 'under such circumstances he did not\nrefuse to suspend his purpose, but that he considered it to be _very\nwrong in me to exact such a thing_.' So there was no separation\n_then_: and month after month passed--and sometimes I was better and\nsometimes worse--and the medical men continued to say that they would\nnot answer for my life ... they! if I were agitated--and so there was\nno more talk of a separation. And once _he_ held my hand, ... how I\nremember! and said that he 'loved me better than them all and that he\n_would not_ leave me ... till I was well,' he said! how I remember\n_that_! And ten days from that day the boat had left the shore which\nnever returned; never--and he _had_ left me! gone! For three days we\nwaited--and I hoped while I could--oh--that awful agony of three days!\nAnd the sun shone as it shines to-day, and there was no more wind than\nnow; and the sea under the windows was like this paper for\nsmoothness--and my sisters drew the curtains back that I might see for\nmyself how smooth the sea was, and how it could hurt nobody--and other\nboats came back one by one.\n\nRemember how you wrote in your 'Gismond'\n\n What says the body when they spring\n Some monstrous torture-engine's whole\n Strength on it? No more says the soul,\n\nand you never wrote anything which _lived_ with me more than _that_.\nIt is such a dreadful truth. But you knew it for truth, I hope, by\nyour genius, and not by such proof as mine--I, who could not speak or\nshed a tear, but lay for weeks and months half conscious, half\nunconscious, with a wandering mind, and too near to God under the\ncrushing of His hand, to pray at all. I expiated all my weak tears\nbefore, by not being able to shed then one tear--and yet they were\nforbearing--and no voice said 'You have done this.'\n\nDo not notice what I have written to you, my dearest friend. I have\nnever said so much to a living being--I never _could_ speak or write\nof it. I asked no question from the moment when my last hope went: and\nsince then, it has been impossible for me to speak what was in me. I\nhave borne to do it to-day and to you, but perhaps if you were to\nwrite--so do not let this be noticed between us again--_do not_! And\nbesides there is no need! I do not reproach myself with such acrid\nthoughts as I had once--I _know_ that I would have died ten times over\nfor _him_, and that therefore though it was wrong of me to be weak,\nand I have suffered for it and shall learn by it I hope; _remorse_ is\nnot precisely the word for me--not at least in its full sense. Still\nyou will comprehend from what I have told you how the spring of life\nmust have seemed to break within me _then_; and how natural it has\nbeen for me to loathe the living on--and to lose faith (even without\nthe loathing), to lose faith in myself ... which I have done on some\npoints utterly. It is not from the cause of illness--no. And you will\ncomprehend too that I have strong reasons for being grateful to the\nforbearance.... It would have been _cruel_, you think, to reproach me.\nPerhaps so! yet the kindness and patience of the desisting from\nreproach, are positive things all the same.\n\nShall I be too late for the post, I wonder? Wilson tells me that you\nwere followed up-stairs yesterday (I write on Saturday this latter\npart) by somebody whom you probably took for my father. Which is\nWilson's idea--and I hope not yours. No--it was neither father nor\nother relative of mine, but an old friend in rather an ill temper.\n\nAnd so good-bye until Tuesday. Perhaps I shall ... not ... hear from\nyou to-night. Don't let the tragedy or aught else do you harm--will\nyou? and try not to be 'weary in your soul' any more--and forgive me\nthis gloomy letter I half shrink from sending you, yet will send.\n\n May God bless you.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning,\n [Post-mark, August 27, 1845.]\n\nOn the subject of your letter--quite irrespective of the injunction in\nit--I would not have dared speak; now, at least. But I may permit\nmyself, perhaps, to say I am _most_ grateful, _most grateful_, dearest\nfriend, for this admission to participate, in my degree, in these\nfeelings. There is a better thing than being happy in your happiness;\nI feel, now that you teach me, it is so. I will write no more now;\nthough that sentence of 'what you are _expecting_,--that I shall be\ntired of you &c.,'--though I _could_ blot that out of your mind for\never by a very few words _now_,--for you _would believe_ me at this\nmoment, close on the other subject:--but I will take no such\nadvantage--I will wait.\n\nI have many things (indifferent things, after those) to say; will you\nwrite, if but a few lines, to change the associations for that\npurpose? Then I will write too.--\n\nMay God bless you,--in what is past and to come! I pray that from my\nheart, being yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning,\n [Post-mark, August 27, 1845.]\n\nBut your 'Saul' is unobjectionable as far as I can see, my dear\nfriend. He was tormented by an evil spirit--but how, we are not told\n... and the consolation is not obliged to be definite, ... is it? A\nsinger was sent for as a singer--and all that you are called upon to\nbe true to, are the general characteristics of David the chosen,\nstanding between his sheep and his dawning hereafter, between\ninnocence and holiness, and with what you speak of as the 'gracious\ngold locks' besides the chrism of the prophet, on his own head--and\nsurely you have been happy in the tone and spirit of these lyrics ...\nbroken as you have left them. Where is the wrong in all this? For the\nright and beauty, they are more obvious--and I cannot tell you how the\npoem holds me and will not let me go until it blesses me ... and so,\nwhere are the 'sixty lines' thrown away? I do beseech you ... you who\nforget nothing, ... to remember them directly, and to go on with the\nrest ... _as_ directly (be it understood) as is not injurious to your\nhealth. The whole conception of the poem, I like ... and the execution\nis exquisite up to this point--and the sight of Saul in the tent, just\nstruck out of the dark by that sunbeam, 'a thing to see,' ... not to\nsay that afterwards when he is visibly 'caught in his fangs' like the\nking serpent, ... the sight is grander still. How could you doubt\nabout this poem....\n\nAt the moment of writing which, I receive your note. Do _you_ receive\nmy assurances from the deepest of my heart that I never did otherwise\nthan _'believe' you_ ... never did nor shall do ... and that you\ncompletely misinterpreted my words if you drew another meaning from\nthem. Believe _me_ in this--will you? I could not believe _you_ any\nmore for anything you could say, now or hereafter--and so do not\navenge yourself on my unwary sentences by remembering them against me\nfor evil. I did not mean to vex you ... still less to suspect\nyou--indeed I did not! and moreover it was quite your fault that I did\nnot blot it out after it was written, whatever the meaning was. So you\nforgive me (altogether) for your own sins: you must:--\n\nFor my part, though I have been sorry since to have written you such a\ngloomy letter, the sorrow unmakes itself in hearing you speak so\nkindly. Your sympathy is precious to me, I may say. May God bless you.\nWrite and tell me among the 'indifferent things' something not\nindifferent, how you are yourself, I mean ... for I fear you are not\nwell and thought you were not looking so yesterday.\n\n Dearest friend, I remain yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 30, 1845].\n\nI do not hear; and come to you to ask the alms of just one line,\nhaving taken it into my head that something is the matter. It is not\nso much exactingness on my part, as that you spoke of meaning to write\nas soon as you received a note of mine ... which went to you five\nminutes afterwards ... which is three days ago, or will be when you\nread this. Are you not well--or what? Though I have tried and _wished_\nto remember having written in the last note something very or even a\nlittle offensive to you, I failed in it and go back to the worse fear.\nFor you could not be vexed with me for talking of what was 'your\nfault' ... 'your own fault,' viz. in having to read sentences which,\nbut for your commands, would have been blotted out. You could not very\nwell take _that_ for serious blame! from _me_ too, who have so much\nreason and provocation for blaming the archangel Gabriel.--No--you\ncould not misinterpret so,--and if you could not, and if you are not\ndispleased with me, you must be unwell, I think. I took for granted\nyesterday that you had gone out as before--but to-night it is\ndifferent--and so I come to ask you to be kind enough to write one\nword for me by some post to-morrow. Now remember ... I am not asking\nfor a letter--but for a _word_ ... or line strictly speaking.\n\n Ever yours, dear friend,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, August 30, 1845.]\n\nThis sweet Autumn Evening, Friday, comes all golden into the room and\nmakes me write to you--not think of you--yet what shall I write?\n\nIt must be for another time ... after Monday, when I am to see you,\nyou know, and hear if the headache be gone, since your note would not\nround to the perfection of kindness and comfort, and tell me so.\n\n God bless my dearest friend.\n\n R.B.\n\nI am much better--well, indeed--thank you.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, August 30, 1845.]\n\nCan you understand me _so_, dearest friend, after all? Do you see\nme--when I am away, or with you--'taking offence' at words, 'being\nvexed' at words, or deeds of yours, even if I could not immediately\ntrace them to their source of entire, pure kindness; as I have\nhitherto done in every smallest instance?\n\nI believe in _you_ absolutely, utterly--I believe that when you bade\nme, that time, be silent--that such was your bidding, and I was\nsilent--dare I say I think you did not know at that time the power I\nhave over myself, that I could sit and speak and listen as I have done\nsince? Let me say now--_this only once_--that I loved you from my\nsoul, and gave you my life, so much of it as you would take,--and all\nthat is _done_, not to be altered now: it was, in the nature of the\nproceeding, wholly independent of any return on your part. I will not\nthink on extremes you might have resorted to; as it is, the assurance\nof your friendship, the intimacy to which you admit me, _now_, make\nthe truest, deepest joy of my life--a joy I can never think fugitive\nwhile we are in life, because I KNOW, as to me, I _could_ not\nwillingly displease you,--while, as to you, your goodness and\nunderstanding will always see to the bottom of involuntary or ignorant\nfaults--always help me to correct them. I have done now. If I thought\nyou were like other women I have known, I should say so\nmuch!--but--(my first and last word--I _believe_ in you!)--what you\ncould and would give me, of your affection, you would give nobly and\nsimply and as a giver--you would not need that I tell you--(_tell_\nyou!)--what would be supreme happiness to me in the event--however\ndistant--\n\nI repeat ... I call on your justice to remember, on your intelligence\nto believe ... that this is merely a more precise stating the _first_\nsubject; to put an end to any possible misunderstanding--to prevent\nyour henceforth believing that because I _do not write_, from thinking\ntoo deeply of you, I am offended, vexed &c. &c. I will never recur to\nthis, nor shall you see the least difference in my manner next Monday:\nit is indeed, always before me ... how I know nothing of you and\nyours. But I think I ought to have spoken when I did--and to speak\nclearly ... or more clearly what I do, as it is my pride and duty to\nfall back, now, on the feeling with which I have been in the\nmeantime--Yours--God bless you--\n\n R.B.\n\nLet me write a few words to lead into Monday--and say, you have\nprobably received my note. I am much better--with a little headache,\nwhich is all, and fast going this morning. Of yours you say nothing--I\ntrust you see your ... dare I say your _duty_ in the Pisa affair, as\nall else _must_ see it--shall I hear on Monday? And my 'Saul' that you\nare so lenient to.\n\n Bless you ever--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [August 31, 1845.]\n\nI did not think you were angry--I never said so. But you might\nreasonably have been wounded a little, if you had suspected me of\nblaming you for any bearing of yours towards myself; and this was the\namount of my fear--or rather hope ... since I conjectured most that\nyou were not well. And after all you did think ... do think ... that\nin some way or for some moment I blamed you, disbelieved you,\ndistrusted you--or why this letter? How have I provoked this letter?\nCan I forgive myself for having even seemed to have provoked it? and\nwill you believe me that if for the past's sake you sent it, it was\nunnecessary, and if for the future's, irrelevant? Which I say from no\nwant of sensibility to the words of it--your words always make\nthemselves felt--but in fulness of purpose not to suffer you to hold\nto words because they have been said, nor to say them as if to be\nholden by them. Why, if a thousand more such words were said by you to\nme, how could they operate upon the future or present, supposing me to\nchoose to keep the possible modification of your feelings, as a\nprobability, in my sight and yours? Can you help my sitting with the\ndoors all open if I think it right? I do attest to you--while I trust\nyou, as you must see, in word and act, and while I am confident that\nno human being ever stood higher or purer in the eyes of another, than\nyou do in mine,--that you would still stand high and remain\nunalterably my friend, if the probability in question became a fact,\nas now at this moment. And this I must say, since you have said other\nthings: and this alone, which _I_ have said, concerns the future, I\nremind you earnestly.\n\nMy dearest friend--you have followed the most _generous_ of impulses\nin your whole bearing to me--and I have recognised and called by its\nname, in my heart, each one of them. Yet I cannot help adding that, of\nus two, yours has not been quite the hardest part ... I mean, to a\ngenerous nature like your own, to which every sort of nobleness comes\neasily. Mine has been more difficult--and I have sunk under it again\nand again: and the sinking and the effort to recover the duty of a\nlost position, may have given me an appearance of vacillation and\nlightness, unworthy at least of _you_, and perhaps of both of us.\nNotwithstanding which appearance, it was right and just (only just) of\nyou, to believe in me--in my truth--because I have never failed to you\nin it, nor been capable of _such_ failure: the thing I have said, I\nhave meant ... always: and in things I have not said, the silence has\nhad a reason somewhere different perhaps from where you looked for it.\nAnd this brings me to complaining that you, who profess to believe in\nme, do yet obviously believe that it was only merely silence, which I\nrequired of you on one occasion--and that if I had 'known your power\nover yourself,' I should not have minded ... no! In other words you\nbelieve of me that I was thinking just of my own (what shall I call it\nfor a motive base and small enough?) my own scrupulousness ... freedom\nfrom embarrassment! of myself in the least of me; in the tying of my\nshoestrings, say!--so much and no more! Now this is so wrong, as to\nmake me impatient sometimes in feeling it to be your impression: I\nasked for silence--but _also_ and chiefly for the putting away of ...\nyou know very well what I asked for. And this was sincerely done, I\nattest to you. You wrote once to me ... oh, long before May and the\nday we met: that you 'had been so happy, you should be now justified\nto yourself in taking any step most hazardous to the happiness of your\nlife'--but if you were justified, could _I_ be therefore justified in\nabetting such a step,--the step of wasting, in a sense, your best\nfeelings ... of emptying your water gourds into the sand? What I\nthought then I think now--just what any third person, knowing you,\nwould think, I think and feel. I thought too, at first, that the\nfeeling on your part was a mere generous impulse, likely to expand\nitself in a week perhaps. It affects me and has affected me, very\ndeeply, more than I dare attempt to say, that you should persist\n_so_--and if sometimes I have felt, by a sort of instinct, that after\nall you would not go on to persist, and that (being a man, you know)\nyou might mistake, a little unconsciously, the strength of your own\nfeeling; you ought not to be surprised; when I felt it was more\nadvantageous and happier for you that it should be so. _In any case_,\nI shall never regret my own share in the events of this summer, and\nyour friendship will be dear to me to the last. You know I told you\nso--not long since. And as to what you say otherwise, you are right in\nthinking that I would not hold by unworthy motives in avoiding to\nspeak what you had any claim to hear. But what could I speak that\nwould not be unjust to you? Your life! if you gave it to me and I put\nmy whole heart into it; what should I put but anxiety, and more\nsadness than you were born to? What could I give you, which it would\nnot be ungenerous to give? Therefore we must leave this subject--and I\nmust trust you to leave it without one word more; (too many have been\nsaid already--but I could not let your letter pass quite silently ...\nas if I had nothing to do but to receive all as matter of course\n_so_!) while you may well trust _me_ to remember to my life's end, as\nthe grateful remember; and to feel, as those do who have felt sorrow\n(for where these pits are dug, the water will stand), the full price\nof your regard. May God bless you, my dearest friend. I shall send\nthis letter after I have seen you, and hope you may not have expected\nto hear sooner.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\n_Monday, 6 p.m._--I send in _dis_obedience to your commands, Mrs.\nShelley's book--but when books accumulate and when besides, I want to\nlet you have the American edition of my poems ... famous for all\nmanner of blunders, you know; what is to be done but have recourse to\nthe parcel-medium? You were in jest about being at Pisa _before or as\nsoon as we were_?--oh no--that must not be indeed--we must wait a\nlittle!--even if you determine to go at all, which is a question of\ndoubtful expediency. Do take more exercise, this week, and make war\nagainst those dreadful sensations in the head--now, will you?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 3, 1845.]\n\nI rather hoped ... with no right at all ... to hear from you this\nmorning or afternoon--to know how you are--that, 'how are you,' there\nis no use disguising, is,--vary it how one may--my own life's\nquestion.--\n\nI had better write no more, now. Will you not tell me something about\nyou--the head; and that too, _too_ warm hand ... or was it my fancy?\nSurely the report of Dr. Chambers is most satisfactory,--all seems to\nrest with yourself: you know, in justice to me, you _do_ know that _I_\nknow the all but mockery, the absurdity of anyone's counsel 'to be\ncomposed,' &c. &c. But try, dearest friend!\n\n God bless you--\n\n I am yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Night.\n [Post-mark, September 3, 1845.]\n\nBefore you leave London, I will answer your letter--all my attempts\nend in nothing now--\n\n Dearest friend--I am yours ever\n\n R.B.\n\nBut meantime, you will tell me about yourself, will you not? The\nparcel came a few minutes after my note left--Well, I can thank you\nfor _that_; for the Poems,--though I cannot wear them round my\nneck--and for the too great trouble. My heart's friend! Bless you--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 4, 1845.]\n\nIndeed my headaches are not worth enquiring about--I mean, they are\nnot of the slightest consequence, and seldom survive the remedy of a\ncup of coffee. I only wish it were the same with everybody--I mean,\nwith every _head_! Also there is nothing the matter otherwise--and I\nam going to prove my right to a 'clean bill of health' by going into\nthe park in ten minutes. Twice round the inner enclosure is what I can\ncompass now--which is equal to once round the world--is it not?\n\nI had just time to be afraid that the parcel had not reached you. The\nreason why I sent you the poems was that I had a few copies to give to\nmy personal friends, and so, wished you to have one; and it was quite\nto please myself and not to please _you_ that I made you have it; and\nif you put it into the 'plum-tree' to hide the errata, I shall be\npleased still, if not rather more. Only let me remember to tell you\nthis time in relation to those books and the question asked of\nyourself by your noble Romans, that just as I was enclosing my\nsixty-pounds debt to Mr. Moxon, I did actually and miraculously\nreceive a remittance of fourteen pounds from the selfsame bookseller\nof New York who agreed last year to print my poems at his own risk and\ngive me 'ten per cent on the profit.' Not that I ever asked for such a\nthing! They were the terms offered. And I always considered the 'per\ncentage' as quite visionary ... put in for the sake of effect, to make\nthe agreement look better! But no--you see! One's poetry has a real\n'commercial value,' if you do but take it far away enough from the\n'civilization of Europe.' When you get near the backwoods and the red\nIndians, it turns out to be nearly as good for something as\n'cabbages,' after all! Do you remember what you said to me of cabbages\n_versus_ poems, in one of the first letters you ever wrote to me?--of\nselling cabbages and buying _Punches_?\n\nPeople complain of Dr. Chambers and call him rough and\nunfeeling--neither of which _I_ ever found him for a moment--and I\nlike him for his truthfulness, which is the nature of the man, though\nit is essential to medical morality never to let a patient think\nhimself mortal while it is possible to prevent it, and even Dr.\nChambers may incline to this on occasion. Still he need not have said\nall the good he said to me on Saturday--he _used_ not to say any of\nit; and he must have thought some of it: and, any way, the Pisa-case\nis strengthened all round by his opinion and injunction, so that all\nmy horror and terror at the thoughts of his visit, (and it's really\ntrue that I would rather _suffer_ to a certain extent than be _cured_\nby means of those doctors!) had some compensation. How are you? do not\nforget to say! I found among some papers to-day, a note of yours which\nI asked Mr. Kenyon to give me for an autograph, two years ago.\n\nMay God bless you, dearest friend. And I have a dispensation from\n'beef and porter' [Greek: eis tous aiônas]. 'On no account' was the\nanswer!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, September 5, 1845.]\n\nWhat you tell me of Dr. Chambers, 'all the good of you' he said, and\nall I venture to infer; this makes me most happy and thankful. Do you\nuse to attach our old [Greek: tuphlas elpidas] (and the practice of\ninstilling them) to that medical science in which Prometheus boasted\nhimself proficient? I had thought the 'faculty' dealt in fears, on the\ncontrary, and scared you into obedience: but I know most about the\ndoctors in Molière. However the joyous truth is--must be, that you are\nbetter, and if one could transport you quietly to Pisa, save you all\nworry,--what might one not expect!\n\nWhen I know your own intentions--measures, I should say, respecting\nyour journey--mine will of course be submitted to you--it will just be\n'which day next--month'?--Not week, alas.\n\nI can thank you now for this edition of your poems--I have not yet\ntaken to read it, though--for it does not, each volume of it, open\nobediently to a thought, here, and here, and here, like my green books\n... no, my Sister's they are; so these you give me are really mine.\nAnd America, with its ten per cent., shall have my better word\nhenceforth and for ever ... for when you calculate, there must have\nbeen a really extraordinary circulation; and in a few months: it is\nwhat newspapers call 'a great fact.' Have they reprinted the\n'Seraphim'? Quietly, perhaps!\n\nI shall see you on Monday, then--\n\nAnd my all-important headaches are tolerably kept under--headaches\nproper they are not--but the noise and slight turning are less\ntroublesome--will soon go altogether.\n\n Bless you ever--ever dearest friend.\n\n R.B.\n\n_Oh, oh, oh!_ As many thanks for that precious card-box and jewel of\na flower-holder as are consistent with my dismay at finding you _only_\nreturn _them_ ... and not the costly brown paper wrappages also ... to\nsay nothing of the inestimable pins with which my sister uses to\nfasten the same!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, September 8, 1845.]\n\nI am in the greatest difficulty about the steamers. Will you think a\nlittle for me and tell me what is best to do? It appears that the\ndirect Leghorn steamer will not sail on the third, and may not until\nthe middle of October, and if forced to still further delay, which is\npossible, will not at all. One of my brothers has been to Mr. Andrews\nof St. Mary Axe and heard as much as this. What shall I do? The middle\nof October, say my sisters ... and I half fear that it may prove so\n... is too late for me--to say nothing for the uncertainty which\ncompletes the difficulty.\n\nOn the 20th of September (on the other hand) sails the Malta vessel;\nand I hear that I may go in it to Gibraltar and find a French steamer\nthere to proceed by. Is there an objection to this--except the change\nof steamers ... repeated ... for I must get down to Southampton--and\nthe leaving England so soon? Is any better to be done? Do think for me\na little. And now that the doing comes so near ... and in this dead\nsilence of Papa's ... it all seems impossible, ... and I seem to see\nthe stars _constellating_ against me, and give it as my serious\nopinion to you that I shall not go. Now, mark.\n\nBut I have had the kindest of letters from dear Mr. Kenyon, urging\nit--.\n\nWell--I have no time for writing any more--and this is only a note of\nbusiness to bespeak your thoughts about the steamers. My wisdom looks\nback regretfully ... only rather too late ... on the Leghorn vessel\nof the third of September. It would have been wise if I had gone\n_then_.\n\n May God bless you, dearest friend.\n\n E.B.B.\n\nBut if your head turns still, ... _do_ you walk enough? Is there not\nfault in your not walking, by your own confession? Think of this\nfirst--and then, if you please, of the steamers.\n\nSo, till Monday!--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, September 9, 1845.]\n\nOne reason against printing the tragedies now, is your not being well\nenough for the necessary work connected with them, ... a sure reason\nand strong ... nay, chiefest of all. Plainly you are unfit for work\nnow--and even to complete the preparation of the lyrics, and take them\nthrough the press, may be too much for you, I am afraid; and if so,\nwhy you will not do it--will you?--you will wait for another year,--or\nat least be satisfied for this, with bringing out a number of the old\nsize, consisting of such poems as are fairly finished and require no\nretouching. 'Saul' for instance, you might leave--! You will not let\nme hear when I am gone, of your being ill--you will take care ... will\nyou not? Because you see ... or rather _I_ see ... you are _not_\nlooking well at all--no, you are not! and even if you do not care for\nthat, you should and must care to consider how unavailing it will be\nfor you to hold those golden keys of the future with a more resolute\nhand than your contemporaries, should you suffer yourself to be struck\ndown before the gate ... should you lose the physical power while\nkeeping the heart and will. Heart and will are great things, and\nsufficient things in your case--but after all we carry a barrow-full\nof clay about with us, and we must carry it a little carefully if we\nmean to keep to the path and not run zigzag into the border of the\ngarden. A figure which reminds me ... and I wanted no figure to remind\nme ... to ask you to thank your sister for me and from me for all her\nkindness about the flowers. Now you will not forget? you must not.\nWhen I think of the repeated trouble she has taken week after week,\nand all for a stranger, I must think again that it has been very\nkind--and I take the liberty of saying so moreover ... _as I am not\nthanking you_. Also these flowers of yesterday, which yesterday you\ndisdained so, look full of summer and are full of fragrance, and when\nthey seem to say that it is not September, I am willing to be lied to\njust _so_. For I wish it were not September. I wish it were July ...\nor November ... two months before or after: and that this journey were\nthrown behind or in front ... anywhere to be out of sight. You do not\nknow the courage it requires to hold the intention of it fast through\nwhat I feel sometimes. If it (the courage) had been prophesied to me\nonly a year ago, the prophet would have been laughed to scorn.\nWell!--but I want you to see. George's letter, and how he and Mrs.\nHedley, when she saw Papa's note of consent to me, give unhesitating\ncounsel. Burn it when you have read it. It is addressed to me ...\nwhich you will doubt from the address of it perhaps ... seeing that it\ngoes [Greek: ba ... rbarizôn]. We are famous in this house for what\nare called nick-names ... though a few of us have escaped rather by a\ncaprice than a reason: and I am never called anything else (never at\nall) except by the nom de _paix_ which you find written in the\nletter:--proving as Mr. Kenyon says, that I am just 'half a Ba-by' ...\nno more nor less;--and in fact the name has that precise definition.\nBurn the note when you have read it.\n\nAnd then I take it into my head, as you do not distinguish my sisters,\nyou say, one from the other, to send you my own account of them in\nthese enclosed 'sonnets' which were written a few weeks ago, and\nthough only pretending to be 'sketches,' pretend to be like, as far as\nthey go, and _are_ like--my brothers thought--when I 'showed them\nagainst' a profile drawn in pencil by Alfred, on the same subjects. I\nwas laughing and maintaining that mine should be as like as his--and\nhe yielded the point to me. So it is mere portrait-painting--and you\nwho are in 'high art,' must not be too scornful. Henrietta is the\nelder, and the one who brought you into this room first--and Arabel,\nwho means to go with me to Pisa, has been the most with me through my\nillness and is the least wanted in the house here, ... and perhaps ...\nperhaps--is my favourite--though my heart smites me while I write that\nunlawful word. They are both affectionate and kind to me in all\nthings, and good and lovable in their own beings--very unlike, for the\nrest; one, most caring for the Polka, ... and the other for the sermon\npreached at Paddington Chapel, ... _that_ is Arabel ... so if ever you\nhappen to know her you must try not to say before her how 'much you\nhate &c.' Henrietta always 'managed' everything in the house even\nbefore I was ill, ... because she liked it and I didn't, and I waived\nmy right to the sceptre of dinner-ordering.\n\nI have been thinking much of your 'Sordello' since you spoke of\nit--and even, I _had_ thought much of it before you spoke of it\nyesterday; feeling that it might be thrown out into the light by your\nhand, and greatly justify the additional effort. It is like a noble\npicture with its face to the wall just now--or at least, in the\nshadow. And so worthy as it is of you in all ways! individual all\nthrough: you have _made_ even the darkness of it! And such a work as\nit might become if you chose ... if you put your will to it! What I\nmeant to say yesterday was not that it wanted more additional verses\nthan the 'ten per cent' you spoke of ... though it does perhaps ... so\nmuch as that (to my mind) it wants drawing together and fortifying in\nthe connections and associations ... which hang as loosely every here\nand there, as those in a dream, and confound the reader who persists\nin thinking himself awake.\n\nHow do you mean that I am 'lenient'? Do you not believe that I tell\nyou what I think, and as I think it? I may _think wrong_, to be\nsure--but _that_ is not my fault:--and so there is no use reproaching\nme generally, unless you can convict me definitely at the same\ntime:--is there, now?\n\nAnd I have been reading and admiring these letters of Mr. Carlyle, and\nreceiving the greatest pleasure from them in every way. He is greatly\n_himself always_--which is the hardest thing for a man to be, perhaps.\nAnd what his appreciation of you is, it is easy to see--and what he\nexpects from you--notwithstanding that prodigious advice of his, to\nwrite your next work in prose! Also Mrs. Carlyle's letter--thank you\nfor letting me see it. I admire _that_ too! It is as ingenious 'a\ncase' against poor Keats, as could well be drawn--but nobody who knew\nvery deeply what poetry _is_, _could_, you know, draw any case against\nhim. A poet of the senses, he may be and is, just as she says--but\nthen it is of the senses idealized; and no dream in a 'store-room'\nwould ever be like the 'Eve of St. Agnes,' unless dreamed by some\n'animosus infans,' like Keats himself. Still it is all true ... isn't\nit?... what she observes of the want of thought as thought. He was a\n_seer_ strictly speaking. And what noble oppositions--(to go back to\nCarlyle's letters) ... he writes to the things you were speaking of\nyesterday! These letters are as good as Milton's picture for\nconvicting and putting to shame. Is not the difference between the men\nof our day and 'the giants which were on the earth,' less ... far less\n... in the faculty ... in the gift, ... or in the general intellect,\n... than in the stature of the soul itself? Our inferiority is not in\nwhat we can do, but in what we are. We should write poems like Milton\nif [we] lived them like Milton.\n\nI write all this just to show, I suppose, that I am not industrious as\nyou did me the honour of apprehending that I was going to be ...\npacking trunks perhaps ... or what else in the way of 'active\nusefulness.'\n\nSay how you are--will you? And do take care, and walk and do what is\ngood for you. I shall be able to see you twice before I go. And oh,\nthis going! Pray for me, dearest friend. May God bless you.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 11, 1845.]\n\nHere are your beautiful, and I am sure _true_ sonnets; they look\ntrue--I remember the light hair, I find. And who paints, and dares\nexhibit, E.B.B.'s self? And surely 'Alfred's' pencil has not foregone\nits best privilege, not left _the_ face unsketched? Italians call such\nan 'effect defective'--'l'andar a Roma senza vedere il Papa.' He must\nhave begun by seeing his Holiness, I know, and ... _he_ will not trust\nme with the result, that my sister may copy it for me, because we are\nstrangers, he and I, and I could give him nothing, nothing like the\nproper price for it--but _you_ would lend it to me, I think, nor need\nI do more than thank you in my usual effective and very eloquent\nway--for I have already been allowed to visit you seventeen times, do\nyou know; and this last letter of yours, fiftieth is the same! So all\nmy pride is gone, pride in that sense--and I mean to take of you for\never, and reconcile myself with my lot in this life. Could, and would,\nyou give me such a sketch? It has been on my mind to ask you ever\nsince I knew you if nothing in the way of _good_ portrait existed--and\nthis occasion bids me speak out, I dare believe: the more, that you\nhave also quieted--have you not?--another old obstinate and very\nlikely impertinent questioning of mine--as to the little name which\nwas neither Orinda, nor Sacharissa (for which thank providence) and is\nnever to appear in books, though you write them. Now I know it and\nwrite it--'Ba'--and thank you, and your brother George, and only\nburned his kind letter because you bade me who know best. So, wish by\nwish, one gets one's wishes--at least I do--for one instance, you will\ngo to Italy\n\n[Illustration: Music followed by ?]\n\nWhy, 'lean and harken after it' as Donne says--\n\nDon't expect Neapolitan Scenery at Pisa, quite in the North, remember.\nMrs. Shelley found Italy for the first time, real Italy, at Sorrento,\nshe says. Oh that book--does one wake or sleep? The 'Mary dear' with\nthe brown eyes, and Godwin's daughter and Shelley's wife, and who\nsurely was something better once upon a time--and to go through Rome\nand Florence and the rest, after what I suppose to be Lady\nLondonderry's fashion: the intrepidity of the commonplace quite\nastounds me. And then that way, when she and the like of her are put\nin a new place, with new flowers, new stones, faces, walls, all\nnew--of looking wisely up at the sun, clouds, evening star, or\nmountain top and wisely saying 'who shall describe _that_ sight!'--Not\n_you_, we very well see--but why don't you tell us that at Rome they\neat roasted chestnuts, and put the shells into their aprons, the women\ndo, and calmly empty the whole on the heads of the passengers in the\nstreet below; and that at Padua when a man drives his waggon up to a\nhouse and stops, all the mouse-coloured oxen that pull it from a beam\nagainst their foreheads sit down in a heap and rest. But once she\ntravelled the country with Shelley on arm; now she plods it, Rogers in\nhand--to such things and uses may we come at last! Her remarks on art,\nonce she lets go of Rio's skirts, are amazing--Fra Angelico, for\ninstance, only painted Martyrs, Virgins &c., she had no eyes for the\ndivine _bon-bourgeoisie_ of his pictures; the dear common folk of his\ncrowds, those who sit and listen (spectacle at nose and bent into a\ncomfortable heap to hear better) at the sermon of the Saint--and the\nchildren, and women,--divinely pure they all are, but fresh from the\nstreets and market place--but she is wrong every where, that is, not\nright, not seeing what is to see, speaking what one expects to hear--I\nquarrel with her, for ever, I think.\n\nI am much better, and mean to be well as you desire--shall correct the\nverses you have seen, and make them do for the present.\n\nSaturday, then! And one other time only, do you say?\n\nGod bless you, my own, best friend.\n\n Yours ever\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, September 11, 1845.]\n\nWill you come on Friday ... to-morrow ... instead of Saturday--will it\nbe the same thing? Because I have heard from Mr. Kenyon, who is to be\nin London on Friday evening he says, and therefore may mean to visit\nme on Saturday I imagine. So let it be Friday--if you should not, for\nany reason, prove Monday to be better still.\n\n May God bless you--\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 13, 1845.]\n\nNow, dearest, I will try and write the little I shall be able, in\nreply to your letter of last week--and first of all I have to entreat\nyou, now more than ever, to help me and understand from the few words\nthe feelings behind them--(should _speak_ rather more easily, I\nthink--but I dare not run the risk: and I know, after all, you will be\njust and kind where you can.) I have read your letter again and\nagain. I will tell you--no, not _you_, but any imaginary other person,\nwho should hear what I am going to avow; I would tell that person most\nsincerely there is not a particle of fatuity, shall I call it, in that\navowal; cannot be, seeing that from the beginning and at this moment I\nnever dreamed of winning your _love_. I can hardly write this word, so\nincongruous and impossible does it seem; such a change of our places\ndoes it imply--nor, next to that, though long after, _would_ I, if I\n_could_, supplant one of any of the affections that I know to have\ntaken root in you--_that_ great and solemn one, for instance. I feel\nthat if I could get myself _remade_, as if turned to gold, I WOULD not\neven then desire to become more than the mere setting to _that_\ndiamond you must always wear. The regard and esteem you now give me,\nin this letter, and which I press to my heart and bow my head upon, is\nall I can take and all too embarrassing, using _all_ my gratitude. And\nyet, with that contented pride in being infinitely your debtor as it\nis, bound to you for ever as it is; when I read your letter with all\nthe determination to be just to us both; I dare not so far withstand\nthe light I am master of, as to refuse seeing that whatever is\nrecorded as an objection to your disposing of that life of mine I\nwould give you, has reference to some supposed good in that life which\nyour accepting it would destroy (of which fancy I shall speak\npresently)--I say, wonder as I may at this, I cannot but find it\nthere, surely there. I could no more 'bind _you_ by words,' than you\nhave bound me, as you say--but if I misunderstand you, one assurance\nto that effect will be but too intelligible to me--but, as it _is_, I\nhave difficulty in imagining that while one of so many reasons, which\nI am not obliged to repeat to myself, but which any one easily\nconceives; while _any one_ of those reasons would impose silence on me\n_for ever_ (for, as I observed, I love you as you now are, and _would_\nnot remove one affection that is already part of you,)--_would_ you,\nbeing able to speak _so_, only say _that you_ desire not to put 'more\nsadness than I was born to,' into my life?--that you 'could give me\nonly what it were ungenerous to give'?\n\nHave I your meaning here? In so many words, is it on my account that\nyou bid me 'leave this subject'? I think if it were so, I would for\nonce call my advantages round me. I am not what your generous\nself-forgetting appreciation would sometimes make me out--but it is\nnot since yesterday, nor ten nor twenty years before, that I began to\nlook into my own life, and study its end, and requirements, what would\nturn to its good or its loss--and I _know_, if one may know anything,\nthat to make that life yours and increase it by union with yours,\nwould render me _supremely happy_, as I said, and say, and feel. My\nwhole suit to you is, in that sense, _selfish_--not that I am ignorant\nthat _your_ nature would most surely attain happiness in being\nconscious that it made another happy--but _that best, best end of\nall_, would, like the rest, come from yourself, be a reflection of\nyour own gift.\n\nDearest, I will end here--words, persuasion, arguments, if they were\nat my service I would not use them--I believe in you, altogether have\nfaith in you--in you. I will not think of insulting by trying to\nreassure you on one point which certain phrases in your letter might\nat first glance seem to imply--you do not understand me to be living\nand labouring and writing (and _not_ writing) in order to be\nsuccessful in the world's sense? I even convinced the people _here_\nwhat was my true 'honourable position in society,' &c. &c. therefore I\nshall not have to inform _you_ that I desire to be very rich, very\ngreat; but not in reading Law gratis with dear foolish old Basil\nMontagu, as he ever and anon bothers me to do;--much less--enough of\nthis nonsense.\n\n'Tell me what I have a claim to hear': I can hear it, and be as\ngrateful as I was before and am now--your friendship is my pride and\nhappiness. If you told me your love was bestowed elsewhere, and that\nit was in my power to serve you _there_, to serve you there would\nstill be my pride and happiness. I look on and on over the prospect of\nmy love, it is all _on_wards--and all possible forms of unkindness ...\nI quite laugh to think how they are _behind_ ... cannot be encountered\nin the route we are travelling! I submit to you and will obey you\nimplicitly--obey what I am able to conceive of your least desire, much\nmore of your expressed wish. But it was necessary to make this avowal,\namong other reasons, for one which the world would recognize too. My\nwhole scheme of life (with its wants, material wants at least, closely\ncut down) was long ago calculated--and it supposed _you_, the finding\nsuch an one as you, utterly impossible--because in calculating one\ngoes upon _chances_, not on providence--how could I expect you? So for\nmy own future way in the world I have always refused to care--any one\nwho can live a couple of years and more on bread and potatoes as I did\nonce on a time, and who prefers a blouse and a blue shirt (such as I\nnow write in) to all manner of dress and gentlemanly appointment, and\nwho can, if necessary, groom a horse not so badly, or at all events\nwould rather do it all day long than succeed Mr. Fitzroy Kelly in the\nSolicitor-Generalship,--such an one need not very much concern himself\nbeyond considering the lilies how they grow. But now I see you near\nthis life, all changes--and at a word, I will do all that ought to be\ndone, that every one used to say could be done, and let 'all my powers\nfind sweet employ' as Dr. Watts sings, in getting whatever is to be\ngot--not very much, surely. I would print these things, get them away,\nand do this now, and go to you at Pisa with the news--at Pisa where\none may live for some £100 a year--while, lo, I seem to remember, I\n_do_ remember, that Charles Kean offered to give me 500 of those\npounds for any play that might suit him--to say nothing of Mr. Colburn\nsaying confidentially that he wanted more than his dinner 'a novel on\nthe subject of _Napoleon_'! So may one make money, if one does not\nlive in a house in a row, and feel impelled to take the Princess's\nTheatre for a laudable development and exhibition of one's faculty.\n\nTake the sense of all this, I beseech you, dearest--all you shall say\nwill be best--I am yours--\n\nYes, Yours ever. God bless you for all you have been, and are, and\nwill certainly be to me, come what He shall please!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 16, 1845.]\n\nI scarcely know how to write what is to be written nor indeed why it\nis to be written and to what end. I have tried in vain--and you are\nwaiting to hear from me. I am unhappy enough even where I am\nhappy--but ungrateful nowhere--and I thank you from my\nheart--profoundly from the depths of my heart ... which is nearly all\nI can do.\n\nOne letter I began to write and asked in it how it could become me to\nspeak at all if '_from the beginning and at this moment you never\ndreamed of_' ... and there, I stopped and tore the paper; because I\nfelt that you were too loyal and generous, for me to bear to take a\nmoment's advantage of the same, and bend down the very flowering\nbranch of your generosity (as it might be) to thicken a little the\nfence of a woman's caution and reserve. You will not say that you have\nnot acted as if you 'dreamed'--and I will answer therefore to the\ngeneral sense of your letter and former letters, and admit at once\nthat I _did_ state to you the difficulties most difficult to myself\n... though not all ... and that if I had been worthier of you I should\nhave been proportionably less in haste to 'bid you leave that\nsubject.' I do not understand how you can seem at the same moment to\nhave faith in my integrity and to have doubt whether all this time I\nmay not have felt a preference for another ... which you are ready\n'to serve,' you say. Which is generous in you--but in _me_, where were\nthe integrity? Could you really hold me to be blameless, and do you\nthink that truehearted women act usually so? Can it be necessary for\nme to tell you that I could not have acted so, and did not? And shall\nI shrink from telling you besides ... you, who have been generous to\nme and have a right to hear it ... and have spoken to me in the name\nof an affection and memory most precious and holy to me, in this same\nletter ... that neither now nor formerly has any man been to my\nfeelings what you are ... and that if I were different in some\nrespects and free in others by the providence of God, I would accept\nthe great trust of your happiness, gladly, proudly, and gratefully;\nand give away my own life and soul to that end. I _would_ do it ...\n_not, I do_ ... observe! it is a truth without a consequence; only\nmeaning that I am not all stone--only proving that I am not likely to\nconsent to help you in wrong against yourself. You see in me what is\nnot:--_that_, I know: and you overlook in me what is unsuitable to you\n... _that_ I know, and have sometimes told you. Still, because a\nstrong feeling from some sources is self-vindicating and ennobling to\nthe object of it, I will not say that, if it were proved to me that\nyou felt this for me, I would persist in putting the sense of my own\nunworthiness between you and me--not being heroic, you know, nor\npretending to be so. But something worse than even a sense of\nunworthiness, _God_ has put between us! and judge yourself if to beat\nyour thoughts against the immovable marble of it, can be anything but\npain and vexation of spirit, waste and wear of spirit to you ...\njudge! The present is here to be seen ... speaking for itself! and the\nbest future you can imagine for me, what a precarious thing it must be\n... a thing for making burdens out of ... only not for your carrying,\nas I have vowed to my own soul. As dear Mr. Kenyon said to me to-day\nin his smiling kindness ... 'In ten years you may be strong\nperhaps'--or 'almost strong'! that being the encouragement of my best\nfriends! What would he say, do you think, if he could know or\nguess...! what _could_ he say but that you were ... a poet!--and I ...\nstill worse! _Never_ let him know or guess!\n\nAnd so if you are wise and would be happy (and you have excellent\npractical sense after all and should exercise it) you must leave\nme--these thoughts of me, I mean ... for if we might not be true\nfriends for ever, I should have less courage to say the other truth.\nBut we may be friends always ... and cannot be so separated, that your\nhappiness, in the knowledge of it, will not increase mine. And if you\nwill be persuaded by me, as you say, you will be persuaded _thus_ ...\nand consent to take a resolution and force your mind at once into\nanother channel. Perhaps I might bring you reasons of the class which\nyou tell me 'would silence you for ever.' I might certainly tell you\nthat my own father, if he knew that you had written to me _so_, and\nthat I had answered you--_so_, even, would not forgive me at the end\nof ten years--and this, from none of the causes mentioned by me here\nand in no disrespect to your name and your position ... though he does\nnot over-value poetry even in his daughter, and is apt to take the\nworld's measures of the means of life ... but for the singular reason\nthat he never _does_ tolerate in his family (sons or daughters) the\ndevelopment of one class of feelings. Such an objection I could not\nbring to you of my own will--it rang hollow in my ears--perhaps I\nthought even too little of it:--and I brought to you what I thought\nmuch of, and cannot cease to think much of equally. Worldly thoughts,\nthese are not at all, nor have been: there need be no soiling of the\nheart with any such:--and I will say, in reply to some words of yours,\nthat you cannot despise the gold and gauds of the world more than I\ndo, and should do even if I found a use for them. And if I _wished_ to\nbe very poor, in the world's sense of poverty, I _could not_, with\nthree or four hundred a year of which no living will can dispossess\nme. And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the\nneed of thinking of it? It seems so to me.\n\nThe obstacles then are of another character, and the stronger for\nbeing so. Believe that I am grateful to you--_how_ grateful, cannot be\nshown in words nor even in tears ... grateful enough to be truthful in\nall ways. You know I might have hidden myself from you--but I would\nnot: and by the truth told of myself, you may believe in the\nearnestness with which I tell the other truths--of you ... and of this\nsubject. The subject will not bear consideration--it breaks in our\nhands. But that God is stronger than we, cannot be a bitter thought to\nyou but a holy thought ... while He lets me, as much as I can be\nanyone's, be only yours.\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 17, 1845.]\n\nI do not know whether you imagine the precise effect of your letter on\nme--very likely you do, and write it just for that--for I conceive\n_all_ from your goodness. But before I tell you what is that effect,\nlet me say in as few words as possible what shall stop any\nfear--though only for a moment and on the outset--that you have been\nmisunderstood, that the goodness _outside_, and round and over all,\nhides all or any thing. I understand you to signify to me that you\nsee, at this present, insurmountable obstacles to that--can I speak\nit--entire gift, which I shall own, was, while I dared ask it, above\nmy hopes--and wishes, even, so it seems to me ... and yet could not\nbut be asked, so plainly was it dictated to me, by something quite out\nof those hopes and wishes. Will it help me to say that once in this\nAladdin-cavern I knew I ought to stop for no heaps of jewel-fruit on\nthe trees from the very beginning, but go on to the lamp, _the_ prize,\nthe last and best of all? Well, I understand you to pronounce that at\npresent you believe this gift impossible--and I acquiesce entirely--I\nsubmit wholly to you; repose on you in all the faith of which I am\ncapable. Those obstacles are solely for _you_ to see and to declare\n... had _I_ seen them, be sure I should never have mocked you or\nmyself by affecting to pass them over ... what _were_ obstacles, I\nmean: but you _do_ see them, I must think,--and perhaps they strike me\nthe more from my true, honest unfeigned inability to imagine what they\nare,--not that I shall endeavour. After what you _also_ apprise me of,\nI know and am joyfully confident that if ever they cease to be what\nyou now consider them, you who see now _for me_, whom I implicitly\ntrust in to see for me; you will _then_, too, see and remember me, and\nhow I trust, and shall then be still trusting. And until you so see,\nand so inform me, I shall never utter a word--for that would involve\nthe vilest of implications. I thank God--I _do_ thank him, that in\nthis whole matter I have been, to the utmost of my power, not unworthy\nof his introducing you to me, in this respect that, being no longer in\nthe first freshness of life, and having for many years now made up my\nmind to the impossibility of loving any woman ... having wondered at\nthis in the beginning, and fought not a little against it, having\nacquiesced in it at last, and accounted for it all to myself, and\nbecome, if anything, rather proud of it than sorry ... I say, when\nreal love, making itself at once recognized as such, _did_ reveal\nitself to me at last, I _did_ open my heart to it with a cry--nor care\nfor its overturning all my theory--nor mistrust its effect upon a mind\nset in ultimate order, so I fancied, for the few years more--nor\napprehend in the least that the new element would harm what was\nalready organized without its help. Nor have I, either, been guilty of\nthe more pardonable folly, of treating the new feeling after the\npedantic fashions and instances of the world. I have not spoken when\n_it_ did not speak, because 'one' might speak, or has spoken, or\n_should_ speak, and 'plead' and all that miserable work which, after\nall, I may well continue proud that I am not called to attempt. _Here_\nfor instance, _now_ ... 'one' should despair; but 'try again' first,\nand work blindly at removing those obstacles (--if I saw them, I\nshould be silent, and only speak when a month hence, ten years hence,\nI could bid you look where they _were_)--and 'one' would do all this,\nnot for the _play-acting's_ sake, or to 'look the character' ...\n(_that_ would be something quite different from folly ...) but from a\nnot unreasonable anxiety lest by too sudden a silence, too complete an\nacceptance of your will; the earnestness and endurance and\nunabatedness ... the _truth_, in fact, of what had already been\nprofessed, should get to be questioned--But I believe that you believe\nme--And now that all is clear between us I will say, what you will\nhear, without fearing for me or yourself, that I am utterly contented\n... ('grateful' I have done with ... it must go--) I accept what you\ngive me, what those words deliver to me, as--not all I asked for ...\nas I said ... but as more than I ever hoped for,--_all_, in the best\nsense, that I deserve. That phrase in my letter which you objected to,\nand the other--may stand, too--I never attempted to declare, describe\nmy feeling for you--one word of course stood for it all ... but having\nto put down some one _point_, so to speak, of it--you could not wonder\nif I took any extreme one _first_ ... never minding all the untold\nportion that _led_ up to it, made it possible and natural--it is true,\n'I could not dream of _that_'--that I was eager to get the horrible\nnotion away from never so flitting a visit to you, that you were thus\nand thus to me _on condition_ of my proving just the same to you--just\nas if we had waited to acknowledge that the moon lighted us till we\nascertained within these two or three hundred years that the earth\nhappens to light the moon as well! But I felt that, and so said\nit:--now you have declared what I should never have presumed to\nhope--and I repeat to you that I, with all to be thankful for to God,\nam most of all thankful for this the last of his providences ... which\nis no doubt, the natural and inevitable feeling, could one always see\nclearly. Your regard for me is _all_ success--let the rest come, or\nnot come. In my heart's thankfulness I would ... I am sure I would\npromise anything that would gratify you ... but it would _not_ do\nthat, to agree, in words, to change my affections, put them elsewhere\n&c. &c. That would be pure foolish talking, and quite foreign to the\npractical results which you will attain in a better way from a higher\nmotive. I will cheerfully promise you, however, to be 'bound by no\nwords,' blind to no miracle; in sober earnest, it is not because I\nrenounced once for all oxen and the owning and having to do with them,\nthat I will obstinately turn away from any unicorn when such an\napparition blesses me ... but meantime I shall walk at peace on our\nhills here nor go looking in all corners for the bright curved horn!\nAnd as for you ... if I did not dare 'to dream of that'--, now it is\nmine, my pride and joy prevent in no manner my taking the whole\nconsolation of it at once, _now_--I will be confident that, if I obey\nyou, I shall get no wrong for it--if, endeavouring to spare you\nfruitless pain, I do not eternally revert to the subject; do indeed\n'quit' it just now, when no good can come of dwelling on it to you;\nyou will never say to yourself--so I said--'the \"generous impulse\"\n_has_ worn itself out ... time is doing his usual work--this was to be\nexpected' &c. &c. You will be the first to say to me 'such an obstacle\nhas ceased to exist ... or is now become one palpable to _you_, one\n_you_ may try and overcome'--and I shall be there, and ready--ten\nyears hence as now--if alive.\n\nOne final word on the other matters--the 'worldly matters'--I shall\nown I alluded to them rather ostentatiously, because--because _that\nwould be_ the _one_ poor sacrifice I could make you--one I would\ncheerfully make, but a sacrifice, and the only one: this careless\n'sweet habitude of living'--this absolute independence of mine, which,\nif I had it not, my heart would starve and die for, I feel, and which\nI have fought so many good battles to preserve--for that has\nhappened, too--this light rational life I lead, and know so well that\nI lead; this I could give up for nothing less than--what you know--but\nI _would_ give it up, not for you merely, but for those whose\ndisappointment might re-act on you--and I should break no promise to\nmyself--the money getting would not be for the sake of _it_; 'the\nlabour not for that which is nought'--indeed the necessity of doing\nthis, if at all, _now_, was one of the reasons which make me go on to\nthat _last request of all_--at once; one must not be too old, they\nsay, to begin their ways. But, in spite of all the babble, I feel sure\nthat whenever I make up my mind to that, I can be rich enough and to\nspare--because along with what you have thought _genius_ in me, is\ncertainly talent, what the world recognizes as such; and I have tried\nit in various ways, just to be sure that I _was_ a little magnanimous\nin never intending to use it. Thus, in more than one of the reviews\nand newspapers that laughed my 'Paracelsus' to scorn ten years ago--in\nthe same column, often, of these reviews, would follow a most\nlaudatory notice of an Elementary French book, on a new plan, which I\n'_did_' for my old French master, and he published--'_that_ was really\nan useful work'!--So that when the only obstacle is only that there is\nso much _per annum_ to be producible, you will tell me. After all it\nwould be unfair in me not to confess that this was always intended to\nbe _my_ own single stipulation--'an objection' which I could see,\ncertainly,--but meant to treat myself to the little luxury of\nremoving.\n\nSo, now, dearest--let me once think of that, and of you as my own, my\ndearest--this once--dearest, I have done with words for the present. I\nwill wait. God bless you and reward you--I kiss your hands _now_. This\nis my comfort, that if you accept my feeling as all but _un_expressed\nnow, more and more will become spoken--or understood, that is--we both\nlive on--you will know better _what_ it was, how much and manifold,\nwhat one little word had to give out.\n\n God bless you--\n\n Your R.B.\n\nOn Thursday,--you remember?\n\nThis is Tuesday Night--\n\nI called on Saturday at the Office in St. Mary Axe--all uncertainty\nabout the vessel's sailing again for Leghorn--it could not sail before\nthe middle of the month--and only then _if_ &c. But if I would leave\nmy card &c. &c.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 17, 1845.]\n\nI write one word just to say that it is all over with Pisa; which was\na probable evil when I wrote last, and which I foresaw from the\nbeginning--being a prophetess, you know. I cannot tell you now how it\nhas all happened--_only do not blame me_, for I have kept my ground to\nthe last, and only yield when Mr. Kenyon and all the world see that\nthere is no standing. I am ashamed almost of having put so much\nearnestness into a personal matter--and I spoke face to face and quite\nfirmly--so as to pass with my sisters for the 'bravest person in the\nhouse' without contestation.\n\nSometimes it seems to me as if it _could not_ end so--I mean, that the\nresponsibility of such a negative must be reconsidered ... and you see\nhow Mr. Kenyon writes to me. Still, as the matter lies, ... no Pisa!\nAnd, as I said before, my prophetic instincts are not likely to fail,\nsuch as they have been from the beginning.\n\nIf you wish to come, it must not be until Saturday at soonest. I have\na headache and am weary at heart with all this vexation--and besides\nthere is no haste now: and when you do come, _if you do_, I will trust\nto you not to recur to one subject, which must lie where it fell ...\nmust! I had begun to write to you on Saturday, to say how I had\nforgotten to give you your MSS. which were lying ready for you ... the\n_Hood_ poems. Would it not be desirable that you made haste to see\nthem through the press, and went abroad with your Roman friends at\nonce, to try to get rid of that uneasiness in the head? Do think of\nit--and more than think.\n\nFor me, you are not to fancy me unwell. Only, not to be worn a little\nwith the last week's turmoil, were impossible--and Mr. Kenyon said to\nme yesterday that he quite wondered how I could bear it at all, do\nanything reasonable at all, and confine my misdoings to sending\nletters addressed to him at Brighton, when he was at Dover! If\nanything changes, you shall hear from--\n\n E.B.B.\n\nMr. Kenyon returns to Dover immediately. His kindness is impotent in\nthe case.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 18, 1845.]\n\nBut one word before we leave the subject, and then to leave it\nfinally; but I cannot let you go on to fancy a mystery anywhere, in\nobstacles or the rest. You deserve at least a full frankness; and in\nmy letter I meant to be fully frank. I even told you what was an\nabsurdity, so absurd that I should far rather not have told you at\nall, only that I felt the need of telling you all: and no mystery is\ninvolved in that, except as an 'idiosyncrasy' is a mystery. But the\n'insurmountable' difficulty is for you and everybody to see; and for\nme to feel, who have been a very byword among the talkers, for a\nconfirmed invalid through months and years, and who, even if I were\ngoing to Pisa and had the best prospects possible to me, should yet\nremain liable to relapses and stand on precarious ground to the end of\nmy life. Now that is no mystery for the trying of 'faith'; but a plain\nfact, which neither thinking nor speaking can make less a fact. But\n_don't_ let us speak of it.\n\nI must speak, however, (before the silence) of what you said and\nrepeat in words for which I gratefully thank you--and which are _not_\n'ostentatious' though unnecessary words--for, if I were in a position\nto accept sacrifices from you, I would not accept _such_ a sacrifice\n... amounting to a sacrifice of duty and dignity as well as of ease\nand satisfaction ... to an exchange of higher work for lower work ...\nand of the special work you are called to, for that which is work for\nanybody. I am not so ignorant of the right uses and destinies of what\nyou have and are. You will leave the Solicitor-Generalships to the\nFitzroy Kellys, and justify your own nature; and besides, do me the\nlittle right, (_over_ the _over_-right you are always doing me) of\nbelieving that I would not bear or dare to do _you_ so much wrong, if\nI were in the position to do it.\n\nAnd for all the rest I thank you--believe that I thank you ... and\nthat the feeling is not so weak as the word. That _you_ should care at\nall for _me_ has been a matter of unaffected wonder to me from the\nfirst hour until now--and I cannot help the pain I feel sometimes, in\nthinking that it would have been better for you if you never had known\nme. May God turn back the evil of me! Certainly I admit that I cannot\nexpect you ... just at this moment, ... to say more than you say, ...\nand I shall try to be at ease in the consideration that you are as\naccessible to the 'unicorn' now as you ever could be at any former\nperiod of your life. And here I have done. I had done _living_, I\nthought, when you came and sought me out! and why? and to what end?\n_That_, I cannot help thinking now. Perhaps just that I may pray for\nyou--which were a sufficient end. If you come on Saturday I trust you\nto leave this subject untouched,--as it must be indeed henceforth.\n\n I am yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nNo word more of Pisa--I shall not go, I think.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 18, 1845.]\n\nWords!--it was written I should hate and never use them to any\npurpose. I will not say one word here--very well knowing neither word\nnor deed avails--from me.\n\nMy letter will have reassured you on the point you seem undecided\nabout--whether I would speak &c.\n\nI will come whenever you shall signify that I may ... whenever, acting\nin my best interests, you feel that it will not hurt you (weary you in\nany way) to see me--but I fear that on Saturday I must be\notherwhere--I enclose the letter from my old foe. Which could not but\nmelt me for all my moroseness and I can hardly go and return for my\nsister in time. Will you tell me?\n\nIt is dark--but I want to save the post--\n\n Ever yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, September 18, 1845.]\n\nOf course you cannot do otherwise than go with your sister--or it will\nbe 'Every man _out_ of his humour' perhaps--and you are not so very\n'savage' after all.\n\nOn Monday then, if you do not hear--to the contrary.\n\nPapa has been walking to and fro in this room, looking thoughtfully\nand talking leisurely--and every moment I have expected I confess,\nsome word (that did not come) about Pisa. Mr. Kenyon thinks it cannot\nend so--and I do sometimes--and in the meantime I do confess to a\nlittle 'savageness' also--at heart! All I asked him to say the other\nday, was that he was not displeased with me--_and he wouldn't_; and\nfor me to walk across his displeasure spread on the threshold of the\ndoor, and moreover take a sister and brother with me, and do such a\nthing for the sake of going to Italy and securing a personal\nadvantage, were altogether impossible, obviously impossible! So poor\nPapa is quite in disgrace with me just now--if he would but care for\n_that_!\n\nMay God bless you. Amuse yourself well on Saturday. I could not see\nyou on Thursday any way, for Mr. Kenyon is here every day ... staying\nin town just on account of this Pisa business, in his abundant\nkindness.... On Monday then.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 18, 1845.]\n\nBut you, too, will surely want, if you think me a rational creature,\n_my_ explanation--without which all that I have said and done would be\npure madness, I think. It _is_ just 'what I see' that I _do_ see,--or\nrather it has proved, since I first visited you, that the reality was\ninfinitely worse than I know it to be ... for at, and after the\nwriting of _that first letter_, on my first visit, I believed--through\nsome silly or misapprehended talk, collected at second hand too--that\nyour complaint was of quite another nature--a spinal injury\nirremediable in the nature of it. Had it been _so_--now speak for\n_me_, for what you hope I am, and say how _that_ should affect or\nneutralize what you _were_, what I wished to associate with myself in\nyou? But _as you now are_:--then if I had married you seven years ago,\nand this visitation came now first, I should be 'fulfilling a pious\nduty,' I suppose, in enduring what could not be amended--a pattern to\ngood people in not running away ... for where were _now_ the use and\nthe good and the profit and--\n\nI desire in this life (with very little fluctuation for a man and too\nweak a one) to live and just write out certain things which are in me,\nand so save my soul. I would endeavour to do this if I were forced to\n'live among lions' as you once said--but I should best do this if I\nlived quietly with myself and with you. That you cannot dance like\nCerito does not materially disarrange this plan--nor that I might\n(beside the perpetual incentive and sustainment and consolation) get,\nover and above the main reward, the incidental, particular and\nunexpected happiness of being allowed when not working to rather\noccupy myself with watching you, than with certain other pursuits I\nmight be otherwise addicted to--_this_, also, does not constitute an\nobstacle, as I see obstacles.\n\nBut _you_ see them--and I see _you_, and know my first duty and do it\nresolutely if not cheerfully.\n\nAs for referring again, till leave by word or letter--you will see--\n\nAnd very likely, the tone of this letter even will be\nmisunderstood--because I studiously cut out all vain words, protesting\n&c.:--No--will it?\n\nI said, unadvisedly, that Saturday was taken from me ... but it was\ndark and I had not looked at the tickets: the hour of the performance\nis later than I thought. If to-morrow does not suit you, as I infer,\nlet it be Saturday--at 3--and I will leave earlier, a little, and all\nwill be quite right here. One hint will apprise me.\n\n God bless you, dearest friend.\n\n R.B.\n\nSomething else just heard, makes me reluctantly strike out\n_Saturday_--\n\n_Monday_ then?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 19, 1845.]\n\nIt is not 'misunderstanding' you to know you to be the most generous\nand loyal of all in the world--you overwhelm me with your\ngenerosity--only while you see from above and I from below, we cannot\nsee the same thing in the same light. Moreover, if we _did_, I should\nbe more beneath you in one sense, than I am. Do me the justice of\nremembering this whenever you recur in thought to the subject which\nends here in the words of it.\n\nI began to write last Saturday to thank you for all the delight I had\nhad in Shelley, though you beguiled me about the pencil-marks, which\nare few. Besides the translations, some of the original poems were not\nin my copy and were, so, quite new to me. 'Marianne's Dream' I had\nbeen anxious about to no end--I only know it now.--\n\nOn Monday at the usual hour. As to coming twice into town on Saturday,\nthat would have been quite foolish if it had been possible.\n\n Dearest friend,\n\n I am yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 24, 1845.]\n\nI have nothing to say about Pisa, ... but a great deal (if I could say\nit) about _you_, who do what is wrong by your own confession and are\nill because of it and make people uneasy--now _is_ it right\naltogether? is it right to do wrong?... for it comes to _that_:--and\nis it kind to do so much wrong?... for it comes almost to _that_\nbesides. Ah--you should not indeed! I seem to see quite plainly that\nyou will be ill in a serious way, if you do not take care and take\nexercise; and so you must consent to be teazed a little into taking\nboth. And if you will not take them here ... or not so effectually as\nin other places; _why not go with your Italian friends_? Have you\nthought of it at all? _I_ have been thinking since yesterday that it\nmight be best for you to go at once, now that the probability has\nturned quite against me. If I were going, I should ask you not to do\nso immediately ... but you see how unlikely it is!--although I mean\nstill to speak my whole thoughts--I _will do that_ ... even though\nfor the mere purpose of self-satisfaction. George came last night--but\nthere is an adverse star this morning, and neither of us has the\nopportunity necessary. Only both he and I _will speak_--that is\ncertain. And Arabel had the kindness to say yesterday that if I liked\nto go, she would go with me at whatever hazard--which is very\nkind--but you know I could not--it would not be right of me. And\nperhaps after all we may gain the point lawfully; and if not ... at\nthe worst ... the winter may be warm (it is better to fall into the\nhands of God, as the Jew said) and I may lose less strength than\nusual, ... having more than usual to lose ... and altogether it may\nnot be so bad an alternative. As to being the cause of any anger\nagainst my sister, you would not advise me into such a position, I am\nsure--it would be untenable for one moment.\n\nBut _you_ ... in that case, ... would it not be good for your head if\nyou went at once? I praise myself for saying so to you--yet if it\nreally is good for you, I don't deserve the praising at all. And how\nwas it on Saturday--that question I did not ask yesterday--with Ben\nJonson and the amateurs? I thought of you at the time--I mean, on that\nSaturday evening, nevertheless.\n\nYou shall hear when there is any more to say. May God bless you,\ndearest friend! I am ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 25, 1845.]\n\nI walked to town, this morning, and back again--so that when I found\nyour note on my return, and knew what you had been enjoining me in the\nway of exercise, I seemed as if I knew, too, why that energetic fit\nhad possessed me and why I succumbed to it so readily. You shall never\nhave to intimate twice to me that such an insignificant thing, even,\nas the taking exercise should be done. Besides, I have many motives\nnow for wishing to continue well. But Italy _just now_--Oh, no! My\nfriends would go through Pisa, too.\n\nOn that subject I must not speak. And you have 'more strength to\nlose,' and are so well, evidently so well; that is, so much better, so\nsure to be still better--can it be that you will not go!\n\nHere are your new notes on my verses. Where are my words for the\nthanks? But you know what I feel, and shall feel--ever feel--for these\nand for all. The notes would be beyond price to me if they came from\nsome dear Phemius of a teacher--but from you!\n\nThe Theatricals 'went off' with great éclat, and the performance was\nreally good, really clever or better. Forster's 'Kitely' was very\nemphatic and earnest, and grew into great interest, quite up to the\npoet's allotted tether, which is none of the longest. He pitched the\ncharacter's key note too gravely, I thought; _beginning_ with\ncertainty, rather than mere suspicion, of evil. Dickens' 'Bobadil'\n_was_ capital--with perhaps a little too much of the consciousness of\nentire cowardice ... which I don't so willingly attribute to the noble\nwould-be pacificator of Europe, besieger of Strigonium &c.--but the\nend of it all was really pathetic, as it should be, for Bobadil is\nonly too clever for the company of fools he makes wonderment for:\nhaving once the misfortune to relish their society, and to need but\ntoo pressingly their 'tobacco-money,' what can he do but suit himself\nto their capacities?--And D. Jerrold was very amusing and clever in\nhis 'Country Gull'--And Mr. Leech superb in the Town Master Mathew.\nAll were good, indeed, and were voted good, and called on, and cheered\noff, and praised heartily behind their backs and before the curtain.\nStanfield's function had exercise solely in the touching up (very\neffectively) sundry 'Scenes'--painted scenes--and the dresses, which\nwere perfect, had the advantage of Mr. Maclise's experience. And--all\nis told!\n\nAnd now; I shall hear, you promise me, if anything occurs--with what\nfeeling, I wait and hope, you know. If there is _no_ best of reasons\nagainst it, Saturday, you remember, is my day--This fine weather, too!\n\n May God bless my dearest friend--\n\n Ever yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 25, 1845.]\n\nI have spoken again, and the result is that we are in precisely the\nsame position; only with bitterer feelings on one side. If I go or\nstay they _must_ be bitter: words have been said that I cannot easily\nforget, nor remember without pain; and yet I really do almost smile in\nthe midst of it all, to think how I was treated this morning as an\nundutiful daughter because I tried to put on my gloves ... for there\nwas no worse provocation. At least he complained of the undutifulness\nand rebellion (!!!) of everyone in the house--and when I asked if he\nmeant that reproach for _me_, the answer was that he meant it for all\nof us, one with another. And I could not get an answer. He would not\neven grant me the consolation of thinking that I sacrificed what I\nsupposed to be good, to _him_. I told him that my prospects of health\nseemed to me to depend on taking this step, but that through my\naffection for him, I was ready to sacrifice those to his pleasure if\nhe exacted it--only it was necessary to my self-satisfaction in future\nyears, to understand definitely that the sacrifice _was_ exacted by\nhim and _was_ made to him, ... and not thrown away blindly and by a\nmisapprehension. And he would not answer _that_. I might do my own\nway, he said--_he_ would not speak--_he_ would not say that he was not\ndispleased with me, nor the contrary:--I had better do what I\nliked:--for his part, he washed his hands of me altogether.\n\nAnd so I have been very wise--witness how my eyes are swelled with\nannotations and reflections on all this! The best of it is that now\nGeorge himself admits I can do no more in the way of speaking, ... I\nhave no spell for charming the dragons, ... and allows me to be\npassive and enjoins me to be tranquil, and not 'make up my mind' to\nany dreadful exertion for the future. Moreover he advises me to go on\nwith the preparations for the voyage, and promises to state the case\nhimself at the last hour to the 'highest authority'; and judge finally\nwhether it be possible for me to go with the necessary companionship.\nAnd it seems best to go to Malta on the 3rd of October--if at all ...\nfrom steam-packet reasons ... without excluding Pisa ... remember ...\nby any means.\n\nWell!--and what do you think? Might it be desirable for me to give up\nthe whole? Tell me. I feel aggrieved of course and wounded--and\nwhether I go or stay that feeling must last--I cannot help it. But my\nspirits sink altogether at the thought of leaving England _so_--and\nthen I doubt about Arabel and Stormie ... and it seems to me that I\n_ought not_ to mix them up in a business of this kind where the\nadvantage is merely personal to myself. On the other side, George\nholds that if I give up and stay even, there will be displeasure just\nthe same, ... and that, when once gone, the irritation will exhaust\nand smooth itself away--which however does not touch my chief\nobjection. Would it be better ... more _right_ ... to give it up?\nThink for me. Even if I hold on to the last, at the last I shall be\nthrown off--_that_ is my conviction. But ... shall I give up _at\nonce_? Do think for me.\n\nAnd I have thought that if you like to come on Friday instead of\nSaturday ... as there is the uncertainty about next week, ... it would\ndivide the time more equally: but let it be as you like and according\nto circumstances as you see them. Perhaps you have decided to go at\nonce with your friends--who knows? I wish I could know that you were\nbetter to-day. May God bless you\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 25, 1845.]\n\nYou have said to me more than once that you wished I might never know\ncertain feelings _you_ had been forced to endure. I suppose all of us\nhave the proper place where a blow should fall to be felt most--and I\ntruly wish _you_ may never feel what I have to bear in looking on,\nquite powerless, and silent, while you are subjected to this\ntreatment, which I refuse to characterize--so blind is it _for_\nblindness. I think I ought to understand what a father may exact, and\na child should comply with; and I respect the most ambiguous of love's\ncaprices if they give never so slight a clue to their all-justifying\nsource. Did I, when you signified to me the probable objections--you\nremember what--to myself, my own happiness,--did I once allude to,\nmuch less argue against, or refuse to acknowledge those objections?\nFor I wholly sympathize, however it go against me, with the highest,\nwariest, pride and love for you, and the proper jealousy and vigilance\nthey entail--but now, and here, the jewel is not being over guarded,\nbut ruined, cast away. And whoever is privileged to interfere should\ndo so in the possessor's own interest--all common sense\ninterferes--all rationality against absolute no-reason at all. And you\nask whether you ought to obey this no-reason? I will tell you: all\npassive obedience and implicit submission of will and intellect is by\nfar too easy, if well considered, to be the course prescribed by God\nto Man in this life of probation--for they _evade_ probation\naltogether, though foolish people think otherwise. Chop off your legs,\nyou will never go astray; stifle your reason altogether and you will\nfind it is difficult to reason ill. 'It is hard to make these\nsacrifices!'--not so hard as to lose the reward or incur the penalty\nof an Eternity to come; 'hard to effect them, then, and go through\nwith them'--_not_ hard, when the leg is to be _cut off_--that it is\nrather harder to keep it quiet on a stool, I know very well. The\npartial indulgence, the proper exercise of one's faculties, there is\nthe difficulty and problem for solution, set by that Providence which\nmight have made the laws of Religion as indubitable as those of\nvitality, and revealed the articles of belief as certainly as that\ncondition, for instance, by which we breathe so many times in a minute\nto support life. But there is no reward proposed for the feat of\nbreathing, and a great one for that of believing--consequently there\nmust go a great deal more of voluntary effort to this latter than is\nimplied in the getting absolutely rid of it at once, by adopting the\ndirection of an infallible church, or private judgment of another--for\nall our life is some form of religion, and all our action some belief,\nand there is but one law, however modified, for the greater and the\nless. In your case I do think you are called upon to do your duty to\nyourself; that is, to God in the end. Your own reason should examine\nthe whole matter in dispute by every light which can be put in\nrequisition; and every interest that appears to be affected by your\nconduct should have its utmost claims considered--your father's in the\nfirst place; and that interest, not in the miserable limits of a few\ndays' pique or whim in which it would seem to express itself; but in\nits whole extent ... the _hereafter_ which all momentary passion\nprevents him seeing ... indeed, the _present_ on either side which\neveryone else must see. And this examination made, with whatever\nearnestness you will, I do think and am sure that on its conclusion\nyou should act, in confidence that a duty has been performed ...\n_difficult_, or how were it a duty? Will it _not_ be infinitely harder\nto act so than to blindly adopt his pleasure, and die under it? Who\ncan _not_ do that?\n\nI fling these hasty rough words over the paper, fast as they will\nfall--knowing to whom I cast them, and that any sense they may contain\nor point to, will be caught and understood, and presented in a better\nlight. The hard thing ... this is all I want to say ... is to act on\none's own best conviction--not to abjure it and accept another will,\nand say '_there_ is my plain duty'--easy it is, whether plain or no!\n\nHow 'all changes!' When I first knew you--you know what followed. I\nsupposed you to labour under an incurable complaint--and, of course,\nto be completely dependent on your father for its commonest\nalleviations; the moment after that inconsiderate letter, I reproached\nmyself bitterly with the selfishness apparently involved in any\nproposition I might then have made--for though I have never been at\nall frightened of the world, nor mistrustful of my power to deal with\nit, and get my purpose out of it if once I thought it worth while, yet\nI could not but feel the consideration, of _what_ failure would _now_\nbe, paralyse all effort even in fancy. When you told me lately that\n'you could never be poor'--all my solicitude was at an end--I had but\nmyself to care about, and I told you, what I believed and believe,\nthat I can at any time amply provide for that, and that I could\ncheerfully and confidently undertake the removing _that_ obstacle. Now\nagain the circumstances shift--and you are in what I should wonder at\nas the veriest slavery--and I who _could_ free you from it, I am here\nscarcely daring to write ... though I know you must feel for me and\nforgive what forces itself from me ... what retires so mutely into my\nheart at your least word ... what _shall not_ be again written or\nspoken, if you so will ... that I should be made happy beyond all hope\nof expression by. Now while I _dream_, let me once dream! I would\nmarry you now and thus--I would come when you let me, and go when you\nbade me--I would be no more than one of your brothers--'_no\nmore_'--that is, instead of getting to-morrow for Saturday, I should\nget Saturday as well--two hours for one--when your head ached I\nshould be _here_. I deliberately choose the realization of that dream\n(--of sitting simply by you for an hour every day) rather than any\nother, excluding you, I am able to form for this world, or any world I\nknow--And it will continue but a dream.\n\n God bless my dearest E.B.B.\n\n R.B.\n\nYou understand that I see you to-morrow, Friday, as you propose.\n\nI am better--thank you--and will go out to-day.\n\nYou know what I am, what I would speak, and all I would do.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 27, 1845.]\n\nI had your letter late last night, everyone almost, being out of the\nhouse by an accident, so that it was left in the letter-box, and if I\nhad wished to answer it before I saw you, it had scarcely been\npossible.\n\nBut it will be the same thing--for you know as well as if you saw my\nanswer, what it must be, what it cannot choose but be, on pain of\nsinking me so infinitely below not merely your level but my own, that\nthe depth cannot bear a glance down. Yet, though I am not made of such\nclay as to admit of my taking a base advantage of certain noble\nextravagances, (and that I am not I thank God for your sake) I will\nsay, I must say, that your words in this letter have done me good and\nmade me happy, ... that I thank and bless you for them, ... and that\nto receive such a proof of attachment from _you_, not only overpowers\nevery present evil, but seems to me a full and abundant amends for the\nmerely personal sufferings of my whole life. When I had read that\nletter last night I _did_ think so. I looked round and round for the\nsmall bitternesses which for several days had been bitter to me, and I\ncould not find one of them. The tear-marks went away in the moisture\nof new, happy tears. Why, how else could I have felt? how else do you\nthink I could? How would any woman have felt ... who could feel at all\n... hearing such words said (though 'in a dream' indeed) by such a\nspeaker?\n\nAnd now listen to me in turn. You have touched me more profoundly than\nI thought even _you_ could have touched me--my heart was full when you\ncame here to-day. Henceforward I am yours for everything but to do you\nharm--and I am yours too much, in my heart, ever to consent to do you\nharm in that way. If I could consent to do it, not only should I be\nless loyal ... but in one sense, less yours. I say this to you without\ndrawback and reserve, because it is all I am able to say, and perhaps\nall I _shall_ be able to say. However this may be, a promise goes to\nyou in it that none, except God and your will, shall interpose between\nyou and me, ... I mean, that if He should free me within a moderate\ntime from the trailing chain of this weakness, I will then be to you\nwhatever at that hour you shall choose ... whether friend or more than\nfriend ... a friend to the last in any case. So it rests with God and\nwith you--only in the meanwhile you are most absolutely free ...\n'unentangled' (as they call it) by the breadth of a thread--and if I\ndid not know that you considered yourself so, I would not see you any\nmore, let the effort cost me what it might. You may force me _feel_:\n... but you cannot force me to _think_ contrary to my first thought\n... that it were better for you to forget me at once in one relation.\nAnd if better for _you_, can it be bad for _me_? which flings me down\non the stone-pavement of the logicians.\n\nAnd now if I ask a boon of you, will you forget afterwards that it\never was asked? I have hesitated a great deal; but my face is down on\nthe stone-pavement--no--I will not ask to-day--It shall be for another\nday--and may God bless you on this and on those that come after, my\ndearest friend.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 27, 1845.]\n\nThink for me, speak for me, my dearest, _my own_! You that are all\ngreat-heartedness and generosity, do that one more generous thing?\n\n God bless you for\n\n R.B.\n\nWhat can it be you ask of me!--'a boon'--once my answer to _that_ had\nbeen the plain one--but now ... when I have better experience of--No,\nnow I have BEST experience of how you understand my interests; that at\nlast we _both_ know what is my true good--so ask, ask! _My own_, now!\nFor there it is!--oh, do not fear I am '_entangled_'--my crown is\nloose on my head, not nailed there--my pearl lies in my hand--I may\nreturn it to the sea, if I will!\n\nWhat is it you ask of me, this first asking?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 29, 1845.]\n\nThen _first_, ... first, I ask you not to misunderstand. Because we do\nnot ... no, we do not ... agree (but disagree) as to 'what is your\ntrue good' ... but disagree, and as widely as ever indeed.\n\nThe other asking shall come in its season ... some day before I go, if\nI go. It only relates to a restitution--and you cannot guess it if you\ntry ... so don't try!--and perhaps you can't grant it if you try--and\nI cannot guess.\n\nCabins and berths all taken in the Malta steamer for both third and\ntwentieth of October! see what dark lanterns the stars hold out, and\nhow I shall stay in England after all as I think! And thus we are\nthrown back on the old Gibraltar scheme with its shifting of steamers\n... unless we take the dreary alternative of Madeira!--or Cadiz! Even\nsuppose Madeira, ... why it were for a few months alone--and there\nwould be no temptation to loiter as in Italy.\n\n_Don't_ think too hardly of poor Papa. You have his wrong side ... his\nside of peculiar wrongness ... to you just now. When you have walked\nround him you will have other thoughts of him.\n\nAre you better, I wonder? and taking exercise and trying to be better?\nMay God bless you! Tuesday need not be the last day if you like to\ntake one more besides--for there is no going until the fourth or\nseventh, ... and the seventh is the more probable of those two. But\nnow you have done with me until Tuesday.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, October 1, 1845.]\n\nI have read to the last line of your 'Rosicrucian'; and my scepticism\ngrew and grew through Hume's process of doubtful doubts, and at last\nrose to the full stature of incredulity ... for I never could believe\nShelley capable of such a book (call it a book!), not even with a\nflood of boarding-school idiocy dashed in by way of dilution.\nAltogether it roused me to deny myself so far as to look at the date\nof the book, and to get up and travel to the other end of the room to\nconfront it with other dates in the 'Letters from Abroad' ... (I, who\nnever think of a date except the 'A.D.,' and am inclined every now and\nthen to write _that_ down as 1548 ...) well! and on comparing these\ndates in these two volumes before my eyes, I find that your\nRosicrucian was 'printed for Stockdale' in _1822_, and that Shelley\n_died in the July of the same year_!!--There, is a vindicating fact\nfor you! And unless the 'Rosicrucian' went into more editions than\none, and dates here from a later one, ... which is not ascertainable\nfrom this fragment of a titlepage, ... the innocence of the great poet\nstands proved--now doesn't it? For nobody will say that he published\nsuch a book in the last year of his life, in the maturity of his\ngenius, and that Godwin's daughter helped him in it! That 'dripping\ndew' from the skeleton is the only living word in the book!--which\nreally amused me notwithstanding, from the intense absurdity of the\nwhole composition ... descriptions ... sentiments ... and morals.\n\nJudge yourself if I had not better say 'No' about the cloak! I would\ntake it if you wished such a kindness to me--and although you might\nfind it very useful to yourself ... or to your mother or sister ...\nstill if you _wished_ me to take it I should like to have it, and the\nmantle of the prophet might bring me down something of his spirit! but\ndo you remember ... do you consider ... how many talkers there are in\nthis house, and what would be talked--or that it is not worth while to\nprovoke it all? And Papa, knowing it, would not like it--and\naltogether it is far better, believe me, that you should keep your own\ncloak, and I, the thought of the kindness you meditated in respect to\nit. I have heard nothing more--nothing.\n\nI was asked the other day by a very young friend of mine ... the\ndaughter of an older friend who once followed you up-stairs in this\nhouse ... Mr. Hunter, an Independent minister ... for 'Mr. Browning's\nautograph.' She wants it for a collection ... for her album--and so,\nwill you write out a verse or two on one side of note paper ... not as\nyou write for the printers ... and let me keep my promise and send it\nto her? I forgot to ask you before. Or one verse will do ... anything\nwill do ... and don't let me be bringing you into vexation. It need\nnot be of MS. rarity.\n\nYou are not better ... really ... I fear. And your mother's being ill\naffects you more than you like to admit, I fear besides. Will you,\nwhen you write, say how _both_ are ... nothing extenuating, you know.\nMay God bless you, my dearest friend.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, October 2, 1845.]\n\nWell, let us hope against hope in the sad matter of the novel--yet,\nyet,--it _is_ by Shelley, if you will have the truth--as I happen to\n_know_--proof _last_ being that Leigh Hunt told me he unearthed it in\nShelley's own library at Marlow once, to the writer's horror and\nshame--'He snatched it out of my hands'--said H. Yet I thrust it into\nyours ... so much for the subtle fence of friends who reach your heart\nby a side-thrust, as I told you on Tuesday, after the enemy has fallen\nback breathless and baffled. As for the date, that Stockdale was a\nnotorious pirate and raker-up of rash publications ... and, do you\nknow, I suspect the _title-page_ is all that boasts such novelty,--see\nif the _book_, the inside leaves, be not older evidently!--a common\ntrick of the 'trade' to this day. The history of this and 'Justrozzi,'\nas it is spelt,--the other novel,--may be read in Medwin's\n'Conversations'--and, as I have been told, in Lady Ch. Bury's\n'Reminiscences' or whatever she calls them ... the 'Guistrozzi' was\n_certainly_ 'written in concert with'--somebody or other ... for I\nconfess the whole story grows monstrous and even the froth of wine\nstrings itself in bright bubbles,--ah, but this was the scum of the\nfermenting vat, do you see? I am happy to say I forget the novel\nentirely, or almost--and only keep the exact impression which you have\ngained ... through me! 'The fair cross of gold _he dashed on the\nfloor_'--(_that_ is my pet-line ... because the 'chill dew' of a place\nnot commonly supposed to favour humidity is a plagiarism from Lewis's\n'Monk,' it now flashes on me! Yes, Lewis, too, puts the phrase into\nintense italics.) And now, please read a chorus in the 'Prometheus\nUnbound' or a scene from the 'Cenci'--and join company with Shelley\nagain!\n\n--From 'chill dew' I come to the _cloak_--you are quite right--and I\ngive up that fancy. Will you, then, take one more precaution when\n_all_ proper safe-guards have been adopted; and, when _everything_ is\nsure, contrive some one sureness besides, against cold or wind or\nsea-air; and say '_this_--for the cloak which is not here, and to help\nthe heart's wish which is,'--so I shall be there _palpably_. Will you\ndo this? Tell me you will, to-morrow--and tell me all good news.\n\nMy Mother suffers still.... I hope she is no worse--but a little\nbetter--certainly better. I am better too, in my unimportant way.\n\nNow I will write you the verses ... some easy ones out of a paper-full\nmeant to go between poem and poem in my next number, and break the\nshock of collision.\n\nLet me kiss your hand--dearest! My heart and life--all is yours, and\nforever--God make you happy as I am through you--Bless you\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, October 6, 1845.]\n\nTuesday is given up in full council. The thing is beyond doubting of,\nas George says and as you thought yesterday. And then George has it in\nhis head to beguile the Duke of Palmella out of a smaller cabin, so\nthat I might sail from the Thames on the twentieth--and whether he\nsucceeds or not, I humbly confess that one of the chief advantages of\nthe new plan if not the very chief (as _I_ see it) is just in the\n_delay_.\n\nYour spring-song is full of beauty as you know very well--and 'that's\nthe wise thrush,' so characteristic of you (and of the thrush too)\nthat I was sorely tempted to ask you to write it 'twice over,' ... and\nnot send the first copy to Mary Hunter notwithstanding my promise to\nher. And now when you come to print these fragments, would it not be\nwell if you were to stoop to the vulgarism of prefixing some word of\nintroduction, as other people do, you know, ... a title ... a name?\nYou perplex your readers often by casting yourself on their\nintelligence in these things--and although it is true that readers in\ngeneral are stupid and can't understand, it is still more true that\nthey are lazy and won't understand ... and they don't catch your point\nof sight at first unless you think it worth while to push them by the\nshoulders and force them into the right place. Now these fragments ...\nyou mean to print them with a line between ... and not one word at the\ntop of it ... now don't you! And then people will read\n\n Oh, to be in England\n\nand say to themselves ... 'Why who is this? ... who's out of England?'\nWhich is an extreme case of course; but you will see what I mean ...\nand often I have observed how some of the very most beautiful of your\nlyrics have suffered just from your disdain of the usual tactics of\nwriters in this one respect.\n\nAnd you are not better, still--you are worse instead of better ... are\nyou not? Tell me--And what can you mean about 'unimportance,' when you\nwere worse last week ... this expiring week ... than ever before, by\nyour own confession? And now?--And your mother?\n\nYes--I promise! And so, ... _Elijah_ will be missed instead of his\nmantle ... which will be a losing contract after all. But it shall be\nas you say. May you be able to say that you are better! God bless you.\n\n Ever yours.\n\nNever think of the 'White Slave.' I had just taken it up. The trash of\nit is prodigious--far beyond Mr. Smythe. Not that I can settle upon a\nbook just now, in all this wind, to judge of it fairly.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, October 6, 1845.]\n\nI should certainly think that the Duke of Palmella may be induced, and\nwith no great difficulty, to give up a cabin under the\ncircumstances--and _then_ the plan becomes really objection-proof, so\nfar as mortal plans go. But now you must think all the boldlier about\nwhatever difficulties remain, just because they are so much the fewer.\nIt _is_ cold already in the mornings and evenings--cold and (this\nmorning) foggy--I did not ask if you continue to go out from time to\ntime.... I am sure you _should_,--you would so prepare yourself\nproperly for the fatigue and change--yesterday it was very warm and\nfine in the afternoon, nor is this noontime so bad, if the requisite\nprecautions are taken. And do make 'journeys across the room,' and out\nof it, meanwhile, and _stand_ when possible--get all the strength\nready, now that so much is to be spent. Oh, if I were by you!\n\nThank you, thank you--I will devise titles--I quite see what you say,\nnow you do say it. I am (this Monday morning, the prescribed day for\nefforts and beginnings) looking over and correcting what you read--to\npress they shall go, and then the plays can follow gently, and then\n... 'Oh to be in Pisa. Now that E.B.B. is there!'--And I _shall_ be\nthere!... I am much better to-day; and my mother better--and to-morrow\nI shall see you--So come good things together!\n\nDearest--till to-morrow and ever I am yours, wholly yours--May God\nbless you!\n\n R.B.\n\nYou do not ask me that 'boon'--why is that?--Besides, I have my own\n_real_ boons to ask too, as you will inevitably find, and I shall\nperhaps get heart by your example.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 7, 1845.]\n\nAh but the good things do _not_ come together--for just as your letter\ncomes I am driven to asking you to leave Tuesday for Wednesday.\n\nOn Tuesday Mr. Kenyon is to be here or not to be here, he\nsays--there's a doubt; and you would rather go to a clear day. So if\nyou do not hear from me again I shall expect you on _Wednesday_ unless\nI hear to the contrary from you:--and if anything happens to Wednesday\nyou shall hear. Mr. Kenyon is in town for only two days, or three. I\nnever could grumble against him, so good and kind as he is--but he may\nnot come after all to-morrow--so it is not grudging the obolus to\nBelisarius, but the squandering of the last golden days at the bottom\nof the purse.\n\nDo I 'stand'--Do I walk? Yes--most uprightly. I 'walk upright every\nday.' Do I go out? no, never. And I am not to be scolded for _that_,\nbecause when you were looking at the sun to-day, I was marking the\neast wind; and perhaps if I had breathed a breath of it ... farewell\nPisa. People who can walk don't always walk into the lion's den as a\nconsequence--do they? should they? Are you 'sure that they should?' I\nwrite in great haste. So Wednesday then ... perhaps!\n\n And yours every day.\n\nYou understand. Wednesday--if nothing to the contrary.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "12--Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, October 8, 1845.]\n\nWell, dearest, at all events I get up with the assurance I shall see\nyou, and go on till the fatal 11-1/4 p.m. believing in the same, and\n_then_, if after all there _does_ come such a note as this with its\ninstructions, why, first, it _is_ such a note and such a gain, and\nnext it makes a great day out of to-morrow that was to have been so\nlittle of a day, that is all. Only, only, I am suspicious, now, of a\nreal loss to me in the end; for, _putting_ off yesterday, I dared put\noff (on your part) Friday to Saturday ... while _now_ ... what shall\nbe said to that?\n\nDear Mr. Kenyon to be the smiling inconscious obstacle to any pleasure\nof mine, if it were merely pleasure!\n\nBut I want to catch our next post--to-morrow, then, excepting what is\nto be excepted!\n\n Bless you, my dearest--\n\n Your own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, October 8, 1845.]\n\nMr. Kenyon never came. My sisters met him in the street, and he had\nbeen 'detained all day in the city and would certainly be here\nto-morrow,' Wednesday! And so you see what has happened to Wednesday!\nMoreover he may come besides on Thursday, ... I can answer for\nnothing. Only if I do not write and if you find Thursday admissible,\nwill you come then? In the case of an obstacle, you shall hear. And it\nis not (in the meantime) my fault--now is it? I have been quite enough\nvexed about it, indeed.\n\nDid the Monday work work harm to the head, I wonder? I do fear so that\nyou won't get through those papers with impunity--especially if the\nplays are to come after ... though ever so 'gently.' And if you are to\nsuffer, it would be right to tongue-tie that silver Bell, and leave\nthe congregations to their selling of cabbages. Which is\nunphilanthropic of me perhaps, ... [Greek: ô philtate].\n\nBe sure that I shall be 'bold' when the time for going comes--and both\nbold and capable of the effort. I am desired to keep to the respirator\nand the cabin for a day or two, while the cold can reach us; and\nmidway in the bay of Biscay some change of climate may be felt, they\nsay. There is no sort of danger for me; except that I shall _stay in\nEngland_. And why is it that I feel to-night more than ever almost, as\nif I should stay in England? Who can tell? _I_ can tell one thing.\n_If_ I stay, it will not be from a failure in my resolution--_that\nwill_ not be--_shall_ not be. Yes--and Mr. Kenyon and I agreed the\nother day that there was something of the tigress-nature very\ndistinctly cognisable under what he is pleased to call my\n'Ba-lambishness.'\n\nThen, on Thursday!... unless something happens to _Thursday_ ... and I\nshall write in that case. And I trust to you (as always) to attend to\nyour own convenience--just as you may trust to me to remember my own\n'boon.' Ah--you are curious, I think! Which is scarcely wise of\nyou--because it _may_, you know, be the roc's egg after all. But no,\nit _isn't_--I will say just so much. And besides I _did_ say that it\nwas a 'restitution,' which limits the guesses if it does not put an\nend to them. Unguessable, I choose it to be.\n\nAnd now I feel as if I should _not_ stay in England. Which is the\ndifference between one five minutes and another. May God bless you.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 11, 1845.]\n\nDear Mr. Kenyon has been here again, and talking so (in his kindness\ntoo) about the probabilities as to Pisa being against me ... about all\ndepending 'on one throw' and the 'dice being loaded' &c. ... that I\nlooked at him aghast as if he looked at the future through the folded\ncurtain and was licensed to speak oracles:--and ever since I have been\nout of spirits ... oh, out of spirits--and must write myself back\nagain, or try. After all he may be wrong like another--and I should\ntell you that he reasons altogether from the delay ... and that 'the\ncabins will therefore be taken' and the 'circular bills' out of reach!\nHe _said_ that one of his purposes in staying in town, was to\n'_knout_' me every day--didn't he?\n\nWell--George will probably speak before _he_ leaves town, which will\nbe on Monday! and now that the hour approaches, I do feel as if the\nhouse stood upon gunpowder, and as if I held Guy Fawkes's lantern in\nmy right hand. And no: I shall not go. The obstacles will not be those\nof Mr. Kenyon's finding--and what their precise character will be I do\nnot see distinctly. Only that they will be sufficient, and thrown by\none hand just where the wheel should turn, ... _that_, I see--and you\nwill, in a few days.\n\nDid you go to Moxon's and settle the printing matter? Tell me. And\nwhat was the use of telling Mr. Kenyon that you were 'quite well' when\nyou know you are not? Will you say to me how you are, saying the\ntruth? and also how your mother is?\n\nTo show the significance of the omission of those evening or rather\nnight visits of Papa's--for they came sometimes at eleven, and\nsometimes at twelve--I will tell you that he used to sit and talk in\nthem, and then _always_ kneel and pray with me and for me--which I\nused of course to feel as a proof of very kind and affectionate\nsympathy on his part, and which has proportionably pained me in the\nwithdrawing. They were no ordinary visits, you observe, ... and he\ncould not well throw me further from him than by ceasing to pay\nthem--the thing is quite expressively significant. Not that I pretend\nto complain, nor to have reason to complain. One should not be\ngrateful for kindness, only while it lasts: _that_ would be a\nshort-breathed gratitude. I just tell you the fact, proving that it\ncannot be accidental.\n\nDid you ever, ever tire me? Indeed no--you never did. And do\nunderstand that I am not to be tired 'in that way,' though as Mr. Boyd\nsaid once of his daughter, one may be so 'far too effeminate.' No--if\nI were put into a crowd I should be tired soon--or, apart from the\ncrowd, if you made me discourse orations De Coronâ ... concerning your\nbag even ... I should be tired soon--though peradventure not very much\nsooner than you who heard. But on the smooth ground of quiet\nconversation (particularly when three people don't talk at once as my\nbrothers do ... to say the least!) I last for a long while:--not to\nsay that I have the pretension of being as good and inexhaustible a\nlistener to your own speaking as you could find in the world. So\nplease not to accuse me of being tired again. I can't be tired, and\nwon't be tired, you see.\n\nAnd now, since I began to write this, there is a new evil and\nanxiety--a worse anxiety than any--for one of my brothers is ill; had\nbeen unwell for some days and we thought nothing of it, till to-day\nSaturday: and the doctors call it a fever of the typhoid character ...\nnot typhus yet ... but we are very uneasy. You must not come on\nWednesday if an infectious fever be in the house--_that_ must be out\nof the question. May God bless you--I am quite heavy-hearted to-day,\nbut never less yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, October 13, 1845].\n\nThese are bad news, dearest--all bad, except the enduring comfort of\nyour regard; the illness of your brother is worst ... that _would_\nstay you, and is the first proper obstacle. I shall not attempt to\nspeak and prove my feelings,--you know what even Flush is to me\nthrough you: I wait in anxiety for the next account.\n\nIf after all you do _not_ go to Pisa; why, we must be cheerful and\nwise, and take courage and hope. I cannot but see with your eyes and\nfrom your place, you know,--and will let this all be one surprizing\nand deplorable mistake of mere love and care ... but no such another\nmistake ought to be suffered, if you escape the effects of this. I\nwill not cease to believe in a better event, till the very last,\nhowever, and it is a deep satisfaction that all has been made plain\nand straight up to this strange and sad interposition like a bar. You\nhave done _your_ part, at least--with all that forethought and counsel\nfrom friends and adequate judges of the case--so, if the bar _will_\nnot move, you will consider--will you not, dearest?--where one may\nbest encamp in the unforbidden country, and wait the spring and fine\nweather. Would it be advisable to go where Mr. Kenyon suggested, or\nelsewhere? Oh, these vain wishes ... the will here, and no means!\n\nMy life is bound up with yours--my own, first and last love. What\nwonder if I feared to tire you--I who, knowing you as I do, admiring\nwhat is so admirable (let me speak), loving what must needs be loved,\nfain to learn what you only can teach; proud of so much, happy in so\nmuch of you; I, who, for all this, neither come to admire, nor feel\nproud, nor be taught,--but only, only to live with you and be by\nyou--that is love--for I _know_ the rest, as I say. I know those\nqualities are in you ... but at them I could get in so many ways.... I\nhave your books, here are my letters you give me; you would answer my\nquestions were _I_ in Pisa--well, and it all would amount to nothing,\ninfinitely much as I know it is; to nothing if I could not sit by you\nand see you.... I can stop at that, but not before. And it seems\nstrange to me how little ... less than little I have laid open of my\nfeelings, the nature of them to you--I smile to think how if all this\nwhile I had been acting with the profoundest policy in intention, so\nas to pledge myself to nothing I could not afterwards perform with the\nmost perfect ease and security, I should have done not much unlike\nwhat I _have_ done--to be sure, one word includes many or all ... but\nI have not said ... what I will not even now say ... you will\n_know_--in God's time to which I trust.\n\nI will answer your note now--the questions. I did go--(it may amuse\nyou to write on)--to Moxon's. First let me tell you that when I called\nthere the Saturday before, his brother (in his absence) informed me,\nreplying to the question when it came naturally in turn with a round\nof like enquiries, that your poems continued to sell 'singularly\nwell'--they would 'end in bringing a clear profit,' he said. I thought\nto catch him, and asked if they _had_ done so ... 'Oh; not at the\nbeginning ... it takes more time--he answered. On Thursday I saw\nMoxon--he spoke rather encouragingly of my own prospects. I send him a\nsheetful to-morrow, I believe, and we are 'out' on the 1st of next\nmonth. Tennyson, by the way, has got his pension, £200 per annum--by\nthe other way, Moxon has bought the MSS. of Keats in the possession of\nTaylor the publisher, and is going to bring out a complete edition;\nwhich is pleasant to hear.\n\nAfter settling with Moxon I went to Mrs. Carlyle's--who told me\ncharacteristic quaintnesses of Carlyle's father and mother over the\ntea she gave me. And all yesterday, you are to know, I was in a\npermanent mortal fright--for my uncle came in the morning to intreat\nme to go to Paris in _the evening_ about some urgent business of\nhis,--a five-minutes matter with his brother there,--and the affair\nbeing really urgent and material to his and the brother's interest,\nand no substitute being to be thought of, I was forced to promise to\ngo--in case a letter, which would arrive in Town at noon, should not\nprove satisfactory. So I calculated times, and found I could be at\nParis to-morrow, and back again, _certainly_ by Wednesday--and so not\nlose you on that day--oh, the fear I had!--but I was sure then and\nnow, that the 17th would not see you depart. But night came, and the\nlast Dover train left, and I drew breath freely--this morning I find\nthe letter was all right--so may it be with all worse apprehensions!\nWhat you fear, precisely that, never happens, as Napoleon observed and\nthereon grew bold. I had stipulated for an hour's notice, if go I\nmust--and that was to be wholly spent in writing to you--for in quiet\nconsternation my mother cared for my carpet bag.\n\nAnd so, I shall hear from you to-morrow ... that is, you will write\n_then_, telling me _all_ about your brother. As for what you say, with\nthe kindest intentions, 'of fever-contagion' and keeping away on\nWednesday on _that_ account, it is indeed 'out of the question,'--for\na first reason (which dispenses with any second) because I disbelieve\naltogether in contagion from fevers, and especially from typhus\nfevers--as do much better-informed men than myself--I speak quite\nadvisedly. If there should be only _that_ reason, therefore, you will\nnot deprive me of the happiness of seeing you next Wednesday.\n\nI am not well--have a cold, influenza or some unpleasant thing, but am\nbetter than yesterday--My mother is much better, I think (she and my\nsister are resolute non-contagionists, mind you that!)\n\nGod bless you and all you love! dearest, I am your\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, October 14, 1845.]\n\nIt was the merest foolishness in me to write about fevers and the rest\nas I did to-day, just as if it could do any good, all the wringing of\nhands in the world. And there is no typhus _yet_ ... and no danger of\nany sort I hope and trust!--and how weak it is that habit of spreading\nthe cloud which is in you all around you, how weak and selfish ... and\nunlike what _you_ would do ... just as you are unlike Mr. Kenyon. And\nyou _are_ unlike him--and you were right on Thursday when you said\nso, and I was wrong in setting up a phrase on the other side ... only\nwhat I said came by an instinct because you seemed to be giving him\nall the sunshine to use and carry, which should not be after all. But\nyou are unlike him and must be ... seeing that the producers must\ndiffer from the 'nati consumere fruges' in the intellectual as in the\nmaterial. You create and he enjoys, and the work makes you pale and\nthe pleasure makes him ruddy, and it is so of a necessity. So differs\nthe man of genius from the man of letters--and then dear Mr. Kenyon is\nnot even a man of letters in a full sense ... he is rather a Sybarite\nof letters. Do you think he ever knew what mental labour is? I fancy\nnot. Not more than he has known what mental inspiration is! And not\nmore than he has known what the strife of the heart is ... with all\nhis tenderness and sensibility. He seems to me to _evade_ pain, and\nwhere he suffers at all to do so rather negatively than positively ...\nif you understand what I mean by that ... rather by a want than by a\nblow: the secret of all being that he has a certain latitudinarianism\n(not indifferentism) in his life and affections, and has no capacity\nfor concentration and intensity. Partly by temperament and partly by\nphilosophy he contrives to keep the sunny side of the street--though\nnever inclined to forget the blind man at the corner. Ah, dear Mr.\nKenyon: he is magnanimous in toleration, and excellent in\nsympathy--and he has the love of beauty and the reverence of\ngenius--but the faculty of _worship_ he has not: he will not worship\naright either your heroes or your gods ... and while you do it he only\n'tolerates' the act in you. Once he said ... not to me ... but I heard\nof it: 'What, if genius should be nothing but scrofula?' and he doubts\n(I very much fear) whether the world is not governed by a throw of\nthose very same 'loaded dice,' and no otherwise. Yet he reveres genius\nin the acting of it, and recognizes a God in creation--only it is but\n'so far,' and not farther. At least I think not--and I have a right to\nthink what I please of him, holding him as I do, in such true\naffection. One of the kindest and most indulgent of human beings has\nhe been to me, and I am happy to be grateful to him.\n\n_Sunday._--The Duke of Palmella takes the whole vessel for the 20th\nand therefore if I go it must be on the 17th. Therefore (besides) as\nGeorge must be on sessions to-morrow, he will settle the question with\nPapa to-night. In the meantime our poor Occy is not much better,\nthough a little, and is ordered leeches on his head, and is confined\nto his bed and attended by physician and surgeon. It is not decided\ntyphus, but they will not answer for its not being infectious; and\nalthough he is quite at the top of the house, two stories above me, I\nshall not like you to come indeed. And then there will be only room\nfor a farewell, and I who am a coward shrink from the saying of it.\nNo--not being able to see you to-morrow, (Mr. Kenyon is to be here\nto-morrow, he says) let us agree to throw away Wednesday. I will\nwrite, ... you will write perhaps--and above all things you will\npromise to write by the 'Star' on Monday, that the captain may give me\nyour letter at Gibraltar. You promise? But I shall hear from you\nbefore then, and oftener than once, and you will acquiesce about\nWednesday and grant at once that there can be no gain, no good, in\nthat miserable good-bye-ing. I do not want the pain of it to remember\nyou by--I shall remember very well without it, be sure. Still it shall\nbe as you like--as you shall chose--and if you are _disappointed_\nabout Wednesday (if it is not vain in me to talk of disappointments)\nwhy do with Wednesday as you think best ... always understanding that\nthere's no risk of infection.\n\n_Monday._--All this I had written yesterday--and to-day it all is\nworse than vain. Do not be angry with me--do not think it my\nfault--but _I do not go to Italy_ ... it has ended as I feared. What\npassed between George and Papa there is no need of telling: only the\nlatter said that I 'might go if I pleased, but that going it would be\nunder his heaviest displeasure.' George, in great indignation,\npressed the question fully: but all was vain ... and I am left in this\nposition ... to go, if I please, with his displeasure over me, (which\nafter what you have said and after what Mr. Kenyon has said, and after\nwhat my own conscience and deepest moral convictions say aloud, I\nwould unhesitatingly do at this hour!) and necessarily run the risk of\nexposing my sister and brother to that same displeasure ... from which\nrisk I shrink and fall back and feel that to incur it, is impossible.\nDear Mr. Kenyon has been here and we have been talking--and he sees\nwhat I see ... that I am justified in going myself, but not in\nbringing others into difficulty. The very kindness and goodness with\nwhich they desire me (both my sisters) 'not to think of them,'\nnaturally makes me think more of them. And so, tell me that I am not\nwrong in taking up my chain again and acquiescing in this hard\nnecessity. The bitterest 'fact' of all is, that I had believed Papa to\nhave loved me more than he obviously does: but I never regret\nknowledge ... I mean I never would _un_know anything ... even were it\nthe taste of the apples by the Dead sea--and this must be accepted\nlike the rest. In the meantime your letter comes--and if I could seem\nto be very unhappy after reading it ... why it would be 'all pretence'\non my part, believe me. Can you care for me so much ... _you_? Then\n_that_ is light enough to account for all the shadows, and to make\nthem almost unregarded--the shadows of the life behind. Moreover dear\nOccy is somewhat better--with a pulse only at ninety: and the doctors\ndeclare that visitors may come to the house without any manner of\ndanger. Or I should not trust to your theories--no, indeed: it was not\nthat I expected you to be afraid, but that _I_ was afraid--and if I am\nnot ashamed for _that_, why at least I am, for being _lâche_ about\nWednesday, when you thought of hurrying back from Paris only for it!\nYou _could_ think _that_!--You _can_ care for me so much!--(I come to\nit again!) When I hold some words to my eyes ... such as these in\nthis letter ... I can see nothing beyond them ... no evil, no want.\nThere _is_ no evil and no want. Am I wrong in the decision about\nItaly? Could I do otherwise? I had courage and to spare--but the\nquestion, you see, did not regard myself wholly. For the rest, the\n'unforbidden country' lies within these four walls. Madeira was\nproposed in vain--and any part of England would be as objectionable as\nItaly, and not more advantageous to _me_ than Wimpole Street. To take\ncourage and be cheerful, as you say, is left as an alternative--and\n(the winter may be mild!) to fall into the hands of God rather than of\nman: _and I shall be here for your November, remember_.\n\nAnd now that you are not well, will you take care? and not come on\nWednesday unless you are better? and never again bring me _wet\nflowers_, which probably did all the harm on Thursday? I was afraid\nfor you then, though I said nothing. May God bless you.\n\n Ever yours I am--your own.\n\nNinety is not a high pulse ... for a fever of this kind--is it? and\nthe heat diminishes, and his spirits are better--and we are all much\neasier ... have been both to-day and yesterday indeed.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning,\n [Post-mark, October 14, 1845.]\n\nBe sure, my own, dearest love, that this is for the best; will be seen\nfor the best in the end. It is hard to bear now--but _you_ have to\nbear it; any other person could not, and you will, I know, knowing\nyou--_will_ be well this one winter if you can, and then--since I am\n_not_ selfish in this love to you, my own conscience tells me,--I\ndesire, more earnestly than I ever knew what desiring was, to be yours\nand with you and, as far as may be in this life and world, YOU--and\nno hindrance to that, but one, gives me a moment's care or fear; but\nthat one is just your little hand, as I could fancy it raised in any\nleast interest of yours--and before that, I am, and would ever be,\nstill silent. But now--what is to make you raise that hand? I will not\nspeak _now_; not seem to take advantage of your present feelings,--we\nwill be rational, and all-considering and weighing consequences, and\nforeseeing them--but first I will prove ... if _that_ has to be done,\nwhy--but I begin speaking, and I should not, I know.\n\n Bless you, love!\n\n R.B.\n\nTo-morrow I see you, without fail. I am rejoiced as you can imagine,\nat your brother's improved state.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday,\n [Post-mark, October 15, 1845.]\n\nWill this note reach you at the 'fatal hour' ... or sooner? At any\nrate it is forced to ask you to take Thursday for Wednesday, inasmuch\nas Mr. Kenyon in his exceeding kindness has put off his journey just\nfor _me_, he says, because he saw me depressed about the decision, and\nwished to come and see me again to-morrow and talk the spirits up, I\nsuppose. It is all so kind and good, that I cannot find a voice to\ngrumble about the obligation it brings of writing thus. And then, if\nyou suffer from cold and influenza, it will be better for you not to\ncome for another day, ... I think _that_, for comfort. Shall I hear\nhow you are to-night, I wonder? Dear Occy 'turned the corner,' the\nphysician said, yesterday evening, and, although a little fluctuating\nto-day, remains on the whole considerably better. They were just in\ntime to keep the fever from turning to typhus.\n\nHow fast you print your book, for it is to be out on the first of\nNovember! Why it comes out suddenly like the sun. Mr. Kenyon asked me\nif I had seen anything you were going to print; and when I mentioned\nthe second part of the 'Duchess' and described how your perfect\nrhymes, perfectly new, and all clashing together as by natural\nattraction, had put me at once to shame and admiration, he began to\npraise the first part of the same poem (which I had heard him do\nbefore, by the way) and extolled it as one of your most striking\nproductions.\n\nAnd so until Thursday! May God bless you--\n\n and as the heart goes, ever yours.\n\nI am glad for Tennyson, and glad for Keats. It is well to be able to\nbe glad about something--is is it not? about something out of\nourselves. And (_in_ myself) I shall be most glad, if I have a letter\nto-night. Shall I?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 15, 1845.]\n\nThanks, my dearest, for the good news--of the fever's abatement--it is\ngood, too, that you write cheerfully, on the whole: what is it to _me_\nthat you write is of _me_ ... I shall never say _that_! Mr. Kenyon is\nall kindness, and one gets to take it as not so purely natural a\nthing, the showing kindness to those it concerns, and belongs\nto,--well! On Thursday, then,--to-morrow! Did you not get a note of\nmine, a hurried note, which was meant for yesterday-afternoon's\ndelivery?\n\nMr. Forster came yesterday and was very profuse of graciosities: he\nmay have, or must have meant well, so we will go on again with the\nfriendship, as the snail repairs his battered shell.\n\nMy poems went duly to press on Monday night--there is not much\n_correctable_ in them,--you make, or you spoil, one of these things;\nthat is, _I_ do. I have adopted all your emendations, and thrown in\nlines and words, just a morning's business; but one does not write\nplays so. You may like some of my smaller things, which stop\ninterstices, better than what you have seen; I shall wonder to know. I\nam to receive a _proof_ at the end of the week--will you help me and\nover-look it. ('Yes'--she says ... my thanks I do not say!--)\n\nWhile writing this, the _Times_ catches my eye (it just came in) and\nsomething from the _Lancet_ is extracted, a long article against\nquackery--and, as I say, this is the first and only sentence I\nread--'There is scarcely a peer of the realm who is not the patron of\nsome quack pill or potion: and the literati too, are deeply tainted.\nWe have heard of barbarians who threw quacks and their medicines into\nthe sea: but here in England we have Browning, a prince of poets,\ntouching the pitch which defiles and making Paracelsus the hero of a\npoem. Sir E.L. Bulwer writes puffs for the water doctors in a style\nworthy of imitation by the scribe that does the poetical for Moses and\nSon. Miss Martineau makes a finessing servant girl her\nphysician-general: and Richard Howitt and the Lady aforesaid stand\nGod-father and mother to the contemptible mesmeric vagaries of Spencer\nHall.'--Even the sweet incense to me fails of its effect if Paracelsus\nis to figure on a level with Priessnitz, and 'Jane'!\n\nWhat weather, now at last! Think for yourself and for me--could you\nnot go out on such days?\n\nI am quite well now--cold, over and gone. Did I tell you my Uncle\narrived from Paris on Monday, as they hoped he would--so my travel\nwould have been to great purpose!\n\nBless my dearest--my own!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, October 16, 1845.]\n\nYour letter which should have reached me in the morning of yesterday,\nI did not receive until nearly midnight--partly through the\neccentricity of our new postman whose good pleasure it is to make use\nof the letter-box without knocking; and partly from the confusion in\nthe house, of illness in different ways ... the very servants being\nill, ... one of them breaking a blood-vessel--for there is no new case\nof fever; ... and for dear Occy, he grows better slowly day by day.\nAnd just so late last night, five letters were found in the\nletter-box, and mine ... yours ... among them--which accounts for my\nbeginning to answer it only now.\n\nWhat am I to say but this ... that I know what you are ... and that I\nknow also what you are to _me_,--and that I should accept that\nknowledge as more than sufficient recompense for worse vexations than\nthese late ones. Therefore let no more be said of them: and no more\n_need_ be said, even if they were not likely to prove their own end\ngood, as I believe with you. You may be quite sure that I shall be\nwell this winter, if in any way it should be possible, and that I\n_will not_ be beaten down, if the will can do anything. I admire how,\nif all had happened so but a year ago, (yet it could not have happened\nquite _so_!), I should certainly have been beaten down--and how it is\ndifferent now, ... and how it is only gratitude to you, to _say_ that\nit is different now. My cage is not worse but better since you brought\nthe green groundsel to it--and to dash oneself against the wires of it\nwill not open the door. We shall see ... and God will oversee. And in\nthe meantime you will not talk of extravagances; and then nobody need\nhold up the hand--because, as I said and say, I am yours, your\nown--only not to _hurt you_. So now let us talk of the first of\nNovember and of the poems which are to come out then, and of the poems\nwhich are to come after then--and of the new avatar of 'Sordello,' for\ninstance, which you taught me to look for. And let us both be busy and\ncheerful--and you will come and see me throughout the winter, ... if\nyou do not decide rather on going abroad, which may be better ...\nbetter for your health's sake?--in which case I shall have your\nletters.\n\nAnd here is another ... just arrived. How I thank you. Think of the\n_Times_! Still it was very well of them to recognise your\nprincipality. Oh yes--do let me see the proof--I understand too about\nthe 'making and spoiling.'\n\nAlmost you forced me to smile by thinking it worth while to say that\nyou are '_not selfish_.' Did Sir Percival say so to Sir Gawaine across\nthe Round Table, in those times of chivalry to which you belong by the\nsoul? Certainly you are not selfish! May God bless you.\n\n Ever your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nThe fever may last, they say, for a week longer, or even a\nfortnight--but it _decreases_. Yet he is hot still, and very weak.\n\nTo to-morrow!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, October 17, 1845.]\n\nDo tell me what you mean precisely by your 'Bells and Pomegranates'\ntitle. I have always understood it to refer to the Hebraic priestly\ngarment--but Mr. Kenyon held against me the other day that your\nreference was different, though he had not the remotest idea how. And\nyesterday I forgot to ask, for not the first time. Tell me too why you\nshould not in the new number satisfy, by a note somewhere, the Davuses\nof the world who are in the majority ('Davi sumus, non Oedipi') with a\nsolution of this one Sphinx riddle. Is there a reason against it?\n\nOccy continues to make progress--with a pulse at only eighty-four this\nmorning. Are you learned in the pulse that I should talk as if you\nwere? _I_, who have had my lessons? He takes scarcely anything yet but\nwater, and his head is very hot still--but the progress is quite\nsure, though it may be a lingering case.\n\nYour beautiful flowers!--none the less beautiful for waiting for water\nyesterday. As fresh as ever, they were; and while I was putting them\ninto the water, I thought that your visit went on all the time. Other\nthoughts too I had, which made me look down blindly, quite blindly, on\nthe little blue flowers, ... while I thought what I could not have\nsaid an hour before without breaking into tears which would have run\nfaster then. To say now that I never can forget; that I feel myself\nbound to you as one human being cannot be more bound to another;--and\nthat you are more to me at this moment than all the rest of the world;\nis only to say in new words that it would be a wrong against _myself_,\nto seem to risk your happiness and abuse your generosity. For _me_ ...\nthough you threw out words yesterday about the testimony of a 'third\nperson,' ... it would be monstrous to assume it to be necessary to\nvindicate my trust of you--_I trust you implicitly_--and am not too\nproud to owe all things to you. But now let us wait and see what this\nwinter does or undoes--while God does His part for good, as we know. I\nwill never fail to you from any human influence whatever--_that_ I\nhave promised--but you must let it be different from the other sort of\npromise which it would be a wrong to make. May God bless you--you,\nwhose fault it is, to be too generous. You _are_ not like other men,\nas I could see from the beginning--no.\n\nShall I have the proof to-night, I ask myself.\n\nAnd if you like to come on Monday rather than Tuesday, I do not see\nwhy there should be a 'no' to that. Judge from your own convenience.\nOnly we must be wise in the general practice, and abstain from too\nfrequent meetings, for fear of difficulties. I am Cassandra you know,\nand smell the slaughter in the bath-room. It would make no difference\nin fact; but in comfort, much.\n\n Ever your own--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, October 18, 1845.]\n\nI must not go on tearing these poor sheets one after the other,--the\nproper phrases _will not_ come,--so let them stay, while you care for\nmy best interests in their best, only way, and say for _me_ what I\nwould say if I could--dearest,--say it, as I feel it!\n\nI am thankful to hear of the continued improvement of your brother. So\nmay it continue with him! Pulses I know very little about--I go by\nyour own impressions which are evidently favourable.\n\nI will make a note as you suggest--or, perhaps, keep it for the\nclosing number (the next), when it will come fitly in with two or\nthree parting words I shall have to say. The Rabbis make Bells and\nPomegranates symbolical of Pleasure and Profit, the gay and the grave,\nthe Poetry and the Prose, Singing and Sermonizing--such a mixture of\neffects as in the original hour (that is quarter of an hour) of\nconfidence and creation. I meant the whole should prove at last. Well,\nit _has_ succeeded beyond my most adventurous wishes in one\nrespect--'Blessed eyes mine eyes have been, if--' if there was any\nsweetness in the tongue or flavour in the seeds to _her_. But I shall\ndo quite other and better things, or shame on me! The proof has not\nyet come.... I should go, I suppose, and enquire this afternoon--and\nprobably I will.\n\nI weigh all the words in your permission to come on Monday ... do not\nthink _I_ have not seen _that_ contingency from the first! Let it be\nTuesday--no sooner! Meanwhile you are never away--never from your\nplace here.\n\n God bless my dearest.\n\n Ever yours\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]\n\nThis arrived on Saturday night--I just correct it in time for this our\nfirst post--will it do, the new matter? I can take it to-morrow--when\nI am to see you--if you are able to glance through it by then.\n\nThe 'Inscription,' how does that read?\n\nThere is strange temptation, by the way, in the space they please to\nleave for the presumable 'motto'--'they but remind me of mine own\nconception' ... but one must give no clue, of a silk's breadth, to the\n'_Bower_,' _yet_, One day!\n\n--Which God send you, dearest, and your\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 22, 1845.]\n\nEven at the risk of teazing you a little I must say a few words, that\nthere may be no misunderstanding between us--and this, before I sleep\nto-night. To-day and before to-day you surprised me by your manner of\nreceiving my remark about your visits, for I believed I had\nsufficiently made clear to you long ago how certain questions were\nordered in this house and how no exception was to be expected for my\nsake or even for yours. Surely I told you this quite plainly long ago.\nI only meant to say in my last letter, in the same track ... (fearing\nin the case of your wishing to come oftener that you might think it\nunkind in me not to seem to wish the same) ... that if you came too\noften and it was _observed_, difficulties and vexations would follow\nas a matter of course, and it would be wise therefore to run no risk.\nThat was the head and front of what I meant to say. The weekly one\nvisit is a thing established and may go on as long as you please--and\nthere is no objection to your coming twice a week _now_ and _then_ ...\nif now and then merely ... if there is no habit ... do you understand?\nI may be prudent in an extreme perhaps--and certainly everybody in the\nhouse is not equally prudent!--but I did shrink from running any risk\nwith that calm and comfort of the winter as it seemed to come on. And\nwas it more than I said about the cloak? was there any newness in it?\nanything to startle you? Still I do perfectly see that whether new or\nold, what it _involves_ may well be unpleasant to you--and that\n(however old) it may be apt to recur to your mind with a new\nincreasing unpleasantness. We have both been carried too far perhaps,\nby late events and impulses--but it is never too late to come back to\na right place, and I for my part come back to mine, and entreat you my\ndearest friend, first, _not to answer this_, and next, to weigh and\nconsider thoroughly 'that particular contingency' which (I tell you\nplainly, I who know) the tongue of men and of angels would not modify\nso as to render less full of vexations to you. Let Pisa prove the\nexcellent hardness of some marbles! Judge. From motives of\nself-respect, you may well walk an opposite way ... _you_.... When I\ntold you once ... or twice ... that 'no human influence should' &c.\n&c., ... I spoke for myself, quite over-looking you--and now that I\nturn and see you, I am surprised that I did not see you before ...\n_there_. I ask you therefore to consider 'that contingency' well--not\nforgetting the other obvious evils, which the late decision about Pisa\nhas aggravated beyond calculation ... for as the smoke rolls off we\nsee the harm done by the fire. And so, and now ... is it not advisable\nfor you to go abroad at once ... as you always intended, you know ...\nnow that your book is through the press? What if you go next week? I\nleave it to you. In any case _I entreat you not to answer\nthis_--neither let your thoughts be too hard on me for what you may\ncall perhaps vacillation--only that I stand excused (I do not say\njustified) before my own moral sense. May God bless you. If you go, I\nshall wait to see you till your return, and have letters in the\nmeantime. I write all this as fast as I can to have it over. What I\nask of you is, to consider alone and decide advisedly ... for both our\nsakes. If it should be your choice not to make an end now, ... why I\nshall understand _that_ by your not going ... or you may say '_no_' in\na word ... for I require no '_protestations_' indeed--and _you_ may\ntrust to _me_ ... it shall be as you choose. _You will consider my\nhappiness most by considering your own_ ... and that is my last word.\n\n_Wednesday morning._--I did not say half I thought about the poems\nyesterday--and their various power and beauty will be striking and\nsurprising to your most accustomed readers. 'St. Praxed'--'Pictor\nIgnotus'--'The Ride'--'The Duchess'!--Of the new poems I like\nsupremely the first and last ... that 'Lost Leader' which strikes so\nbroadly and deep ... which nobody can ever forget--and which is worth\nall the journalizing and pamphleteering in the world!--and then, the\nlast 'Thought' which is quite to be grudged to that place of fragments\n... those grand sea-sights in the long lines. Should not these\nfragments be severed otherwise than by numbers? The last stanza but\none of the 'Lost Mistress' seemed obscure to me. Is it so really? The\nend you have put to 'England in Italy' gives unity to the whole ...\njust what the poem wanted. Also you have given some nobler lines to\nthe middle than met me there before. 'The Duchess' appears to me more\nthan ever a new-minted golden coin--the rhythm of it answering to your\nown description, 'Speech half asleep, or song half awake?' You have\nright of trove to these novel effects of rhythm. Now if people do not\ncry out about these poems, what are we to think of the world?\n\nMay God bless you always--send me the next proof _in any case_.\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 23, 1845.]\n\nBut I _must_ answer you, and be forgiven, too, dearest. I was (to\nbegin at the beginning) surely not '_startled_' ... only properly\naware of the deep blessing I have been enjoying this while, and not\ndisposed to take its continuance as pure matter of course, and so\ntreat with indifference the first shadow of a threatening intimation\nfrom without, the first hint of a possible abstraction from the\nquarter to which so many hopes and fears of mine have gone of late. In\nthis case, knowing you, I was sure that if any imaginable form of\ndispleasure could touch you without reaching me, I should not hear of\nit too soon--so I spoke--so _you_ have spoken--and so now you get\n'excused'? No--wondered at, with all my faculty of wonder for the\nstrange exalting way you will persist to think of me; now, once for\nall, I _will_ not pass for what I make no least pretence to. I quite\nunderstand the grace of your imaginary self-denial, and fidelity to a\ngiven word, and noble constancy; but it all happens to be none of\nmine, none in the least. I love you because I _love_ you; I see you\n'once a week' because I cannot see you all day long; I think of you\nall day long, because I most certainly could not think of you once an\nhour less, if I tried, or went to Pisa, or 'abroad' (in every sense)\nin order to 'be happy' ... a kind of adventure which you seem to\nsuppose you have in some way interfered with. Do, for this once,\nthink, and never after, on the impossibility of your ever (you know I\nmust talk your own language, so I shall say--) hindering any scheme of\nmine, stopping any supposable advancement of mine. Do you really think\nthat before I found you, I was going about the world seeking whom I\nmight devour, that is, be devoured by, in the shape of a wife ... do\nyou suppose I ever dreamed of marrying? What would it mean for me,\nwith my life I am hardened in--considering the rational chances; how\nthe land is used to furnish its contingent of Shakespeare's women: or\nby 'success,' 'happiness' &c. &c. you never never can be seeing for a\nmoment with the world's eyes and meaning 'getting rich' and all that?\nYet, put that away, and what do you meet at every turn, if you are\nhunting about in the dusk to catch my good, but yourself?\n\n_I_ know who has got it, caught it, and means to keep it on his\nheart--the person most concerned--_I_, dearest, who cannot play the\ndisinterested part of bidding _you_ forget your 'protestation' ...\nwhat should I have to hold by, come what will, through years, through\nthis life, if God shall so determine, if I were not sure, _sure_ that\nthe first moment when you can suffer me with you 'in that relation,'\nyou will remember and act accordingly. I will, as you know, conform my\nlife to _any_ imaginable rule which shall render it possible for your\nlife to move with it and possess it, all the little it is worth.\n\nFor your friends ... whatever can be 'got over,' whatever opposition\nmay be rational, will be easily removed, I suppose. You know when I\nspoke lately about the 'selfishness' I dared believe I was free from,\nI hardly meant the low faults of ... I shall say, a different\norganization to mine--which has vices in plenty, but not those.\nBesides half a dozen scratches with a pen make one stand up an\napparent angel of light, from the lawyer's parchment; and Doctors'\nCommons is one bland smile of applause. The selfishness I deprecate is\none which a good many women, and men too, call 'real passion'--under\nthe influence of which, I ought to say 'be mine, what ever happens to\n_you_'--but I know better, and you know best--and you know me, for all\nthis letter, which is no doubt in me, I feel, but dear entire goodness\nand affection, of which God knows whether I am proud or not--and now\nyou will let me be, will not you. Let me have my way, live my life,\nlove my love.\n\nWhen I am, praying God to bless her ever,\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 24, 1845.]\n\n'_And be forgiven_' ... yes! and be thanked besides--if I knew how to\nthank you worthily and as I feel ... only that I do not know it, and\ncannot say it. And it was not indeed 'doubt' of you--oh no--that made\nme write as I did write; it was rather because I felt you to be surely\nnoblest, ... and therefore fitly dearest, ... that it seemed to me\ndetestable and intolerable to leave you on this road where the mud\nmust splash up against you, and never cry 'gare.' Yet I was quite\nenough unhappy yesterday, and before yesterday ... I will confess\nto-day, ... to be too gratefully glad to 'let you be' ... to 'let you\nhave your way'--you who overcome always! Always, but where you tell me\nnot to think of you so and so!--as if I could help thinking of you\n_so_, and as if I should not take the liberty of persisting to think\nof you just so. 'Let me be'--Let me have my way.' I am unworthy of you\nperhaps in everything except one thing--and _that_, you cannot guess.\nMay God bless you--\n\n Ever I am yours.\n\nThe proof does not come!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, October 25, 1845.]\n\nI wrote briefly yesterday not to make my letter longer by keeping it;\nand a few last words which belong to it by right, must follow after it\n... must--for I want to say that you need not indeed talk to me about\nsquares being not round, and of _you_ being not 'selfish'! You know it\nis foolish to talk such superfluities, and not a compliment.\n\nI won't say to my knowledge of you and faith in you ... but to my\nunderstanding generally. Why should you say to me at all ... much\nless for this third or fourth time ... 'I am not selfish?' to _me_ who\nnever ... when I have been deepest asleep and dreaming, ... never\ndreamed of attributing to you any form of such a fault? Promise not to\nsay so again--now promise. Think how it must sound to my ears, when\nreally and truly I have sometimes felt jealous of myself ... of my own\ninfirmities, ... and thought that you cared for me only because your\nchivalry touched them with a silver sound--and that, without them, you\nwould pass by on the other side:--why twenty times I have thought\n_that_ and been vexed--ungrateful vexation! In exchange for which too\nfrank confession, I will ask for another silent promise ... a silent\npromise--no, but first I will say another thing.\n\nFirst I will say that you are not to fancy any the least danger of my\nfalling under displeasure through your visits--there is no sort of\nrisk of it _for the present_--and if I ran the risk of making you\nuncomfortable about _that_, I did foolishly, and what I meant to do\nwas different. I wish you also to understand that _even if you came\nhere every day_, my brothers and sisters would simply care to know if\nI liked it, and then be glad if I was glad:--the caution referred to\none person alone. In relation to _whom_, however, there will be no\n'getting over'--you might as well think to sweep off a third of the\nstars of Heaven with the motion of your eyelashes--this, for matter of\nfact and certainty--and this, as I said before, the keeping of a\ngeneral rule and from no disrespect towards individuals: a great\npeculiarity _in the individual_ of course. But ... though I have been\na submissive daughter, and this from no effort, but for love's sake\n... because I loved him tenderly (and love him), ... and hoped that he\nloved me back again even if the proofs came untenderly sometimes--yet\nI have reserved for myself _always_ that right over my own affections\nwhich is the most strictly personal of all things, and which involves\nprinciples and consequences of infinite importance and scope--even\nthough I _never_ thought (except perhaps when the door of life was\njust about to open ... before it opened) never thought it probable or\npossible that I should have occasion for the exercise; from without\nand from within at once. I have too much need to look up. For friends,\nI can look any way ... round, and _down_ even--the merest thread of a\nsympathy will draw me sometimes--or even the least look of kind eyes\nover a dyspathy--'Cela se peut facilement.' But for another\nrelation--it was all different--and rightly so--and so very\ndifferent--'Cela ne se peut nullement'--as in Malherbe.\n\nAnd now we must agree to 'let all this be,', and set ourselves to get\nas much good and enjoyment from the coming winter (better spent at\nPisa!) as we can--and I begin my joy by being glad that you are not\ngoing since I am not going, and by being proud of these new green\nleaves in your bay which came out with the new number. And then will\ncome the tragedies--and then, ... what beside? We shall have a happy\nwinter after all ... _I_ shall at least; and if Pisa had been better,\nLondon might be worse: and for _me_ to grow pretentious and fastidious\nand critical about various sorts of _purple_ ... I, who have been used\nto the _brun foncé_ of Mme. de Sévigné, (_foncé_ and _enfoncé_\n...)--would be too absurd. But why does not the proof come all this\ntime? I have kept this letter to go back with it.\n\nI had a proposition from the New York booksellers about six weeks ago\n(the booksellers who printed the poems) to let them re-print those\nprose papers of mine in the _Athenæum_, with additional matter on\nAmerican literature, in a volume by itself--to be published at the\nsame time both in America and England by Wiley and Putnam in Waterloo\nPlace, and meaning to offer liberal terms, they said. Now what shall I\ndo? Those papers are not fit for separate publication, and I am not\ninclined to the responsibility of them; and in any case, they must\ngive as much trouble as if they were re-written (trouble and not\npoetry!), before I could consent to such a thing. Well!--and if I do\nnot ... these people are just as likely to print them without leave\n... and so without correction. What do you advise? What shall I do?\nAll this time they think me sublimely indifferent, they who pressed\nfor an answer by return of packet--and now it is past six ... eight\nweeks; and I must say something.\n\nAm I not 'femme qui parle' to-day? And let me talk on ever so, the\nproof won't come. May God bless you--and me as I am\n\n Yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nAnd the silent promise I would have you make is this--that if ever you\nshould leave me, it shall be (though you are not 'selfish') for your\nsake--and not for mine: for your good, and not for mine. I ask it--not\nbecause I am disinterested; but because one class of motives would be\nvalid, and the other void--simply for that reason.\n\nThen the _femme qui parle_ (looking back over the parlance) did not\nmean to say on the first page of this letter that she was ever for a\nmoment _vexed in her pride_ that she should owe anything to her\nadversities. It was only because adversities are accidents and not\nessentials. If it had been prosperities, it would have been the same\nthing--no, not the same thing!--but far worse.\n\nOccy is up to-day and doing well.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, October 27, 1845.]\n\nHow does one make 'silent promises' ... or, rather, how does the maker\nof them communicate that fact to whomsoever it may concern? I know,\nthere have been many, very many unutterable vows and promises\nmade,--that is, _thought_ down upon--the white slip at the top of my\nnotes,--such as of this note; and not trusted to the pen, that always\ncomes in for the shame,--but given up, and replaced by the poor forms\nto which a pen is equal; and a glad minute I should account _that_, in\nwhich you collected and accepted _those_ 'promises'--because they\nwould not be all so unworthy of me--much less you! I would receive, in\nvirtue of _them_, the ascription of whatever worthiness is supposed to\nlie in deep, truest love, and gratitude--\n\n Read my silent answer there too!\n\nAll your letter is one comfort: we will be happy this winter, and\nafter, do not fear. I am most happy, to begin, that your brother is so\nmuch better: he must be weak and susceptible of cold, remember.\n\nIt was on my lip, I do think, _last_ visit, or the last but one, to\nbeg you to detach those papers from the _Athenæum's gâchis_. Certainly\nthis opportunity is _most_ favourable, for every reason: you cannot\nhesitate, surely. At present those papers are lost--_lost_ for\npractical purposes. Do pray reply without fail to the proposers; no,\nno harm of these really fine fellows, who _could_ do harm (by printing\nincorrect copies, and perhaps eking out the column by suppositious\nmatter ... ex-gr. they strengthened and lengthened a book of Dickens',\nin Paris, by adding quant. suff. of Thackeray's 'Yellowplush Papers'\n... as I discovered by a Parisian somebody praising the latter to me\nas Dickens' best work!)--and who _do_ really a good straightforward\nun-American thing. You will encourage 'the day of small\nthings'--though this is not small, nor likely to have small results. I\nshall be impatient to hear that you have decided. I like the progress\nof these Americans in taste, their amazing leaps, like grasshoppers up\nto the sun--from ... what is the '_from_,' what depth, do you\nremember, say, ten or twelve years back?--_to_--Carlyle, and Tennyson,\nand you! So children leave off Jack of Cornwall and go on just to\nHomer.\n\nI can't conceive why my proof does not come--I must go to-morrow and\nsee. In the other, I have corrected all the points you noted, to their\nevident improvement. Yesterday I took out 'Luria' and read it\nthrough--the skeleton--I shall hope to finish it soon now. It is for a\npurely imaginary stage,--very simple and straightforward. Would you\n... no, Act by Act, as I was about to propose that you should read it;\nthat process would affect the oneness I most wish to preserve.\n\nOn Tuesday--at last, I am with you. Till when be with me ever,\ndearest--God bless you ever--\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday 9 a.m.\n [In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]\n\nI got this on coming home last night--have just run through it this\nmorning, and send it that time may not be lost. Faults, faults; but I\ndon't know how I have got tired of this. The Tragedies will be better,\nat least the second--\n\nAt 3 this day! Bless you--\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "I write in haste, not to lose time about the proof. You will see on\nthe papers here my doubtfulnesses such as they are--but silence\nswallows up the admirations ... and there is no time. 'Theocrite'\novertakes that wish of mine which ran on so fast--and the 'Duchess'\ngrows and grows the more I look--and 'Saul' is noble and must have his\nfull royalty some day. Would it not be well, by the way, to print it\nin the meanwhile as a fragment confessed ... sowing asterisks at the\nend. Because as a poem of yours it stands there and wants unity, and\npeople can't be expected to understand the difference between\nincompleteness and defect, unless you make a sign. For the new\npoems--they are full of beauty. You throw largesses out on all sides\nwithout counting the coins: how beautiful that 'Night and Morning' ...\nand the 'Earth's Immortalities' ... and the 'Song' too. And for your\n'Glove,' all women should be grateful,--and Ronsard, honoured, in\nthis fresh shower of music on his old grave ... though the chivalry of\nthe interpretation, as well as much beside, is so plainly yours, ...\ncould only be yours perhaps. And even _you_ are forced to let in a\nthird person ... close to the doorway ... before you can do any good.\nWhat a noble lion you give us too, with the 'flash on his forehead,'\nand 'leagues in the desert already' as we look on him! And then, with\nwhat a 'curious felicity' you turn the subject 'glove' to another use\nand strike De Lorge's blow back on him with it, in the last paragraph\nof your story! And the versification! And the lady's speech--(to\nreturn!) so calm, and proud--yet a little bitter!\n\nAm I not to thank you for all the pleasure and pride in these poems?\nwhile you stand by and try to talk them down, perhaps.\n\nTell me how your mother is--tell me how you are ... you who never were\nto be told twice about walking. Gone the way of all promises, is that\npromise?\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Night.\n [Post-mark, October 30, 1845.]\n\nLike your kindness--too, far too generous kindness,--all this trouble\nand correcting,--and it is my proper office now, by this time, to sit\nstill and receive, by right _Human_ (as opposed to Divine). When you\nsee the pamphlet's self, you will find your own doing,--but where will\nyou find the proofs of the best of all helping and counselling and\ninciting, unless in new works which shall justify the\n_unsatisfaction_, if I may not say shame, at these, these written\nbefore your time, my best love?\n\nAre you doing well to-day? For I feel well, have walked some eight or\nnine miles--and my mother is very much better ... is singularly\nbetter. You know whether you rejoiced me or no by that information\nabout the exercise _you_ had taken yesterday. Think what telling one\nthat you grow stronger would mean!\n\n'Vexatious' with you! Ah, prudence is all very right, and one ought,\nno doubt, to say, 'of course, we shall not expect a life exempt from\nthe usual proportion of &c. &c.--' but truth is still more right, and\nincludes the highest prudence besides, and I do believe that we shall\nbe happy; that is, that _you_ will be happy: you see I dare\nconfidently expect _the_ end to it all ... so it has always been with\nme in my life of wonders--absolute wonders, with God's hand over\nall.... And this last and best of all would never have begun so, and\ngone on so, to break off abruptly even here, in this world, for the\nlittle time.\n\nSo try, try, dearest, every method, take every measure of hastening\nsuch a consummation. Why, we shall see Italy together! I could, would,\n_will_ shut myself in four walls of a room with you and never leave\nyou and be most of all _then_ 'a lord of infinite space'--but, to\ntravel with you to Italy, or Greece. Very vain, I know that, all such\nday dreaming! And ungrateful, too; with the real sufficing happiness\nhere of being, and knowing that you know me to be, and suffer me to\ntell you I am yours, ever your own.\n\n God bless you, my dearest--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, November 1, 1845.]\n\nAll to-day, Friday, Miss Mitford has been here! She came at two and\nwent away at seven--and I feel as if I had been making a five-hour\nspeech on the corn laws in Harriet Martineau's parliament; ... so\ntired I am. Not that dear Miss Mitford did not talk both for me and\nherself, ... for that, of course she did. But I was forced to answer\nonce every ten minutes at least--and Flush, my usual companion, does\nnot exact so much--and so I am tired and come to rest myself on this\npaper. Your name was not once spoken to-day; a little from my good\nfencing: when I saw you at the end of an alley of associations, I\npushed the conversation up the next--because I was afraid of questions\nsuch as every moment I expected, with a pair of woman's eyes behind\nthem; and those are worse than Mr. Kenyon's, when he puts on his\nspectacles. So your name was not once spoken--not thought of, I do not\nsay--perhaps when I once lost her at Chevy Chase and found her\nsuddenly with Isidore the queen's hairdresser, my thoughts might have\nwandered off to you and your unanswered letter while she passed\ngradually from that to this--I am not sure of the contrary. And\nIsidore, they say, reads Béranger, and is supposed to be the most\nliterary person at court--and wasn't at Chevy Chase one must needs\nthink.\n\nOne must needs write nonsense rather--for I have written it there. The\nsense and the truth is, that your letter went to the bottom of my\nheart, and that my thoughts have turned round it ever since and\nthrough all the talking to-day. Yes indeed, dreams! But what _is_ not\ndreaming is this and this--this reading of these words--this proof of\nthis regard--all this that you are to me in fact, and which you cannot\nguess the full meaning of, dramatic poet as you are ... cannot ...\nsince you do not know what my life meant before you touched it, ...\nand my angel at the gate of the prison! My wonder is greater than your\nwonders, ... I who sate here alone but yesterday, so weary of my own\nbeing that to take interest in my very poems I had to lift them up by\nan effort and separate them from myself and cast them out from me into\nthe sunshine where I was not--feeling nothing of the light which fell\non them even--making indeed a sort of pleasure and interest about that\nfactitious personality associated with them ... but knowing it to be\nall far on the outside of _me_ ... _myself_ ... not seeming to touch\nit with the end of my finger ... and receiving it as a mockery and a\nbitterness when people persisted in confounding one with another.\nMorbid it was if you like it--perhaps very morbid--but all these heaps\nof letters which go into the fire one after the other, and which,\nbecause I am a woman and have written verses, it seems so amusing to\nthe letter-writers of your sex to write and see 'what will come of\nit,' ... some, from kind good motives I know, ... well, ... how could\nit all make for me even such a narrow strip of sunshine as Flush finds\non the floor sometimes, and lays his nose along, with both ears out in\nthe shadow? It was not for _me_ ... _me_ ... in any way: it was not\nwithin my reach--I did not seem to touch it as I said. Flush came\nnearer, and I was grateful to him ... yes, grateful ... for not being\ntired! I have felt grateful and flattered ... yes flattered ... when\nhe has chosen rather to stay with me all day than go down-stairs.\nGrateful too, with reason, I have been and am to my own family for not\nletting me see that I was a burthen. These are facts. And now how am I\nto feel when you tell me what you have told me--and what you 'could\nwould and will' do, and _shall not_ do?... but when you tell me?\n\nOnly remember that such words make you freer and freer--if you can be\nfreer than free--just as every one makes me happier and richer--too\nrich by you, to claim any debt. May God bless you always. When I wrote\nthat letter to let you come the first time, do you know, the tears ran\ndown my cheeks.... I could not tell why: partly it might be mere\nnervousness. And then, I was vexed with you for wishing to come as\nother people did, and vexed with myself for not being able to refuse\nyou as I did them.\n\nWhen does the book come out? Not on the first, I begin to be glad.\n\n Ever yours,\n\n E.B.B.\n\nI trust that you go on to take exercise--and that your mother is still\nbetter. Occy's worst symptom now is too great an appetite ... a\nmonster-appetite indeed.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, November 4, 1845.]\n\nOnly a word to tell you Moxon promises the books for to-morrow,\nWednesday--so towards evening yours will reach you--'parve liber, sine\nme ibis' ... would I were by you, then and ever! You see, and know,\nand understand why I can neither talk to you, nor write to you _now_,\nas we are now;--from the beginning, the personal interest absorbed\nevery other, greater or smaller--but as one cannot well,--or should\nnot,--sit quite silently, the words go on, about Horne, or what\nchances--while you are in my thought.\n\nBut when I have you ... so it seems ... _in_ my very heart; when you\nare entirely with me--oh, the day--then it will all go better, talk\nand writing too.\n\nLove me, my own love; not as I love you--not for--but I cannot write\nthat. Nor do I ask anything, with all your gifts here, except for the\nluxury of asking. Withdraw nothing, then, dearest, from your\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, November 6, 1845.]\n\nI had your note last night, and am waiting for the book to-day; a true\nliving breathing book, let the writer say of it what he will. Also\nwhen it comes it won't certainly come 'sine te.' Which is my comfort.\n\nAnd now--not to make any more fuss about a matter of simple\nrestitution--may I have my letter back?... I mean the letter which if\nyou did not destroy ... did not punish for its sins long and long ago\n... belongs to me--which, if destroyed, I must lose for my sins, ...\nbut, if undestroyed, which I may have back; may I not? is it not my\nown? must I not?--that letter I was made to return and now turn to ask\nfor again in further expiation. Now do I ask humbly enough? And send\nit at once, if undestroyed--do not wait till Saturday.\n\nI have considered about Mr. Kenyon and it seems best, in the event of\na question or of a remark equivalent to a question, to confess to the\nvisits 'generally once a week' ... because he may hear, one, two,\nthree different ways, ... not to say the other reasons and Chaucer's\ncharge against 'doubleness.' I fear ... I fear that he (not Chaucer)\nwill wonder a little--and he has looked at me with scanning spectacles\nalready and talked of its being a mystery to him how you made your way\nhere; and _I_, who though I can _bespeak_ self-command, have no sort\nof presence of mind (not so much as one would use to play at Jack\nstraws) did not help the case at all. Well--it cannot be helped. Did I\never tell you what he said of you once--'_that you deserved to be a\npoet_--being one in your heart and life:' he said _that_ of you to me,\nand I thought it a noble encomium and deserving its application.\n\nFor the rest ... yes: you know I do--God knows I do. Whatever I can\nfeel is for you--and perhaps it is not less, for not being simmered\naway in too much sunshine as with women accounted happier. _I_ am\nhappy besides now--happy enough to die now.\n\n May God bless you, dear--dearest--\n\n Ever I am yours--\n\nThe book does not come--so I shall not wait. Mr. Kenyon came instead,\nand comes again on _Friday_ he says, and Saturday seems to be clear\nstill.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "_Just_ arrived!--(mind, the _silent writing_ overflows the page, and\nlaughs at the black words for Mr. Kenyon to read!)--But your note\narrived earlier--more of that, when I write after this dreadful\ndispatching-business that falls on me--friend A. and B. and C. must\nget their copy, and word of regard, all by next post!--\n\nCould you think _that_ that untoward letter lived one _moment_ after\nit returned to me? I burned it and cried 'serve it right'! Poor\nletter,--yet I should have been vexed and offended _then_ to be told I\n_could_ love you better than I did already. 'Live and _learn_!' Live\nand love you--dearest, as loves you\n\n R.B.\n\nYou will write to reassure me about Saturday, if not for other\nreasons. See your corrections ... and understand that in one or two\ninstances in which they would seem not to be adopted, they _are_ so,\nby some modification of the previous, or following line ... as in one\nof the Sorrento lines ... about a 'turret'--see! (Can you give me\nHorne's address--I would send then.)", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, November 7, 1845.]\n\nI see and know; read and mark; and only hope there is no harm done by\nmy meddling; and lose the sense of it all in the sense of beauty and\npower everywhere, which nobody could kill, if they took to meddling\nmore even. And now, what will people say to this and this and this--or\n'O seclum insipiens et inficetum!' or rather, O ungrateful right hand\nwhich does not thank you first! I do thank you. I have been reading\neverything with new delight; and at intervals remembering in\ninglorious complacency (for which you must try to forgive me) that Mr.\nForster is no longer anything like an enemy. And yet (just see what\ncontradiction!) the _British Quarterly_ has been abusing me so at\nlarge, that I can only take it to be the achievement of a very\nparticular friend indeed,--of someone who positively never reviewed\nbefore and tries his new sword on me out of pure friendship. Only I\nsuppose it is not the general rule, and that there are friends 'with a\ndifference.' Not that you are to fancy me pained--oh no!--merely\nsurprised. I was prepared for anything almost from the quarter in\nquestion, but scarcely for being hung 'to the crows' so publicly ...\nthough within the bounds of legitimate criticisms, mind. But oh--the\ncreatures of your sex are not always magnanimous--_that_ is true. And\nto put _you_ between me and all ... the thought of _you_ ... in a\ngreat eclipse of the world ... _that_ is happy ... only, too happy for\nsuch as I am; as my own heart warns me hour by hour.\n\n'Serve _me_ right'--I do not dare to complain. I wished for the safety\nof that letter so much that I finished by persuading myself of the\nprobability of it: but 'serve _me_ right' quite clearly. And yet--but\nno more 'and yets' about it. 'And yets' fray the silk.\n\nI see how the 'turret' stands in the new reading, triumphing over the\n'tower,' and unexceptionable in every respect. Also I do hold that\nnobody with an ordinary understanding has the slightest pretence for\nattaching a charge of obscurity to this new number--there are lights\nenough for the critics to scan one another's dull blank of visage by.\nOne verse indeed in that expressive lyric of the 'Lost Mistress,' does\nstill seem questionable to me, though you have changed a word since I\nsaw it; and still I fancy that I rather leap at the meaning than reach\nit--but it is my own fault probably ... I am not sure. With that one\nexception I _am quite_ sure that people who shall complain of darkness\nare blind ... I mean, that the construction is clear and unembarrassed\neverywhere. Subtleties of thought which are not directly apprehensible\nby minds of a common range, are here as elsewhere in your\nwritings--but if to utter things 'hard to understand' from _that_\ncause be an offence, why we may begin with 'our beloved brother Paul,'\nyou know, and go down through all the geniuses of the world, and bid\nthem put away their inspirations. You must descend to the level of\ncritic A or B, that he may look into your face.... Ah well!--'Let them\nrave.' You will live when all _those_ are under the willows. In the\nmeantime there is something better, as you said, even than your\npoetry--as the giver is better than the gift, and the maker than the\ncreature, and _you_ than _yours_. Yes--_you_ than _yours_.... (I did\nnot mean it so when I wrote it first ... but I accept the 'bona\nverba,' and use the phrase for the end of my letter) ... as _you_ are\nbetter than _yours_; even when so much yours as your own\n\n E.B.B.\n\nMay I see the first act first? Let me!--And you walk?\n\nMr. Horne's address is Hill Side, Fitzroy Park, Highgate.\n\nThere is no reason against Saturday so far. Mr. Kenyon comes\nto-morrow, Friday, and therefore--!--and if Saturday should become\nimpracticable, I will write again.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, November 10, 1845.]\n\nWhen I come back from seeing you, and think over it all, there never\nis a least word of yours I could not occupy myself with, and wish to\nreturn to you with some ... not to say, all ... the thoughts and\nfancies it is sure to call out of me. There is nothing in you that\ndoes not draw out all of me. You possess me, dearest ... and there is\nno help for the expressing it all, no voice nor hand, but these of\nmine which shrink and turn away from the attempt. So you must go on,\npatiently, knowing me more and more, and your entire power on me, and\nI will console myself, to the full extent, with your\nknowledge--penetration, intuition--_somehow_ I must believe you can\nget to what is here, in me, without the pretence of my telling or\nwriting it. But, because I give up the great achievements, there is no\nreason I should not secure any occasion of making clear one of the\nless important points that arise in our intercourse ... if I fancy I\ncan do it with the least success. For instance, it is on my mind to\nexplain what I meant yesterday by trusting that the entire happiness I\nfeel in the letters, and the help in the criticising might not be hurt\nby the surmise, even, that those labours to which you were born, might\nbe suspended, in any degree, through such generosity to _me_. Dearest,\nI believed in your glorious genius and knew it for a true star from\nthe moment I saw it; long before I had the blessing of knowing it was\nMY star, with my fortune and futurity in it. And, when I draw back\nfrom myself, and look better and more clearly, then I _do_ feel, with\nyou, that the writing a few letters more or less, reading many or few\nrhymes of any other person, would not interfere in any material degree\nwith that power of yours--that you might easily make one so happy and\nyet go on writing 'Geraldines' and 'Berthas'--but--how can I, dearest,\nleave my heart's treasures long, even to look at your genius?... and\nwhen I come back and find all safe, find the comfort of you, the\ntraces of you ... _will_ it do--tell me--to trust all that as a light\neffort, an easy matter?\n\nYet, if you can lift me with one hand, while the other suffices to\ncrown you--there is queenliness in _that_, too!\n\nWell, I have spoken. As I told you, your turn comes now. How have you\ndetermined respecting the American Edition? You tell me nothing of\nyourself! It is all ME you help, me you do good to ... and I take it\nall! Now see, if this goes on! I have not had _every_ love-luxury, I\nnow find out ... where is the proper, rationally\nto-be-expected--'_lovers' quarrel_'? _Here_, as you will find! 'Iræ;\namantium'.... I am no more 'at a loss with my Naso,' than Peter\nRonsard. Ah, but then they are to be _reintegratio amoris_--and to get\nback into a thing, one must needs get for a moment first out of it ...\ntrust me, no! And now, the natural inference from all this? The\nconsistent inference ... the 'self-denying ordinance'? Why--do you\ndoubt? even this,--you must just put aside the Romance, and tell the\nAmericans to wait, and make my heart start up when the letter is laid\nto it; the letter full of your news, telling me you are well and\nwalking, and working for my sake towards _the time_--informing me,\nmoreover, if Thursday or Friday is to be my day--.\n\nMay God bless you, my own love.\n\nI will certainly bring you an Act of the Play ... for this serpent's\nreason, in addition to the others ... that--No, I will _tell_ you\nthat--I can tell you now more than even lately!\n\n Ever your own\n\n R.B.\n\n[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF LETTER OF ROBERT BROWNING\n\n(See Vol. I., p. 270)]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, November 11, 1845.]\n\nIf it were possible that you could do me harm in the way of work, (but\nit isn't) it would be possible, not through writing letters and\nreading manuscripts, but because of a reason to be drawn from your own\ngreat line\n\n What man is strong until he stands alone?\n\nWhat man ... what woman? For have I not felt twenty times the desolate\nadvantage of being insulated here and of not minding anybody when I\nmade my poems?--of living a little like a disembodied spirit, and\ncaring less for suppositious criticism than for the black fly buzzing\nin the pane?--_That_ made me what dear Mr. Kenyon calls\n'insolent,'--untimid, and unconventional in my degree; and not so much\nby strength, you see, as by separation. _You_ touch your greater ends\nby mere strength; breaking with your own hands the hampering threads\nwhich, in your position would have hampered _me_.\n\nStill ... when all is changed for me now, and different, it is not\npossible, ... for all the changing, nor for all your line and my\nspeculation, ... that I should not be better and stronger for being\nwithin your influences and sympathies, in this way of writing as in\nother ways. We shall see--you will see. Yet I have been idle lately I\nconfess; leaning half out of some turret-window of the castle of\nIndolence and watching the new sunrise--as why not?--Do I mean to be\nidle always?--no!--and am I not an industrious worker on the average\nof days? Indeed yes! Also I have been less idle than you think\nperhaps, even this last year, though the results seem so like\ntrifling: and I shall set about the prose papers for the New York\npeople, and the something rather better besides we may hope ... may\n_I_ not hope, if _you_ wish it? Only there is no 'crown' for me, be\nsure, except what grows from this letter and such letters ... this\nsense of being anything to _one_! there is no room for another crown.\nHave I a great head like Goethe's that there should be room? and mine\nis bent down already by the unused weight--and as to bearing it, ...\n'Will it do,--tell me; to treat _that_ as a light effort, an easy\nmatter?'\n\nNow let me remember to tell you that the line of yours I have just\nquoted, and which has been present with me since you wrote it, Mr.\nChorley has quoted too in his new novel of 'Pomfret.' You were right\nin your identifying of servant and waistcoat--and Wilson waited only\ntill you had gone on Saturday, to give me a parcel and note; the novel\nitself in fact, which Mr. Chorley had the kindness to send me 'some\ndays or weeks,' said the note, 'previous to the publication.' Very\ngoodnatured of him certainly: and the book seems to me his best work\nin point of sustainment and vigour, and I am in process of being\ninterested in it. Not that he is a _maker_, even for this prose. A\nfeeler ... an observer ... a thinker even, in a certain sphere--but a\nmaker ... no, as it seems to me--and if I were he, I would rather herd\nwith the essayists than the novelists where he is too good to take\ninferior rank and not strong enough to 'go up higher.' Only it would\nbe more right in me to be grateful than to talk so--now wouldn't it?\n\nAnd here is Mr. Kenyon's letter back again--a kind good letter ... a\nletter I have liked to read (so it was kind and good in you to let\nme!)--and he was with me to-day and praising the 'Ride to Ghent,' and\npraising the 'Duchess,' and praising you altogether as I liked to hear\nhim. The Ghent-ride was 'very fine'--and the\n\n Into the midnight they galloped abreast\n\ndrew us out into the night as witnesses. And then, the 'Duchess' ...\nthe conception of it was noble, and the vehicle, rhythm and all, most\ncharacteristic and individual ... though some of the rhymes ... oh,\nsome of the rhymes did not find grace in his ears--but the\nincantation-scene, 'just trenching on the supernatural,' _that_ was\ntaken to be 'wonderful,' ... 'showing extraordinary power, ... as\nindeed other things did ... works of a highly original writer and of\nsuch various faculty!'--Am I not tired of writing your praises as he\nsaid then? So I shall tell you, instead of any more, that I went down\nto the drawing-room yesterday (because it was warm enough) by an act\nof supererogatory virtue for which you may praise _me_ in turn. What\nweather it is! and how the year seems to have forgotten itself into\nApril.\n\nBut after all, how have I answered your letter? and how _are_ such\nletters to be answered? Do we answer the sun when he shines? May God\nbless you ... it is my answer--with one word besides ... that I am\nwholly and ever your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nOn Thursday as far as I know yet--and you shall hear if there should\nbe an obstacle. _Will you walk?_ If you will not, you know, you must\nbe forgetting me a little. Will you remember me too in the act of the\nplay?--but above all things in taking the right exercise, and in not\noverworking the head. And this for no serpent's reason.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Two letters in one--Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, November 15, 1845.]\n\nI shall see you to-morrow and yet am writing what you will have to\nread perhaps. When you spoke of 'stars' and 'geniuses' in that letter,\nI did not seem to hear; I was listening to those words of the letter\nwhich were of a better silver in the sound than even your praise could\nbe; and now that at last I come to hear them in their extravagance (oh\nsuch pure extravagance about 'glorious geniuses'--) I can't help\ntelling you they were heard last, and deserved it.\n\nShall I tell you besides?--The first moment in which I seemed to admit\nto myself in a flash of lightning the _possibility_ of your affection\nfor me being more than dream-work ... the first moment was _that_ when\nyou intimated (as you have done since repeatedly) that you cared for\nme not for a reason, but because you cared for me. Now such a\n'parceque' which reasonable people would take to be irrational, was\njust the only one fitted to the uses of my understanding on the\nparticular question we were upon ... just the 'woman's reason'\nsuitable to the woman ...; for I could understand that it might be as\nyou said, and, if so, that it was altogether unanswerable ... do you\nsee? If a fact includes its own cause ... why there it stands for\never--one of 'earth's immortalities'--_as long as it includes it_.\n\nAnd when unreasonableness stands for a reason, it is a promising state\nof things, we may both admit, and proves what it would be as well not\ntoo curiously to enquire into. But then ... to look at it in a\nbrighter aspect, ... I do remember how, years ago, when talking the\nfoolishnesses which women will talk when they are by themselves, and\nnot forced to be sensible, ... one of my friends thought it 'safest to\nbegin with a little aversion,' and another, wisest to begin with a\ngreat deal of esteem, and how the best attachments were produced so\nand so, ... I took it into my head to say that the best was where\nthere was no cause at all for it, and the more wholly unreasonable,\nthe better still; that the motive should lie in the feeling itself and\nnot in the object of it--and that the affection which could (if it\ncould) throw itself out on an idiot with a goître would be more\nadmirable than Abelard's. Whereupon everybody laughed, and someone\nthought it affected of me and no true opinion, and others said plainly\nthat it was immoral, and somebody else hoped, in a sarcasm, that I\nmeant to act out my theory for the advantage of the world. To which I\nreplied quite gravely that I had not virtue enough--and so, people\nlaughed as it is fair to laugh when other people are esteemed to talk\nnonsense. And all this came back to me in the south wind of your\n'parceque,' and I tell it as it came ... now.\n\nWhich proves, if it proves anything, ... while I have every sort of\nnatural pleasure in your praises and like you to like my poetry just\nas I should, and perhaps more than I should; yet _why_ it is all\nbehind ... and in its place--and _why_ I have a tendency moreover to\nsift and measure any praise of yours and to separate it from the\nsuperfluities, far more than with any other person's praise in the\nworld.\n\n_Friday evening._--Shall I send this letter or not? I have been 'tra\n'l si e 'l no,' and writing a new beginning on a new sheet even--but\nafter all you ought to hear the remote echo of your last letter ...\nfar out among the hills, ... as well as the immediate reverberation,\nand so I will send it,--and what I send is not to be answered,\nremember!\n\nI read Luria's first act twice through before I slept last night, and\nfeel just as a bullet might feel, not because of the lead of it but\nbecause shot into the air and suddenly arrested and suspended. It\n('Luria') is all life, and we know (that is, the reader knows) that\nthere must be results here and here. How fine that sight of Luria is\nupon the lynx hides--how you see the Moor in him just in the glimpse\nyou have by the eyes of another--and that laugh when the horse drops\nthe forage, what wonderful truth and character you have in\n_that_!--And then, when _he_ is in the scene--: 'Golden-hearted Luria'\nyou called him once to me, and his heart shines already ... wide open\nto the morning sun. The construction seems to me very clear\neverywhere--and the rhythm, even over-smooth in a few verses, where\nyou invert a little artificially--but that shall be set down on a\nseparate strip of paper: and in the meantime I am snatched up into\n'Luria' and feel myself driven on to the ends of the poet, just as a\nreader should.\n\nBut _you_ are not driven on to any ends? so as to be tired, I mean?\nYou will not suffer yourself to be overworked because you are\n'interested' in this work. I am so certain that the sensations in your\nhead _demand_ repose; and it must be so injurious to you to be\nperpetually calling, calling these new creations, one after another,\nthat you must consent to be called _to_, and not hurry the next act,\nno, nor any act--let the people have time to learn the last number by\nheart. And how glad I am that Mr. Fox should say what he did of it ...\nthough it wasn't true, you know ... not exactly. Still, I do hold that\nas far as construction goes, you never put together so much\nunquestionable, smooth glory before, ... not a single entanglement for\nthe understanding ... unless 'the snowdrops' make an exception--while\nfor the undeniableness of genius it never stood out before your\nreaders more plainly than in that same number! Also you have extended\nyour sweep of power--the sea-weed is thrown farther (if not higher)\nthan it was found before; and one may calculate surely now how a few\nmore waves will cover the brown stones and float the sight up away\nthrough the fissure of the rocks. The rhythm (to touch one of the\nvarious things) the rhythm of that 'Duchess' does more and more strike\nme as a new thing; something like (if like anything) what the Greeks\ncalled pedestrian-metre, ... between metre and prose ... the difficult\nrhymes combining too quite curiously with the easy looseness of the\ngeneral measure. Then 'The Ride'--with that touch of natural feeling\nat the end, to prove that it was not in brutal carelessness that the\npoor horse was driven through all that suffering ... yes, and how that\none touch of softness acts back upon the energy and resolution and\nexalts both, instead of weakening anything, as might have been\nexpected by the vulgar of writers or critics. And then 'Saul'--and in\na first place 'St. Praxed'--and for pure description, 'Fortú' and the\ndeep 'Pictor Ignotus'--and the noble, serene 'Italy in England,' which\ngrows on you the more you know of it--and that delightful 'Glove'--and\nthe short lyrics ... for one comes to _'select' everything_ at last,\nand certainly I do like these poems better and better, as your poems\nare made to be liked. But you will be tired to hear it said over and\nover so, ... and I am going to 'Luria,' besides.\n\nWhen you write will you say exactly how you are? and will you write?\nAnd I want to explain to you that although I don't make a profession\nof equable spirits, (as a matter of temperament, my spirits were\nalways given to rock a little, up and down) yet that I did not mean to\nbe so ungrateful and wicked as to complain of low spirits now and to\nyou. It would not be true either: and I said 'low' to express a merely\nbodily state. My opium comes in to keep the pulse from fluttering and\nfainting ... to give the right composure and point of balance to the\nnervous system. I don't take it for 'my spirits' in the usual sense;\nyou must not think such a thing. The medical man who came to see me\nmade me take it the other day when he was in the room, before the\nright hour and when I was talking quite cheerfully, just for the need\nhe observed in the pulse. 'It was a necessity of my position,' he\nsaid. Also I do not suffer from it in any way, as people usually do\nwho take opium. I am not even subject to an opium-headache. As to the\nlow spirits I will not say that mine _have not_ been low enough and\nwith cause enough; but _even then_, ... why if you were to ask the\nnearest witnesses, ... say, even my own sisters, ... everybody would\ntell you, I think, that the 'cheerfulness' even _then_, was the\nremarkable thing in me--certainly it has been remarked about me again\nand again. Nobody has known that it was an effort (a habit of effort)\nto throw the light on the outside,--I do abhor so that ignoble\ngroaning aloud of the 'groans of Testy and Sensitude'--yet I may say\nthat for three years I never was conscious of one movement of pleasure\nin anything. Think if I could mean to complain of 'low spirits' now,\nand to you. Why it would be like complaining of not being able to see\nat noon--which would simply prove that I was very blind. And you, who\nare not blind, cannot make out what is written--so you _need not try_.\nMay God bless you long after you have done blessing me!\n\n Your own\n\n E.B.B.\n\nNow I am half tempted to tear this letter in two (and it is long\nenough for three) and to send you only the latter half. But you will\nunderstand--you will not think that there is a contradiction between\nthe first and last ... you _cannot_. One is a truth of me--and the\nother a truth of you--and we two are different, you know.\n\nYou are not over-working in 'Luria'? That you _should not_, is a\ntruth, too.\n\nI observed that Mr. Kenyon put in '_Junior_' to your address. Ought\nthat to be done? or does my fashion of directing find you without\nhesitation?\n\nMr. Kenyon asked me for Mr. Chorley's book, or you should have it.\nShall I send it to you presently?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, November 17, 1845.]\n\nAt last your letter comes--and the deep joy--(I know and use to\nanalyse my own feelings, and be sober in giving distinctive names to\ntheir varieties; this is _deep_ joy,)--the true love with which I\ntake this much of you into my heart, ... _that_ proves what it is I\nwanted so long, and find at last, and am happy for ever. I must have\nmore than 'intimated'--I must have spoken plainly out the truth, if I\ndo myself the barest justice, and told you long ago that the\nadmiration at your works went _away_, quite another way and afar from\nthe love of you. If I could fancy some method of what I shall say\nhappening without all the obvious stumbling-blocks of falseness, &c.\nwhich no foolish fancy dares associate with you ... if you COULD tell\nme when I next sit by you--'I will undeceive you,--I am not _the_ Miss\nB.--she is up-stairs and you shall see her--I only wrote those\nletters, and am what you see, that is all now left you' (all the\nmisapprehension having arisen from _me_, in some inexplicable way) ...\nI should not begin by _saying_ anything, dear, dearest--but _after\nthat_, I should assure you--soon make you believe that I did not much\nwonder at the event, for I have been all my life asking what\nconnection there is between the satisfaction at the display of power,\nand the sympathy with--ever-increasing sympathy with--all imaginable\nweakness? Look now: Coleridge writes on and on,--at last he writes a\nnote to his 'War-Eclogue,' in which he avers himself to have been\nactuated by a really--on the whole--_benevolent_ feeling to Mr. Pitt\nwhen he wrote that stanza in which 'Fire' means to 'cling to him\neverlastingly'--where is the long line of admiration now that the end\nsnaps? And now--here I refuse to fancy--you KNOW whether, if you never\nwrite another line, speak another intelligible word, recognize me by a\nlook again--whether I shall love you less or _more_ ... MORE; having a\nright to expect more strength with the strange emergency. And it is\nbecause I know this, build upon this entirely, that as a reasonable\ncreature, I am bound to look first to what hangs farthest and most\nloosely from me ... what _might_ go from you to your loss, and so to\nmine, to say the least ... because I want ALL of you, not just so much\nas I could not live without--and because I see the danger of your\nentirely generous disposition and cannot quite, yet, bring myself to\nprofit by it in the quiet way you recommend. Always remember, I never\nwrote to you, all the years, on the strength of your poetry, though I\nconstantly heard of you through Mr. K. and was near seeing you once,\nand might have easily availed myself of his intervention to commend\nany letter to your notice, so as to reach you out of the foolish crowd\nof rushers-in upon genius ... who come and eat their bread and cheese\non the high-altar, and talk of reverence without one of its surest\ninstincts--never quiet till they cut their initials on the cheek of\nthe Medicean Venus to prove they worship her. My admiration, as I\nsaid, went its natural way in silence--but when on my return to\nEngland in December, late in the month, Mr. K. sent those Poems to my\nsister, and I read my name there--and when, a day or two after, I met\nhim and, beginning to speak my mind on them, and getting on no better\nthan I should now, said quite naturally--'if I were to _write_ this,\nnow?'--and he assured me with his perfect kindness, you would be even\n'pleased' to hear from me under those circumstances ... nay,--for I\nwill tell you all, in this, in everything--when he wrote me a note\nsoon after to reassure me on that point ... THEN I _did_ write, on\n_account of my purely personal obligation_, though of course taking\nthat occasion to allude to the general and customary delight in your\nworks: I did write, on the whole, UNWILLINGLY ... with consciousness\nof having to _speak_ on a subject which I _felt_ thoroughly\nconcerning, and could not be satisfied with an imperfect expression\nof. As for expecting THEN what has followed ... I shall only say I was\nscheming how to get done with England and go to my heart in Italy. And\nnow, my love--I am round you ... my whole life is wound up and down\nand over you.... I feel you stir everywhere. I am not conscious of\nthinking or feeling but _about_ you, with some reference to you--so I\nwill live, so may I die! And you have blessed me _beyond_ the _bond_,\nin more than in giving me yourself to love; inasmuch as you believed\nme from the first ... what you call 'dream-work' _was_ real of its\nkind, did you not think? and now you believe me, _I_ believe and am\nhappy, in what I write with my heart full of love for you. Why do you\ntell me of a doubt, as now, and bid me not clear it up, 'not answer\nyou?' Have I done wrong in thus answering? Never, never do _me_ direct\n_wrong_ and hide for a moment from me what a word can explain as now.\nYou see, you thought, if but for a moment, I loved your intellect--or\nwhat predominates in your poetry and is most distinct from your\nheart--better, or as well as you--did you not? and I have told you\nevery thing,--explained everything ... have I not? And now I will dare\n... yes, dearest, kiss you back to my heart again; my own. There--and\nthere!\n\nAnd since I wrote what is above, I have been reading among other poems\nthat sonnet--'Past and Future'--which affects me more than any poem I\never read. How can I put your poetry away from you, even in these\nineffectual attempts to concentrate myself upon, and better apply\nmyself to what remains?--poor, poor work it is; for is not that sonnet\nto be loved as a true utterance of yours? I cannot attempt to put down\nthe thoughts that rise; may God bless me, as you pray, by letting that\nbeloved hand shake the less ... I will only ask, _the less_ ... for\nbeing laid on mine through this life! And, indeed, you write down, for\nme to calmly read, that I make you happy! Then it is--as with all\npower--God through the weakest instrumentality ... and I am past\nexpression proud and grateful--My love,\n\n I am your\n\n R.B.\n\nI must answer your questions: I am better--and will certainly have\nyour injunction before my eyes and work quite moderately. Your letters\ncome _straight_ to me--my father's go to Town, except on extraordinary\noccasions, so that _all_ come for my first looking-over. I saw Mr. K.\nlast night at the Amateur Comedy--and heaps of old acquaintances--and\ncame home tired and savage--and _yearned_ literally, for a letter this\nmorning, and so it came and I was well again. So, I am not even to\nhave your low spirits leaning on mine? It was just because I always\nfind you alike, and _ever_ like yourself, that I seemed to discern a\ndepth, when you spoke of 'some days' and what they made uneven where\nall is agreeable to _me_. Do not, now, deprive me of a right--a right\n... to find you as you _are_; get no habit of being cheerful with\nme--I have universal sympathy and can show you a SIDE of me, a true\nface, turn as you may. If you _are_ cheerful ... so will I be ... if\nsad, my cheerfulness will be all the while _behind_, and propping up,\nany sadness that meets yours, if that should be necessary. As for my\nquestion about the opium ... you do not misunderstand _that_ neither:\nI trust in the eventual consummation of my--shall I not say,\n_our_--hopes; and all that bears upon your health immediately or\nprospectively, affects me--how it affects me! Will you write again?\n_Wednesday_, remember! Mr. K. wants me to go to him one of the three\nnext days after. I will bring you some letters ... one from Landor.\nWhy should I trouble you about 'Pomfret.'\n\nAnd Luria ... does it so interest you? Better is to come of it. How\nyou lift me up!--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, November 18, 1845.]\n\nHow you overcome me as always you do--and where is the answer to\nanything except too deep down in the heart for even the pearl-divers?\nBut understand ... what you do not quite ... that I did not mistake\nyou as far even as you say here and even 'for a moment.' I did not\nwrite any of that letter in a 'doubt' of you--not a word.... I was\nsimply looking back in it on my own states of feeling, ... looking\nback from that point of your praise to what was better ... (or I\nshould not have looked back)--and so coming to tell you, by a natural\nassociation, how the completely opposite point to that of any praise\nwas the one which struck me first and most, viz. the no-reason of your\nreasoning ... acknowledged to be yours. Of course I acknowledge it to\nbe yours, ... that high reason of no reason--I acknowledged it to be\nyours (didn't I?) in acknowledging that it made an impression on me.\nAnd then, referring to the traditions of my experience such as I told\nthem to you, I meant, so, farther to acknowledge that I would rather\nbe cared for in _that_ unreasonable way, than for the best reason in\nthe world. But all _that_ was history and philosophy simply--was it\nnot?--and not _doubt of you_.\n\nThe truth is ... since we really are talking truths in this world ...\nthat I never have doubted you--ah, you _know_!--I felt from the\nbeginning so sure of the nobility and integrity in you that I would\nhave trusted you to make a path for my soul--_that_, you _know_. I\nfelt certain that you believed of yourself every word you spoke or\nwrote--and you must not blame me if I thought besides sometimes (it\nwas the extent of my thought) that you were self-deceived as to the\nnature of your own feelings. If you could turn over every page of my\nheart like the pages of a book, you would see nothing there offensive\nto the least of your feelings ... not even to the outside fringes of\nyour man's vanity ... should you have any vanity like a man; which I\n_do_ doubt. I never wronged you in the least of things--never ... I\nthank God for it. But 'self-deceived,' it was so easy for you to be:\nsee how on every side and day by day, men are--and women too--in this\nsort of feelings. 'Self-deceived,' it was so possible for you to be,\nand while I thought it possible, could I help thinking it _best_ for\nyou that it should be so--and was it not right in me to persist in\nthinking it possible? It was my reverence for you that made me\npersist! What was _I_ that I should think otherwise? I had been shut\nup here too long face to face with my own spirit, not to know myself,\nand, so, to have lost the common illusions of vanity. All the men I\nhad ever known could not make your stature among them. So it was not\ndistrust, but reverence rather. I sate by while the angel stirred the\nwater, and I called it _Miracle_. Do not blame me now, ... _my_ angel!\n\nNor say, that I 'do not lean' on you with all the weight of my 'past'\n... because I do! You cannot guess what you are to me--you cannot--it\nis not possible:--and though I have said _that_ before, I must say it\nagain ... for it comes again to be said. It is something to me between\ndream and miracle, all of it--as if some dream of my earliest\nbrightest dreaming-time had been lying through these dark years to\nsteep in the sunshine, returning to me in a double light. _Can_ it be,\nI say to myself, that _you_ feel for me _so_? can it be meant for me?\nthis from _you_?\n\nIf it is your 'right' that I should be gloomy at will with you, you\nexercise it, I do think--for although I cannot promise to be very\nsorrowful when you come, (how could that be?) yet from different\nmotives it seems to me that I have written to you quite superfluities\nabout my 'abomination of desolation,'--yes indeed, and blamed myself\nafterwards. And now I must say this besides. When grief came upon\ngrief, I never was tempted to ask 'How have I deserved this of God,'\nas sufferers sometimes do: I always felt that there must be cause\nenough ... corruption enough, needing purification ... weakness\nenough, needing strengthening ... _nothing_ of the chastisement could\ncome to me without cause and need. But in this different hour, when\njoy follows joy, and God makes me happy, as you say, _through_ you ...\nI cannot repress the ... 'How have I deserved _this_ of Him?'--I know\nI have not--I know I do not.\n\nCould it be that heart and life were devastated to make room for\nyou?--If so, it was well done,--dearest! They leave the ground fallow\nbefore the wheat.\n\n'Were you wrong in answering?' Surely not ... unless it is wrong to\nshow all this goodness ... and too much, it may be for _me_. When the\nplants droop for drought and the copious showers fall suddenly, silver\nupon silver, they die sometimes of the reverse of their adversities.\nBut no--_that_, even, shall not be a danger! And if I said 'Do not\nanswer,' I did not mean that I would not have a doubt removed--(having\n_no_ doubt!--) but I was simply unwilling to seem to be asking for\ngolden words ... going down the aisles with that large silken purse,\nas _quêteuse_. Try to understand.\n\nOn Wednesday then!--George is invited to meet you on Thursday at Mr.\nKenyon's.\n\nThe _Examiner_ speaks well, upon the whole, and with allowances ...\noh, that absurdity about metaphysics apart from poetry!--'Can such\nthings be' in one of the best reviews of the day? Mr. Kenyon was here\non Sunday and talking of the poems with real living tears in his eyes\nand on his cheeks. But I will tell you. 'Luria' is to climb to the\nplace of a great work, I see. And if I write too long letters, is it\nnot because you spoil me, and because (being spoilt) I cannot help\nit?--May God bless you always--\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n\nHere is the copy of Landor's verses.\n\nYou know thoroughly, do you not, why I brought all those good-natured\nletters, desperate praise and all? Not, _not_ out of the least vanity\nin the world--nor to help myself in your sight with such testimony:\nwould it seem very extravagant, on the contrary, if I said that\nperhaps I laid them before your eyes in a real fit of compunction at\nnot being, in my heart, thankful enough for the evident motive of the\nwriters,--and so was determined to give them the 'last honours' if\nnot the first, and not make them miss _you_ because, through my fault,\nthey had missed _me_? Does this sound too fantastical? Because it is\nstrictly true: the most laudatory of all, I _skimmed_ once over with\nmy flesh _creeping_--it seemed such a death-struggle, that of good\nnature over--well, it is fresh ingratitude of me, so here it shall\nend.\n\nI am not ungrateful to _you_--but you must wait to know that:--I can\nspeak less than nothing with my living lips.\n\nI mean to ask your brother how you are to-night ... so quietly!\n\nGod bless you, my dearest, and reward you.\n\n Your R.B.\n\nMrs. Shelley--with the 'Ricordi.'\n\nOf course, Landor's praise is altogether a different gift; a gold vase\nfrom King Hiram; beside he has plenty of conscious rejoicing in his\nown riches, and is not left painfully poor by what he sends away.\n_That_ is the unpleasant point with some others--they spread you a\nboard and want to gird up their loins and wait on you there. Landor\nsays 'come up higher and let us sit and eat together.' Is it not that?\n\nNow--you are not to turn on me because the first is my proper feeling\nto _you_, ... for poetry is not the thing given or taken between\nus--it is heart and life and _my_self, not _mine_, I give--give? That\nyou glorify and change and, in returning then, give _me_!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, November 21, 1845.]\n\nThank you! and will you, if your sister made the copy of Landor's\nverses for _me_ as well as for you, thank _her_ from me for another\nkindness, ... not the second nor the third? For my own part, be sure\nthat if I did not fall on the right subtle interpretation about the\nletters, at least I did not 'think it vain' of you! vain: when,\nsupposing you really to have been over-gratified by such letters, it\ncould have proved only an excess of humility!--But ... besides the\nsubtlety,--you meant to be kind to _me_, you know,--and I had a\npleasure and an interest in reading them--only that ... mind. Sir John\nHanmer's, I was half angry with! Now _is_ he not cold?--and is it not\neasy to see _why_ he is forced to write his own scenes five times over\nand over? He might have mentioned the 'Duchess' I think; and he a\npoet! Mr. Chorley speaks some things very well--but what does he mean\nabout 'execution,' _en revanche_? but I liked his letter and his\ncandour in the last page of it. Will Mr. Warburton review you? does he\nmean _that_? Now do let me see any other letters you receive. _May_ I?\nOf course Landor's 'dwells apart' from all: and besides the reason you\ngive for being gratified by it, it is well that one prophet should\nopen his mouth and prophesy and give his witness to the inspiration of\nanother. See what he says in the letter.... '_You may stand quite\nalone if you will--and I think you will.' That_ is a noble testimony\nto a _truth_. And he discriminates--he understands and discerns--they\nare not words thrown out into the air. The 'profusion of imagery\ncovering the depth of thought' is a true description. And, in the\nverses, he lays his finger just on your characteristics--just on those\nwhich, when you were only a poet to me, (only a poet: does it sound\nirreverent? almost, I think!) which, when you were only a poet to me,\nI used to study, characteristic by characteristic, and turn myself\nround and round in despair of being ever able to approach, taking them\nto be so essentially and intensely masculine that like effects were\nunattainable, even in a lower degree, by any female hand. Did I not\ntell you so once before? or oftener than once? And must not these\nverses of Landor's be printed somewhere--in the _Examiner_? and again\nin the _Athenæum_? if in the _Examiner_, certainly again in the\n_Athenæum_--it would be a matter of course. Oh those verses: how they\nhave pleased me! It was an act worthy of him--and of _you_.\n\nGeorge has been properly 'indoctrinated,' and, we must hope, will do\ncredit to my instructions. Just now ... just as I was writing ... he\ncame in to say good-morning and good-night (he goes to chambers\nearlier than I receive visitors generally), and to ask with a smile,\nif I had 'a message for my friend' ... _that_ was you ... and so he\nwas indoctrinated. He is good and true, honest and kind, but a little\nover-grave and reasonable, as I and my sisters complain continually.\nThe great Law lime-kiln dries human souls all to one colour--and he is\nan industrious reader among law books and knows a good deal about\nthem, I have heard from persons who can judge; but with a sacrifice of\nimpulsiveness and liberty of spirit, which _I_ should regret for him\nif he sate on the Woolsack even. Oh--that law! how I do detest it! I\nhate it and think ill of it--I tell George so sometimes--and he is\ngood-natured and only thinks to himself (a little audibly now and\nthen) that I am a woman and talking nonsense. But the morals of it,\nand the philosophy of it! And the manners of it! in which the whole\nhost of barristers looks down on the attorneys and the rest of the\nworld!--how long are these things to last!\n\nTheodosia Garrow, I have seen face to face once or twice. She is very\nclever--very accomplished--with talents and tastes of various kinds--a\nmusician and linguist, in most modern languages I believe--and a\nwriter of fluent graceful melodious verses, ... you cannot say any\nmore. At least _I_ cannot--and though I have not seen this last poem\nin the 'Book of Beauty,' I have no more trust ready for it than for\nits predecessors, of which Mr. Landor said as much. It is the personal\nfeeling which speaks in him, I fancy--simply the personal\nfeeling--and, _that_ being the case, it does not spoil the\ndiscriminating appreciation on the other page of this letter. I might\nhave the modesty to admit besides that I may be wrong and he, right,\nall through. But ... 'more intense than Sappho'!--more intense than\nintensity itself!--to think of _that_!--Also the word 'poetry' has a\nclear meaning to me, and all the fluency and facility and quick\near-catching of a tune which one can find in the world, do not answer\nto it--no.\n\nHow is the head? will you tell me? I have written all this without a\nword of it, and yet ever since yesterday I have been uneasy, ... I\ncannot help it. You see you are not better but worse. 'Since you were\nin Italy'--Then is it England that disagrees with you? and is it\nchange away from England that you want? ... _require_, I mean. If\nso--why what follows and ought to follow? You must not be ill\nindeed--_that_ is the first necessity. Tell me how you are, exactly\nhow you are; and remember to walk, and not to work too much--for my\nsake--if you care for me--if it is not too bold of me to say so. I had\nfancied you were looking better rather than otherwise: but those\nsensations in the head are frightful and ought to be stopped by\nwhatever means; even by the worst, as they would seem to _me_.\nWell--it was bad news to hear of the increase of pain; for the\namendment was a 'passing show' I fear, and not caused even by thoughts\nof mine or it would have appeared before; while on the other side (the\nsunny side of the way) I heard on that same yesterday, what made me\nglad as good news, a whole gospel of good news, and from _you_ too who\nprofess to say 'less than nothing,' and _that_ was that '_the times\nseemed longer to you_':--do you remember saying it? And it made me\nglad ... happy--perhaps too glad and happy--and surprised: yes,\nsurprised!--for if you had told me (but you would not have told me) if\nyou had let me guess ... just the contrary, ... '_that the times\nseemed shorter_,' ... why it would have seemed to _me_ as natural as\nnature--oh, believe me it would, and I could not have thought hardly\nof you for it in the most secret or silent of my thoughts. How am I\nto feel towards you, do you imagine, ... who have the world round you\nand yet make me this to you? I never can tell you how, and you never\ncan know it without having my heart in you with all its experiences:\nwe measure by those weights. May God bless you! and save _me_ from\nbeing the cause to you of any harm or grief!... I choose it for _my_\nblessing instead of another. What should I be if I could fail\nwillingly to you in the least thing? But I _never will_, and you know\nit. I will not move, nor speak, nor breathe, so as willingly and\nconsciously to touch, with one shade of wrong, that precious deposit\nof 'heart and life' ... which may yet be recalled.\n\nAnd, so, may God bless you and your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nRemember to say how you are.\n\nI sent 'Pomfret'--and Shelley is returned, and the letters, in the\nsame parcel--but my letter goes by the post as you see. Is there\ncontrast enough between the two rival female personages of 'Pomfret.'\n_I_ fancy not. Helena should have been more 'demonstrative' than she\nappeared in Italy, to secure the 'new modulation' with Walter. But you\nwill not think it a strong book, I am sure, with all the good and pure\nintention of it. The best character ... most life-like ... as\nconventional life goes ... seems to _me_ 'Mr. Rose' ... beyond all\ncomparison--and the best point, the noiseless, unaffected manner in\nwhich the acting out of the 'private judgment' in Pomfret himself is\nmade no heroic virtue but simply an integral part of the love of\ntruth. As to Grace she is too good to be interesting, I am afraid--and\npeople say of her more than she expresses--and as to 'generosity,' she\ncould not do otherwise in the last scenes.\n\nBut I will not tell you the story after all.\n\nAt the beginning of this letter I meant to write just one page; but my\ngenerosity is like Grace's, and could not help itself. There were the\nletters to write of, and the verses! and then, you know, 'femme qui\nparle' never has done. _Let_ me hear! and I will be as brisk as a\nmonument next time for variety.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Night.\n [Post-mark, November 22, 1845.]\n\nHow good and kind to send me these books! (The letter I say nothing\nof, according to convention: if I wrote down 'best and kindest' ...\noh, what poorest words!) I shall tell you all about 'Pomfret,' be\nsure. Chorley talked of it, as we walked homewards together last\nnight,--modestly and well, and spoke of having given away two copies\nonly ... to his mother one, and the other to--Miss Barrett, and 'she\nseemed interested in the life of it, entered into his purpose in it,'\nand I listened to it all, loving Chorley for his loveability which is\nconsiderable at other times, and saying to myself what might run\nbetter in the child's couplet--'Not more than others I deserve, Though\nGod has given me more'!--Given me the letter which expresses surprise\nthat I shall feel these blanks between the days when I see you longer\nand longer! So am _I_ surprised--that I should have mentioned so\nobvious a matter at all; or leave unmentioned a hundred others its\ncorrelatives which I cannot conceive you to be ignorant of, you! When\nI spread out my riches before me, and think _what_ the hour and more\nmeans that you endow one with, I _do_--not to say _could_--I _do_ form\nresolutions, and say to myself--'If next time I am bidden stay away a\nFORTNIGHT, I will not reply by a word beyond the grateful assent.' I\n_do_, God knows, lay up in my heart these priceless treasures,--shall\nI tell you? I never in my life kept a journal, a register of sights,\nor fancies, or feelings; in my last travel I put down on a slip of\npaper a few dates, that I might remember in England, on such a day I\nwas on Vesuvius, in Pompeii, at Shelley's grave; all that should be\nkept in memory is, with _me_, best left to the brain's own process.\nBut I have, from the first, recorded the date and the duration of\nevery visit to you; the numbers of minutes you have given me ... and I\nput them together till they make ... nearly two days now;\nfour-and-twenty-hour-long-days, that I have been _by you_--and I enter\nthe room determining to get up and go sooner ... and I go away into\nthe light street repenting that I went so soon by I don't know how\nmany minutes--for, love, what is it all, this love for you, but an\nearnest desiring to include you in myself, if that might be; to feel\nyou in my very heart and hold you there for ever, through all chance\nand earthly changes!\n\nThere, I had better leave off; the words!\n\nI was very glad to find myself with your brother yesterday; I like him\nvery much and mean to get a friend in him--(to supply the loss of my\nfriend ... Miss Barrett--which is gone, the friendship, so gone!) But\nI did not ask after you because I heard Moxon do it. Now of Landor's\nverses: I got a note from Forster yesterday telling me that he, too,\nhad received a copy ... so that there is no injunction to be secret.\nSo I got a copy for dear Mr. Kenyon, and, lo! what comes! I send the\nnote to make you smile! I shall reply that I felt in duty bound to\napprise you; as I did. You will observe that I go to that too facile\ngate of his on Tuesday, _my day_ ... from your house directly. The\nworst is that I have got entangled with invitations already, and must\ngo out again, _hating_ it, to more than one place.\n\nI am _very_ well--quite well; yes, dearest! The pain is quite gone;\nand the inconvenience, hard on its trace. You will write to me again,\nwill you not? And be as brief as your heart lets you, to me who hoard\nup your words and get remote and imperfect ideas of what ... shall it\nbe written?... anger at you could mean, when I see a line blotted out;\na _second-thoughted_ finger-tip rapidly put forth upon one of my gold\npieces!\n\nI rather think if Warburton reviews me it will be in the _Quarterly_,\nwhich I know he writes for. Hanmer is a very sculpturesque passionless\nhigh-minded and amiable man ... this coldness, as you see it, is part\nof him. I like his poems, I think, better than you--'the Sonnets,' do\nyou know them? Not 'Fra Cipolla.' See what is here, since you will not\nlet me have only you to look at--this is Landor's first\nopinion--expressed to Forster--see the date! and last of all, see me\nand know me, beloved! May God bless you!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, November 22, 1845.]\n\nMr. Kenyon came yesterday--and do you know when he took out those\nverses and spoke his preface and I understood what was to follow, I\nhad a temptation from my familiar Devil not to say I had read them\nbefore--I had the temptation strong and clear. For he (Mr. K.) told me\nthat your sister let him see them--.\n\nBut no--My 'vade retro' prevailed, and I spoke the truth and shamed\nthe devil and surprised Mr. Kenyon besides, as I could observe. Not an\nobservation did he make till he was just going away half an hour\nafterwards, and then he said rather dryly ... 'And now may I ask how\nlong ago it was when you first read these verses?--was it a fortnight\nago?' It was better, I think, that I should not have made a mystery of\nsuch a simple thing, ... and yet I felt half vexed with myself and\nwith him besides. But the verses,--how he praised them! more than I\nthought of doing ... as verses--though there is beauty and music and\nall that ought to be. Do you see clearly now that the latter lines\nrefer to the combination in you,--the qualities over and above those\nheld in common with Chaucer? And I have heard this morning from two or\nthree of the early readers of the _Chronicle_ (I never care to see it\ntill the evening) that the verses are there--so that my wishes have\nfulfilled themselves _there_ at least--strangely, for wishes of mine\n... which generally 'go by contraries' as the soothsayers declare of\ndreams. How kind of you to send me the fragment to Mr. Forster! and\nhow I like to read it. Was the Hebrew yours _then_ ... _written then_,\nI mean ... or written _now_?\n\nMr. Kenyon told me that you were to dine with him on Tuesday, and I\ntook for granted, at first hearing, that you would come on Wednesday\nperhaps to me--and afterwards I saw the possibility of the two ends\nbeing joined without much difficulty. Still, I was not sure, before\nyour letter came, how it might be.\n\nThat you really are better is the best news of all--thank you for\ntelling me. It will be wise not to go out _too_ much--'aequam servare\nmentem' as Landor quotes, ... in this as in the rest. Perhaps that\nworst pain was a sort of crisis ... the sharp turn of the road about\nto end ... oh, I do trust it may be so.\n\nMr. K. wrote to Landor to the effect that it was not because he (Mr.\nK.) held you in affection, nor because the verses expressed critically\nthe opinion entertained of you by all who could judge, nor because\nthey praised a book with which his own name was associated ... but for\nthe abstract beauty of those verses ... for _that_ reason he could not\nhelp naming them to Mr. Landor. All of which was repeated to me\nyesterday.\n\nAlso I heard of you from George, who admired you--admired you ... as\nif you were a chancellor in _posse_, a great lawyer in _esse_--and\nthen he thought you ... what he never could think a lawyer ...\n'_unassuming_.' And _you_ ... you are so kind! Only _that_ makes me\nthink bitterly what I have thought before, but cannot write to-day.\n\nIt was good-natured of Mr. Chorley to send me a copy of his book, and\nhe sending so few--very! George who admires _you_, does not tolerate\nMr. Chorley ... (did I tell ever?) declares that the affectation is\n'bad,' and that there is a dash of vulgarity ... which I positively\nrefuse to believe, and _should_, I fancy, though face to face with the\nmost vainglorious of waistcoats. How can there be vulgarity even of\nmanners, with so much mental refinement? I never could believe in\nthose combinations of contradictions.\n\n'An obvious matter,' you think! as obvious, as your 'green hill' ...\nwhich I cannot see. For the rest ... my thought upon your 'great\n_fact_' of the 'two days,' is quite different from yours ... for I\nthink directly, 'So little'! so dreadfully little! What shallow earth\nfor a deep root! What can be known of me in that time? 'So _there_, is\nthe only good, you see, that comes from making calculations on a slip\nof paper! It is not and it cannot come to good.' I would rather look\nat my seventy-five letters--there is room to breathe in them. And this\nis my idea (_ecce_!) of monumental brevity--and _hic jacet_ at last\n\n Your E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n [Post-mark, November 24, 1845.]\n\nBut a word to-night, my love--for my head aches a little,--I had to\nwrite a long letter to my friend at New Zealand, and now I want to sit\nand think of you and get well--but I must not quite lose the word I\ncounted on.\n\nSo, _that_ way you will take my two days and turn them against me?\n_Oh, you!_ Did I say the 'root' had been striking then, or rather,\nthat the seeds, whence the roots take leisure and grow, _they_ had\nbeen planted then--and might not a good heart and hand drop acorns\nenough to grow up into a complete Dodona-grove,--when the very rook,\nsay farmers, hides and forgets whole navies of ship-wood one day to\nbe, in his summer storing-journeys? But this shall do--I am not going\nto prove what _may_ be, when here it _is_, to my everlasting\nhappiness.\n\n--And 'I am kind'--there again! Do I not know what you mean by that?\nWell it is some comfort that you make all even in some degree, and\ntake from my faculties here what you give them, spite of my\nprotesting, in other directions. So I could not when I first saw you\nadmire you very much, and wish for your friendship, and be willing to\ngive you mine, and desirous of any opportunity of serving you,\nbenefiting you; I could not think the finding myself in a position to\nfeel this, just this and no more, a sufficiently fortunate event ...\nbut I must needs get up, or imitate, or ... what is it you fancy I do?\n... an utterly distinct, unnecessary, inconsequential regard for you,\nwhich should, when it got too hard for shamming at the week's\nend,--should simply spoil, in its explosion and departure, all the\nreal and sufficing elements of an honest life-long attachment and\naffections! that I should do this, and think it a piece of kindness\ndoes....\n\nNow, I'll tell you what it _does_ deserve, and what it shall get. Give\nme, dearest beyond expression, what I have always dared to think I\nwould ask you for ... one day! Give me ... wait--for your own sake,\nnot mine who never, never dream of being worth such a gift ... but for\nyour own sense of justice, and to _say_, so as my heart shall hear,\nthat you were wrong and are no longer so, give me so much of you--all\nprecious that you are--as may be given in a lock of your hair--I will\nlive and die with it, and with the memory of you--this _at_ the\n_worst_! If you give me what I beg,--shall I say next Tuesday ... when\nI leave you, I will not speak a word. If you do not, I will not think\nyou unjust, for all my light words, but I will pray you to wait and\nremember me one day--when the power to deserve more may be greater ...\nnever the will. God supplies all things: may he bless you, beloved! So\nI can but pray, kissing your hand.\n\n R.B.\n\nNow pardon me, dearest, for what is written ... what I cannot cancel,\nfor the love's sake that it grew from.\n\nThe _Chronicle_ was through Moxon, I believe--Landor had sent the\nverses to Forster at the same time as to me, yet they do not appear. I\nnever in my life less cared about people's praise or blame for myself,\nand never more for its influence on _other people_ than now--I would\nstand as high as I could in the eyes of all about you--yet not, after\nall, at poor Chorley's expense whom your brother, I am sure,\nunintentionally, is rather hasty in condemning; I have told you of my\nown much rasher opinion and how I was ashamed and sorry when I\ncorrected it after. C. is of a different species to your brother,\ndifferently trained, looking different ways--and for some of the\npeculiarities that strike at first sight, C. himself gives a good\nreason to the enquirer on better acquaintance. For 'Vulgarity'--NO!\nBut your kind brother will alter his view, I know, on further\nacquaintance ... and,--woe's me--will find that 'assumption's' pertest\nself would be troubled to exercise its quality at such a house as Mr.\nK.'s, where every symptom of a proper claim is met half way and helped\nonward far too readily.\n\nGood night, now. Am I not yours--are you not mine? And can that make\n_you_ happy too?\n\nBless you once more and for ever.\n\nThat scrap of Landor's being for no other eye than mine--I made the\nfoolish comment, that there was no blotting out--made it some four or\nfive years ago, when I could read what I only guess at now, through my\nidle opening the hand and letting the caught bird go--but there used\nto be a real satisfaction to me in writing those grand Hebrew\ncharacters--the noble languages!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, November 24, 1845.]\n\nBut what unlawful things have I said about 'kindness'? I did not mean\nany harm--no, indeed! And as to thinking ... as to having ever\nthought, that you could 'imitate' (can this word be 'imitate'?) an\nunfelt feeling or a feeling unsupposed to be felt ... I may solemnly\nassure you that I never, never did so. 'Get up'--'imitate'!! But it\nwas the contrary ... _all_ the contrary! From the beginning, now _did_\nI not believe you too much? Did I not believe you even in your\ncontradiction of yourself ... in your _yes_ and _no_ on the same\nsubject, ... and take the world to be turning round backwards and\nmyself to have been shut up here till I grew mad, ... rather than\ndisbelieve you either way? Well!--You know it as well as I can tell\nyou, and I will not, any more. If I have been 'wrong,' it was not _so_\n... nor indeed _then_ ... it is not _so_, though it is _now_, perhaps.\n\nTherefore ... but wait! I never gave away what you ask me to give\n_you_, to a human being, except my nearest relatives and once or twice\nor thrice to female friends, ... never, though reproached for it; and\nit is just three weeks since I said last to an asker that I was 'too\ngreat a prude for such a thing'! it was best to anticipate the\naccusation!--And, prude or not, I could not--I never\ncould--_something_ would not let me. And now ... what am I to do ...\n'for my own sake and not yours?' Should you have it, or not? Why I\nsuppose ... _yes_. I suppose that 'for my own sense of justice and in\norder to show that I was wrong' (which is wrong--you wrote a wrong\nword there ... 'right,' you meant!) 'to show that I was _right_ and am\nno longer so,' ... I suppose you must have it, 'Oh, _You_,' ... who\nhave your way in everything! Which does not mean ... Oh, vous, qui\navez toujours raison--far from it.\n\nAlso ... which does not mean that I shall give you what you ask for,\n_to-morrow_,--because I shall not--and one of my conditions is (with\nothers to follow) that _not a word be said to-morrow_, you understand.\nSome day I will send it perhaps ... as you _knew_ I should ... ah, as\nyou knew I should ... notwithstanding that 'getting up' ... that\n'imitation' ... of humility: as you knew _too_ well I should!\n\nOnly I will not teaze you as I might perhaps; and now that your\nheadache has begun again--the headache again: the worse than headache!\nSee what good my wishes do! And try to understand that if I speak of\nmy being 'wrong' now in relation to you ... of my being right before,\nand wrong now, ... I mean wrong for your sake, and not for mine ...\nwrong in letting you come out into the desert here to me, you whose\nplace is by the waters of Damascus. But I need not tell you over\nagain--you _know_. May God bless you till to-morrow and past it for\never. Mr. Kenyon brought me your note yesterday to read about the\n'order in the button-hole'--ah!--or 'oh, _you_,' may I not re-echo? It\nenrages me to think of Mr. Forster; publishing too as he does, at a\nmoment, the very sweepings of Landor's desk! Is the motive of the\nreticence to be looked for somewhere among the cinders?--Too bad it\nis. So, till to-morrow! and you shall not be 'kind' any more.\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nBut how, 'a _foolish_ comment'? Good and true rather! And I admired\nthe _writing_[1] ... worthy of the reeds of Jordan!\n\n[Footnote 1: Mr. Browning's letter is written in an unusually bold\nhand.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, November 27, 1845.]\n\nHow are you? and Miss Bayley's visit yesterday, and Mr. K.'s\nto-day--(He told me he should see you this morning--and _I_ shall pass\nclose by, having to be in town and near you,--but only the thought\nwill reach you and be with you--) tell me all this, dearest.\n\nHow kind Mr. Kenyon was last night and the day before! He neither\nwonders nor is much vexed, I dare believe--and I write now these few\nwords to say so--My heart is set on next Thursday, remember ... and\nthe prize of Saturday! Oh, dearest, believe for truth's sake, that I\nWOULD most frankly own to any fault, any imperfection in the beginning\nof my love of you; in the pride and security of this present stage it\nhas reached--I _would_ gladly learn, by the full lights now, what an\ninsufficient glimmer it grew from, ... but there _never has been\nchange_, only development and increased knowledge and strengthened\nfeeling--I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and\nbecome yours for ever. God bless you, and make me thankful!\n\nAnd you _will_ give me _that_? What shall save me from wreck: but\ntruly? How must I feel to you!\n\n Yours R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, November 27, 1845.]\n\nNow you must not blame me--you must not. To make a promise is one\nthing, and to keep it, quite another: and the conclusion you see 'as\nfrom a tower.' Suppose I had an oath in heaven somewhere ... near to\n'coma Berenices,' ... never to give you what you ask for! ... would\nnot such an oath be stronger than a mere half promise such as I sent\nyou a few hours ago? Admit that it would--and that I am not to blame\nfor saying now ... (listen!) that I _never can_ nor _will give you\nthis thing_;--only that I will, if you please, exchange it for another\nthing--you understand. _I_ too will avoid being 'assuming'; I will not\npretend to be generous, no, nor 'kind.' It shall be pure merchandise\nor nothing at all. Therefore determine!--remembering always how our\n'ars poetica,' after Horace, recommends 'dare et petere\nvicissim'--which is making a clatter of pedantry to take advantage of\nthe noise ... because perhaps I ought to be ashamed to say this to\nyou, and perhaps I _am_! ... yet say it none the less.\n\nAnd ... less lightly ... if you have right and reason on your side,\nmay I not have a little on mine too? And shall I not care, do you\nthink?... Think!\n\nThen there is another reason for me, entirely mine. You have come to\nme as a dream comes, as the best dreams come ... dearest--and so there\nis need to me of 'a sign' to know the difference between dream and\nvision--and _that_ is my completest reason, my own reason--you have\nnone like it; none. A ticket to know the horn-gate from the ivory, ...\nought I not to have it? Therefore send it to me before I send you\nanything, and if possible by that Lewisham post which was the most\nfrequent bringer of your letters until these last few came, and which\nreaches me at eight in the evening when all the world is at dinner and\nmy solitude most certain. Everything is so still then, that I have\nheard the footsteps of a letter of yours ten doors off ... or more,\nperhaps. Now beware of imagining from this which I say, that there is\na strict police for my correspondence ... (it is not so--) nor that I\ndo not like hearing from you at any and every hour: it _is_ so. Only I\nwould make the smoothest and sweetest of roads for ... and you\n_understand_, and do not _imagine_ beyond.\n\n_Tuesday evening._--What is written is written, ... all the above: and\nit is forbidden to me to write a word of what I could write down here\n... forbidden for good reasons. So I am silent on _conditions_ ...\nthose being ... first ... that you never do such things again ... no,\nyou must not and shall not.... I _will not let it be_: and secondly,\nthat you try to hear the unspoken words, and understand how your gift\nwill remain with me while _I_ remain ... they need not be said--just\nas _it_ need not have been so beautiful, for that. The beauty drops\n'full fathom five' into the deep thought which covers it. So I study\nmy Machiavelli to contrive the possibility of wearing it, without\nbeing put to the question violently by all the curiosity of all my\nbrothers;--the questions 'how' ... 'what' ... 'why' ... put round and\nedgeways. They are famous, some of them, for asking questions. I say\nto them--'well: how many more questions?' And now ... for _me_--_have_\nI said a word?--_have_ I not been obedient? And by rights and in\njustice, there should have been a reproach ... if there could!\nBecause, friendship or more than friendship, Pisa or no Pisa, it was\nunnecessary altogether from you to me ... but I have done, and you\nshall not be teazed.\n\n_Wednesday._--Only ... I persist in the view of the _other_ question.\nThis will not do for the '_sign_,' ... this, which, so far from being\nqualified for disproving a dream, is the beautiful image of a dream in\nitself ... _so_ beautiful: and with the very shut eyelids, and the\n\"little folding of the hands to sleep.\" You see at a glance it will\nnot do. And so--\n\nJust as one might be interrupted while telling a fairy-tale, ... in\nthe midst of the \"and so's\" ... just _so_, I have been interrupted by\nthe coming in of Miss Bayley, and here she has been sitting for nearly\ntwo hours, from twelve to two nearly, and I like her, do you know. Not\nonly she talks well, which was only a thing to expect, but she seems\nto _feel_ ... to have great sensibility--_and_ her kindness to me ...\nkindness of manner and words and expression, all together ... quite\ntouched me.--I did not think of her being so loveable a person. Yet it\nwas kind and generous, her proposition about Italy; (did I tell you\nhow she made it to me through Mr. Kenyon long ago--when I was a mere\nstranger to her?) the proposition to go there with me herself. It was\nquite a grave, earnest proposal of hers--which was one of the reasons\nwhy I could not even _wish_ not to see her to-day. Because you see, it\nwas a tremendous degree of experimental generosity, to think of going\nto Italy by sea with an invalid stranger, \"seule _à_ seule.\" And she\nwas wholly in earnest, wholly. Is there not good in the world after\nall?\n\nTell me how you are, for I am not at ease about you--You were not well\neven yesterday, I thought. If this goes on ... but it mustn't go\non--oh, it must not. May God bless us more!\n\nDo not fancy, in the meantime, that you stay here 'too long' for any\nobservation that can be made. In the first place there is nobody to\n'observe'--everybody is out till seven, except the one or two who will\nnot observe if I tell them not. My sisters are glad when you come,\nbecause it is a gladness of mine, ... they observe. I have a great\ndeal of liberty, to have so many chains; we all have, in this house:\nand though the liberty has melancholy motives, it saves some daily\ntorment, and _I_ do not complain of it for one.\n\nMay God bless you! Do not forget me. Say how you are. What good can I\ndo you with all my thoughts, when you keep unwell? See!--Facts are\nagainst fancies. As when I would not have the lamp lighted yesterday\nbecause it seemed to make it later, and you proved directly that it\nwould not make it _earlier_, by getting up and going away!\n\n Wholly and ever your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, November 28, 1845.][1]\n\nTake it, dearest; what I am forced to think you mean--and take _no\nmore_ with it--for I gave all to give long ago--I am all yours--and\nnow, _mine_; give me _mine_ to be happy with!\n\nYou will have received my note of yesterday.--I am glad you are\nsatisfied with Miss Bayley, whom I, too, thank ... that is, sympathize\nwith, ... (not wonder at, though)--for her intention.... Well, may it\nall be for best--here or at Pisa, you are my blessing and life.\n\n... How all considerate you are, _you_ that are the kind, kind one!\nThe post arrangement I will remember--to-day, for instance, will this\nreach you at 8? I shall be with you then, in thought. 'Forget\nyou!'--_What_ does that mean, dearest?\n\nAnd I might have stayed longer and you let me go. What does _that_\nmean, also tell me? Why, I make up my mind to go, always, like a man,\nand praise myself as I get through it--as when one plunges into the\ncold water--ONLY ... ah, _that_ too is no more a merit than any other\nthing I do ... there is the reward, the last and best! Or is it the\n'lure'?\n\nI would not be ashamed of my soul if it might be shown you,--it is\nwholly grateful, conscious of you.\n\nBut another time, do not let me wrong myself _so_! Say, 'one minute\nmore.'\n\nOn Monday?--I am _much_ better--and, having got free from an\nengagement for Saturday, shall stay quietly here and think the post\nnever intending to come--for you will not let me wait longer?\n\nShall I dare write down a grievance of my heart, and not offend you?\nYes, trusting in the right of my love--you tell me, sweet, here in the\nletter, 'I do not look so well'--and sometimes, I 'look better' ...\n_how do you know_? When I first saw you--_I saw your eyes_--since\nthen, _you_, it should appear, see mine--but I only _know_ yours are\nthere, and have to use that memory as if one carried dried flowers\nabout when fairly inside the garden-enclosure. And while I resolve,\nand hesitate, and resolve again to complain of this--(kissing your\nfoot ... not boldly complaining, nor rudely)--while I have this on my\nmind, on my heart, ever since that May morning ... can it be?\n\n--No, nothing _can be_ wrong now--you will never call me 'kind' again,\nin that sense, you promise! Nor think 'bitterly' of my kindness, that\nword!\n\nShall I _see_ you on Monday?\n\nGod bless you my dearest--I see her now--and _here_ and _now_ the eyes\nopen, wide _enough_, and I will kiss them--_how_ gratefully!\n\n Your own\n\n R.B.\n\n[Footnote 1: Envelope endorsed by E.B.B. 'hair.']", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, December 1, 1845.]\n\nIt comes at eight o'clock--the post says eight ... _I_ say nearer half\npast eight ... it _comes_--and I thank you, thank you, as I can. Do\nyou remember the purple lock of a king on which hung the fate of a\ncity? _I_ do! And I need not in conscience--because this one here did\nnot come to me by treason--'ego et rex meus,' on the contrary, do\nfairly give and take.\n\nI meant at first only to send you what is in the ring ... which, by\nthe way, will not fit you I know--(not certainly in the finger which\nit was meant for ...) as it would not Napoleon before you--but can\neasily be altered to the right size.... I meant at first to send you\nonly what was in the ring: but your fashion is best so you shall have\nit both ways. Now don't say a word on Monday ... nor at all. As for\nthe ring, recollect that I am forced to feel blindfold into the outer\nworld, and take what is nearest ... by chance, not choice ... or it\nmight have been better--a little better--perhaps. The _best_ of it is\nthat it's the colour of your blue flowers. Now you will not say a\nword--I trust to you.\n\nIt is enough that you should have said these others, I think. Now _is_\nit just of you? isn't it hard upon me? And if the charge is true,\nwhose fault is it, pray? I have been ashamed and vexed with myself\nfifty times for being so like a little girl, ... for seeming to have\n'affectations'; and all in vain: 'it was stronger than I,' as the\nFrench say. And for _you_ to complain! As if Haroun Alraschid after\ncutting off a head, should complain of the want of an\nobeisance!--Well!--I smile notwithstanding. Nobody can help\nsmiling--both for my foolishness which is great, I confess, though\nsomewhat exaggerated in your statement--(because if it was quite as\nbad as you say, you know, I never should have _seen you_ ... and _I\nhave_!) and also for yours ... because you take such a very\npreposterously wrong way for overcoming anybody's shyness. Do you\nknow, I have laughed ... really laughed at your letter. No--it has not\nbeen so bad. I have seen you at every visit, as well as I could with\nboth eyes wide open--only that by a supernatural influence they won't\nstay open with _you_ as they are used to do with other people ... so\nnow I tell you. And for the rest I promise nothing at all--as how can\nI, when it is quite beyond my control--and you have not improved my\ncapabilities ... do you think you have? Why what nonsense we have come\nto--we, who ought to be 'talking Greek!' said Mr. Kenyon.\n\nYes--he came and talked of you, and told me how you had been speaking\nof ... me; and I have been thinking how I should have been proud of it\na year ago, and how I could half scold you for it now. Ah yes--and Mr.\nKenyon told me that you had spoken exaggerations--such\nexaggerations!--Now should there not be some scolding ... some?\n\nBut how did you expect Mr. Kenyon to 'wonder' at _you_, or be 'vexed'\nwith _you_? That would have been strange surely. You are and always\nhave been a chief favourite in that quarter ... appreciated, praised,\nloved, I think.\n\nWhile I write, a letter from America is put into my hands, and having\nread it through with shame and confusion of face ... not able to help\na smile though notwithstanding, ... I send it to you to show how you\nhave made me behave!--to say nothing of my other offences to the kind\npeople at Boston--and to a stray gentleman in Philadelphia who is to\nperform a pilgrimage next year, he says, ... to visit the Holy Land\nand your E.B.B. I was naughty enough to take _that_ letter to be a\ncircular ... for the address of various 'Europ_a_ians.' In any case\n... just see how I have behaved! and if it has not been worse than ...\nnot opening one's eyes!--Judge. Really and gravely I am ashamed--I\nmean as to Mr. Mathews, who has been an earnest, kind friend to\nme--and I do mean to behave better. I say _that_ to prevent your\nscolding, you know. And think of Mr. Poe, with that great Roman\njustice of his (if not rather American!), dedicating a book to one and\nabusing one in the preface of the same. He wrote a review of me in\njust that spirit--the two extremes of laudation and reprehension,\nfolded in on one another. You would have thought that it had been\nwritten by a friend and foe, each stark mad with love and hate, and\nwriting the alternate paragraphs--a most curious production indeed.\n\nAnd here I shall end. I have been waiting ... waiting for what does\nnot come ... the ring ... sent to have the hair put in; but it won't\ncome (now) until too late for the post, and you must hear from me\nbefore Monday ... you ought to have heard to-day. It has not been my\nfault--I have waited. Oh these people--who won't remember that it is\npossible to be out of patience! So I send you my letter now ... and\nwhat is in the paper now ... and the rest, you shall have after\nMonday. And you _will not say a word_ ... not then ... not at all!--I\ntrust you. And may God bless you.\n\nIf ever you care less for me--I do not say it in distrust of you ... I\ntrust you wholly--but you are a man, and free to care less, ... and if\never you _do_ ... why in that case you will destroy, burn, ... do all\nbut send back ... enough is said for you to understand.\n\nMay God bless you. You are _best_ to me--best ... as I see ... in the\nworld--and so, dearest aright to\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nFinished on Saturday evening. Oh--this thread of silk--And to post!!\nAfter all you must wait till Tuesday. I have no silk within reach and\nshall miss the post. Do forgive me.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Evening.\n\nThis is the mere postscript to the letter I have just sent away. By a\nfew minutes too late, comes what I have all day been waiting for, ...\nand besides (now it is just too late!) now I may have a skein of silk\nif I please, to make that knot with, ... for want of which, two locks\nmeant for you, have been devoted to the infernal gods already ...\nfallen into a tangle and thrown into the fire ... and all the hair of\nmy head might have followed, for I was losing my patience and temper\nfast, ... and the post to boot. So wisely I shut my letter, (after\nunwisely having driven everything to the last moment!)--and now I have\nsilk to tie fast with ... to tie a 'nodus' ... 'dignus' of the\ncelestial interposition--and a new packet shall be ready to go to you\ndirectly.\n\nAt last I remember to tell you that the first letter you had from me\nthis week, was forgotten, (not by _me_) forgotten, and detained, so,\nfrom the post--a piece of carelessness which Wilson came to confess to\nme too frankly for me to grumble as I should have done otherwise.\n\nFor the staying longer, I did not mean to say you were wrong not to\nstay. In the first place you were keeping your father 'in a maze,' as\nyou said yourself--and then, even without that, I never know what\no'clock it is ... never. Mr. Kenyon tells me that I must live in a\ndream--which I do--time goes ... seeming to go round rather than go\nforward. The watch I have, broke its spring two years ago, and there I\nleave it in the drawer--and the clocks all round strike out of\nhearing, or at best, when the wind brings the sound, one upon another\nin a confusion. So you know more of time than I do or can.\n\nTill Monday then! I send the 'Ricordi' to take care of the rest ... of\nmine. It is a touching story--and there is an impracticable nobleness\nfrom end to end in the spirit of it. How _slow_ (to the ear and mind)\nthat Italian rhetoric is! a language for dreamers and declaimers. Yet\nDante made it for action, and Machiavelli's prose can walk and strike\nas well as float and faint.\n\nThe ring is smaller than I feared at first, and may perhaps--\n\nNow you will not say a word. My excuse is that you had nothing to\nremember me by, while I had this and this and this and this ... how\nmuch too much!\n\n If I could be too much\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, December 2, 1845.]\n\nI was happy, so happy before! But I am happier and richer now. My\nlove--no words could serve here, but there is life before us, and to\nthe end of it the vibration now struck will extend--I will live and\ndie with your beautiful ring, your beloved hair--comforting me,\nblessing me.\n\nLet me write to-morrow--when I think on all you have been and are to\nme, on the wonder of it and the deliciousness, it makes the paper\nwords that come seem vainer than ever--To-morrow I will write.\n\nMay God bless you, my own, my precious--\n\n I am all your own\n\n R.B.\n\nI have thought again, and believe it will be best to select the finger\n_you_ intended ... as the alteration will be simpler, I find; and one\nis less liable to observation and comment.\n\nWas not that Mr. Kenyon last evening? And did he ask, or hear, or say\nanything?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, December 3, 1845.]\n\nSee, dearest, what the post brings me this minute! Now, is it not a\ngood omen, a pleasant inconscious prophecy of what is to be? Be it\nwell done, or badly--there are you, leading me up and onward, in his\nreview as everywhere, at every future time! And our names will go\ntogether--be read together. In itself this is nothing to _you_, dear\npoet--but the unexpectedness, unintended significance of it has\npleased me very much--_does_ it not please you?--I thought I was to\nfigure in that cold _Quarterly_ all by myself, (for he writes for\nit)--but here you are close by me; it cannot but be for good. He has\nno knowledge whatever that I am even a friend of yours. Say you are\npleased!\n\nThere was no writing yesterday for me--nor will there be much to-day.\nIn some moods, you know, I turn and take a thousand new views of what\nyou say ... and find fault with you to your surprise--at others, I\nrest on you, and feel _all_ well, all _best_ ... now, for one\ninstance, even that phrase of the _possibility_ 'and what is to\nfollow,'--even _that_ I cannot except against--I am happy, contented;\ntoo well, too prodigally blessed to be even able to murmur just\nsufficiently loud to get, in addition to it all, a sweetest stopping\nof the mouth! I will say quietly and becomingly 'Yes--I do promise\nyou'--yet it is some solace to--No--I will _not_ even couple the\npromise with an adjuration that you, at the same time, see that they\ncare for me properly at Hanwell Asylum ... the best by all accounts:\nyet I feel so sure of _you_, so safe and confident in you! If any of\nit had been _my_ work, my own ... distrust and foreboding had pursued\nme from the beginning; but all is _yours_--you crust me round with\ngold and jewelry like the wood of a sceptre; and why should you\ntransfer your own work? Wood enough to choose from in the first\ninstance, but the choice once made!... So I rest on you, for life, for\ndeath, beloved--beside you do stand, in my solemn belief, the direct\nmiraculous gift of God to me--that is my solemn belief; may I be\nthankful!\n\nI am anxious to hear from you ... when am I not?--but _not_ before the\nAmerican letter is written and sent. Is that done? And who was the\nvisitor on Monday--and if &c. _what_ did he remark?--And what is\nright or wrong with Saturday--is it to be mine?\n\nBless you, dearest--now and for ever--words cannot say how much I am\nyour own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, December 4, 1845.]\n\nNo Mr. Kenyon after all--not yesterday, not to-day; and the knock at\nthe door belonged perhaps to the post, which brought me a kind letter\nfrom Mrs. Jameson to ask how I was, and if she might come--but she\nwon't come on Saturday.... I shall 'provide'--she may as well (and\nbetter) come on a free day. On the other side, are you sure that Mr.\nProcter may not stretch out his hand and seize on Saturday (he was to\ndine with you, you said), or that some new engagement may not start up\nsuddenly in the midst of it? I trust to you, in such a case, to alter\n_our_ arrangement, without a second thought. Monday stands close by,\nremember, and there's a Saturday to follow Monday ... and I should\nunderstand at a word, or apart from a word.\n\nJust as _you_ understand how to 'take me with guile,' when you tell me\nthat anything in me can have any part in making you happy ... you, who\ncan say such words and call them 'vain words.' Ah, well! If I only\nknew certainly, ... more certainly than the thing may be known by\neither me or you, ... that nothing in me could have any part in making\nyou _un_happy, ... ah, would it not be enough ... _that_ knowledge ...\nto content me, to overjoy me? but _that_ lies too high and out of\nreach, you see, and one can't hope to get at it except by the ladder\nJacob saw, and which an archangel helped to hide away behind the gate\nof Heaven afterwards.\n\n_Wednesday._--In the meantime I had a letter from you yesterday, and\nam promised another to-day. How ... I was going to say 'kind' and\npull down the thunders ... how _un_kind ... will _that_ do? ... how\ngood you are to me--how dear you must be! Dear--dearest--if I feel\nthat you love me, can I help it if, without any other sort of certain\nknowledge, the world grows lighter round me? being but a mortal woman,\ncan I help it? no--certainly.\n\nI comfort myself by thinking sometimes that I can at least understand\nyou, ... comprehend you in what you are and in what you possess and\ncombine; and that, if doing this better than others who are better\notherwise than I, I am, so far, worthier of the ... I mean that to\nunderstand you is something, and that I account it something in my own\nfavour ... mine.\n\nYet when you tell me that I ought to know some things, though untold,\nyou are wrong, and speak what is impossible. My imagination sits by\nthe roadside [Greek: apedilos] like the startled sea nymph in\nÆschylus, but never dares to put one unsandalled foot, unbidden, on a\ncertain tract of ground--never takes a step there unled! and never (I\nwrite the simple truth) even as the alternative of the probability of\nyour ceasing to care for me, have I touched (untold) on the\npossibility of your caring _more_ for me ... never! That you should\n_continue_ to care, was the utmost of what I saw in that direction.\nSo, when you spoke of a 'strengthened feeling,' judge how I listened\nwith my heart--judge!\n\n'Luria' is very great. You will avenge him with the sympathies of the\nworld; that, I foresee.... And for the rest, it is a magnanimity which\ngrows and grows, and which will, of a worldly necessity, fall by its\nown weight at last; nothing less being possible. The scene with\nTiburzio and the end of the act with its great effects, are more\npathetic than professed pathos. When I come to criticise, it will be\nchiefly on what I take to be a little occasional flatness in the\nversification, which you may remove if you please, by knotting up a\nfew lines here and there. But I shall write more of 'Luria,'--and\nwell remember in the meanwhile, that you wanted smoothness, you said.\n\nMay God bless you. I shall have the letter to-night, I think gladly.\nYes,--I thought of the greater safety from 'comment'--it is best in\nevery way.\n\nI lean on you and trust to you, and am always, as to one who is all to\nme,\n\n Your own--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, December 4, 1845.]\n\nWhy of course I am pleased--I should have been pleased last year, for\nthe vanity's sake of being reviewed in your company. Now, as far as\nthat vice of vanity goes ... shall I tell you?... I would infinitely\nprefer to see you set before the public in your own right solitude,\nand supremacy, apart from me or any one else, ... this, as far as my\nvice of vanity goes, ... and because, vainer I am of my poet than of\nmy poems ... _pour cause_. But since, according to the _Quarterly_\nrégime, you were to be not apart but with somebody of my degree, I am\nglad, pleased, that it should be with myself:--and since I was to be\nthere at all, I am pleased, very much pleased that it should be with\n_you_,--oh, of course I am pleased!--I am pleased that the 'names\nshould be read together' as you say, ... and am happily safe from the\napprehension of that ingenious idea of yours about 'my leading _you_'\n&c. ... quite happily safe from the apprehension of that idea's\noccurring to any mind in the world, except just your own. Now if I\n'find fault' with you for writing down such an extravagance, such an\nungainly absurdity, (oh, I shall abuse it just as I shall choose!)\n_can_ it be 'to your surprise?' _can_ it? Ought you to say such\nthings, when in the first place they are unfit in themselves and\ninapplicable, and in the second place, abominable in my eyes? The\nqualification for Hanwell Asylum is different peradventure from what\nyou take it to be--we had better not examine it too nearly. You never\nwill say such words again? It is your promise to me? Not those\nwords--and not any in their likeness.\n\nAlso ... nothing is _my_ work ... if you please! What an omen you take\nin calling anything my work! If it is my work, woe on it--for\neverything turns to evil which I touch. Let it be God's work and\nyours, and I may take breath and wait in hope--and indeed I exclaim to\nmyself about the miracle of it far more even than you can do. It seems\nto me (as I say over and over ... I say it to my own thoughts\noftenest) it seems to me still a dream how you came here at all, ...\nthe very machinery of it seems miraculous. Why did I receive you and\nonly you? Can I tell? no, not a word.\n\nLast year I had such an escape of seeing Mr. Horne; and in this way it\nwas. He was going to Germany, he said, for an indefinite time, and\ntook the trouble of begging me to receive him for ten minutes before\nhe went. I answered with my usual 'no,' like a wild Indian--whereupon\nhe wrote me a letter so expressive of mortification and vexation ...\n'mortification' was one of the words used, I remember, ... that I grew\nashamed of myself and told him to come any day (of the last five or\nsix days he had to spare) between two and five. Well!--he never came.\nEither he was overcome with work and engagements of various sorts and\nhad not a moment, (which was his way of explaining the matter and\nquite true I dare say) or he was vexed and resolved on punishing me\nfor my caprices. If the latter was the motive, I cannot call the\npunishment effective, ... for I clapped my hands for joy when I felt\nmy danger to be passed--and now of course, I have no scruples.... I\nmay be as capricious as I please, ... may I not? Not that I ask you.\nIt is a settled matter. And it is useful to keep out Mr. Chorley with\nMr. Horne, and Mr. Horne with Mr. Chorley, and the rest of the world\nwith those two. Only the miracle is that _you_ should be behind the\nenclosure--within it ... and so!--\n\n_That_ is _my_ side of the wonder! of the machinery of the wonder, ...\nas _I_ see it!--But there are greater things than these.\n\nSpeaking of the portrait of you in the 'Spirit of the Age' ... which\nis not like ... no!--which has not your character, in a line of it ...\nsomething in just the forehead and eyes and hair, ... but even _that_,\nthrown utterly out of your order, by another bearing so unlike you...!\nspeaking of that portrait ... shall I tell you?--Mr. Horne had the\ngoodness to send me all those portraits, and I selected the heads\nwhich, in right hero-worship, were anything to me, and had them framed\nafter a rough fashion and hung up before my eyes; Harriet Martineau's\n... because she was a woman and admirable, and had written me some\nkind letters--and for the rest, Wordsworth's, Carlyle's, Tennyson's\nand yours. The day you paid your first visit here, I, in a fit of\nshyness not quite unnatural, ... though I have been cordially laughed\nat for it by everybody in the house ... pulled down your portrait, ...\n(there is the nail, under Wordsworth--) and then pulled down\nTennyson's in a fit of justice,--because I would not have his hung up\nand yours away. It was the delight of my brothers to open all the\ndrawers and the boxes, and whatever they could get access to, and find\nand take those two heads and hang them on the old nails and analyse my\n'absurdity' to me, day after day; but at last I tired them out, being\nobstinate; and finally settled the question one morning by fastening\nthe print of you inside your Paracelsus. Oh no, it is not like--and I\nknew it was not, before I saw you, though Mr. Kenyon said, 'Rather\nlike!'\n\nBy the way Mr. Kenyon does not come. It is strange that he should not\ncome: when he told me that he could not see me 'for a week or a\nfortnight,' he meant it, I suppose.\n\nSo it is to be on Saturday? And I will write directly to America--the\nletter will be sent by the time you get this. May God bless you ever.\n\nIt is not so much a look of 'ferocity,' ... as you say, ... in that\nhead, as of _expression by intention_. Several people have said of it\nwhat nobody would say of you ... 'How affected-looking.' Which is too\nstrong--but it is not like you, in any way, and there's the truth.\n\nSo until Saturday. I read 'Luria' and feel the life in him. But _walk_\nand do not _work_! do you?\n\n Wholly your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n [Post-mark, December 8, 1845.]\n\nWell, I did see your brother last night ... and very wisely neither\nspoke nor kept silence in the proper degree, but said that 'I hoped\nyou were well'--from the sudden feeling that I must say _something_ of\nyou--not pretend indifference about you _now_ ... and from the\nimpossibility of saying the _full_ of what I might; because other\npeople were by--and after, in the evening, when I should have remedied\nthe first imperfect expression, I had not altogether the heart. So,\nyou, dearest, will clear me with him if he wonders, will you not? But\nit all hangs together; speaking of you,--to you,--writing to you--all\nis helpless and sorrowful work by the side of what is in my soul to\nsay and to write--or is it not the natural consequence? If these\nvehicles of feelings sufficed--_there_ would be the end!--And that my\nfeeling for you should end!... For the rest, the headache which kept\naway while I sate with you, made itself amends afterward, and as it is\nunkind to that warm Talfourd to look blank at his hospitable\nendeavours, all my power of face went _à qui de droit_--\n\nDid your brother tell you ... yes, I think ... of the portentous book,\nlettered II, and thick as a law-book, of congratulatory letters on\nthe appearance of 'Ion'?--But how under the B's in the Index came\n'Miss Barrett' and, woe's me, 'R.B.'! I don't know when I have had so\nghastly a visitation. There was the utterly _forgotten_ letter, in the\nas thoroughly disused hand-writing, in the ... I fear ... still as\ncompletely obsolete feeling--no, not so bad as that--but at first\nthere was all the novelty, and social admiration at the friend--it is\ntruly not right to pluck all the rich soil from the roots and hold\nthem up clean and dry as if they came _so_ from all you now see, which\nis nothing at all ... like the Chinese Air-plant! Do you understand\nthis? And surely 'Ion' is a _very_, very beautiful and noble\nconception, and finely executed,--a beautiful work--what has come\nafter, has lowered it down by grade after grade ... it don't stand\napart on the hill, like a wonder, now it is _built up_ to by other\nattempts; but the great difference is in myself. Another maker of\nanother 'Ion,' finding me out and behaving as Talfourd did, would not\nfind _that me_, so to be behaved to, so to be honoured--though he\nshould have all the good will! Ten years ago!\n\nAnd ten years hence!\n\nAlways understand that you do _not_ take me as I was at the beginning\n... with a crowd of loves to give to _something_ and so get rid of\ntheir pain and burden. I have _known_ what that ends in--a handful of\nanything may be as sufficient a sample, serve your purposes and teach\nyou its nature, as well as whole heaps--and I know what most of the\npleasures of this world are--so that I _can_ be surer of myself, and\nmake you surer, on calm demonstrated grounds, than if I had a host of\nobjects of admiration or ambition _yet_ to become acquainted with. You\nsay, 'I am a man and may change'--I answer, yes--but, while I hold my\nsenses, only change for the _presumable_ better ... not for the\n_experienced worst_.\n\nHere is my Uncle's foot on the stair ... his knock hurried the last\nsentence--here he is by me!--Understand what this would have led to,\nhow you would have been _proved logically_ my own, best, extreme want,\nmy life's end--YES; dearest! Bless you ever--\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, December 8, 1845.]\n\nLet me hear how you are, and that you are better instead of worse for\nthe exertions of last night. After you left me yesterday I considered\nhow we might have managed it more conveniently for you, and had the\nlamp in, and arranged matters so as to interpose less time between the\ngoing and the dining, even if you and George did not go together,\nwhich might have been best, but which I did not like quite to propose.\nNow, supposing that on Thursday you dine in town, remember not to be\nunnecessarily 'perplext in the extreme' where to spend the time before\n... _five_, ... shall I say, at any rate? We will have the lamp, and I\ncan easily explain if an observation should be made ... only it will\nnot be, because our goers-out here never come home until six, and the\nhead of the house, not until seven ... as I told you. George thought\nit worth while going to Mr. Talfourd's yesterday, just to see the\nauthor of 'Paracelsus' dance the Polka ... should I not tell you?\n\nI am vexed by another thing which he tells _me_--vexed, if amused a\nlittle by the absurdity of it. I mean that absurd affair of the\n'Autography'--now _isn't_ it absurd? And for neither you nor George to\nhave the chivalry of tearing out that letter of mine, which was absurd\ntoo in its way, and which, knowing less of the world than I know now,\nI wrote as if writing for my private conscience, and privately\nrepented writing in a day, and have gone on repenting ever since when\nI happened to think enough of it for repentance! Because if Mr.\nSerjeant Talfourd sent then his 'Ion' to _me_, he did it in mere\ngood-nature, hearing by chance of me through the publisher of my\n'Prometheus' at the moment, and of course caring no more for my\n'opinion' than for the rest of me--and it was excessively bad taste in\nme to say more than the briefest word of thanks in return, even if I\nhad been competent to say it. Ah well!--you see how it is, and that I\nam vexed _you_ should have read it, ... as George says you did ... he\nlaughing to see me so vexed. So I turn round and avenge myself by\ncrying aloud against the editor of the 'Autography'! Surely such a\nthing was never done before ... even by an author in the last stage of\na mortal disease of self-love. To edit the common parlance of\nconventional flatteries, ... lettered in so many volumes, bound in\ngreen morocco, and laid on the drawing-room table for one's own\nparticular private public,--is it not a miracle of vanity ... neither\nmore nor less?\n\nI took the opportunity of the letter to Mr. Mathews (talking of vanity\n... _mine_!) to send Landor's verses to America ... yours--so they\nwill be in the American papers.... I know Mr. Mathews. I was speaking\nto him of your last number of 'Bells and Pomegranates,' and the verses\ncame in naturally; just as my speaking did, for it is not the first\ntime nor the second nor the third even that I have written to him of\nyou, though I admire how in all those previous times I did it in pure\ndisinterestedness, ... purely because your name belonged to my country\nand to her literature, ... and how I have a sort of reward at this\npresent, in being able to write what I please without anyone's saying\n'it is a new fancy.' As for the Americans, they have 'a zeal without\nknowledge' for poetry. There is more love for _verse_ among them than\namong the English. But they suffer themselves to be led in their\nchoice of poets by English critics of average discernment; this is\nsaid of them by their own men of letters. Tennyson is idolized deep\ndown in the bush woods (to their honour be it said), but to\nunderstand _you_ sufficiently, they wait for the explanations of the\ncritics. So I wanted them to see what Landor says of you. The comfort\nin these questions is, that there can be _no_ question, except between\nthe sooner and the later--a little sooner, and a little later: but\nwhen there is real love and zeal it becomes worth while to try to\nripen the knowledge. They love Tennyson so much that the colour of his\nwaistcoats is a sort of minor Oregon question ... and I like that--do\nnot _you_?\n\n_Monday._--Now I have your letter: and you will observe, without a\nfinger post from me, how busily we have both been preoccupied in\ndisavowing our own letters of old on 'Ion'--Mr. Talfourd's collection\ngoes to prove too much, I think--and you, a little too much, when you\ndraw inferences of no-changes, from changes like these. Oh yes--I\nperfectly understand that every sort of inconstancy of purpose regards\na 'presumably better' thing--but I do not so well understand how any\npresumable doubt is to be set to rest by that fact, ... I do not\nindeed. Have you seen all the birds and beasts in the world? have you\nseen the 'unicorns'?--Which is only a pebble thrown down into your\nsmooth logic; and we need not stand by to watch the bubbles born of\nit. And as to the 'Ion' letters, I am delighted that you have anything\nto repent, as I have everything. Certainly it is a noble play--there\nis the moral sublime in it: but it is not the work of a poet, ... and\nif he had never written another to show what was _not_ in him, this\nmight have been 'predicated' of it as surely, I hold. Still, it is a\nnoble work--and even if you over-praised it, (I did not read your\nletter, though you read mine, alas!) you, under the circumstances,\nwould have been less noble yourself not to have done so--only, how I\nagree with you in what you say against the hanging up of these dry\nroots, the soil shaken off! Such abominable taste--now isn't it? ...\nthough you do not use that word.\n\nI thought Mr. Kenyon would have come yesterday and that I might have\nsomething to tell you, of him at least.\n\nAnd George never told me of the thing you found to say to him of me,\nand which makes me smile, and would have made him wonder if he had not\nbeen suffering probably from some legal distraction at the moment,\ninasmuch as _he knew perfectly that you had just left me_. My sisters\ntold him down-stairs and he came into this room just before he set off\non Saturday, with a, ... '_So_ I am to meet Mr. Browning?' But he made\nno observation afterwards--none: and if he heard what you said at all\n(which I doubt), he referred it probably to some enforced civility on\n'Yorick's' part when the 'last chapter' was too much with him.\n\nI have written about 'Luria' in another place--you shall have the\npapers when I have read through the play. How different this living\npoetry is from the polished rhetoric of 'Ion.' The man and the statue\nare not more different. After all poetry is a distinct thing--it is\nhere or it is not here ... it is not a matter of '_taste_,' but of\nsight and feeling.\n\nAs to the 'Venice' it gives proof (does it not?) rather of poetical\nsensibility than of poetical faculty? or did you expect me to say\nmore?--of the perception of the poet, rather than of his conception.\nDo you think more than this? There are fine, eloquent expressions, and\nthe tone of sentiment is good and high everywhere.\n\nDo not write 'Luria' if your head is uneasy--and you cannot say that\nit is not ... can you? Or will you if you can? In any case you will do\nwhat you can ... take care of yourself and not suffer yourself to be\ntired either by writing or by too much going out, and take the\nnecessary exercise ... this, you will do--I entreat you to do it.\n\nMay God bless and make you happy, as ... you will lose nothing if I\nsay ... as I am yours--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, December 9, 1845.]\n\nWell, then, I am no longer sorry that I did _not_ read _either_ of\nyour letters ... for there were two in the collection. I did not read\none word of them--and hear why. When your brother and I took the book\nbetween us in wonderment at the notion--we turned to the index, in\nlarge text-hand, and stopped at 'Miss B.'--and _he_ indeed read them,\nor some of them, but holding the volume at a distance which defied my\nshort-sighted eye--all _I_ saw was the _faint_ small characters--and,\ndo you know ... I neither trusted myself to ask a nearer look ... nor\na second look ... as if I were studying unduly what I had just said\nwas most unfairly exposed to view!--so I was silent, and lost you (in\nthat)--then, and for ever, I promise you, now that you speak of\nvexation it would give you. _All_ I know of the notes, that _one_ is\naddressed to Talfourd in the third person--and when I had run through\nmy own ... not far off ... (BA-BR)--I was sick of the book altogether.\nYou are generous to me--but, to say the truth, I might have remembered\nthe most justifying circumstance in my case ... which was, that my own\n'Paracelsus,' printed a few months before, had been as dead a failure\nas 'Ion' a brilliant success--for, until just before.... Ah, really I\nforget!--but I know that until Forster's notice in the _Examiner_\nappeared, _every_ journal that thought worth while to allude to the\npoem at all, treated it with entire contempt ... beginning, I think,\nwith the _Athenæum_ which _then_ made haste to say, a few days after\nits publication, 'that it was not without talent but spoiled by\nobscurity and only an imitation of--Shelley'!--something to this\neffect, in a criticism of about three lines among their 'Library\nTable' notices. And that first taste was a most flattering sample of\nwhat the 'craft' had in store for me--since my publisher and I had\nfairly to laugh at _his_ 'Book'--(quite of another kind than the\nSerjeant's)--in which he was used to paste extracts from newspapers\nand the like--seeing that, out of a long string of notices, one vied\nwith its predecessor in disgust at my 'rubbish,' as their word went:\nbut Forster's notice altered a good deal--which I have to recollect\nfor his good. Still, the contrast between myself and Talfourd was so\n_utter_--you remember the world's-wonder 'Ion' made,--that I was\ndetermined not to pass for the curious piece of neglected merit I\nreally _was not_--and so!--\n\nBut, dearest, why should you leave your own especial sphere of doing\nme good for another than yours?\n\nDoes the sun rake and hoe about the garden as well as thine steadily\nover it? _Why_ must you, who give me heart and power, as nothing else\ndid or could, to do well--concern yourself with what might be done by\nany good, kind ministrant _only_ fit for such offices? Not that I\n_feel_, even, more bound to you for them--they have their weight, I\n_know_ ... but _what_ weight beside the divine gift of yourself? Do\nnot, dear, dearest, care for making me known: _you_ know me!--and\n_they_ know so little, after all your endeavour, who are ignorant of\nwhat _you_ are to me--if you ... well, but that _will_ follow; if I do\ngreater things one day--what shall they serve for, what range\nthemselves under of right?--\n\nMr. Mathews sent me two copies of his poems--and, I believe, a\nnewspaper, 'when time was,' about the 'Blot in the Scutcheon'--and\nalso, through Moxon--(I _believe_ it was Mr. M.)--a proposition for\nreprinting--to which I assented of course--and there was an end to the\nmatter.\n\nAnd might I have stayed _till five_?--dearest, I will never ask for\nmore than you give--but I feel every single sand of the gold showers\n... spite of what I say above! I _have_ an invitation for Thursday\nwhich I had no intention of remembering (it admitted of such\nliberty)--but _now_....\n\nSomething I will _say_! 'Polka,' forsooth!--one lady whose _head_\ncould not, and another whose feet could not, dance!--But I talked a\nlittle to your brother whom I like more and more: it comforts me that\nhe is yours.\n\nSo, _Thursday_,--thank you from the heart! I am well, and about to go\nout. This week I have done nothing to 'Luria'--is it that my _ring_ is\ngone? There surely _is_ something to forgive in me--for that shameful\nbusiness--or I should not feel as I do in the matter: but you _did_\nforgive me.\n\n God bless my own, only love--ever--\n\n Yours wholly\n\n R.B.\n\nN.B. An antiquarian friend of mine in old days picked up a nondescript\nwonder of a coin. I just remember he described it as Rhomboid in\nshape--cut, I fancy, out of church-plate in troubled times. What did\nmy friend do but get ready a box, lined with velvet, and properly\n_compartmented_, to have always about him, so that the _next such coin\nhe picked_ up, say in Cheapside, he might at once transfer to a place\nof safety ... his waistcoat pocket being no happy receptacle for the\nsame. I saw the box--and encouraged the man to keep a vigilant eye.\n\n_Parallel._ R.B. having found an unicorn....\n\nDo you forgive these strips of paper? I could not wait to send for\nmore--having exhausted my stock.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening\n [Post-mark, December 10, 1845.]\n\nIt was right of you to write ... (now see what jangling comes of not\nusing the fit words.... I said 'right,' not to say 'kind') ... right\nof you to write to me to-day--and I had begun to be disappointed\nalready because the post _seemed_ to be past, when suddenly the knock\nbrought the letter which deserves all this praising. If not 'kind' ...\nthen _kindest_ ... will that do better? Perhaps.\n\nMr. Kenyon was here to-day and asked when you were coming again--and\nI, I answered at random ... 'at the end of the week--Thursday or\nFriday'--which did not prevent another question about 'what we were\nconsulting about.' He said that he 'must have you,' and had written to\nbeg you to go to his door on days when you came here; only murmuring\nsomething besides of neither Thursday nor Friday being disengaged days\nwith him. Oh, my disingenuousness!--Then he talked again of 'Saul.' A\ntrue impression the poem has made on him! He reads it every night, he\nsays, when he comes home and just before he goes to sleep, to put his\ndreams into order, and observed very aptly, I thought, that it\nreminded him of Homer's shield of Achilles, thrown into lyrical whirl\nand life. Quite ill he took it of me the 'not expecting him to like it\nso much' and retorted on me with most undeserved severity (as I felt\nit), that I 'never understood anybody to have any sensibility except\nmyself.' Wasn't it severe, to come from dear Mr. Kenyon? But he has\ncaught some sort of evil spirit from your 'Saul' perhaps; though\nadmiring the poem enough to have a good spirit instead. And do _you_\nremember of the said poem, that it is there only as a first part, and\nthat the next parts must certainly follow and complete what will be a\ngreat lyrical work--now remember. And forget 'Luria' ... if you are\nbetter forgetting. And forget _me_ ... _when_ you are happier\nforgetting. I say _that_ too.\n\nSo your idea of an unicorn is--one horn broken off. And you a\npoet!--one horn broken off--or hid in the blackthorn hedge!--\n\nSuch a mistake, as our enlightened public, on their part, made, when\nthey magnified the divinity of the brazen chariot, just under the\nthunder-cloud! I don't remember the _Athenæum_, but can well believe\nthat it said what you say. The _Athenæum_ admires only what gods, men\nand columns reject. It applauds nothing but mediocrity--mark it, as a\ngeneral rule! The good, they see--the great escapes them. Dare to\nbreathe a breath above the close, flat conventions of literature, and\nyou are 'put down' and instructed how to be like other people. By the\nway, see by the very last number, that you never think to write\n'peoples,' on pain of writing what is obsolete--and these the teachers\nof the public! If the public does not learn, where is the marvel of\nit? An imitation of Shelley!--when if 'Paracelsus' was anything it was\nthe expression of a new mind, as all might see--as _I_ saw, let me be\nproud to remember, and I was not overdazzled by 'Ion.'\n\nAh, indeed if I could 'rake and hoe' ... or even pick up weeds along\nthe walk, ... which is the work of the most helpless children, ... if\nI could do any of this, there would be some good of me: but as for\n'shining' ... shining ... when there is not so much light in me as to\ndo 'carpet work' by, why let anyone in the world, _except you_, tell\nme to shine, and it will just be a mockery! But you have studied\nastronomy with your favourite snails, who are apt to take a\ndark-lanthorn for the sun, and so.--\n\nAnd so, you come on Thursday, and I only hope that Mrs. Jameson will\nnot come too, (the carpet work makes me think of her; and, not having\ncome yet, she may come on Thursday by a fatal cross-stitch!) for I do\nnot hear from her, and my precautions are 'watched out,' May God bless\nyou always.\n\n Your own--\n\nBut no--I did not forgive. Where was the fault to be forgiven, except\nin _me_, for not being right in my meaning?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, December 12, 1845.]\n\nAnd now, my heart's love, I am waiting to hear from you; my heart is\n_full_ of you. When I try to remember what I said yesterday, _that_\nthought, of what fills my heart--only _that_ makes me bear with the\nmemory.... I know that even such imperfect, poorest of words _must_\nhave come _from_ thence if not bearing up to you all that is\nthere--and I know you are ever above me to receive, and help, and\nforgive, and _wait_ for the one day which I will never say to myself\ncannot come, when I shall speak what I feel--more of it--or _some_ of\nit--for now nothing is spoken.\n\nMy all-beloved--\n\nAh, you opposed very rightly, I dare say, the writing that paper I\nspoke of! The process should be so much simpler! I most earnestly\n_expect_ of you, my love, that in the event of any such necessity as\nwas then alluded to, you accept at once in my name _any_ conditions\npossible for a human will to submit to--there is no imaginable\ncondition to which you allow me to accede that I will not joyfully\nbend all my faculties to comply with. And you know this--but so, also\ndo you know _more_ ... and yet 'I may tire of you'--'may forget you'!\n\nI will write again, having the long, long week to wait! And one of the\nthings I must say, will be, that with my love, I cannot lose my pride\nin you--that nothing _but_ that love could balance that pride--and\nthat, blessing the love so divinely, you must minister to the pride as\nwell; yes, my own--I shall follow your fame,--and, better than fame,\nthe good you do--in the world--and, if you please, it shall all be\nmine--as your hand, as your eyes--\n\nI will write and pray it from you into a promise ... and your promises\nI live upon.\n\nMay God bless you! your R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, December 13, 1845.]\n\nDo not blame me in your thoughts for what I said yesterday or wrote a\nday before, or think perhaps on the dark side of some other days when\nI cannot help it ... always when I cannot help it--you could not\nblame me if you saw the full motives as I feel them. If it is\ndistrust, it is not of _you_, dearest of all!--but of myself\nrather:--it is not doubt _of_ you, but _for_ you. From the beginning I\nhave been subject to the too reasonable fear which rises as my spirits\nfall, that your happiness might suffer in the end through your having\nknown me:--it is for _you_ I fear, whenever I fear:--and if you were\nless to me, ... _should_ I fear do you think?--if you were to me only\nwhat I am to myself for instance, ... if your happiness were only as\nprecious as my own in my own eyes, ... should I fear, do you think,\n_then_? Think, and do not blame me.\n\nTo tell you to 'forget me when forgetting seemed happiest for you,'\n... (was it not _that_, I said?) proved more affection than might go\nin smoother words.... I could prove the truth of _that_ out of my\nheart.\n\nAnd for the rest, you need not fear any fear of mine--my fear will not\ncross a wish of yours, be sure! Neither does it prevent your being all\nto me ... all: more than I used to take for all when I looked round\nthe world, ... almost more than I took for all in my earliest dreams.\nYou stand in between me and not merely the living who stood closest,\nbut between me and the closer graves, ... and I reproach myself for\nthis sometimes, and, so, ask you not to blame me for a different\nthing.\n\nAs to unfavourable influences, ... I can speak of them quietly, having\nforeseen them from the first, ... and it is true, I have been thinking\nsince yesterday, that I might be prevented from receiving you here,\nand _should_, if all were known: but with that act, the adverse power\nwould end. It is not my fault if I have to choose between two\naffections; only my pain; and I have not to choose between two duties,\nI feel, ... since I am yours, while I am of any worth to you at all.\nFor the plan of the sealed letter, it would correct no evil,--ah, you\ndo not see, you do not understand. The danger does not come from the\nside to which a reason may go. Only one person holds the thunder--and\nI shall be thundered at; I shall not be reasoned with--it is\nimpossible. I could tell you some dreary chronicles made for laughing\nand crying over; and you know that if I once thought I might be loved\nenough to be spared above others, I cannot think so now. In the\nmeanwhile we need not for the present be afraid. Let there be ever so\nmany suspectors, there will be no informers. I suspect the suspectors,\nbut the informers are out of the world, I am very sure:--and then, the\none person, by a curious anomaly, _never_ draws an inference of this\norder, until the bare blade of it is thrust palpably into his hand,\npoint outwards. So it has been in other cases than ours--and so it is,\nat this moment in the house, with others than ourselves.\n\nI have your letter to stop me. If I had my whole life in my hands with\nyour letter, could I thank you for it, I wonder, at all worthily? I\ncannot believe that I could. Yet in life and in death I shall be\ngrateful to you.--\n\nBut for the paper--no. Now, observe, that it would seem like a\nprepared apology for something wrong. And besides--the apology would\nbe nothing but the offence in another form--unless you said it was all\na mistake--(_will_ you, again?)--that it was all a mistake and you\nwere only calling for your boots! Well, if you said _that_, it would\nbe worth writing, but anything less would be something worse than\nnothing: and would not save me--which you were thinking of, I\nknow--would not save me the least of the stripes. For\n'conditions'--now I will tell you what I said once in a jest....\n\n'If a prince of Eldorado should come, with a pedigree of lineal\ndescent from some signory in the moon in one hand, and a ticket of\ngood-behaviour from the nearest Independent chapel, in the other'--?\n\n'Why even _then_,' said my sister Arabel, 'it would not _do_.' And she\nwas right, and we all agreed that she was right. It is an obliquity of\nthe will--and one laughs at it till the turn comes for crying. Poor\nHenrietta has suffered silently, with that softest of possible\nnatures, which hers is indeed; beginning with implicit obedience, and\nending with something as unlike it as possible: but, you see, where\nmoney is wanted, and where the dependence is total--see! And when\nonce, in the case of the one dearest to me; when just at the last he\nwas involved in the same grief, and I attempted to make over my\nadvantages to him; (it could be no sacrifice, you know--_I_ did not\nwant the money, and could buy nothing with it so good as his\nhappiness,--) why then, my hands were seized and tied--and then and\nthere, in the midst of the trouble, came the end of all! I tell you\nall this, just to make you understand a little. Did I not tell you\nbefore? But there is no danger at present--and why ruffle this present\nwith disquieting thoughts? Why not leave that future to itself? For\nme, I sit in the track of the avalanche quite calmly ... so calmly as\nto surprise myself at intervals--and yet I know the reason of the\ncalmness well.\n\nFor Mr. Kenyon--dear Mr. Kenyon--he will speak the softest of words,\nif any--only he will think privately that you are foolish and that I\nam ungenerous, but I will not say so any more now, so as to teaze you.\n\nThere is another thing, of more consequence than _his_ thoughts, which\nis often in my mind to ask you of--but there will be time for such\nquestions--let us leave the winter to its own peace. If I should be\nill again you will be reasonable and we both must submit to God's\nnecessity. Not, you know, that I have the least intention of being\nill, if I can help it--and in the case of a tolerably mild winter, and\nwith all this strength to use, there are probabilities for me--and\nthen I have sunshine from _you_, which is better than Pisa's.\n\nAnd what more would you say? Do I not hear and understand! It seems to\nme that I do both, or why all this wonder and gratitude? If the\ndevotion of the remainder of my life could prove that I hear, ...\nwould it be proof enough? Proof enough perhaps--but not gift enough.\n\nMay God bless you always.\n\nI have put _some_ of the hair into a little locket which was given to\nme when I was a child by my favourite uncle, Papa's only brother, who\nused to tell me that he loved me better than my own father did, and\nwas jealous when I was not glad. It is through him in part, that I am\nricher than my sisters--through him and his mother--and a great grief\nit was and trial, when he died a few years ago in Jamaica, proving by\nhis last act that I was unforgotten. And now I remember how he once\nsaid to me: 'Do you beware of ever loving!--If you do, you will not do\nit half: it will be for life and death.'\n\nSo I put the hair into his locket, which I wear habitually, and which\nnever had hair before--the natural use of it being for perfume:--and\nthis is the best perfume for all hours, besides the completing of a\nprophecy.\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, December 15, 1845.]\n\nEvery word you write goes to my heart and lives there: let us live so,\nand die so, if God will. I trust many years hence to begin telling you\nwhat I feel now;--that the beam of the light will have _reached_\nyou!--meantime it _is_ here. Let me kiss your forehead, my sweetest,\ndearest.\n\nWednesday I am waiting for--how waiting for!\n\nAfter all, it seems probable that there was no intentional mischief in\nthat jeweller's management of the ring. The divided gold must have\nbeen exposed to fire--heated thoroughly, perhaps,--and what became of\nthe contents then! Well, all is safe now, and I go to work again of\ncourse. My next act is just done--that is, _being_ done--but, what I\ndid not foresee, I cannot bring it, copied, by Wednesday, as my sister\nwent this morning on a visit for the week.\n\nOn the matters, the others, I will not think, as you bid me,--if I can\nhelp, at least. But your kind, gentle, good sisters! and the provoking\nsorrow of the _right_ meaning at bottom of the wrong doing--wrong to\nitself and its plain purpose--and meanwhile, the real tragedy and\nsacrifice of a life!\n\nIf you should see Mr. Kenyon, and can find if he will be disengaged on\nWednesday evening, I shall be glad to go in that case.\n\nBut I have been writing, as I say, and will leave off this, for the\nbetter communing with you. Don't imagine I am unwell; I feel quite\nwell, but a little tired, and the thought of you waits in such\nreadiness! So, may God bless you, beloved!\n\n I am all your own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, December 16, 1845.]\n\nMr. Kenyon has not come--he does not come so often, I think. Did he\n_know_ from _you_ that you were to see me last Thursday? If he did it\nmight be as well, do you not think? to go to him next week. Will it\nnot seem frequent, otherwise? But if you did _not_ tell him of\nThursday distinctly (_I_ did not--remember!), he might take the\nWednesday's visit to be the substitute for rather than the successor\nof Thursday's: and in that case, why not write a word to him yourself\nto propose dining with him as he suggested? He really wishes to see\nyou--of that, I am sure. But you will know what is best to do, and he\nmay come here to-morrow perhaps, and ask a whole set of questions\nabout you; so my right hand may forget its cunning for any good it\ndoes. Only don't send messages by _me_, please!\n\nHow happy I am with your letter to-night.\n\nWhen I had sent away my last letter I began to remember, and could not\nhelp smiling to do so, that I had totally forgotten the great subject\nof my 'fame,' and the oath you administered about it--totally! Now how\ndo you read that omen? If I forget myself, who is to remember me, do\nyou think?--except _you_?--which brings me where I would stay.\nYes--'yours' it must be, but _you_, it had better be! But, to leave\nthe vain superstitions, let me go on to assure you that I did mean to\nanswer that part of your former letter, and do mean to behave well and\nbe obedient. Your wish would be enough, even if there could be\nlikelihood without it of my doing nothing ever again. Oh, certainly I\nhave been idle--it comes of lotus-eating--and, besides, of sitting too\nlong in the sun. Yet 'idle' may not be the word! silent I have been,\nthrough too many thoughts to speak just _that_!--As to writing letters\nand reading manuscripts' filling all my time, why I must lack 'vital\nenergy' indeed--you do not mean seriously to fancy such a thing of me!\nFor the rest.... Tell me--Is it your opinion that when the apostle\nPaul saw the unspeakable things, being snatched up into the third\nHeavens 'whether in the body or out of the body he could not\ntell,'--is it your opinion that, all the week after, he worked\nparticularly hard at the tent-making? For my part, I doubt it.\n\nI would not speak profanely or extravagantly--it is not the best way\nto thank God. But to say only that I was in the desert and that I am\namong the palm-trees, is to say nothing ... because it is easy to\n_understand how_, after walking straight on ... on ... furlong after\nfurlong ... dreary day after dreary day, ... one may come to the end\nof the sand and within sight of the fountain:--there is nothing\nmiraculous in _that_, you know!\n\nYet even in that case, to doubt whether it may not all be _mirage_,\nwould be the natural first thought, the recurring dream-fear! now\nwould it not? And you can reproach me for _my_ thoughts, as if _they_\nwere unnatural!\n\nNever mind about the third act--the advantage is that you will not\ntire yourself perhaps the next week. What gladness it is that you\nshould really seem better, and how much better _that_ is than even\n'Luria.'\n\nMrs. Jameson came to-day--but I will tell you.\n\nMay God bless you now and always.\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, December 17, 1845.]\n\nHenrietta had a note from Mr. Kenyon to the effect that he was 'coming\nto see _Ba_' to-day if in any way he found it possible. Now he has not\ncome--and the inference is that he will come to-morrow--in which case\nyou will be convicted of not wishing to be with him perhaps. So ...\nwould it not be advisable for you to call at his door for a\nmoment--and _before_ you come here? Think of it. You know it would not\ndo to vex him--would it?\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, December 19, 1845.]\n\nI ought to have written yesterday: so to-day when I need a letter and\nget none, there is my own fault besides, and the less consolation. A\nletter from you would light up this sad day. Shall I fancy how, if a\nletter lay _there_ where I look, rain might fall and winds blow while\nI listened to you, long after the _words_ had been laid to heart? But\nhere you are in your place--with me who am your own--your own--and so\nthe rhyme joins on,\n\n She shall speak to me in places lone\n With a low and holy tone--\n Ay: when I have lit my lamp at night\n She shall be present with my sprite:\n And I will say, whate'er it be,\n Every word she telleth me!\n\nNow, is that taken from your book? No--but from _my_ book, which holds\nmy verses as I write them; and as I open it, I read that.\n\nAnd speaking of verse--somebody gave me a few days ago that Mr.\nLowell's book you once mentioned to me. Anyone who 'admires' _you_\nshall have my sympathy at once--even though he _do_ change the\nlaughing wine-_mark_ into a 'stain' in that perfectly beautiful\ntriplet--nor am I to be indifferent to his good word for myself\n(though not very happily connected with the criticism on the epithet\nin that 'Yorkshire Tragedy'--which has better things, by the\nway--seeing that 'white boy,' in old language, meant just 'good boy,'\na general epithet, as Johnson notices in the life of Dryden, whom the\nschoolmaster Busby was used to class with his 'white boys'--this is\nhypercriticism, however). But these American books should not be\nreprinted here--one asks, what and where is the class to which they\naddress themselves? for, no doubt, we have our congregations of\nignoramuses that enjoy the profoundest ignorance imaginable on the\nsubjects treated of; but _these_ are evidently not the audience Mr.\nLowell reckons on; rather, if one may trust the manner of his setting\nto work, he would propound his doctrine to the class. Always to be\nfound, of spirits instructed up to a certain height and there\nresting--vines that run up a prop and there tangle and grow to a\nknot--which want supplying with fresh poles; so the provident man\nbrings his bundle into the grounds, and sticks them in laterally or\na-top of the others, as the case requires, and all the old stocks go\non growing again--but here, with us, whoever _wanted_ Chaucer, or\nChapman, or Ford, got him long ago--what else have Lamb, and\nColeridge, and Hazlitt and Hunt and so on to the end of their\ngenerations ... what else been doing this many a year? What one\npassage of all these, cited with the very air of a Columbus, but has\nbeen known to all who know anything of poetry this many, many a year?\nThe others, who don't know anything, are the stocks that have got to\n_shoot_, not climb higher--_compost_, they want in the first place!\nFord's and Crashaw's rival Nightingales--why they have been\ndissertated on by Wordsworth and Coleridge, then by Lamb and Hazlitt,\nthen worked to death by Hunt, who printed them entire and quoted them\nto pieces again, in every periodical he was ever engaged upon; and yet\nafter all, here 'Philip'--'must read' (out of a roll of dropping\npapers with yellow ink tracings, so old!) something at which 'John'\nclaps his hands and says 'Really--that these ancients should own so\nmuch wit &c.'! The _passage_ no longer looks its fresh self after this\nveritable passage from hand to hand: as when, in old dances, the belle\nbegan the figure with her own partner, and by him was transferred to\nthe next, and so to the next--_they_ ever _beginning_ with all the old\nalacrity and spirit; but she bearing a still-accumulating weight of\ntokens of gallantry, and none the better for every fresh pushing and\nshoving and pulling and hauling--till, at the bottom of the room--\n\nTo which Mr. Lowell might say, that--No, I will say the true thing\nagainst myself--and it is, that when I turn from what is in my mind,\nand determine to write about anybody's book to avoid writing that I\nlove and love and love again my own, dearest love--because of the\ncuckoo-song of it,--_then_, I shall be in no better humour with that\nbook than with Mr. Lowell's!\n\nBut I _have_ a new thing to say or sing--you never before heard me\nlove and bless and send my heart after--'Ba'--did you? Ba ... and\nthat is you! I TRIED ... (more than _wanted_) to call you _that_, on\nWednesday! I have a flower here--rather, a tree, a mimosa, which must\nbe turned and turned, the side to the light changing in a little time\nto the _leafy_ side, where all the fans lean and spread ... so I turn\nyour name to me, that side I have not last seen: you cannot tell how I\nfeel glad that you will not part with the name--Barrett--seeing you\nhave two of the same--and must always, moreover, remain my EBB!\n\nDearest 'E.B.C.'--no, no! and so it will never be!\n\nHave you seen Mr. Kenyon? I did not write ... knowing that such a\nprocedure would draw the kind sure letter in return, with the\ninvitation &c., as if I had asked for it! I had perhaps better call on\nhim some morning very early.\n\nBless you, my own sweetest. You will write to me, I know in my heart!\n\n Ever may God bless you!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, December 20, 1845.]\n\nDearest, you know how to say what makes me happiest, you who never\nthink, you say, of making me happy! For my part I do not think of it\neither; I simply understand that you _are_ my happiness, and that\ntherefore you could not make another happiness for me, such as would\nbe worth having--not even _you_! Why, how could you? _That_ was in my\nmind to speak yesterday, but I could not speak it--to write it, is\neasier.\n\nTalking of happiness--shall I tell you? Promise not to be angry and I\nwill tell you. I have thought sometimes that, if I considered myself\nwholly, I should choose to die this winter--now--before I had\ndisappointed you in anything. But because you are better and dearer\nand more to be considered than I, I do _not_ choose it. I _cannot_\nchoose to give you any pain, even on the chance of its being a less\npain, a less evil, than what may follow perhaps (who can say?), if I\nshould prove the burden of your life.\n\nFor if you make me happy with some words, you frighten me with\nothers--as with the extravagance yesterday--and seriously--_too_\nseriously, when the moment for smiling at them is past--I am\nfrightened, I tremble! When you come to know me as well as I know\nmyself, what can save me, do you think, from disappointing and\ndispleasing you? I ask the question, and find no answer.\n\nIt is a poor answer, to say that I can do one thing well ... that I\nhave one capacity largely. On points of the general affections, I have\nin thought applied to myself the words of Mme. de Stael, not\nfretfully, I hope, not complainingly, I am sure (I can thank God for\nmost affectionate friends!) not complainingly, yet mournfully and in\nprofound conviction--those words--'_jamais je n'ai pas été aimée comme\nj'aime_.' The capacity of loving is the largest of my powers I\nthink--I thought so before knowing you--and one form of feeling. And\nalthough any woman might love you--_every_ woman,--with understanding\nenough to discern you by--(oh, do not fancy that I am unduly\nmagnifying mine office) yet I persist in persuading myself that!\nBecause I have the capacity, as I said--and besides I owe more to you\nthan others could, it seems to me: let me boast of it. To many, you\nmight be better than all things while one of all things: to me you are\ninstead of all--to many, a crowning happiness--to me, the happiness\nitself. From out of the deep dark pits men see the stars more\ngloriously--and _de profundis amavi_--\n\nIt is a very poor answer! Almost as poor an answer as yours could be\nif I were to ask you to teach me to please you always; or rather, how\nnot to displease you, disappoint you, vex you--what if all those\nthings were in my fate?\n\nAnd--(to begin!)--_I_ am disappointed to-night. I expected a letter\nwhich does not come--and I had felt so sure of having a letter\nto-night ... unreasonably sure perhaps, which means doubly sure.\n\n_Friday._--Remember you have had two notes of mine, and that it is\ncertainly not my turn to write, though I am writing.\n\nScarcely you had gone on Wednesday when Mr. Kenyon came. It seemed\nbest to me, you know, that you should go--I had the presentiment of\nhis footsteps--and so near they were, that if you had looked up the\nstreet in leaving the door, you must have seen him! Of course I told\nhim of your having been here and also at his house; whereupon he\nenquired eagerly if you meant to dine with him, seeming disappointed\nby my negative. 'Now I had told him,' he said ... and murmured on to\nhimself loud enough for me to hear, that 'it would have been a\npeculiar pleasure &c.' The reason I have not seen him lately is the\neternal 'business,' just as you thought, and he means to come 'oftener\nnow,' so nothing is wrong as I half thought.\n\nAs your letter does not come it is a good opportunity for asking what\nsort of ill humour, or (to be more correct) bad temper, you most\nparticularly admire--sulkiness?--the divine gift of sitting aloof in a\ncloud like any god for three weeks together perhaps--pettishness? ...\nwhich will get you up a storm about a crooked pin or a straight one\neither? obstinacy?--which is an agreeable form of temper I can assure\nyou, and describes itself--or the good open passion which lies on the\nfloor and kicks, like one of my cousins?--Certainly I prefer the last,\nand should, I think, prefer it (as an evil), even if it were not the\nborn weakness of my own nature--though I humbly confess (to _you_, who\nseem to think differently of these things) that never since I was a\nchild have I upset all the chairs and tables and thrown the books\nabout the room in a fury--I am afraid I do not even 'kick,' like my\ncousin, now. Those demonstrations were all done by the 'light of other\ndays'--not a very full light, I used to be accustomed to think:--but\n_you_,--_you_ think otherwise, _you_ take a fury to be the opposite of\n'indifference,' as if there could be no such thing as self-control!\nNow for my part, I do believe that the worst-tempered persons in the\nworld are less so through sensibility than selfishness--they spare\nnobody's heart, on the ground of being themselves pricked by a straw.\nNow see if it isn't so. What, after all, is a good temper but\ngenerosity in trifles--and what, without it, is the happiness of life?\nWe have only to look round us. I _saw_ a woman, once, burst into\ntears, because her husband cut the bread and butter too thick. I saw\n_that_ with my own eyes. Was it _sensibility_, I wonder! They were at\nleast real tears and ran down her cheeks. 'You _always_ do it'! she\nsaid.\n\nWhy how you must sympathize with the heroes and heroines of the French\nromances (_do_ you sympathize with them very much?) when at the\nslightest provocation they break up the tables and chairs, (a degree\nbeyond the deeds of my childhood!--_I_ only used to upset them) break\nup the tables and chairs and chiffoniers, and dash the china to atoms.\nThe men _do_ the furniture, and the women the porcelain: and pray\nobserve that they always set about this as a matter of course! When\nthey have broken everything in the room, they sink down quite (and\nvery naturally) _abattus_. I remember a particular case of a hero of\nFrederic Soulié's, who, in the course of an 'emotion,' takes up a\nchair _unconsciously_, and breaks it into very small pieces, and then\nproceeds with his soliloquy. Well!--the clearest idea this excites in\n_me_, is of the low condition in Paris, of moral government and of\nupholstery. Because--just consider for yourself--how _you_ would\nsucceed in breaking to pieces even a three-legged stool if it were\nproperly put together--as stools are in England--just yourself,\nwithout a hammer and a screw! You might work at it _comme quatre_, and\nfind it hard to finish, I imagine. And then as a demonstration, a\nchild of six years old might demonstrate just so (in his sphere) and\nbe whipped accordingly.\n\nHow I go on writing!--and you, who do not write at all!--two extremes,\none set against the other.\n\nBut I must say, though in ever such an ill temper (which you know is\njust the time to select for writing a panegyric upon good temper) that\nI am glad you do not despise my own right name too much, because I\nnever was called Elizabeth by any one who loved me at all, and I\naccept the omen. So little it seems my name that if a voice said\nsuddenly 'Elizabeth,' I should as soon turn round as my sisters would\n... no sooner. Only, my own right name has been complained of for want\nof euphony ... _Ba_ ... now and then it has--and Mr. Boyd makes a\ncompromise and calls me _Elibet_, because nothing could induce him to\ndesecrate his organs accustomed to Attic harmonies, with a _Ba_. So I\nam glad, and accept the omen.\n\nBut I give you no credit for not thinking that I may forget you ... I!\nAs if you did not see the difference! Why, _I_ could not even forget\nto _write_ to _you_, observe!--\n\nWhenever you write, say how you are. Were you wet on Wednesday?\n\n Your own--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, December 20, 1845.]\n\nI do not, nor will not think, dearest, of ever 'making you happy'--I\ncan imagine no way of working that end, which does not go straight to\nmy own truest, only true happiness--yet in every such effort there is\nimplied some distinction, some supererogatory grace, or why speak of\nit at all? _You_ it is, are my happiness, and all that ever can be:\nYOU--dearest!\n\nBut never, if you would not, what you will not do I know, never revert\nto _that_ frightful wish. 'Disappoint me?' 'I speak what I know and\ntestify what I have seen'--you shall 'mystery' again and again--I do\nnot dispute that, but do not _you_ dispute, neither, that mysteries\nare. But it is simply because I do most justice to the mystical part\nof what I feel for you, because I consent to lay most stress on that\nfact of facts that I love you, beyond admiration, and respect, and\nesteem and affection even, and do not adduce any reason which stops\nshort of accounting for _that_, whatever else it would account for,\nbecause I do this, in pure logical justice--_you_ are able to turn and\nwonder (if you _do ... now_) what causes it all! My love, only wait,\nonly believe in me, and it cannot be but I shall, little by little,\nbecome known to you--after long years, perhaps, but still one day: I\n_would_ say _this_ now--but I will write more to-morrow. God bless my\nsweetest--ever, love, I am your\n\n R.B.\n\nBut my letter came last night, did it not?\n\nAnother thing--no, _to-morrow_--for time presses, and, in all cases,\n_Tuesday_--remember!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, December 20, 1845.]\n\nI have your letter now, and now I am sorry I sent mine. If I wrote\nthat you had 'forgotten to write,' I did not mean it; not a word! If I\nhad meant it I should not have written it. But it would have been\nbetter for every reason to have waited just a little longer before\nwriting at all. A besetting sin of mine is an impatience which makes\npeople laugh when it does not entangle their silks, pull their knots\ntighter, and tear their books in cutting them open.\n\nHow right you are about Mr. Lowell! He has a refined fancy and is\ngraceful for an American critic, but the truth is, otherwise, that he\nknows nothing of English poetry or the next thing to nothing, and has\nmerely had a dream of the early dramatists. The amount of his reading\nin that direction is an article in the _Retrospective Review_ which\ncontains extracts; and he re-extracts the extracts, re-quotes the\nquotations, and, 'a pede Herculem,' from the foot infers the man, or\nrather from the sandal-string of the foot, infers and judges the soul\nof the man--it is comparative anatomy under the most speculative\nconditions. How a writer of his talents and pretensions could make up\nhis mind to make up a book on such slight substratum, is a curious\nproof of the state of literature in America. Do you not think so? Why\na lecturer on the English Dramatists for a 'Young Ladies' academy'\nhere in England, might take it to be necessary to have better\ninformation than he could gather from an odd volume of an old review!\nAnd then, Mr. Lowell's naïveté in showing his authority,--as if the\nElizabethan poets lay mouldering in inaccessible manuscript somewhere\nbelow the lowest deep of Shakespeare's grave,--is curious beyond the\nrest! Altogether, the fact is an epigram on the surface-literature of\nAmerica. As you say, their books do not suit us:--Mrs. Markham might\nas well send her compendium of the History of France to M. Thiers. If\nthey _knew_ more they could not give parsley crowns to their own\nnative poets when there is greater merit among the rabbits. Mrs.\nSigourney has just sent me--just this morning--her 'Scenes in my\nNative Land' and, peeping between the uncut leaves, I read of the poet\nHillhouse, of 'sublime spirit and Miltonic energy,' standing in 'the\ntemple of Fame' as if it were built on purpose for him. I suppose he\nis like most of the American poets, who are shadows of the true, as\nflat as a shadow, as colourless as a shadow, as lifeless and as\ntransitory. Mr. Lowell himself is, in his verse-books, poetical, if\nnot a poet--and certainly this little book we are talking of is\ngrateful enough in some ways--you would call it a _pretty book_--would\nyou not? Two or three letters I have had from him ... all very\nkind!--and _that_ reminds me, alas! of some ineffable ingratitude on\nmy own part! When one's conscience grows too heavy, there is nothing\nfor it but to throw it away!--\n\nDo you remember how I tried to tell you what he said of you, and how\nyou would not let me?\n\nMr. Mathews said of _him_, having met him once in society, that he was\nthe concentration of conceit in appearance and manner. But since then\nthey seem to be on better terms.\n\nWhere is the meaning, pray, of E.B._C._? _your_ meaning, I mean?\n\nMy true initials are E.B.M.B.--my long name, as opposed to my short\none, being Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett!--there's a full length\nto take away one's breath!--Christian name ... Elizabeth\nBarrett:--surname, Moulton Barrett. So long it is, that to make it\nportable, I fell into the habit of doubling it up and packing it\nclosely, ... and of forgetting that I was a _Moulton_, altogether. One\nmight as well write the alphabet as all four initials. Yet our\nfamily-name is _Moulton Barrett_, and my brothers reproach me\nsometimes for sacrificing the governorship of an old town in Norfolk\nwith a little honourable verdigris from the Heralds' Office. As if I\ncared for the _Retrospective Review_! Nevertheless it is true that I\nwould give ten towns in Norfolk (if I had them) to own some purer\nlineage than that of the blood of the slave! Cursed we are from\ngeneration to generation!--I seem to hear the 'Commination Service.'\n\nMay God bless you always, always! beyond the always of this world!--\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nMr. Dickens's 'Cricket' sings repetitions, and, with considerable\nbeauty, is extravagant. It does not appear to me by any means one of\nhis most successful productions, though quite free from what was\nreproached as bitterness and one-sidedness, last year.\n\nYou do not say how you are--not a word! And you are wrong in saying\nthat you 'ought to have written'--as if 'ought' could be in place\n_so_! You _never 'ought' to write to me you know_! or rather ... if\nyou ever think you ought, you ought not! Which is a speaking of\nmysteries on my part!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n [Post-mark, December 22, 1845.]\n\nNow, '_ought_' you to be 'sorry you sent that letter,' which made, and\nmakes me so happy--so happy--can you bring yourself to turn round and\ntell one you have so blessed with your bounty that there was a\nmistake, and you meant only half that largess? If you are not sensible\nthat you _do_ make me most happy by such letters, and do not warm in\nthe reflection of your own rays, then I _do_ give up indeed the last\nchance of procuring _you_ happiness. My own 'ought,' which you object\nto, shall be withdrawn--being only a pure bit of selfishness; I felt,\nin missing the letter of yours, next day, that I _might_ have drawn it\ndown by one of mine,--if I had begged never so gently, the gold would\nhave fallen--_there_ was my omitted duty to myself which you properly\nblame. I should stand silently and wait and be sure of the\never-remembering goodness.\n\nLet me count my gold now--and rub off any speck that stays the full\nshining. First--_that thought_ ... I told you; I pray you, pray you,\nsweet--never that again--or what leads never so remotely or indirectly\nto it! On _your own fancied ground_, the fulfilment would be of\nnecessity fraught with every woe that can fall in this life. I am\nyours for ever--if you are not _here_, with me--what then? Say, you\ntake all of yourself away but just enough to live on; then, _that_\ndefeats every kind purpose ... as if you cut away all the ground from\nmy feet but so much as serves for bare standing room ... why still, I\n_stand_ there--and is it the better that I have no broader space,\nwhen off _that_ you cannot force me? I have your memory, the knowledge\nof you, the idea of you printed into my heart and brain,--on that, I\ncan live my life--but it is for you, the dear, utterly generous\ncreature I know you, to give me more and more beyond mere life--to\nextend life and deepen it--as you do, and will do. Oh, _how_ I love\nyou when I think of the entire truthfulness of your generosity to\nme--how, meaning and willing to _give_, you gave _nobly_! Do you think\nI have not seen in this world how women who _do_ love will manage to\nconfer that gift on occasion? And shall I allow myself to fancy how\nmuch alloy such pure gold as _your_ love would have rendered\nendurable? Yet it came, virgin ore, to complete my fortune! And what\nbut this makes me confident and happy? _Can_ I take a lesson by your\nfancies, and begin frightening myself with saying ... 'But if she saw\nall the world--the worthier, better men there ... those who would' &c.\n&c. No, I think of the great, dear _gift_ that it was; how I '_won_'\nNOTHING (the hateful word, and _French_ thought)--did nothing by my\nown arts or cleverness in the matter ... so what pretence have the\n_more_ artful or more clever for:--but I cannot write out this\nfolly--I am yours for ever, with the utmost sense of gratitude--to say\nI would give you my life joyfully is little.... I would, I hope, do\nthat for two or three other people--but I am not conscious of any\nimaginable point in which I would not implicitly devote my whole self\nto you--be disposed of by you as for the best. There! It is not to be\nspoken of--let me _live_ it into proof, beloved!\n\nAnd for 'disappointment and a burden' ... now--let us get quite away\nfrom ourselves, and not see one of the filaments, but only the _cords_\nof love with the world's horny eye. Have we such jarring tastes, then?\nDoes your inordinate attachment to gay life interfere with my deep\npassion for society? 'Have they common sympathy in each other's\npursuits?'--always asks Mrs. Tomkins! Well, here was I when you knew\nme, fixed in my way of life, meaning with God's help to write what\nmay be written and so die at peace with myself so far. Can you help me\nor no? Do you _not_ help me so much that, if you saw the more likely\nperil for poor human nature, you would say, 'He will be jealous of all\nthe help coming from me,--none from him to me!'--And _that would_ be a\nconsequence of the help, all-too-great for hope of return, with any\none less possessed than I with the exquisiteness of being\n_transcended_ and the _blest_ one.\n\nBut--'here comes the Selah and the voice is hushed'--I will speak of\nother things. When we are together one day--the days I believe in--I\nmean to set about that reconsidering 'Sordello'--it has always been\nrather on my mind--but yesterday I was reading the 'Purgatorio' and\nthe first speech of the group of which Sordello makes one struck me\nwith a new significance, as well describing the man and his purpose\nand fate in my own poem--see; one of the burthened, contorted souls\ntells Virgil and Dante--\n\n Noi fummo già tutti per forza morti,\n E _peccatori infin' all' ultim' ora_:\n QUIVI--_lume del ciel ne fece accorti\n Si chè, pentendo e perdonando, fora\n Di vita uscimmo a Dio pacificati\n Che del disio di se veder n'accora._[1]\n\nWhich is just my Sordello's story ... could I '_do_' it off hand, I\nwonder--\n\n And sinners were we to the extreme hour;\n _Then_, light from heaven fell, making us aware,\n So that, repenting us and pardoned, out\n Of life we passed to God, at peace with Him\n Who fills the heart with yearning Him to see.\n\nThere were many singular incidents attending my work on that\nsubject--thus, quite at the end, I found out there _was printed_ and\nnot published, a little historical tract by a Count V---- something,\ncalled 'Sordello'--with the motto 'Post fata resurgam'! I hope he\nprophesied. The main of this--biographical notices--is extracted by\nMuratori, I think. Last year when I set foot in Naples I found after a\nfew minutes that at some theatre, that night, the opera was to be 'one\nact of Sordello' and I never looked twice, nor expended a couple of\ncarlines on the _libretto_!\n\nI wanted to tell you, in last letter, that when I spoke of people's\ntempers _you_ have no concern with 'people'--I do not glance obliquely\nat _your_ temper--either to discover it, or praise it, or adapt myself\nto it. I speak of the relation one sees in other cases--how one\nopposes passionate foolish people, but hates cold clever people who\ntake quite care enough of themselves. I myself am born supremely\npassionate--so I was born with light yellow hair: all changes--that is\nthe passion changes its direction and, taking a channel large enough,\nlooks calmer, perhaps, than it should--and all my sympathies go with\nquiet strength, of course--but I know what the other kind is. As for\nthe breakages of chairs, and the appreciation of Parisian _meubles_;\nmanibus, pedibusque descendo in tuam sententiam, Ba, mi ocelle! ('What\nwas E.B. C?' why, the first letter after, and _not_, E.B. _B_, my own\n_B_! There was no latent meaning in the C--but I had no inclination to\ngo on to D, or E, for instance).\n\nAnd so, love, Tuesday is to be our day--one day more--and then! And\nmeanwhile '_care_' for me! a good word for you--but _my_ care, what is\nthat! One day I aspire to _care_, though! I shall not go away at any\ndear Mr. K.'s coming! They call me down-stairs to supper--and my fire\nis out, and you keep me from feeling cold and yet ask if I am well?\nYes, well--yes, happy--and your own ever--I must bid God bless\nyou--dearest!\n\n R.B.\n\n[Footnote 1: 'Purg.' v. 52 7.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n [Post-mark, December 24, 1845.]\n\nBut did I dispute? Surely not. Surely I believe in you and in\n'mysteries.' Surely I prefer the no-reason to ever so much rationalism\n... (rationalism and infidelity go together they say!). All which I\nmay do, and be afraid sometimes notwithstanding, and when you\noverpraise me (_not_ over_love_) I must be frightened as I told you.\n\nIt is with me as with the theologians. I believe in you and can be\nhappy and safe _so_; but when my 'personal merits' come into question\nin any way, even the least, ... why then the position grows untenable:\nit is no more 'of grace.'\n\nDo I tease you as I tease myself sometimes? But do not wrong me in\nturn! Do not keep repeating that 'after long years' I shall know\nyou--know you!--as if I did not without the years. If you are forced\nto refer me to those long ears, I must deserve the thistles besides.\nThe thistles are the corollary.\n\nFor it is obvious--manifest--that I cannot doubt of you, that I may\ndoubt of myself, of happiness, of the whole world,--but of\n_you_--_not_: it is obvious that if I could doubt of you and _act so_\nI should be a very idiot, or worse indeed. And _you_ ... you think I\ndoubt of you whenever I make an interjection!--now do you not? And is\nit reasonable?--Of _you_, I mean?\n\n_Monday._--For my part, you must admit it to be too possible that you\nmay be, as I say, 'disappointed' in me--it _is_ too possible. And if\nit does me good to say so, even now perhaps ... if it is mere weakness\nto say so and simply torments you, why do _you_ be magnanimous and\nforgive _that_ ... let it pass as a weakness and forgive it _so_.\nOften I think painful things which I do not tell you and....\n\nWhile I write, your letter comes. Kindest of you it was, to write me\nsuch a letter, when I expected scarcely the shadow of one!--this makes\nup for the other letter which I expected unreasonably and which you\n'_ought not_' to have written, as was proved afterwards. And now why\nshould I go on with that sentence? What had I to say of 'painful\nthings,' I wonder? all the painful things seem gone ... vanished. I\nforget what I had to say. Only do you still think of this, dearest\nbeloved; that I sit here in the dark but for _you_, and that the light\nyou bring me (from _my_ fault!--from the nature of _my_ darkness!) is\nnot a settled light as when you open the shutters in the morning, but\na light made by candles which burn some of them longer and some\nshorter, and some brighter and briefer, at once--being 'double-wicks,'\nand that there is an intermission for a moment now and then between\nthe dropping of the old light into the socket and the lighting of the\nnew. Every letter of yours is a new light which burns so many hours\n... and _then_!--I am morbid, you see--or call it by what name you\nlike ... too wise or too foolish. 'If the light of the body is\ndarkness, how great is that darkness.' Yet even when I grow too wise,\nI admit always that while you love me it is an answer to all. And I am\nnever so much too foolish as to wish to be worthier for my own\nsake--only for yours:--not for my own sake, since I am content to owe\nall things to you.\n\nAnd it could be so much to you to lose me!--and you say so,--and\n_then_ think it needful to tell me not to think the other thought! As\nif _that_ were possible! Do you remember what you said once of the\nflowers?--that you 'felt a respect for them when they had passed out\nof your hands.' And must it not be so with my life, which if you\nchoose to have it, must be respected too? Much more with my life!\nAlso, see that I, who had my warmest affections on the other side of\nthe grave, feel that it is otherwise with me now--quite otherwise. I\ndid not like it at first to be so much otherwise. And I could not have\nhad any such thought through a weariness of life or any of my old\nmotives, but simply to escape the 'risk' I told you of. Should I have\nsaid to you instead of it ... '_Love me for ever_'? Well then, ... I\n_do_.\n\nAs to my 'helping' you, my help is in your fancy; and if you go on\nwith the fancy, I perfectly understand that it will be as good as\ndeeds. We _have_ sympathy too--we walk one way--oh, I do not forget\nthe advantages. Only Mrs. Tomkins's ideas of happiness are below my\nambition for you.\n\nSo often as I have said (it reminds me) that in this situation I\nshould be more exacting than any other woman--so often I have said it:\nand so different everything is from what I thought it would be!\nBecause if I am exacting it is for _you_ and not for _me_--it is\naltogether for _you_--you understand _that_, dearest of all ... it is\nfor _you wholly_. It never crosses my thought, in a lightning even,\nthe question whether I may be happy so and so--_I_. It is the other\nquestion which comes always--too often for peace.\n\nPeople used to say to me, 'You expect too much--you are too romantic.'\nAnd my answer always was that 'I could not expect too much when I\nexpected nothing at all' ... which was the truth--for I never thought\n(and how often I have _said that_!) I never thought that anyone whom\n_I_ could love, would stoop to love _me_ ... the two things seemed\nclearly incompatible to my understanding.\n\nAnd now when it comes in a miracle, you wonder at me for looking\ntwice, thrice, four times, to see if it comes through ivory or _horn_.\nYou wonder that it should seem to me at first all illusion--illusion\nfor you,--illusion for me as a consequence. But how natural.\n\nIt is true of me--very true--that I have not a high appreciation of\nwhat passes in the world (and not merely the Tomkins-world!) under the\nname of love; and that a distrust of the thing had grown to be a habit\nof mind with me when I knew you first. It has appeared to me, through\nall the seclusion of my life and the narrow experience it admitted\nof, that in nothing men--and women too--were so apt to mistake their\nown feelings, as in this one thing. Putting _falseness_ quite on one\nside, quite out of sight and consideration, an honest mistaking of\nfeeling appears wonderfully common, and no mistake has such frightful\nresults--none can. Self-love and generosity, a mistake may come from\neither--from pity, from admiration, from any blind impulse--oh, when I\nlook at the histories of my own female friends--to go no step further!\nAnd if it is true of the _women_, what must the other side be? To see\nthe marriages which are made every day! worse than solitudes and more\ndesolate! In the case of the two happiest I ever knew, one of the\nhusbands said in confidence to a brother of mine--not much in\nconfidence or I should not have heard it, but in a sort of smoking\nfrankness,--that he had 'ruined his prospects by marrying'; and the\nother said to himself at the very moment of professing an\nextraordinary happiness, ... 'But I should have done as well if I had\nnot married _her_.'\n\nThen for the falseness--the first time I ever, in my own experience,\nheard that word which rhymes to glove and comes as easily off and on\n(on some hands!)--it was from a man of whose attentions to another\nwoman I was at that _time her confidante_. I was bound so to silence\nfor her sake, that I could not even speak the scorn that was in\nme--and in fact my uppermost feeling was a sort of horror ... a\nterror--for I was very young then, and the world did, at the moment,\nlook ghastly!\n\nThe falseness and the calculations!--why how can you, who are _just_,\n_blame women_ ... when you must know what the 'system' of man is\ntowards them,--and of men not ungenerous otherwise? Why are women to\nbe blamed if they act as if they had to do with swindlers?--is it not\nthe mere instinct of preservation which makes them do it? These make\nwomen what they are. And your 'honourable men,' the most loyal of\nthem, (for instance) is it not a rule with them (unless when taken\nunaware through a want of self-government) to force a woman (trying\nall means) to force a woman to stand committed in her affections ...\n(they with their feet lifted all the time to trample on her for want\nof delicacy) before _they_ risk the pin-prick to their own personal\npitiful vanities? Oh--to see how these things are set about by _men_!\nto see how a man carefully holding up on each side the skirts of an\nembroidered vanity to keep it quite safe from the wet, will contrive\nto tell you in so many words that he ... might love you if the sun\nshone! And women are to be blamed! Why there are, to be sure, cold and\nheartless, light and changeable, ungenerous and calculating women in\nthe world!--that is sure. But for the most part, they are only what\nthey are made ... and far better than the nature of the making ... of\nthat I am confident. The loyal make the loyal, the disloyal the\ndisloyal. And I give no more discredit to those women you speak of,\nthan I myself can take any credit in this thing--I. Because who could\nbe disloyal with _you_ ... with whatever corrupt inclination? _you_,\nwho are the noblest of all? If you judge me so, ... it is my privilege\nrather than my merit ... as I feel of myself.\n\n_Wednesday._--All but the last few lines of all this was written\nbefore I saw you yesterday, ever dearest--and since, I have been\nreading your third act which is perfectly noble and worthy of you both\nin the conception and expression, and carries the reader on\ntriumphantly ... to speak for one reader. It seems to me too that the\nlanguage is freer--there is less inversion and more breadth of rhythm.\nIt just strikes me so for the first impression. At any rate the\ninterest grows and grows. You have a secret about Domizia, I\nguess--which will not be told till the last perhaps. And that poor,\nnoble Luria, who will be equal to the leap ... as it is easy to see.\nIt is full, altogether, of magnanimities;--noble, and nobly put. I\nwill go on with my notes, and those, you shall have at once ... I mean\ntogether ... presently. And don't hurry and chafe yourself for the\nfourth act--now that you are better! To be ill again--think what that\nwould be! Luria will be great now whatever you do--or whatever you do\n_not_. Will he not?\n\nAnd never, never for a moment (I quite forgot to tell you) did I fancy\nthat you were talking at _me_ in the temper-observations--never. It\nwas the most unprovoked egotism, all that I told you of my temper; for\ncertainly I never suspected you of asking questions so. I was simply\namused a little by what you said, and thought to myself (if you _will_\nknow my thoughts on that serious subject) that you had probably lived\namong very good-tempered persons, to hold such an opinion about the\ninnocuousness of ill-temper. It was all I thought, indeed. Now to\nfancy that I was capable of suspecting you of such a manoeuvre! Why\nyou would have _asked_ me directly;--if you had wished 'curiously to\nenquire.'\n\nAn excellent solemn chiming, the passage from Dante makes with your\n'Sordello,' and the 'Sordello' _deserves_ the labour which it needs,\nto make it appear the great work it is. I think that the principle of\nassociation is too subtly in movement throughout it--so that _while_\nyou are going straight forward you go at the same time round and\nround, until the progress involved in the motion is lost sight of by\nthe lookers on. Or did I tell you that before?\n\nYou have heard, I suppose, how Dickens's 'Cricket' sells by nineteen\nthousand copies at a time, though he takes Michael Angelo to be 'a\nhumbug'--or for 'though' read 'because.' Tell me of Mr. Kenyon's\ndinner and Moxon?\n\nIs not this an infinite letter? I shall hear from you, I hope.... I\n_ask_ you to let me hear soon. I write all sorts of things to you,\nrightly and wrongly perhaps; when wrongly forgive it. I think of you\nalways. May God bless you. 'Love me for ever,' as\n\n Your\n\n _Ba_", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "25th Dec. [1845.]\n\nMy dear Christmas gift of a letter! I will write back a few lines,\n(all I can, having to go out now)--just that I may forever,--certainly\nduring our mortal 'forever'--mix my love for you, and, as you suffer\nme to say, your love for me ... dearest! ... these shall be mixed with\nthe other loves of the day and live therein--as I write, and trust,\nand know--forever! While I live I will remember what was my feeling in\nreading, and in writing, and in stopping from either ... as I have\njust done ... to kiss you and bless you with my whole heart.--Yes,\nyes, bless you, my own!\n\nAll is right, all of your letter ... admirably right and just in the\ndefence of the women I _seemed_ to speak against; and only\nseemed--because that is a way of mine which you must have observed;\nthat foolish concentrating of thought and feeling, for a moment, on\nsome one little spot of a character or anything else indeed, and in\nthe attempt to do justice and develop whatever may seem ordinarily to\nbe overlooked in it,--that over vehement _insisting_ on, and giving an\nundue prominence to, the same--which has the effect of taking away\nfrom the importance of the rest of the related objects which, in\ntruth, are not considered at all ... or they would also rise\nproportionally when subjected to the same (that is, correspondingly\nmagnified and dilated) light and concentrated feeling. So, you\nremember, the old divine, preaching on 'small sins,' in his zeal to\nexpose the tendencies and consequences usually made little account of,\nwas led to maintain the said small sins to be 'greater than great\nones.' _But then_ ... if you look on the world _altogether_, and\naccept the small natures, in their usual proportion with the greater\n... things do not look _quite_ so bad; because the conduct which _is_\natrocious in those higher cases, of proposal and acceptance, _may_ be\nno more than the claims of the occasion justify (wait and hear) in\ncertain other cases where the thing sought for and granted is avowedly\nless by a million degrees. It shall all be traffic, exchange (counting\nspiritual gifts as only coin, for our purpose), but surely the\nformalities and policies and decencies all vary with the nature of the\nthing trafficked for. If a man makes up his mind during half his life\nto acquire a Pitt-diamond or a Pilgrim-pearl--[he] gets witnesses and\ntestimony and so forth--but, surely, when I pass a shop where oranges\nare ticketed up seven for sixpence I offend no law by sparing all\nwords and putting down the piece with a certain authoritative ring on\nthe counter. If instead of diamonds you want--(being a king or\nqueen)--provinces with live men on them ... there is so much more\ndiplomacy required; new interests are appealed to--high motives\n_supposed_, at all events--whereas, when, in Naples, a man asks leave\nto black your shoe in the dusty street 'purely for the honour of\nserving your Excellency' you laugh and would be sorry to find yourself\nwithout a 'grano' or two--(six of which, about, make a farthing)--Now\ndo you not see! Where so little is to be got, why offer much more? If\na man knows that ... but I am teaching you! All I mean is, that, in\nBenedick's phrase, 'the world must go on.' He who honestly wants his\nwife to sit at the head of his table and carve ... that is be his\n_help-meat_ (not 'help mete for him')--he shall assuredly find a girl\nof his degree who wants the table to sit at; and some dear friend to\nmortify, who _would_ be glad of such a piece of fortune; and if that\nman offers that woman a bunch of orange-flowers and a sonnet, instead\nof a buck-horn-handled sabre-shaped knife, sheathed in a 'Every Lady\nHer Own _Market-Woman_, Being a Table of' &c. &c.--_then_, I say he\nis--\n\nBless you, dearest--the clock strikes--and time is none--but--bless\nyou!\n\n Your own R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday 4. p.m.\n [Post-mark, December 27, 1845.]\n\nI was forced to leave off abruptly on Christmas Morning--and now I\nhave but a few minutes before our inexorable post leaves. I hoped to\nreturn from Town earlier. But I can say something--and Monday will\nmake amends.\n\n'For ever' and for ever I _do_ love you, dearest--love you with my\nwhole heart--in life, in death--\n\nYes; I did go to Mr. Kenyon's--who had a little to forgive in my slack\njustice to his good dinner, but was for the rest his own kind\nself--and I went, also, to Moxon's--who said something about my\nnumber's going off 'rather heavily'--so let it!\n\nToo good, too, too indulgent you are, my own Ba, to 'acts' first or\nlast; but all the same, I am glad and encouraged. _Let_ me get done\nwith these, and better things will follow.\n\nNow, bless you, ever, my sweetest--I have you ever in my thoughts--And\non Monday, remember, I am to see you.\n\n Your own R.B.\n\nSee what I cut out of a _Cambridge Advertiser_[1] of the 24th--to make\nyou laugh!\n\n[Footnote 1: The cutting enclosed is:--'A Few Rhymes for the Present\nChristmas' by J. Purchas, Esq., B.A. It is headed by several\nquotations, the first of which is signed 'Elizabeth B. Barrett:'\n\n 'This age shows to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam,\n Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God.'\n\nThis is followed by extracts from Pindar, 'Lear,' and the Hon. Mrs.\nNorton.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, December 27, 1845.]\n\nYes, indeed, I have 'observed that way' in you, and not once, and not\ntwice, and not twenty times, but oftener than any,--and almost every\ntime ... do you know, ... with an uncomfortable feeling from the\nreflection that _that_ is the way for making all sorts of mistakes\ndependent on and issuing in exaggeration. It is the very way!--the\nhighway.\n\nFor what you say in the letter here otherwise, I do not deny the\ntruth--as partial truth:--I was speaking generally quite. Admit that I\nam not apt to be extravagant in my _esprit de sexe_: the Martineau\ndoctrines of intellectual equality &c., I gave them up, you remember,\nlike a woman--most disgracefully, as Mrs. Jameson would tell me. But\nwe are not on that ground now--we are on ground worth holding a brief\nfor!--and when women fail _here_ ... it is not so much our fault.\nWhich was all I meant to say from the beginning.\n\nIt reminds me of the exquisite analysis in your 'Luria,' this third\nact, of the worth of a woman's sympathy,--indeed of the exquisite\ndouble-analysis of unlearned and learned sympathies. Nothing could be\nbetter, I think, than this:--\n\n To the motive, the endeavour,--the heart's self--\n Your quick sense looks; you crown and call aright\n The soul of the purpose ere 'tis shaped as act,\n Takes flesh i' the world, and clothes itself a king;\n\nexcept the characterizing of the 'learned praise,' which comes\nafterwards in its fine subtle truth. What would these critics do to\nyou, to what degree undo you, who would deprive you of the exercise of\nthe discriminative faculty of the metaphysicians? As if a poet could\nbe great without it! They might as well recommend a watchmaker to deal\nonly in faces, in dials, and not to meddle with the wheels inside!\nYou shall tell Mr. Forster so.\n\nAnd speaking of 'Luria,' which grows on me the more I read, ... how\nfine he is when the doubt breaks on him--I mean, when he begins ...\n'Why then, all is very well.' It is most affecting, I think, all that\nprocess of doubt ... and that reference to the friends at home (which\nat once proves him a stranger, and intimates, by just a stroke, that\nhe will not look home for comfort out of the new foreign treason) is\nmanaged by you with singular dramatic dexterity....\n\n ... 'so slight, so slight,\n And yet it tells you they are dead and gone'--\n\nAnd then, the direct approach....\n\n You now, so kind here, all you Florentines,\n What is it in your eyes?--\n\nDo you not feel it to be success, ... '_you_ now?' _I_ do, from my low\nground as reader. The whole breaking round him of the cloud, and the\nmanner in which he _stands_, facing it, ... I admire it all\nthoroughly. Braccio's vindication of Florence strikes me as almost too\n_poetically_ subtle for the man--but nobody could have the heart to\nwish a line of it away--_that_ would be too much for critical virtue!\n\nI had your letter yesterday morning early. The post-office people were\nso resolved on keeping their Christmas, that they would not let me\nkeep mine. No post all day, after that general post before noon, which\nnever brings me anything worth the breaking of a seal!\n\nAm I to see you on Monday? If there should be the least, least\ncrossing of that day, ... anything to do, anything to see, anything to\nlisten to,--remember how Tuesday stands close by, and that another\nMonday comes on the following week. Now I need not say _that_ every\ntime, and you will please to remember it--Eccellenza!--\n\n May God bless you--\n\n Your\n\n E.B.B.\n\nFrom the _New Monthly Magazine_. 'The admirers of Robert Browning's\npoetry, and they are now very numerous, will be glad to hear of the\nissue by Mr. Moxon of a seventh series of the renowned \"Bells\" and\ndelicious \"Pomegranates,\" under the title of \"Dramatic Romances and\nLyrics.\"'", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, December 30, 1845.]\n\nWhen you are gone I find your flowers; and you never spoke of nor\nshowed them to me--so instead of yesterday I thank you to-day--thank\nyou. Count among the miracles that your flowers live with me--I accept\n_that_ for an omen, dear--dearest! Flowers in general, all other\nflowers, die of despair when they come into the same atmosphere ...\nused to do it so constantly and observably that it made me melancholy\nand I left off for the most part having them here. Now you see how\nthey put up with the close room, and condescend to me and the dust--it\nis true and no fancy! To be sure they know that I care for them and\nthat I stand up by the table myself to change their water and cut\ntheir stalk freshly at intervals--_that_ may make a difference\nperhaps. Only the great reason must be that they are yours, and that\nyou teach them to bear with me patiently.\n\nDo not pretend even to misunderstand what I meant to say yesterday of\ndear Mr. Kenyon. His blame would fall as my blame of myself has\nfallen: he would say--will say--'it is ungenerous of her to let such a\nrisk be run! I thought she would have been more generous.' There, is\nMr. Kenyon's opinion as I foresee it! Not that it would be spoken, you\nknow! he is too kind. And then, he said to me last summer, somewhere\n_à propos_ to the flies or butterflies, that he had 'long ceased to\nwonder at any extreme of foolishness produced by--_love_.' He will of\ncourse think you very very foolish, but not ungenerously foolish like\nother people.\n\nNever mind. I do not mind indeed. I mean, that, having said to myself\nworse than the worst perhaps of what can be said against me by any who\nregard me at all, and feeling it put to silence by the fact that you\n_do_ feel so and so for me; feeling that fact to be an answer to\nall,--I cannot mind much, in comparison, the railing at second remove.\nThere will be a nine days' railing of it and no more: and if on the\nninth day you should not exactly wish never to have known me, the\nbetter reason will be demonstrated to stand with us. On this one point\nthe wise man cannot judge for the fool his neighbour. If you _do_ love\nme, the inference is that you would be happier with than without\nme--and whether you do, you know better than another: so I think of\n_you_ and not of _them_--always of _you_! When I talked of being\nafraid of dear Mr. Kenyon, I just meant that he makes me nervous with\nhis all-scrutinizing spectacles, put on for great occasions, and his\nquestions which seem to belong to the spectacles, they go together\nso:--and then I have no presence of mind, as you may see without the\nspectacles. My only way of hiding (when people set themselves to look\nfor me) would be the old child's way of getting behind the window\ncurtains or under the sofa:--and even _that_ might not be effectual if\nI had recourse to it now. Do you think it would? Two or three times I\nfancied that Mr. Kenyon suspected something--but if he ever _did_, his\nonly reproof was a reduplicated praise of _you_--he praises you always\nand in relation to every sort of subject.\n\nWhat a _misomonsism_ you fell into yesterday, you who have much great\nwork to do which no one else can do except just yourself!--and you,\ntoo, who have courage and knowledge, and must know that every work,\nwith the principle of life in it, _will_ live, let it be trampled ever\nso under the heel of a faithless and unbelieving generation--yes, that\nit will live like one of your toads, for a thousand years in the heart\nof a rock. All men can teach at second or third hand, as you said ...\nby prompting the foremost rows ... by tradition and translation:--all,\n_except_ poets, who must preach their own doctrine and sing their own\nsong, to be the means of any wisdom or any music, and therefore have\nstricter duties thrust upon them, and may not lounge in the [Greek:\nstoa] like the conversation-teachers. So much I have to say to you,\ntill we are in the Siren's island--and _I_, jealous of the Siren!--\n\n The Siren waits thee singing song for song,\n\nsays Mr. Landor. A prophecy which refuses to class you with the 'mute\nfishes,' precisely as I do.\n\nAnd are you not my 'good'--all my good now--my only good ever? The\nItalians would say it better without saying more.\n\nI had a letter from Miss Martineau this morning who accounts for her\nlong silence by the supposition,--put lately to an end by scarcely\ncredible information from Mr. Moxon, she says--that I was out of\nEngland; gone to the South from the 20th of September. She calls\nherself the strongest of women, and talks of 'walking fifteen miles\none day and writing fifteen pages another day without fatigue,'--also\nof mesmerizing and of being infinitely happy except in the continued\nalienation of two of her family who cannot forgive her for getting\nwell by such unlawful means. And she is to write again to tell me of\nWordsworth, and promises to send me her new work in the meanwhile--all\nvery kind.\n\nSo here is my letter to you, which you asked for so 'against the\nprinciples of universal justice.' Yes, very unjust--very unfair it\nwas--only, you make me do just as you like in everything. Now confess\nto your own conscience that even if I had not a lawful claim of a debt\nagainst you, I might come to ask charity with another sort of claim,\noh 'son of humanity.' Think how much more need of a letter _I_ have\nthan you can have; and that if you have a giant's power, ''tis\ntyrannous to use it like a giant.' Who would take tribute from the\ndesert? How I grumble. _Do_ let me have a letter directly! remember\nthat no other light comes to my windows, and that I wait 'as those who\nwatch for the morning'--'lux mea!'\n\nMay God bless you--and mind to say how you are _exactly_, and don't\nneglect the walking, _pray_ do not.\n\n Your own\n\nAnd after all, those women! A great deal of doctrine commends and\ndiscommends itself by the delivery: and an honest thing may be said so\nfoolishly as to disprove its very honesty. Now after all, what did she\nmean by that very silly expression about books, but that she did not\nfeel as she considered herself capable of feeling--and that else but\n_that_ was the meaning of the other woman? Perhaps it should have been\nspoken earlier--nay, clearly it should--but surely it was better\nspoken even in the last hour than not at all ... surely it is always\nand under all circumstances, better spoken at whatever cost--I have\nthought so steadily since I could think or feel at all. An entire\nopenness to the last moment of possible liberty, at whatever cost and\nconsequence, is the most honourable and most merciful way, both for\nmen and women! perhaps for men in an especial manner. But I shall send\nthis letter away, being in haste to get change for it.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday, December 31, 1845.\n\nI have been properly punished for so much treachery as went to that\nre-urging the prayer that _you_ would begin writing, when all the time\n(after the first of those words had been spoken which bade _me_ write)\nI was full of purpose to send my own note last evening; one which\nshould do its best to thank you: but see, the punishment! At home I\nfound a note from Mr. Horne--on the point of setting out for Ireland,\ntoo unwell to manage to come over to me; anxious, so he said, to see\nme before leaving London, and with only Tuesday or to-day to allow the\nopportunity of it, if I should choose to go and find him out. So I\nconsidered all things and determined to go--but not till so late did I\ndetermine on Tuesday, that there was barely time to get to\nHighgate--wherefore no letter reached you to beg pardon ... and now\nthis undeserved--beyond the usual undeservedness--this\nlast-day-of-the-Year's gift--do you think or not think my gratitude\nweighs on me? When I lay this with the others, and remember what you\nhave done for me--I do bless you--so as I cannot but believe must\nreach the all-beloved head all my hopes and fancies and cares fly\nstraight to. Dearest, whatever change the new year brings with it, we\nare together--I can give you no more of myself--indeed, you give me\nnow (back again if you choose, but changed and renewed by your\npossession) the powers that seemed most properly mine. I could only\nmean that, by the expressions to which you refer--only could mean that\nyou were my crown and palm branch, now and for ever, and so, that it\nwas a very indifferent matter to me if the world took notice of that\nfact or no. Yes, dearest, that _is_ the meaning of the prophecy, which\nI was stupidly blind not to have read and taken comfort from long ago.\nYou ARE the veritable Siren--and you 'wait me,' and will sing 'song\nfor song.' And this is my first song, my true song--this love I bear\nyou--I look into my heart and then let it go forth under that\nname--love. I am more than mistrustful of many other feelings in me:\nthey are not earnest enough; so far, not true enough--but this is all\nthe flower of my life which you call forth and which lies at your\nfeet.\n\nNow let me say it--what you are to remember. That if I had the\nslightest doubt, or fear, I would utter it to you on the\ninstant--secure in the incontested stability of the main _fact_, even\nthough the heights at the verge in the distance should tremble and\nprove vapour--and there would be a deep consolation in your\nforgiveness--indeed, yes; but I tell you, on solemn consideration, it\ndoes seem to me that--once take away the broad and general words that\nadmit in their nature of any freight they can be charged with,--put\naside love, and devotion, and trust--and _then_ I seem to have said\n_nothing_ of my feeling to you--nothing whatever.\n\nI will not write more now on this subject. Believe you are my blessing\nand infinite reward beyond possible desert in intention,--my life has\nbeen crowned by you, as I said!\n\nMay God bless you ever--through you I shall be blessed. May I kiss\nyour cheek and pray this, my own, all-beloved?\n\nI must add a word or two of other things. I am very well now, quite\nwell--am walking and about to walk. Horne, or rather his friends,\nreside in the very lane Keats loved so much--Millfield Lane. Hunt lent\nme once the little copy of the first Poems dedicated to him--and on\nthe title-page was recorded in Hunt's delicate characters that 'Keats\nmet him with this, the presentation-copy, or whatever was the odious\nname, in M---- Lane--called Poets' Lane by the gods--Keats came\nrunning, holding it up in his hand.' Coleridge had an affection for\nthe place, and Shelley '_knew_' it--and I can testify it is green and\nsilent, with pleasant openings on the grounds and ponds, through the\nold trees that line it. But the hills here are far more open and wild\nand hill-like; not with the eternal clump of evergreens and thatched\nsummer house--to say nothing of the 'invisible railing' miserably\nvisible everywhere.\n\nYou very well know _what_ a vision it is you give me--when you speak\nof _standing up by the table_ to care for my flowers--(which I will\nnever be ashamed of again, by the way--I will say for the future;\n'here are my best'--in this as in other things.) Now, do you remember,\nthat once I bade you not surprise me out of my good behaviour by\nstanding to meet me unawares, as visions do, some day--but now--_omne\nignotum_? No, dearest!\n\nOught I to say there will be two days more? till Saturday--and if one\nword comes, _one_ line--think! I am wholly yours--yours, beloved!\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "January 1, 1845 [1846].\n\nHow good you are--how best! it is a favourite play of my memory to\ntake up the thought of what you were to me (to my mind gazing!) years\nago, as the poet in an abstraction--then the thoughts of you, a little\nclearer, in concrete personality, as Mr. Kenyon's friend, who had\ndined with him on such a day, or met him at dinner on such another,\nand said some great memorable thing 'on Wednesday last,' and enquired\nkindly about _me_ perhaps on Thursday,--till I was proud! and so, the\nthoughts of you, nearer and nearer (yet still afar!) as the Mr.\nBrowning who meant to do me the honour of writing to me, and who did\nwrite; and who asked me once in a letter (does he remember?) 'not to\nlean out of the window while his foot was on the stair!'--to take up\nall those thoughts, and more than those, one after another, and tie\nthem together with all _these_, which cannot be named so easily--which\ncannot be classed in botany and Greek. It is a nosegay of mystical\nflowers, looking strangely and brightly, and keeping their May-dew\nthrough the Christmases--better than even _your_ flowers! And I am not\n'ashamed' of mine, ... be very sure! no!\n\nFor the siren, I never suggested to you any such thing--why you do not\npretend to have read such a suggestion in my letter certainly. _That_\nwould have been most exemplarily modest of me! would it not, O\nUlysses?\n\nAnd you meant to write, ... you _meant_! and went to walk in 'Poet's\nlane' instead, (in the 'Aonius of Highgate') which I remember to have\nread of--does not Hunt speak of it in his Memoirs?--and so now there\nis another track of light in the traditions of the place, and people\nmay talk of the pomegranate-smell between the hedges. So you really\nhave _hills_ at New Cross, and not hills by courtesy? I was at\nHampstead once--and there was something attractive to me in that\nfragment of heath with its wild smell, thrown down ... like a Sicilian\nrose from Proserpine's lap when the car drove away, ... into all that\narid civilization, 'laurel-clumps and invisible visible fences,' as\nyou say!--and the grand, eternal smoke rising up in the distance, with\nits witness against nature! People grew severely in jest about cockney\nlandscape--but is it not true that the trees and grass in the close\nneighbourhood of great cities must of necessity excite deeper emotion\nthan the woods and valleys will, a hundred miles off, where human\ncreatures ruminate stupidly as the cows do, the 'county families'\nes-_chewing_ all men who are not 'landed proprietors,' and the farmers\nnever looking higher than to the fly on the uppermost turnip-leaf! Do\nyou know at all what English country-life is, which the English praise\nso, and 'moralize upon into a thousand similes,' as that one greatest,\npurest, noblest thing in the world--the purely English and excellent\nthing? It is to my mind simply and purely abominable, and I would\nrather live in a street than be forced to live it out,--that English\ncountry-life; for I don't mean life in the country. The social\nexigencies--why, nothing _can_ be so bad--nothing! That is the way by\nwhich Englishmen grow up to top the world in their peculiar line of\nrespectable absurdities.\n\nThink of my talking so as if I could be vexed with any one of them!\n_I!_--On the contrary I wish them all a happy new year to abuse one\nanother, or visit each of them his nearest neighbour whom he hates,\nthree times a week, because 'the distance is so convenient,' and give\ngreat dinners in noble rivalship (venison from the Lord Lieutenant\nagainst turbot from London!), and talk popularity and game-law by\nturns to the tenantry, and beat down tithes to the rector. This\nglorious England of ours; with its peculiar glory of the rural\ndistricts! And _my_ glory of patriotic virtue, who am so happy in\nspite of it all, and make a pretence of talking--talking--while I\nthink the whole time of your letter. I think of your letter--I am no\nmore a patriot than _that_!\n\nMay God bless you, best and dearest! You say things to me which I am\nnot worthy to listen to for a moment, even if I was deaf dust the next\nmoment.... I confess it humbly and earnestly as before God.\n\nYet He knows,--if the entireness of a gift means anything,--that I\nhave not given with a reserve, that I am yours in my life and soul,\nfor this year and for other years. Let me be used _for_ you rather\nthan _against_ you! and that unspeakable, immeasurable grief of\nfeeling myself a stone in your path, a cloud in your sky, may I be\nsaved from it!--pray it for _me_ ... for _my_ sake rather than\n_yours_. For the rest, I thank you, I thank you. You will be always to\nme, what to-day you are--and that is all!--!\n\n I am your own--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n [Post-mark, January 5, 1846.]\n\nYesterday, nearly the last thing, I bade you 'think of me'--I wonder\nif you could misunderstand me in that?--As if my words or actions or\nany of my ineffectual outside-self _should_ be thought of, unless to\nbe forgiven! But I do, dearest, feel confident that while I am in your\nmind--cared for, rather than thought about--no great harm can happen\nto me; and as, for great harm to reach me, it must pass through you,\nyou will care for yourself; _my_self, best self!\n\nCome, let us talk. I found Horne's book at home, and have had time to\nsee that fresh beautiful things are there--I suppose 'Delora' will\nstand alone still--but I got pleasantly smothered with that odd shower\nof wood-spoils at the end, the dwarf-story; cup-masses and fern and\nspotty yellow leaves,--all that, I love heartily--and there is good\nsailor-speech in the 'Ben Capstan'--though he does knock a man down\nwith a 'crow-bar'--instead of a marling-spike or, even, a\nbelaying-pin! The first tale, though good, seems least new and\nindividual, but I must know more. At one thing I wonder--his not\nreprinting a quaint clever _real_ ballad, published before 'Delora,'\non the 'Merry Devil of Edmonton'--the first of his works I ever read.\nNo, the very first piece was a single stanza, if I remember, in which\nwas this line: 'When bason-crested Quixote, lean and bold,'--good, is\nit not? Oh, while it strikes me, good, too, _is_ that 'Swineshead\nMonk' ballad! Only I miss the old chronicler's touch on the method of\nconcocting the poison: 'Then stole this Monk into the Garden and under\na certain herb found out a Toad, which, squeezing into a cup,' &c.\nsomething to that effect. I suspect, _par parenthèse_, you have found\nout by this time my odd liking for 'vermin'--you once wrote '_your_\nsnails'--and certainly snails are old clients of mine--but efts! Horne\ntraced a line to me--in the rhymes of a ''prentice-hand' I used to\nlook over and correct occasionally--taxed me (last week) with having\naltered the wise line 'Cold as a _lizard_ in a _sunny_ stream' to\n'Cold as a newt hid in a shady brook'--for 'what do _you_ know about\nnewts?' he asked of the author--who thereupon confessed. But never try\nand catch a speckled gray lizard when we are in Italy, love, and you\nsee his tail hang out of the chink of a wall, his\nwinter-house--because the strange tail will snap off, drop from him\nand stay in your fingers--and though you afterwards learn that there\nis more desperation in it and glorious determination to be free, than\npositive pain (so people say who have no tails to be twisted off)--and\nthough, moreover, the tail grows again after a sort--_yet_ ... don't\ndo it, for it will give you a thrill! What a fine fellow our English\nwater-eft is; 'Triton paludis Linnaei'--_e come guizza_ (_that_ you\ncan't say in another language; cannot preserve the little in-and-out\nmotion along with the straightforwardness!)--I always loved all those\nwild creatures God '_sets up for themselves_' so independently of us,\nso successfully, with their strange happy minute inch of a candle, as\nit were, to light them; while we run about and against each other with\nour great cressets and fire-pots. I once saw a solitary bee nipping a\nleaf round till it exactly fitted the front of a hole; his nest, no\ndoubt; or tomb, perhaps--'Safe as Oedipus's grave-place, 'mid Colone's\nolives swart'--(Kiss me, my Siren!)--Well, it seemed awful to watch\nthat bee--he seemed so _instantly_ from the teaching of God! Ælian\nsays that ... a _frog_, does he say?--some animal, having to swim\nacross the Nile, never fails to provide himself with a bit of reed,\nwhich he bites off and holds in his mouth transversely and so puts\nfrom shore gallantly ... because when the water-serpent comes swimming\nto meet him, there is the reed, wider than his serpent's jaws, and no\nhopes of a swallow that time--now fancy the two meeting heads, the\nfrog's wide eyes and the vexation of the snake!\n\nNow, see! do I deceive you? Never say I began by letting down my\ndignity 'that with no middle flight intends to soar above the Aonian\nMount'!--\n\nMy best, dear, dear one,--may you be better, less _depressed_, ... I\ncan hardly imagine frost reaching you if I could be by you. Think what\nhappiness you mean to give me,--what a life; what a death! 'I may\nchange'--too true; yet, you see, as an eft was to me at the beginning\nso it continues--I _may_ take up stones and pelt the next I\nsee--but--do you much fear that?--Now, _walk_, move, _guizza, anima\nmia dolce_. Shall I not know one day how far your mouth will be from\nmine as we walk? May I let that stay ... dearest, (the _line_ stay,\nnot the mouth)?\n\nI am not very well to-day--or, rather, have not been so--_now_, I am\nwell and _with you_. I just say that, very needlessly, but for strict\nfrankness' sake. Now, you are to write to me soon, and tell me all\nabout your self, and to love me ever, as I love you ever, and bless\nyou, and leave you in the hands of God--My own love!--\n\nTell me if I do wrong to send _this_ by a morning post--so as to reach\nyou earlier than the evening--when you will ... write to me?\n\nDon't let me forget to say that I shall receive the _Review_\nto-morrow, and will send it directly.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, January 6, 1846.]\n\nWhen you get Mr. Horne's book you will understand how, after reading\njust the first and the last poems, I could not help speaking coldly a\nlittle of it--and in fact, estimating his power as much as you can do,\nI did think and do, that the last was unworthy of him, and that the\nfirst might have been written by a writer of one tenth of his faculty.\nBut last night I read the 'Monk of Swineshead Abbey' and the 'Three\nKnights of Camelott' and 'Bedd Gelert' and found them all of different\nstuff, better, stronger, more consistent, and read them with pleasure\nand admiration. Do you remember this application, among the countless\nones of shadow to the transiency of life? I give the first two lines\nfor clearness--\n\n Like to the cloud upon the hill\n We are a moment seen\n Or the _shadow of the windmill-sail\n Across yon sunny slope of green_.\n\nNew or not, and I don't remember it elsewhere, it is just and\nbeautiful I think. Think how the shadow of the windmill-sail just\ntouches the ground on a bright windy day! the shadow of a bird flying\nis not faster! Then the 'Three Knights' has beautiful things, with\nmore definite and distinct images than he is apt to show--for his\ncharacter is a vague grand massiveness,--like Stonehenge--or at least,\nif 'towers and battlements he sees' they are 'bosomed high' in dusky\nclouds ... it is a 'passion-created imagery' which has no clear\noutline. In this ballad of the 'Knights,' and in the Monk's too, we\nmay _look at_ things, as on the satyr who swears by his horns and\nmates not with his kind afterwards, 'While, _holding beards_, they\ndance in pairs--and that is all excellent and reminds one of those\nfine sylvan festivals, 'in Orion.' But now tell me if you like\naltogether 'Ben Capstan' and if you consider the sailor-idiom to be\nlawful in poetry, because I do not indeed. On the same principle we\nmay have Yorkshire and Somersetshire 'sweet Doric'; and do recollect\nwhat it ended in of old, in the Blowsibella heroines. Then for the Elf\nstory ... why should such things be written by men like Mr. Horne? I\nam vexed at it. Shakespeare and Fletcher did not write so about\nfairies:--Drayton did not. Look at the exquisite 'Nymphidia,' with its\nsubtle sylvan consistency, and then at the lumbering coarse ...\n'_machina intersit_' ... Grandmama Grey!--to say nothing of the 'small\ndog' that isn't the 'small boy.' Mr. Horne succeeds better on a larger\ncanvass, and with weightier material; with blank verse rather than\nlyrics. He cannot make a fine stroke. He wants subtlety and elasticity\nin the thought and expression. Remember, I admire him honestly and\nearnestly. No one has admired more than I the 'Death of Marlowe,'\nscenes in 'Cosmo,' and 'Orion' in much of it. But now tell me if you\ncan accept with the same stretched out hand all these lyrical poems? I\nam going to write to him as much homage as can come truly. Who\ncombines different faculties as you do, striking the whole octave? No\none, at present in the world.\n\nDearest, after you went away yesterday and I began to consider, I\nfound that there was nothing to be so over-glad about in the matter\nof the letters, for that, Sunday coming next to Saturday, the best now\nis only as good as the worst before, and I can't hear from you, until\nMonday ... Monday! Did you think of _that_--you who took the credit of\nacceding so meekly! I shall not praise you in return at any rate. I\nshall have to wait ... till what o'clock on Monday, tempted in the\nmeanwhile to fall into controversy against the 'new moons and sabbath\ndays' and the pausing of the post in consequence.\n\nYou never guessed perhaps, what I look back to at this moment in the\nphysiology of our intercourse, the curious double feeling I had about\nyou--you personally, and you as the writer of these letters, and the\ncrisis of the feeling, when I was positively vexed and jealous of\nmyself for not succeeding better in making a unity of the two. I could\nnot! And moreover I could not help but that the writer of the letters\nseemed nearer to me, long ... long ... and in spite of the postmark,\nthan did the personal visitor who confounded me, and left me\nconstantly under such an impression of its being all dream-work on his\nside, that I have stamped my feet on this floor with impatience to\nthink of having to wait so many hours before the 'candid' closing\nletter could come with its confessional of an illusion. 'People say,'\nI used to think, 'that women _always_ know, and certainly I do not\nknow, and therefore ... therefore.'--The logic crushed on like\nJuggernaut's car. But in the letters it was different--the dear\nletters took me on the side of my own ideal life where I was able to\nstand a little upright and look round. I could read such letters for\never and answer them after a fashion ... that, I felt from the\nbeginning. But _you_--!\n\n_Monday._--Never too early can the light come. Thank you for my\nletter! Yet you look askance at me over 'newt and toad,' and praise so\nthe Elf-story that I am ashamed to send you my ill humour on the same\nhead. And you really like _that_? admire it? Grandmama Grey and the\nnight cap and all? and 'shoetye and blue sky?' and is it really wrong\nof me to like certainly some touches and images, but not the whole,\n... not the poem as a whole? I can take delight in the fantastical,\nand in the grotesque--but here there is a want of life and\nconsistency, as it seems to me!--the elf is no elf and speaks no\nelf-tongue: it is not the right key to touch, ... this, ... for\nsupernatural music. So I fancy at least--but I will try the poem again\npresently. You must be right--unless it should be your over-goodness\nopposed to my over-badness--I will not be sure. Or you wrote perhaps\nin an accidental mood of most excellent critical smoothness, such as\nMr. Forster did his last _Examiner_ in, when he gave the all-hail to\nMr. Harness as one of the best dramatists of the age!! Ah no!--not\nsuch as Mr. Forster's. Your soul does not enter into his secret--There\ncan be nothing in common between you. For him to say such a word--he\nwho knows--or ought to know!--And now let us agree and admire the\nbowing of the old ministrel over Bedd Gelert's unfilled grave--\n\n The _long_ beard _fell_ like _snow_ into the grave\n With solemn grace\n\nA poet, a friend, a generous man Mr. Horne is, even if no laureate for\nthe fairies.\n\nI have this moment a parcel of books via Mr. Moxon--Miss Martineau's\ntwo volumes--and Mr. Bailey sends his 'Festus,' very kindly, ... and\n'Woman in the Nineteenth Century' from America from a Mrs. or a Miss\nFuller--how I hate those 'Women of England,' 'Women and their Mission'\nand the rest. As if any possible good were to be done by such\nexpositions of rights and wrongs.\n\nYour letter would be worth them all, if _you_ were less _you_! I mean,\njust this letter, ... all alive as it is with crawling buzzing\nwriggling cold-blooded warm-blooded creatures ... as all alive as your\nown pedant's book in the tree. And do you know, I think I like frogs\ntoo--particularly the very little leaping frogs, which are so\nhigh-hearted as to emulate the birds. I remember being scolded by my\nnurses for taking them up in my hands and letting them leap from one\nhand to the other. But for the toad!--why, at the end of the row of\nnarrow beds which we called our gardens when we were children, grew an\nold thorn, and in the hollow of the root of the thorn, lived a toad, a\ngreat ancient toad, whom I, for one, never dared approach too nearly.\nThat he 'wore a jewel in his head' I doubted nothing at all. You must\nsee it glitter if you stooped and looked steadily into the hole. And\non days when he came out and sate swelling his black sides, I never\nlooked steadily; I would run a hundred yards round through the shrubs,\ndeeper than knee-deep in the long wet grass and nettles, rather than\ngo past him where he sate; being steadily of opinion, in the\nprofundity of my natural history-learning, that if he took it into his\ntoad's head to spit at me I should drop down dead in a moment,\npoisoned as by one of the Medici.\n\nOh--and I had a field-mouse for a pet once, and should have joined my\nsisters in a rat's nest if I had not been ill at the time (as it was,\nthe little rats were tenderly smothered by over-love!): and\nblue-bottle flies I used to feed, and hated your spiders for them; yet\nno, not much. My aversion proper ... call it horror rather ... was for\nthe silent, cold, clinging, gliding _bat_; and even now, I think, I\ncould not sleep in the room with that strange bird-mouse-creature, as\nit glides round the ceiling silently, silently as its shadow does on\nthe floor. If you listen or look, there is not a wave of the wing--the\nwing never waves! A bird without a feather! a beast that flies! and so\ncold! as cold as a fish! It is the most supernatural-seeming of\nnatural things. And then to see how when the windows are open at night\nthose bats come sailing ... without a sound--and go ... you cannot\nguess where!--fade with the night-blackness!\n\nYou have not been well--which is my first thought if not my first\nword. Do walk, and do not work; and think ... what I could be thinking\nof, if I did not think of _you_ ... dear--dearest! 'As the doves fly\nto the windows,' so I think of you! As the prisoners think of liberty,\nas the dying think of Heaven, so I think of you. When I look up\nstraight to God ... nothing, no one, used to intercept me--now there\nis _you_--only you under him! Do not use such words as those therefore\nany more, nor say that you are not to be thought of so and so. You are\nto be thought of every way. You must know what you are to me if you\nknow at all what _I_ am,--and what I should be but for you.\n\nSo ... love me a little, with the spiders and the toads and the\nlizards! love me as you love the efts--and I will believe in _you_ as\nyou believe ... in Ælian--Will _that_ do?\n\n Your own--\n\nSay how you are when you write--_and write_.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n\nI this minute receive the Review--a poor business, truly! Is there a\nreason for a man's wits dwindling the moment he gets into a critical\nHigh-place to hold forth?--I have only glanced over the article\nhowever. Well, one day _I_ am to write of you, dearest, and it must\ncome to something rather better than _that_!\n\nI am forced to send now what is to be sent at all. Bless you, dearest.\nI am trusting to hear from you--\n\n Your R.B.\n\nAnd I find by a note from a fairer friend and favourer of mine that in\nthe _New Quarterly_ 'Mr. Browning' figures pleasantly as 'one without\nany sympathy for a human being!'--Then, for newts and efts at all\nevents!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Night.\n [Post-mark, January 7, 1846.]\n\nBut, my sweet, there is safer going in letters than in visits, do you\nnot see? In the letter, one may go to the utmost limit of one's\nsupposed tether without danger--there is the distance so palpably\nbetween the most audacious step _there_, and the next ... which is\nnowhere, seeing it is not in the letter. Quite otherwise in personal\nintercourse, where any indication of turning to a certain path, even,\nmight possibly be checked not for its own fault but lest, the path\nonce reached and proceeded in, some other forbidden turning might come\ninto sight, we will say. In the letter, all ended _there_, just there\n... and you may think of that, and forgive; at all events, may avoid\nspeaking irrevocable words--and when, as to me, those words are\nintensely _true, doom-words_--think, dearest! Because, as I told you\nonce, what most characterizes my feeling for you is the perfect\n_respect_ in it, the full _belief_ ... (I shall get presently to poor\nRobert's very avowal of 'owing you all esteem'!). It is on that I\nbuild, and am secure--for how should I know, of myself, how to serve\nyou and be properly yours if it all was to be learnt by my own\ninterpreting, and what you professed to dislike you were to be\nconsidered as wishing for, and what liking, as it seemed, you were\nloathing at your heart, and if so many 'noes' made a 'yes,' and 'one\nrefusal no rebuff' and all that horrible bestiality which stout\ngentlemen turn up the whites of their eyes to, when they rise after\ndinner and pressing the right hand to the left side say, 'The toast be\ndear woman!' Now, love, with this feeling in me from the beginning,--I\ndo believe,--_now_, when I am utterly blest in this gift of your love,\nand least able to imagine what I should do without it,--I cannot but\nbelieve, I say, that had you given me once a 'refusal'--clearly\nderived from your own feelings, and quite apart from any fancied\nconsideration for my interests; had this come upon me, whether slowly\nbut inevitably in the course of events, or suddenly as precipitated by\nany step of mine; I should, _believing you_, have never again renewed\ndirectly or indirectly such solicitation; I should have begun to count\nhow many other ways were yet open to serve you and devote myself to\nyou ... but from _the outside_, now, and not in your livery! Now, if I\nshould have acted thus under _any_ circumstances, how could I but\nredouble my endeavours at precaution after my own foolish--you know,\nand forgave long since, and I, too, am forgiven in my own eyes, for\nthe cause, though not the manner--but could I do other than keep\n'farther from you' than in the letters, dearest? For your own part in\nthat matter, seeing it with all the light you have since given me (and\n_then_, not inadequately by my own light) I could, I do kiss your\nfeet, kiss every letter in your name, bless you with my whole heart\nand soul if I could pour them out, from me, before you, to stay and be\nyours; when I think on your motives and pure perfect generosity. It\nwas the plainness of _that_ which determined me to wait and be patient\nand grateful and your own for ever in any shape or capacity you might\nplease to accept. Do you think that because I am so rich now, I could\nnot have been most rich, too, _then_--in what would seem little only\nto _me_, only with this great happiness? I should have been proud\nbeyond measure--happy past all desert, to call and be allowed to see\nyou simply, speak with you and be spoken to--what am I more than\nothers? Don't think this mock humility--_it is not_--you take me in\nyour mantle, and we shine together, but I know my part in it! All this\nis written breathlessly on a sudden fancy that you _might_--if not\nnow, at some future time--give other than this, the true reason, for\nthat discrepancy you see, that nearness in the letters, that early\nfarness in the visits! And, love, all love is but a passionate\n_drawing closer_--I would be one with you, dearest; let my soul press\nclose to you, as my lips, dear life of my life.\n\n_Wednesday._--You are entirely right about those poems of Horne's--I\nspoke only of the effect of the first glance, and it is a principle\nwith me to begin by welcoming any strangeness, intention of\noriginality in men--the other way of safe copying precedents being\n_so_ safe! So I began by praising all that was at all questionable in\nthe form ... reserving the ground-work for after consideration. The\nElf-story turns out a pure mistake, I think--and a common mistake,\ntoo. Fairy stories, the good ones, were written for men and women,\nand, being true, pleased also children; now, people set about writing\nfor children and miss them and the others too,--with that detestable\nirreverence and plain mocking all the time at the very wonder they\nprofess to want to excite. All obvious bending down to the lower\ncapacity, determining not to be the great complete man one is, by\nhalf; any patronizing minute to be spent in the nursery over the books\nand work and healthful play, of a visitor who will presently bid\ngood-bye and betake himself to the Beefsteak Club--keep us from all\nthat! The Sailor Language is good in its way; but as wrongly used in\nArt as real clay and mud would be, if one plastered them in the\nforeground of a landscape in order to attain to so much truth, at all\nevents--the true thing to endeavour is the making a golden colour\nwhich shall do every good in the power of the dirty brown. Well, then,\nwhat a veering weathercock am I, to write so and now, _so_! Not\naltogether,--for first it was but the stranger's welcome I gave, the\nright of every new comer who must stand or fall by his behaviour once\nadmitted within the door. And then--when I know what Horne thinks\nof--you, dearest; how he knew you first, and from the soul admired\nyou; and how little he thinks of my good fortune ... I _could_ NOT\nbegin by giving you a bad impression of anything he sends--he has such\nvery few rewards for a great deal of hard excellent enduring work, and\n_none_, no reward, I do think, would he less willingly forego than\nyour praise and sympathy. But your opinion once expressed--truth\nremains the truth--so, at least, I excuse myself ... and quite as much\nfor what I say _now_ as for what was said _then_! 'King John' is very\nfine and full of purpose; 'The Noble Heart,' sadly faint and\nuncharacteristic. The chief incident, too, turns on that poor\nconventional fallacy about what constitutes a proper wrong to\nresist--a piece of morality, after a different standard, is introduced\nto complete another fashioned morality--a segment of a circle of\nlarger dimensions is fitted into a smaller one. Now, you may have your\nown standard of morality in this matter of resistance to wrong, how\nand when if at all. And you may quite understand and sympathize with\nquite different standards innumerable of other people; but go from one\nto the other abruptly, you cannot, I think. 'Bear patiently all\ninjuries--revenge in no case'--that is plain. 'Take what you conceive\nto be God's part, do his evident work, stand up for good and destroy\nevil, and co-operate with this whole scheme here'--_that_ is plain,\ntoo,--but, call Otto's act _no_ wrong, or being one, not such as\nshould be avenged--and then, call the remark of a stranger that one is\na 'recreant'--just what needs the slight punishment of instant death\nto the remarker--and ... where is the way? What _is_ clear?\n\n--Not my letter! which goes on and on--'dear letters'--sweetest?\nbecause they cost all the precious labour of making out? Well, I shall\nsee you to-morrow, I trust. Bless you, my own--I have not half said\nwhat was to say even in the letter I thought to write, and which\nproves only what you see! But at a thought I fly off with you, 'at a\ncock-crow from the Grange.'--Ever your own.\n\nLast night, I received a copy of the _New Quarterly_--now here is\npopular praise, a sprig of it! Instead of the attack I supposed it to\nbe, from my foolish friend's account, the notice is outrageously\neulogistical, a stupidly extravagant laudation from first to last--and\nin _three other_ articles, as my sister finds by diligent fishing,\nthey introduce my name with the same felicitous praise (except one\ninstance, though, in a good article by Chorley I am certain); and\n_with_ me I don't know how many poetical _crétins_ are praised as\nnoticeably--and, in the turning of a page, somebody is abused in the\nrichest style of scavengering--only Carlyle! And I love him enough not\nto envy him nor wish to change places, and giving him mine, mount into\nhis.\n\nAll which, let me forget in the thoughts of to-morrow! Bless you, my\nBa.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, January 7, 1846.]\n\nBut some things are indeed said very truly, and as I like to read\nthem--of _you_, I mean of course,--though I quite understand that it\nis doing no manner of good to go back so to 'Paracelsus,' heading the\narticle 'Paracelsus and other poems,' as if the other poems could not\nfront the reader broadly by a divine right of their own. 'Paracelsus'\nis a great work and will _live_, but the way to do you good with the\nstiffnecked public (such good as critics can do in their degree) would\nhave been to hold fast and conspicuously the gilded horn of the last\nliving crowned creature led by you to the altar, saying 'Look _here_.'\nWhat had he to do else, as a critic? Was he writing for the\n_Retrospective Review_? And then, no attempt at analytical\ncriticism--or a failure, at the least attempt! all slack and in\nsentences! Still these are right things to say, true things, worthy\nthings, said of you as a poet, though your poems do not find justice:\nand I like, for my own part, the issuing from my cathedral into your\ngreat world--the outermost temple of divinest consecration. I like\nthat figure and association, and none the worse for its being a\nsufficient refutation of what he dared to impute, of your poetical\nsectarianism, in another place--_yours_!\n\nFor me, it is all quite kind enough--only I object, on my own part\nalso, to being reviewed in the 'Seraphim,' when my better books are\nnearer: and also it always makes me a little savage when people talk\nof Tennysonianisms! I have faults enough as the Muses know,--but let\nthem be _my_ faults! When I wrote the 'Romaunt of Margret,' I had not\nread a line of Tennyson. I came from the country with my eyes only\nhalf open, and he had not penetrated where I had been living and\nsleeping: and in fact when I afterwards tried to reach him here in\nLondon, nothing could be found except one slim volume, so that, till\nthe collected works appeared ... _favente_ Moxon, ... I was ignorant\nof his best _early_ productions; and not even for the rhythmetical\nform of my 'Vision of the Poets,' was I indebted to the 'Two\nVoices,'--three pages of my 'Vision' having been written several years\nago--at the beginning of my illness--and thrown aside, and taken up\nagain in the spring of 1844. Ah, well! there's no use talking! In a\nsolitary review which noticed my 'Essay on Mind,' somebody wrote ...\n'this young lady imitates Darwin'--and I never could _read_ Darwin,\n... was stopped always on the second page of the 'Loves of the Plants'\nwhen I tried to read him to 'justify myself in having an opinion'--the\nrepulsion was too strong. Yet the 'young lady imitated Darwin' of\ncourse, as the infallible critic said so.\n\nAnd who are Mr. Helps and Miss Emma Fisher and the 'many others,'\nwhose company brings one down to the right plebeianism? The 'three\npoets in three distant ages born' may well stare amazed!\n\nAfter all you shall not by any means say that I upset the inkstand on\nyour review in a passion--because pray mark that the ink has over-run\nsome of your praises, and that if I had been angry to the overthrow of\nan inkstand, it would not have been precisely _there_. It is the\nsecond book spoilt by me within these two days--and my fingers were so\ndabbled in blackness yesterday that to wring my hands would only have\nmade matters worse. Holding them up to Mr. Kenyon they looked dirty\nenough to befit a poetess--as black 'as bard beseemed'--and he took\nthe review away with him to read and save it from more harm.\n\nHow could it be that you did not get my letter which would have\nreached you, I thought, on Monday evening, or on Tuesday at the very\nvery earliest?--and how is it that I did not hear from you last night\nagain when I was unreasonable enough to expect it? is it true that you\n_hate_ writing to me?\n\nAt that word, comes the review back from dear Mr. Kenyon, and the\nletter which I enclose to show you how it accounts reasonably for the\nink--I did it 'in a pet,' he thinks! And I ought to buy you a new\nbook--certainly I ought--only it is not worth doing justice for--and I\nshall therefore send it back to you spoilt as it is; and you must\nforgive me as magnanimously as you can.\n\n'Omne ignotum pro magnifico'--do you think _so_? I hope not indeed!\n_vo quietando_--and everything else that I ought to do--except of\ncourse, _that_ thinking of you which is so difficult.\n\nMay God bless you. Till to-morrow!\n\n Your own always.\n\nMr. Kenyon refers to 'Festus'--of which I had said that the fine\nthings were worth looking for, in the design manqué.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, January 9, 1846.]\n\nYou never think, ever dearest, that I 'repent'--why what a word to\nuse! You never could _think_ such a word for a moment! If you were to\nleave me even,--to decide that it is best for you to do it, and do\nit,--I should accede at once of course, but never should I nor could I\n'repent' ... regret anything ... be sorry for having known you and\nloved you ... no! Which I say simply to prove that, in _no_ extreme\ncase, could I repent for my own sake. For yours, it might be\ndifferent.\n\n_Not_ out of 'generosity' certainly, but from the veriest selfishness,\nI choose here, before God, any possible present evil, rather than the\nfuture consciousness of feeling myself less to you, on the whole, than\nanother woman might have been.\n\nOh, these vain and most heathenish repetitions--do I not vex you by\nthem, _you_ whom I would always please, and never vex? Yet they force\ntheir way because you are the best noblest and dearest in the world,\nand because your happiness is so precious a thing.\n\n Cloth of frieze, be not too bold,\n Though thou'rt matched with cloth of gold!\n\n--_that_, beloved, was written for _me_. And you, if you would make me\nhappy, _always_ will look at yourself from my ground and by my light,\nas I see you, and consent to be selfish in all things. Observe, that\nif I were _vacillating_, I should not be so weak as to tease you with\nthe process of the vacillation: I should wait till my pendulum ceased\nswinging. It is precisely because I am your own, past any retraction\nor wish of retraction,--because I belong to you by gift and ownership,\nand am ready and willing to prove it before the world at a word of\nyours,--it is precisely for this, that I remind you too often of the\nnecessity of using this right of yours, not to your injury, of being\nwise and strong for both of us, and of guarding your happiness which\nis mine. I have said these things ninety and nine times over, and over\nand over have you replied to them,--as yesterday!--and now, do not\nspeak any more. It is only my preachment for general use, and not for\nparticular application,--only to be _ready_ for application. I love\nyou from the deepest of my nature--the whole world is nothing to me\nbeside you--and what is so precious, is not far from being terrible.\n'How _dreadful_ is this place.'\n\nTo hear you talk yesterday, is a gladness in the thought for\nto-day,--it was with such a full assent that I listened to every word.\nIt is true, I think, that we see things (things apart from ourselves)\nunder the same aspect and colour--and it is certainly true that I have\na sort of instinct by which I seem to know your views of such subjects\nas we have never looked at together. I know _you_ so well (yes, I\nboast to myself of that intimate knowledge), that I seem to know also\nthe _idola_ of all things as they are in your eyes--so that never,\nscarcely, I am curious,--never anxious, to learn what your opinions\nmay be. Now, _have_ I been curious or anxious? It was enough for me to\nknow _you_.\n\nMore than enough! You have 'left undone'--do you say? On the contrary,\nyou have done too much,--you _are_ too much. My cup,--which used to\nhold at the bottom of it just the drop of Heaven dew mingling with the\nabsinthus,--has overflowed all this wine: and _that_ makes me look out\nfor the vases, which would have held it better, had you stretched out\nyour hand for them.\n\nSay how you are--and do take care and exercise--and write to me,\ndearest!\n\n Ever your own--\n\n BA.\n\nHow right you are about 'Ben Capstan,'--and the illustration by the\n_yellow clay_. That is precisely what I meant,--said with more\nprecision than I could say it. Art without an ideal is neither nature\nnor art. The question involves the whole difference between Madame\nTussaud and Phidias.\n\nI have just received Mr. Edgar Poe's book--and I see that the\ndeteriorating preface which was to have saved me from the vanity-fever\nproduceable by the dedication, is cut down and away--perhaps in this\nparticular copy only!\n\nTuesday is so near, as men count, that I caught myself just now being\nafraid lest the week should have no chance of appearing long to you!\nTry to let it be long to you--will you? My consistency is wonderful.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n\nAs if I could deny you anything! Here is the Review--indeed it was\nfoolish to mind your seeing it at all. But now, may I stipulate?--You\nshall not send it back--but on your table I shall find and take it\nnext Tuesday--_c'est convenu_! The other precious volume has not yet\ncome to hand (nor to foot) all through your being so sure that to\ncarry it home would have been the death of me last evening!\n\nI cannot write my feelings in this large writing, begun on such a\nscale for the Review's sake; and just now--there is no denying it, and\nspite of all I have been incredulous about--it does seem that the fact\n_is_ achieved and that I _do_ love you, plainly, surely, more than\never, more than any day in my life before. It is your secret, the why,\nthe how; the experience is mine. What are you doing to me?--in the\nheart's heart.\n\nRest--dearest--bless you--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, January 10, 1846.]\n\nKindest and dearest you are!--that is 'my secret' and for the others,\nI leave them to you!--only it is no secret that I should and must be\nglad to have the words you sent with the book,--which I should have\nseen at all events be sure, whether you had sent it or not. Should I\nnot, do you think? And considering what the present generation of\ncritics really is, the remarks on you may stand, although it is the\ndreariest impotency to complain of the want of flesh and blood and of\nhuman sympathy in general. Yet suffer them to say on--it is the stamp\non the critical knife. There must be something eminently stupid, or\nfarewell criticdom! And if anything more utterly untrue could be said\nthan another, it is precisely that saying, which Mr. Mackay stands up\nto catch the reversion of! Do you indeed suppose that Heraud could\nhave done this? I scarcely can believe it, though some things are said\nrightly as about the 'intellectuality,' and how you stand first by the\nbrain,--which is as true as truth can be. Then, I _shall have\n'Pauline' in a day or two_--yes, I shall and must, and _will_.\n\nThe 'Ballad Poems and Fancies,' the article calling itself by that\nname, seems indeed to be Mr. Chorley's, and is one of his very best\npapers, I think. There is to me a want of colour and thinness about\nhis writings in general, with a grace and _savoir faire_ nevertheless,\nand always a rightness and purity of intention. Observe what he says\nof 'many-sidedness' seeming to trench on opinion and principle. That,\nhe means for himself I know, for he has said to me that through having\nsuch largeness of sympathy he has been charged with want of\nprinciple--yet 'many-sidedness' is certainly no word for him. The\neffect of general sympathies may be evolved both from an elastic fancy\nand from breadth of mind, and it seems to me that he rather _bends_ to\na phase of humanity and literature than contains it--than comprehends\nit. Every part of a truth implies the whole; and to accept truth all\nround, does not mean the recognition of contradictory things:\nuniversal sympathies cannot make a man inconsistent, but, on the\ncontrary, sublimely consistent. A church tower may stand between the\nmountains and the sea, looking to either, and stand fast: but the\nwillow-tree at the gable-end, blown now toward the north and now\ntoward the south while its natural leaning is due east or west, is\ndifferent altogether ... _as_ different as a willow-tree from a church\ntower.\n\nAh, what nonsense! There is only one truth for me all this time, while\nI talk about truth and truth. And do you know, when you have told me\nto think of you, I have been feeling ashamed of thinking of you so\nmuch, of thinking of only you--which _is_ too much, perhaps. Shall I\ntell you? it seems to me, to myself, that no man was ever before to\nany woman what you are to me--the fulness must be in proportion, you\nknow, to the vacancy ... and only _I_ know what was behind--the long\nwilderness _without_ the blossoming rose ... and the capacity for\nhappiness, like a black gaping hole, before this silver flooding. Is\nit wonderful that I should stand as in a dream, and disbelieve--not\n_you_--but my own fate? Was ever any one taken suddenly from a\nlampless dungeon and placed upon the pinnacle of a mountain, without\nthe head turning round and the heart turning faint, as mine do? And\nyou love me _more_, you say?--Shall I thank you or God?\nBoth,--indeed--and there is no possible return from me to either of\nyou! I thank you as the unworthy may ... and as we all thank God. How\nshall I ever prove what my heart is to you? How will you ever see it\nas I feel it? I ask myself in vain.\n\nHave so much faith in me, my only beloved, as to use me simply for\nyour own advantage and happiness, and to your own ends without a\nthought of any others--_that_ is all I could ask you with any disquiet\nas to the granting of it--May God bless you!--\n\n Your\n\n BA.\n\nBut you have the review _now_--surely?\n\nThe _Morning Chronicle_ attributes the authorship of 'Modern Poets'\n(_our_ article) to Lord John Manners--so I hear this morning. I have\nnot yet looked at the paper myself. The _Athenæum_, still abominably\ndumb!--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, January 10, 1846.]\n\nThis is _no_ letter--love,--I make haste to tell you--to-morrow I will\nwrite. For here has a friend been calling and consuming my very\ndestined time, and every minute seemed the last that was to be; and an\nold, old friend he is, beside--so--you must understand my defection,\nwhen only this scrap reaches you to-night! Ah, love,--you are my\nunutterable blessing,--I discover you, more of you, day by day,--hour\nby hour, I do think!--I am entirely yours,--one gratitude, all my soul\nbecomes when I see you over me as now--God bless my dear, dearest.\n\nMy 'Act Fourth' is done--but too roughly this time! I will tell you--\n\nOne kiss more, dearest!\n\nThanks for the Review.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, January 12, 1846.]\n\nI have no words for you, my dearest,--I shall never have.\n\nYou are mine, I am yours. Now, here is one sign of what I said ...\nthat I must love you more than at first ... a little sign, and to be\nlooked narrowly for or it escapes me, but then the increase it shows\n_can_ only be little, so very little now--and as the fine French\nChemical Analysts bring themselves to appreciate matter in its refined\nstages by _millionths_, so--! At first I only thought of being _happy_\nin you,--in your happiness: now I most think of you in the dark hours\nthat must come--I shall grow old with you, and die with you--as far as\nI can look into the night I see the light with me. And surely with\nthat provision of comfort one should turn with fresh joy and renewed\nsense of security to the sunny middle of the day. I am in the full\nsunshine now; and _after_, all seems cared for,--is it too homely an\nillustration if I say the day's visit is not crossed by uncertainties\nas to the return through the wild country at nightfall?--Now Keats\nspeaks of 'Beauty, that must _die_--and Joy whose hand is ever at his\nlips, bidding farewell!' And _who_ spoke of--looking up into the eyes\nand asking 'And _how long_ will you love us'?--There is a Beauty that\nwill not die, a Joy that bids no farewell, dear dearest eyes that will\nlove for ever!\n\nAnd _I_--am to love no longer than I can. Well, dear--and when I _can_\nno longer--you will not blame me? You will do only as ever, kindly and\njustly; hardly more. I do not pretend to say I have chosen to put my\nfancy to such an experiment, and consider how _that_ is to happen, and\nwhat measures ought to be taken in the emergency--because in the\n'universality of my sympathies' I certainly number a very lively one\nwith my own heart and soul, and cannot amuse myself by such a\nspectacle as their supposed extinction or paralysis. There is no doubt\nI should be an object for the deepest commiseration of you or any more\nfortunate human being. And I hope that because such a calamity does\nnot obtrude itself on me as a thing to be prayed against, it is no\nless duly implied with all the other visitations from which no\nhumanity can be altogether exempt--just as God bids us ask for the\ncontinuance of the 'daily bread'!--'battle, murder and sudden death'\nlie behind doubtless. I repeat, and perhaps in so doing only give one\nmore example of the instantaneous conversion of that indignation we\nbestow in another's case, into wonderful lenity when it becomes our\nown, ... that I only contemplate the _possibility_ you make me\nrecognize, with pity, and fear ... no anger at all; and imprecations\nof vengeance, _for what_? Observe, I only speak of cases _possible_;\nof sudden impotency of mind; that _is_ possible--there _are_ other\nways of '_changing_,' 'ceasing to love' &c. which it is safest not to\nthink of nor believe in. A man _may_ never leave his writing desk\nwithout seeing safe in one corner of it the folded slip which directs\nthe disposal of his papers in the event of his reason suddenly leaving\nhim--or he may never go out into the street without a card in his\npocket to signify his address to those who may have to pick him up in\nan apoplectic fit--but if he once begins to fear he is growing a glass\nbottle, and, _so_, liable to be smashed,--do you see? And now, love,\ndear heart of my heart, my own, only Ba--see no more--see what I _am_,\nwhat God in his constant mercy ordinarily grants to those who have, as\nI, received already so much; much, past expression! It is but--if you\nwill so please--at worst, forestalling the one or two years, for my\nsake; but you _will_ be as sure of me _one_ day as I can be now of\nmyself--and why not _now_ be sure? See, love--a year is gone by--we\nwere in one relation when you wrote at the end of a letter 'Do not say\nI do not tire you' (by writing)--'_I am sure I do_.' A year has gone\nby--_Did you tire me then?_ _Now_, you tell me what is told; for my\nsake, sweet, let the few years go by; we are married, and my arms are\nround you, and my face touches yours, and I am asking you, '_Were you\nnot_ to me, in that dim beginning of 1846, a joy behind all joys, a\nlife added to and transforming mine, the good I choose from all the\npossible gifts of God on this earth, for which I seemed to have lived;\nwhich accepting, I thankfully step aside and let the rest get what\nthey can; what, it is very likely, they esteem more--for why should my\neye be evil because God's is good; why should I grudge that, giving\nthem, I do believe, infinitely less, he gives them a content in the\ninferior good and belief in its worth? I should have wished _that_\nfurther concession, that illusion as I believe it, for their\nsakes--but I cannot undervalue my own treasure and so scant the only\ntribute of mere gratitude which is in my power to pay. Hear this said\n_now before_ the few years; and believe in it _now for then_, dearest!\n\n\nMust you see 'Pauline'? At least then let me wait a few days; to\ncorrect the misprints which affect the sense, and to write you the\nhistory of it; what is necessary you should know before you see it.\nThat article I suppose to be by Heraud--about two thirds--and the\nrest, or a little less, by that Mr. Powell--whose unimaginable,\nimpudent vulgar stupidity you get some inkling of in the 'Story from\nBoccaccio'--of which the _words_ quoted were _his_, I am sure--as sure\nas that he knows not whether Boccaccio lived before or after\nShakspeare, whether Florence or Rome be the more northern city,--one\nword of Italian in general, or letter of Boccaccio's in particular.\nWhen I took pity on him once on a time and helped his verses into a\nsort of grammar and sense, I did not think he was a _buyer_ of other\nmen's verses, to be printed as his own; thus he _bought_ two\nmodernisations of Chaucer--'Ugolino' and another story from Leigh\nHunt--and one, 'Sir Thopas' from Horne, and printed them as his own,\nas I learned only last week. He paid me extravagant court and, seeing\nno harm in the mere folly of the man, I was on good terms with him,\ntill ten months ago he grossly insulted a friend of mine who had\nwritten an article for the Review--(which is as good as _his_, he\nbeing a large proprietor of the delectable property, and influencing\nthe voices of his co-mates in council)--well, he insulted my friend,\nwho had written that article at my special solicitation, and did all\nhe could to avoid paying the price of it--Why?--Because the poor\ncreature had actually taken the article to the Editor _as one by his\nfriend Serjeant Talfourd contributed for pure love of him, Powell the\naforesaid_,--cutting, in consequence, no inglorious figure in the eyes\nof Printer and Publisher! Now I was away all this time in Italy or he\nwould never have ventured on such a piece of childish impertinence.\nAnd my friend being a true gentleman, and quite unused to this sort of\n'practice,' in the American sense, held his peace and went without his\n'honorarium.' But on my return, I enquired, and made him make a\nproper application, which Mr. Powell treated with all the insolence in\nthe world--because, as the event showed, the having to write a cheque\nfor 'the Author of _the_ Article'--that author's name _not_ being\nTalfourd's ... _there_ was certain disgrace! Since then (ten months\nago) I have never seen him--and he accuses _himself_, observe, of\n'sucking my plots while I drink his tea'--one as much as the other!\nAnd now why do I tell you this, all of it? Ah,--now you shall hear!\nBecause, it has often been in my mind to ask you what _you_ know of\nthis Mr. Powell, or ever knew. For he, (being profoundly versed in\nevery sort of untruth, as every fresh experience shows me, and the\nrest of his acquaintance) he told me long ago, 'he used to correspond\nwith you, and that he quarrelled with you'--which I supposed to mean\nthat he began by sending you his books (as with one and everybody) and\nthat, in return to your note of acknowledgment, he had chosen to write\nagain, and perhaps, again--is it so? Do not write one word in answer\nto me--the name of such a miserable nullity, and husk of a man, ought\nnot to have a place in your letters--and _that way_ he would get near\nto me again; near indeed this time!--So _tell_ me, in a word--or do\nnot tell me.\n\nHow I never say what I sit down to say! How saying the little makes me\nwant to say the more! How the least of little things, once taken up as\na thing to be imparted to you, seems to need explanations and\ncommentaries; all is of importance to me--every breath you breathe,\nevery little fact (like this) you are to know!\n\nI was out last night--to see the rest of Frank Talfourd's theatricals;\nand met Dickens and his set--so my evenings go away! If I do not bring\nthe _Act_ you must forgive me--yet I shall, I think; the roughness\nmatters little in this stage. Chorley says very truly that a tragedy\nimplies as much power _kept back_ as brought out--very true that is. I\ndo not, on the whole, feel dissatisfied--as was to be but\nexpected--with the effect of this last--the _shelve_ of the hill,\nwhence the end is seen, you continuing to go down to it, so that at\nthe very last you may pass off into a plain and so away--not come to a\nstop like your horse against a church wall. It is all in long\nspeeches--the _action, proper_, is in them--they are no descriptions,\nor amplifications--but here, in a drama of this kind, all the\n_events_, (and interest), take place in the _minds_ of the actors ...\nsomewhat like 'Paracelsus' in that respect. You know, or don't know,\nthat the general charge against me, of late, from the few quarters I\nthought it worth while to listen to, has been that of abrupt,\nspasmodic writing--they will find some fault with this, of course.\n\nHow you know Chorley! That is precisely the man, that willow blowing\nnow here now there--precisely! I wish he minded the _Athenæum_, its\nsilence or eloquence, no more nor less than I--but he goes on\npainfully plying me with invitation after invitation, only to show me,\nI feel confident, that _he_ has no part nor lot in the matter: I have\n_two_ kind little notes asking me to go on Thursday and Saturday. See\nthe absurd position of us both; he asks more of my presence than he\ncan want, just to show his own kind feeling, of which I do not doubt;\nand I must try and accept more hospitality than suits me, only to\nprove my belief in that same! For myself--if I have vanity which such\nJournals can raise; would the praise of them raise it, they who\npraised Mr. Mackay's own, own 'Dead Pan,' quite his own, the other\nday?--By the way, Miss Cushman informed me the other evening that the\ngentleman had written a certain 'Song of the Bell' ... 'singularly\nlike Schiller's; _considering that Mr. M. had never_ seen it!' I am\ntold he writes for the _Athenæum_, but don't know. Would that sort of\npraise be flattering, or his holding the tongue--which Forster, deep\nin the mysteries of the craft, corroborated my own notion about--as\npure willingness to hurt, and confessed impotence and little clever\nspite, and enforced sense of what may be safe at the last? You shall\nsee they will not notice--unless a fresh publication alters the\ncircumstances--until some seven or eight months--as before; and then\nthey _will_ notice, and _praise_, and tell anybody who cares to\nenquire, '_So_ we noticed the work.' So do not you go expecting\njustice or injustice till I tell you. It answers me to be found\nwriting so, so anxious to prove I understand the laws of the game,\nwhen that game is only 'Thimble-rig' and for prizes of\ngingerbread-nuts--Prize or no prize, Mr. Dilke _does_ shift the pea,\nand so did from the beginning--as Charles Lamb's pleasant _sobriquet_\n(Mr. _Bilk_, he would have it) testifies. Still he behaved kindly to\nthat poor Frances Brown--let us forget him.\n\nAnd now, my Audience, my crown-bearer, my path-preparer--I am with you\nagain and out of them all--there, _here_, in my arms, is my _proved\npalpable success_! My life, my poetry, gained nothing, oh no!--but\nthis found them, and blessed them. On Tuesday I shall see you,\ndearest--am much better; well to-day--are you well--or 'scarcely to be\ncalled an invalid'? Oh, when I _have_ you, am by you--\n\nBless you, dearest--And be very sure you have your wish about the\nlength of the week--still Tuesday must come! And with it your own,\nhappy, grateful\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Night.\n [Post-mark, January 14, 1846.]\n\nAh Mr. Kenyon!--how he vexed me to-day. To keep away all the ten days\nbefore, and to come just at the wrong time after all! It was better\nfor you, I suppose--believe--to go with him down-stairs--yes, it\ncertainly was better: it was disagreeable enough to be very wise! Yet\nI, being addicted to every sort of superstition turning to melancholy,\ndid hate so breaking off in the middle of that black thread ... (do\nyou remember what we were talking of when they opened the door?) that\nI was on the point of saying 'Stay one moment,' which I should have\nrepented afterwards for the best of good reasons. Oh, I _should_ have\nliked to have 'fastened off' that black thread, and taken one stitch\nwith a blue or a green one!\n\nYou do not remember what we were talking of? what _you_, rather, were\ntalking of? And what _I_ remember, at least, because it is exactly the\nmost unkind and hard thing you ever said to me--ever dearest, so I\nremember it by that sign! That you should say such a thing to me--!\nthink what it was, for indeed I will not write it down here--it would\nbe worse than Mr. Powell! Only the foolishness of it (I mean, the\nfoolishness of it alone) saves it, smooths it to a degree!--the\nfoolishness being the same as if you asked a man where he would walk\nwhen he lost his head. Why, if you had asked St. Denis _beforehand_,\nhe would have thought it a foolish question.\n\nAnd you!--you, who talk so finely of never, never doubting; of being\nsuch an example in the way of believing and trusting--it appears,\nafter all, that you have an imagination apprehensive (or\ncomprehensive) of 'glass bottles' like other sublunary creatures, and\nworse than some of them. For mark, that I never went any farther than\nto the stone-wall hypothesis of your forgetting me!--_I_ always\nstopped there--and never climbed, to the top of it over the\nbroken-bottle fortification, to see which way you meant to walk\nafterwards. And you, to ask me so coolly--think what you asked me.\nThat you should have the heart to ask such a question!\n\nAnd the reason--! and it could seem a reasonable matter of doubt to\nyou whether I would go to the south for my health's sake!--And I\nanswered quite a common 'no' I believe--for you bewildered me for the\nmoment--and I have had tears in my eyes two or three times since, just\nthrough thinking back of it all ... of your asking me such questions.\nNow did I not tell you when I first knew you, that I was leaning out\nof the window? True, _that_ was--I was tired of living ...\nunaffectedly tired. All I cared to live for was to do better some of\nthe work which, after all, was out of myself, and which I had to reach\nacross to do. But I told you. Then, last year, for duty's sake I would\nhave _consented_ to go to Italy! but if you really fancy that I would\nhave struggled in the face of all that difficulty--or struggled,\nindeed, anywise, to compass such an object as _that_--except for the\nmotive of your caring for it and me--why you know nothing of me after\nall--nothing! And now, take away the motive, and I am where I\nwas--leaning out of the window again. To put it in plainer words (as\nyou really require information), I should let them do what they liked\nto me till I was dead--only I _wouldn't go to Italy_--if anybody\nproposed Italy out of contradiction. In the meantime I do entreat you\nnever to talk of such a thing to me any more.\n\nYou know, if you were to leave me by your choice and for your\nhappiness, it would be another thing. It would be very lawful to talk\nof _that_.\n\nAnd observe! I perfectly understand that you did not think of\n_doubting me_--so to speak! But you thought, all the same, that if\nsuch a thing happened, I should be capable of doing so and so.\n\nWell--I am not quarrelling--I am uneasy about your head rather. That\npain in it--what can it mean? I do beseech you to think of me just so\nmuch as will lead you to take regular exercise every day, never\nmissing a day; since to walk till you are tired on Tuesday and then\nnot to walk at all until Friday is _not_ taking exercise, nor the\nthing required. Ah, if you knew how dreadfully natural every sort of\nevil seems to my mind, you would not laugh at me for being afraid. I\ndo beseech you, dearest! And then, Sir John Hanmer invited you,\nbesides Mr. Warburton, and suppose you went to _him_ for a very little\ntime--just for the change of air? or if you went to the coast\nsomewhere. Will you consider, and do what is right, _for me_? I do not\npropose that you should go to Italy, observe, nor any great thing at\nwhich you might reasonably hesitate. And--did you ever try smoking as\na remedy? If the nerves of the head chiefly are affected it might do\nyou good, I have been thinking. Or without the smoking, to breathe\nwhere tobacco is burnt,--_that_ calms the nervous system in a\nwonderful manner, as I experienced once myself when, recovering from\nan illness, I could not sleep, and tried in vain all sorts of\nnarcotics and forms of hop-pillow and inhalation, yet was\ntranquillized in one half hour by a _pinch_ of _tobacco_ being burnt\nin a shovel near me. Should you mind it very much? the trying I mean?\n\n_Wednesday._--For '_Pauline_'--when I had named it to you I was on the\npoint of sending for the book to the booksellers--then suddenly I\nthought to myself that I should wait and hear whether you very, very\nmuch would dislike my reading it. See now! Many readers have done\nvirtuously, but _I_, (in this virtue I tell you of) surpassed them\nall!--And now, because I may, I '_must_ read it':--and as there are\nmisprints to be corrected, will you do what is necessary, or what you\nthink is necessary, and bring me the book on Monday? Do not\nsend--bring it. In the meanwhile I send back the review which I forgot\nto give to you yesterday in the confusion. Perhaps you have not read\nit in your house, and in any case there is no use in my keeping it.\n\nShall I hear from you, I wonder! Oh my vain thoughts, that will not\nkeep you well! And, ever since you have known me, you have been\nworse--_that_, you confess!--and what if it should be the crossing of\nmy bad star? _You_ of the 'Crown' and the 'Lyre,' to seek influences\nfrom the 'chair of Cassiopeia'! I hope she will forgive me for using\nher name so! I might as well have compared her to a professorship of\npoetry in the university of Oxford, according to the latest election.\nYou know, the qualification, there, is,--_not to be a poet_.\n\nHow vexatious, yesterday! The stars (talking of _them_) were out of\nspherical tune, through the damp weather, perhaps, and that scarlet\nsun was a sign! First Mr. Chorley!--and last, dear Mr. Kenyon; who\n_will_ say tiresome things without any provocation. Did you walk with\nhim his way, or did he walk with you yours? or did you only walk\ndown-stairs together?\n\nWrite to me! Remember that it is a month to Monday. Think of your very\nown, who bids God bless you when she prays best for herself!--\n\n E.B.B.\n\nSay particularly how you are--now do not omit it. And will you have\nMiss Martineau's books when I can lend them to you? Just at this\nmoment I _dare_ not, because they are reading them here.\n\nLet Mr. Mackay have his full proprietary in his 'Dead Pan'--which is\nquite a different conception of the subject, and executed in blank\nverse too. I have no claims against him, I am sure!\n\nBut for the _man_!--To call him a poet! A prince and potentate of\nCommonplaces, such as he is!--I have seen his name in the _Athenæum_\nattached to a lyric or two ... poems, correctly called fugitive,--more\nthan usually fugitive--but I never heard before that his hand was in\nthe prose department.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, January 14, 1846.]\n\nWas I in the wrong, dearest, to go away with Mr. Kenyon? I _well knew\nand felt_ the price I was about to pay--but the thought _did_ occur\nthat he might have been informed my probable time of departure was\nthat of his own arrival--and that he would not know how very soon,\nalas, I should be _obliged_ to go--so ... to save you any least\nembarrassment in the world, I got--just that shake of the hand, just\nthat look--and no more! And was it all for nothing, all needless after\nall? So I said to myself all the way home.\n\nWhen I am away from you--a crowd of things press on me for\nutterance--'I will say them, not write them,' I think:--when I see\nyou--all to be said seems insignificant, irrelevant,--'they can be\nwritten, at all events'--I think _that_ too. So, feeling so much, I\nsay so little!\n\nI have just returned from Town and write for the Post--but _you_ mean\nto write, I trust.\n\n_That_ was not obtained, that promise, to be happy with, as last time!\n\nHow are you?--tell me, dearest; a long week is to be waited now!\n\n Bless you, my own, sweetest Ba.\n\n I am wholly your\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, January 15, 1846.]\n\nDearest, dearer to my heart minute by minute, I had no wish to give\nyou pain, God knows. No one can more readily consent to let a few\nyears more or less of life go out of account,--be lost--but as I sate\nby you, you so full of the truest life, for this world as for the\nnext,--and was struck by the possibility, all that might happen were I\naway, in the case of your continuing to acquiesce--dearest, it _is_\nhorrible--could not but speak. If in drawing you, all of you, closer\nto my heart, I hurt you whom I would--_outlive_ ... yes,--cannot speak\nhere--forgive me, Ba.\n\nMy Ba, you are to consider now for me. Your health, your strength, it\nis all wonderful; that is not my dream, you know--but what all see.\nNow, steadily care for us both--take time, take counsel if you choose;\nbut at the end tell me what you will do for your part--thinking of me\nas utterly devoted, soul and body, to you, living wholly in your life,\nseeing good and ill only as you see,--being yours as your hand is,--or\nas your Flush, rather. Then I will, on my side, prepare. When I say\n'take counsel'--I reserve my last right, the man's right of first\nspeech. _I_ stipulate, too, and require to say my own speech in my own\nwords or by letter--remember! But this living without you is too\ntormenting now. So begin thinking,--as for Spring, as for a New Year,\nas for a new life.\n\nI went no farther than the door with Mr. Kenyon. He must see the\ntruth; and--you heard the playful words which had a meaning all the\nsame.\n\nNo more of this; only, think of it for me, love!\n\nOne of these days I shall write a long letter--on the omitted matters,\nunanswered questions, in your past letters. The present joy still\nmakes me ungrateful to the previous one; but I remember. We are to\nlive together one day, love!\n\nWill you let Mr. Poe's book lie on the table on Monday, if you please,\nthat I may read what he _does_ say, with my own eyes? _That_ I meant\nto ask, too!\n\nHow too, too kind you are--how you care for so little that affects me!\nI am very much better--I went out yesterday, as you found: to-day I\nshall walk, beside seeing Chorley. And certainly, certainly I would go\naway for a week, if so I might escape being ill (and away from you) a\nfortnight; but I am _not_ ill--and will care, as you bid me, beloved!\nSo, you will send, and take all trouble; and all about that crazy\nReview! Now, you should not!--I will consider about your goodness. I\nhardly know if I care to read that kind of book just now.\n\nWill you, and must you have 'Pauline'? If I could pray you to revoke\nthat decision! For it is altogether foolish and _not_ boylike--and I\nshall, I confess, hate the notion of running over it--yet commented\nit must be; more than mere correction! I was unluckily\n_precocious_--but I had rather you _saw_ real infantine efforts\n(verses at six years old, and drawings still earlier) than this\nambiguous, feverish--Why not wait? When you speak of the\n'Bookseller'--I smile, in glorious security--having a whole bale of\nsheets at the house-top. He never knew my name even!--and I withdrew\nthese after a very little time.\n\nAnd now--here is a vexation. May I be with you (for this once) next\nMonday, at _two_ instead of _three_ o'clock? Forster's business with\nthe new Paper obliges him, he says, to restrict his choice of days to\n_Monday_ next--and give up _my_ part of Monday I will never for fifty\nForsters--now, sweet, mind that! Monday is no common day, but leads to\na _Saturday_--and if, as I ask, I get leave to call at 2--and to stay\ntill 3-1/2--though I then lose nearly half an hour--yet all will be\ncomparatively well. If there is any difficulty--one word and I\nre-appoint our party, his and mine, for the day the paper breaks\ndown--not so long to wait, it strikes me!\n\nNow, bless you, my precious Ba--I am your own--\n\n --Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, January 17, 1846.]\n\nOur letters have crossed; and, mine being the longest, I have a right\nto expect another directly, I think. I have been calculating: and it\nseems to me--now what I am going to say may take its place among the\nparadoxes,--that I gain most by the short letters. Last week the only\nlong one came last, and I was quite contented that the 'old friend'\nshould come to see you on Saturday and make you send me two instead of\nthe single one I looked for: it was a clear gain, the little short\nnote, and the letter arrived all the same. I remember, when I was a\nchild, liking to have two shillings and sixpence better than half a\ncrown--and now it is the same with this fairy money, which will never\nturn all into pebbles, or beans, whatever the chronicles may say of\nprecedents.\n\nArabel did tell Mr. Kenyon (she told me) that 'Mr. Browning would soon\ngo away'--in reply to an observation of his, that 'he would not stay\nas I had company'; and altogether it was better,--the lamp made it\nlook late. But you do not appear in the least remorseful for being\ntempted of my black devil, my familiar, to ask such questions and\nleave me under such an impression--'mens conscia recti' too!!--\n\nAnd Mr. Kenyon will not come until next Monday perhaps. How am I? But\nI am too well to be asked about. Is it not a warm summer? The weather\nis as 'miraculous' as the rest, I think. It is you who are unwell and\nmake people uneasy, dearest. Say how you are, and promise me to do\nwhat is right and try to be better. The walking, the changing of the\nair, the leaving off Luria ... do what is right, I earnestly beseech\nyou. The other day, I heard of Tennyson being ill again, ... too ill\nto write a simple note to his friend Mr. Venables, who told George. A\nlittle more than a year ago, it would have been no worse a thing to me\nto hear of your being ill than to hear of his being ill!--How the\nworld has changed since then! To _me_, I mean.\n\nDid I say _that_ ever ... that 'I knew you must be tired?' And it was\nnot even so true as that the coming event threw its shadow before?\n\n_Thursday night._--I have begun on another sheet--I could not write\nhere what was in my heart--yet I send you this paper besides to show\nhow I was writing to you this morning. In the midst of it came a\nfemale friend of mine and broke the thread--the visible thread, that\nis.\n\nAnd now, even now, at this safe eight o'clock, I could not be safe\nfrom somebody, who, in her goodnature and my illfortune, must come and\nsit by me--and when my letter was come--'why wouldn't I read it? What\nwonderful politeness on my part.' She would not and could not consent\nto keep me from reading my letter. She would stand up by the fire\nrather.\n\nNo, no, three times no. Brummel got into the carriage before the\nRegent, ... (didn't he?) but I persisted in not reading my letter in\nthe presence of my friend. A notice on my punctiliousness may be put\ndown to-night in her 'private diary.' I kept the letter in my hand and\nonly read it with those sapient ends of the fingers which the\nmesmerists make so much ado about, and which really did seem to touch\na little of what was inside. Not _all_, however, happily for me! Or my\nfriend would have seen in my eyes what _they_ did not see.\n\nMay God bless you! Did I ever say that I had an objection to read the\nverses at six years old--or see the drawings either? I am reasonable,\nyou observe! Only, 'Pauline,' I must have _some day_--why not without\nthe emendations? But if you insist on them, I will agree to wait a\nlittle--if you promise _at last_ to let me see the book, which I will\nnot show. Some day, then! you shall not be vexed nor hurried for the\nday--some day. Am I not generous? And _I_ was 'precocious' too, and\nused to make rhymes over my bread and milk when I was nearly a baby\n... only really it was mere echo-verse, that of mine, and had nothing\nof mark or of indication, such as I do not doubt that yours had. I\nused to write of virtue with a large 'V,' and 'Oh Muse' with a harp,\nand things of that sort. At nine years old I wrote what I called 'an\nepic'--and at ten, various tragedies, French and English, which we\nused to act in the nursery. There was a French 'hexameter' tragedy on\nthe subject of Regulus--but I cannot even smile to think of it now,\nthere are so many grave memories--which time has made grave--hung\naround it. How I remember sitting in 'my house under the sideboard,'\nin the dining-room, concocting one of the soliloquies beginning\n\n Que suis je? autrefois un général Remain:\n Maintenant esclave de Carthage je souffre en vain.\n\nPoor Regulus!--Can't you conceive how fine it must have been\naltogether? And these were my 'maturer works,' you are to understand,\n... and 'the moon was bright at ten o'clock at night' years before. As\nto the gods and goddesses, I believed in them all quite seriously, and\nreconciled them to Christianity, which I believed in too after a\nfashion, as some greater philosophers have done--and went out one day\nwith my pinafore full of little sticks (and a match from the\nhousemaid's cupboard) to sacrifice to the blue-eyed Minerva who was my\nfavourite goddess on the whole because she cared for Athens. As soon\nas I began to doubt about my goddesses, I fell into a vague sort of\ngeneral scepticism, ... and though I went on saying 'the Lord's\nprayer' at nights and mornings, and the 'Bless all my kind friends'\nafterwards, by the childish custom ... yet I ended this liturgy with a\nsupplication which I found in 'King's Memoirs' and which took my fancy\nand met my general views exactly.... 'O God, if there be a God, save\nmy soul if I have a soul.' Perhaps the theology of many thoughtful\nchildren is scarcely more orthodox than this: but indeed it is\nwonderful to myself sometimes how I came to escape, on the whole, as\nwell as I have done, considering the commonplaces of education in\nwhich I was set, with strength and opportunity for breaking the bonds\nall round into liberty and license. Papa used to say ... 'Don't read\nGibbon's history--it's not a proper book. Don't read \"Tom Jones\"--and\nnone of the books on _this_ side, mind!' So I was very obedient and\nnever touched the books on _that_ side, and only read instead Tom\nPaine's 'Age of Reason,' and Voltaire's 'Philosophical Dictionary,'\nand Hume's 'Essays,' and Werther, and Rousseau, and Mary\nWollstonecraft ... books, which I was never suspected of looking\ntowards, and which were not 'on _that_ side' certainly, but which did\nas well.\n\nHow I am writing!--And what are the questions you did not answer? I\nshall remember them by the answers I suppose--but your letters always\nhave a fulness to me and I never seem to wish for what is not in them.\n\nBut this is the end _indeed_.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Night.\n [In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]\n\nEver dearest--how you can write touching things to me; and how my\nwhole being vibrates, as a string, to these! How have I deserved from\nGod and you all that I thank you for? Too unworthy I am of all! Only,\nit was not, dearest beloved, what you feared, that was 'horrible,' it\nwas what you _supposed_, rather! It was a mistake of yours. And now we\nwill not talk of it any more.\n\n_Friday morning._--For the rest, I will think as you desire: but I\nhave thought a great deal, and there are certainties which I know; and\nI hope we _both_ are aware that nothing can be more hopeless than our\nposition in some relations and aspects, though you do not guess\nperhaps that the very approach to the subject is shut up by dangers,\nand that from the moment of a suspicion entering _one_ mind, we should\nbe able to meet never again in this room, nor to have intercourse by\nletter through the ordinary channel. I mean, that letters of yours,\naddressed to me here, would infallibly be stopped and destroyed--if\nnot opened. Therefore it is advisable to hurry on nothing--on these\ngrounds it is advisable. What should I do if I did not see you nor\nhear from you, without being able to feel that it was for your\nhappiness? What should I do for a month even? And then, I might be\nthrown out of the window or its equivalent--I look back shuddering to\nthe dreadful scenes in which poor Henrietta was involved who never\noffended as I have offended ... years ago which seem as present as\nto-day. She had forbidden the subject to be referred to until that\nconsent was obtained--and at a word she gave up all--at a word. In\nfact she had no true attachment, as I observed to Arabel at the\ntime--a child never submitted more meekly to a revoked holiday. Yet\nhow she was made to suffer. Oh, the dreadful scenes! and only because\nshe had seemed to feel a little. I told you, I think, that there was\nan obliquity--an eccentricity, or something beyond--on one class of\nsubjects. I hear how her knees were made to ring upon the floor, now!\nshe was carried out of the room in strong hysterics, and I, who rose\nup to follow her, though I was quite well at that time and suffered\nonly by sympathy, fell flat down upon my face in a fainting-fit.\nArabel thought I was dead.\n\nI have tried to forget it all--but now I must remember--and throughout\nour intercourse _I have remembered_. It is necessary to remember so\nmuch as to avoid such evils as are inevitable, and for this reason I\nwould conceal nothing from you. Do _you_ remember, besides, that there\ncan be no faltering on my 'part,' and that, if I should remain well,\nwhich is not proved yet, I will do for you what you please and as you\nplease to have it done. But there is time for considering!\n\nOnly ... as you speak of 'counsel,' I will take courage to tell you\nthat my _sisters know_, Arabel is in most of my confidences, and being\noften in the room with me, taxed me with the truth long ago--she saw\nthat I was affected from some cause--and I told her. We are as safe\nwith both of them as possible ... and they thoroughly understand that\n_if there should be any change it would not be your fault_.... I made\nthem understand that thoroughly. From themselves I have received\nnothing but the most smiling words of kindness and satisfaction (I\nthought I might tell you so much), they have too much tenderness for\nme to fail in it now. My brothers, it is quite necessary not to draw\ninto a dangerous responsibility. I have felt that from the beginning,\nand shall continue to feel it--though I hear and can observe that they\nare full of suspicions and conjectures, which are never unkindly\nexpressed. I told you once that we held hands the faster in this house\nfor the weight over our heads. But the absolute _knowledge_ would be\ndangerous for my brothers: with my sisters it is different, and I\ncould not continue to conceal from _them_ what they had under their\neyes; and then, Henrietta is in a like position. It was not wrong of\nme to let them know it?--no?\n\nYet of what consequence is all this to the other side of the question?\nWhat, if _you_ should give pain and disappointment where you owe such\npure gratitude. But we need not talk of these things now. Only you\nhave more to consider than _I_, I imagine, while the future comes on.\n\nDearest, let me have my way in one thing: let me see you on _Tuesday_\ninstead of on Monday--on Tuesday at the old hour. Be reasonable and\nconsider. Tuesday is almost as near as the day before it; and on\nMonday, I shall be hurried at first, lest Papa should be still in the\nhouse, (no harm, but an excuse for nervousness: and I can't quote a\nnoble Roman as you can, to the praise of my conscience!) and _you_\nwill be hurried at last, lest you should not be in time for Mr.\nForster. On the other hand, I will not let you be rude to the _Daily\nNews_, ... no, nor to the _Examiner_. Come on Tuesday, then, instead\nof Monday, and let us have the usual hours in a peaceable way,--and if\nthere is no obstacle,--that is, if Mr. Kenyon or some equivalent\nauthority should not take note of your being here on Tuesday, why you\ncan come again on the Saturday afterwards--I do not see the\ndifficulty. Are we agreed? On Tuesday, at three o'clock. Consider,\nbesides, that the Monday arrangement would hurry you in every manner,\nand leave you fagged for the evening--no, I will not hear of it. Not\non my account, not on yours!\n\nThink of me on Monday instead, and write before. Are not these two\nlawful letters? And do not they deserve an answer?\n\nMy life was ended when I knew you, and if I survive myself it is for\nyour sake:--_that_ resumes all my feelings and intentions in respect\nto you. No 'counsel' could make the difference of a grain of dust in\nthe balance. It _is so_, and not otherwise. If you changed towards me,\nit would be better for you I believe--and I should be only where I was\nbefore. While you do _not_ change, I look to you for my first\naffections and my first duty--and nothing but your bidding me, could\nmake me look away.\n\nIn the midst of this, Mr. Kenyon came and I felt as if I could not\ntalk to him. No--he does not 'see how it is.' He may have passing\nthoughts sometimes, but they do not stay long enough to produce--even\nan opinion. He asked if you had been here long.\n\nIt may be wrong and ungrateful, but I do wish sometimes that the world\nwere away--even the good Kenyon-aspect of the world.\n\nAnd so, once more--may God bless you!\n\n I am wholly yours--\n\n_Tuesday_, remember! And say that you agree.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, January 17, 1846.]\n\nDid my own Ba, in the prosecution of her studies, get to a book on the\nforb--no, _un_forbidden shelf--wherein Voltaire pleases to say that\n'si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer'? I feel, after\nreading these letters,--as ordinarily after seeing you, sweetest, or\nhearing from you,--that if _marriage_ did not exist, I should\ninfallibly _invent_ it. I should say, no words, no _feelings_ even,\ndo justice to the whole conviction and _religion_ of my soul--and\nthough they may be suffered to represent some one minute's phase of\nit, yet, in their very fulness and passion they do injustice to the\n_unrepresented, other minute's_, depth and breadth of love ... which\nlet my whole life (I would say) be devoted to telling and proving and\nexemplifying, if not in one, then in another way--let me have the\nplain palpable power of this; the assured time for this ... something\nof the satisfaction ... (but for the fantasticalness of the\nillustration) ... something like the earnestness of some suitor in\nChancery if he could once get Lord Lyndhurst into a room with him, and\nlock the door on them both, and know that his whole story _must_ be\nlistened to now, and the 'rights of it,'--dearest, the love unspoken\nnow you are to hear 'in all time of our tribulation, in all time of\nour wealth ... at the hour of death, and'--\n\nIf I did not _know_ this was so,--nothing would have been said, or\nsought for. Your friendship, the perfect pride in it, the wish for,\nand eager co-operation in, your welfare, all that is different, and,\nseen now, nothing.\n\nI will care for it no more, dearest--I am wedded to you now. I believe\nno human being could love you more--that thought consoles me for my\nown imperfection--for when _that_ does strike me, as so often it will,\nI turn round on my pursuing self, and ask 'What if it were a claim\nthen, what is in Her, demanded rationally, equitably, in return for\nwhat were in you--do you like _that_ way!'--And I do _not_, Ba--you,\neven, might not--when people everyday buy improveable ground, and\neligible sites for building, and don't want every inch filled up,\ncovered over, done to their hands! So take me, and make me what you\ncan and will--and though never to be _more_ yours, yet more _like_\nyou, I may and must be--Yes, indeed--best, only love!\n\nAnd am I not grateful to your sisters--entirely grateful for that\ncrowning comfort; it is 'miraculous,' too, if you please--for _you_\nshall know me by finger-tip intelligence or any art magic of old or\nnew times--but they do not see me, know me--and must moreover be\njealous of you, chary of you, as the daughters of Hesperus, of\nwonderers and wistful lookers up at the gold apple--yet instead of\n'rapidly levelling eager eyes'--they are indulgent? Then--shall I wish\ncapriciously they were _not_ your sisters, not so near you, that there\nmight be a kind of grace in loving them for it'--but what grace can\nthere be when ... yes, I will tell you--_no_, I will not--it is\nfoolish!--and it is _not_ foolish in me to love the table and chairs\nand vases in your room.\n\nLet me finish writing to-morrow; it would not become me to utter a\nword against the arrangement--and Saturday promised, too--but though\nall concludes against the early hour on Monday, yet--but this is\nwrong--on Tuesday it shall be, then,--thank you, dearest! you let me\nkeep up the old proper form, do you not?--I shall continue to thank,\nand be gratified &c. as if I had some untouched fund of thanks at my\ndisposal to cut a generous figure with on occasion! And so, now, for\nyour kind considerateness thank _you ... that I say_, which, God\nknows, _could_ not say, if I died ten deaths in one to do you good,\n'you are repaid'--\n\nTo-morrow I will write, and answer more. I am pretty well, and will go\nout to-day--to-night. My Act is done, and copied--I will bring it. Do\nyou see the _Athenæum_? By Chorley surely--and kind and satisfactory.\nI did not expect any notice for a long time--all that about the\n'mist,' 'unchanged manner' and the like is politic concession to the\nPowers that Be ... because he might tell me that and much more with\nhis own lips or unprofessional pen, and be thanked into the bargain,\nyet he does not. But I fancy he saves me from a rougher hand--the long\nextracts answer every purpose--\n\nThere is all to say yet--to-morrow!\n\nAnd ever, ever your own; God bless you!\n\n R.\n\nAdmire the clean paper.... I did not notice that I have been writing in\na desk where a candle fell! See the bottoms of the other pages!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, January 19, 1846.]\n\nYou may have seen, I put off all the weighty business part of the\nletter--but I shall do very little with it now. To be sure, a few\nwords will serve, because you understand me, and believe in _enough_\nof me. First, then, I am wholly satisfied, thoroughly made happy in\nyour assurance. I would build up an infinity of lives, if I could plan\nthem, one on the other, and all resting on you, on your word--I fully\nbelieve in it,--of my feeling, the gratitude, let there be no attempt\nto speak. And for 'waiting'; 'not hurrying',--I leave all with you\nhenceforth--all you say is most wise, most convincing.\n\nOn the saddest part of all,--silence. You understand, and I can\nunderstand through you. Do you know, that I never _used_ to dream\nunless indisposed, and rarely then--(of late I dream of you, but quite\nof late)--and _those_ nightmare dreams have invariably been of _one_\nsort. I stand by (powerless to interpose by a word even) and see the\ninfliction of tyranny on the unresisting man or beast (generally the\nlast)--and I wake just in time not to die: let no one try this kind of\nexperiment on me or mine! Though I have observed that by a felicitous\narrangement, the man with the whip puts it into use with an old horse\ncommonly. I once knew a fine specimen of the boilingly passionate,\ndesperately respectable on the Eastern principle that reverences a\nmadman--and this fellow, whom it was to be death to oppose, (some\nbloodvessel was to break)--he, once at a dinner party at which I was\npresent, insulted his wife (a young pretty simple believer in his\nawful immunities from the ordinary terms that keep men in\norder)--brought the tears into her eyes and sent her from the room ...\npurely to 'show off' in the eyes of his guests ... (all males,\nlaw-friends &c., he being a lawyer.) This feat accomplished, he, too,\nleft us with an affectation of compensating relentment, to 'just say a\nword and return'--and no sooner was his back to the door than the\nbiggest, stupidest of the company began to remark 'what a fortunate\nthing it was that Mr. So-and-so had such a submissive wife--not one of\nthe women who would resist--that is, attempt to resist--and so\nexasperate our gentleman into ... Heaven only knew what!' I said it\n_was_, in one sense, a fortunate thing; because one of these women,\nwithout necessarily being the lion-tressed Bellona, would richly give\nhim his desert, I thought--'Oh, indeed?' No--_this_ man was not to be\nopposed--wait, you might, till the fit was over, and then try what\nkind argument would do--and so forth to unspeakable nausea. Presently\nwe went up-stairs--there sate the wife with dried eyes, and a smile at\nthe tea-table--and by her, in all the pride of conquest, with her hand\nin his, our friend--disposed to be very good-natured of course. I\nlistened _arrectis auribus_, and in a minute he said he did not know\nsomebody I mentioned. I told him, _that_ I easily conceived--such a\nperson would never condescend to know _him_, &c., and treated him to\nevery consequence ingenuity could draw from that text--and at the end\nmarched out of the room; and the valorous man, who had sate like a\npost, got up, took a candle, followed me to the door, and only said in\nunfeigned wonder, 'What _can_ have possessed you, my _dear_ B?'--All\nwhich I as much expected beforehand, as that the above mentioned man\nof the whip keeps quiet in the presence of an ordinary-couraged dog.\nAll this is quite irrelevant to _the_ case--indeed, I write to get rid\nof the thought altogether. But I do hold it the most stringent duty of\nall who can, to stop a condition, a relation of one human being to\nanother which God never allowed to exist between Him and ourselves.\n_Trees_ live and die, if you please, and accept will for a law--but\nwith us, all commands surely refer to a previously-implanted\nconviction in ourselves of their rationality and justice. Or why\ndeclare that 'the Lord _is_ holy, just and good' unless there is\nrecognised and independent conception of holiness and goodness, to\nwhich the subsequent assertion is referable? 'You know what _holiness_\nis, what it is to be good? Then, He _is_ that'--not, '_that_ is\n_so_--because _he_ is that'; though, of course, when once the converse\nis demonstrated, this, too, follows, and may be urged for practical\npurposes. All God's urgency, so to speak, is on the _justice_ of his\njudgments, _rightness_ of his rule: yet why? one might ask--if one\ndoes believe that the rule _is_ his; why ask further?--Because, his is\na 'reasonable service,' once for all.\n\nUnderstand why I turn my thoughts in this direction. If it is indeed\nas you fear, and no endeavour, concession, on my part will avail,\nunder any circumstances--(and by endeavour, I mean all heart and soul\ncould bring the flesh to perform)--in that case, you will not come to\nme with a shadow past hope of chasing.\n\nThe likelihood is, I over frighten myself for you, by the involuntary\ncontrast with those here--you allude to them--if I went with this\nletter downstairs and said simply 'I want this taken to the direction\nto-night, and am unwell and unable to go, will you take it now?' my\nfather would not say a word, or rather would say a dozen cheerful\nabsurdities about his 'wanting a walk,' 'just having been wishing to\ngo out' &c. At night he sits studying my works--illustrating them (I\nwill bring you drawings to make you laugh)--and _yesterday_ I picked\nup a crumpled bit of paper ... 'his notion of what a criticism on this\nlast number ought to be,--none, that have appeared, satisfying\nhim!'--So judge of what he will say! And my mother loves me just as\nmuch more as must of necessity be.\n\nOnce more, understand all this ... for the clock scares me of a\nsudden--I meant to say more--far more.\n\nBut may God bless you ever--my own dearest, my Ba--\n\n I am wholly your R.\n\n_(Tuesday)_", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, January 19, 1846.]\n\nYour letter came just after the hope of one had past--the latest\nSaturday post had gone, they said, and I was beginning to be as vexed\nas possible, looking into the long letterless Sunday. Then, suddenly\ncame the knock--the postman redivivus--just when it seemed so beyond\nhoping for--it was half past eight, observe, and there had been a post\nat nearly eight--suddenly came the knock, and your letter with it. Was\nI not glad, do you think?\n\nAnd you call the _Athenæum_ 'kind and satisfactory'? Well--I was angry\ninstead. To make us wait so long for an 'article' like _that_, was not\nover-kind certainly, nor was it 'satisfactory' to class your peculiar\nqualities with other contemporary ones, as if they were not peculiar.\nIt seemed to me cold and cautious, from the causes perhaps which you\nmention, but the extracts will work their own way with everybody who\nknows what poetry is, and for others, let the critic do his worst with\nthem. For what is said of 'mist' I have no patience because I who know\nwhen you are obscure and never think of denying it in some of your\nformer works, do hold that this last number is as clear and\nself-sufficing to a common understanding, as far as the expression and\nmedium goes, as any book in the world, and that Mr. Chorley was bound\nin verity to say so. If I except that one stanza, you know, it is to\nmake the general observation stronger. And then 'mist' is an infamous\nword for your kind of obscurity. You never _are_ misty, not even in\n'Sordello'--never vague. Your graver cuts deep sharp lines,\nalways--and there is an extra-distinctness in your images and\nthoughts, from the midst of which, crossing each other infinitely, the\ngeneral significance seems to escape. So that to talk of a 'mist,'\nwhen you are obscurest, is an impotent thing to do. Indeed it makes me\nangry.\n\nBut the suggested virtue of 'self-renunciation' only made me smile,\nbecause it is simply nonsense ... nonsense which proves itself to be\nnonsense at a glance. So genius is to renounce itself--_that_ is the\nnew critical doctrine, is it? Now is it not foolish? To recognize the\npoetical faculty of a man, and then to instruct him in\n'self-renunciation' in that very relation--or rather, to hint the\nvirtue of it, and hesitate the dislike of his doing otherwise? What\natheists these critics are after all--and how the old heathens\nunderstood the divinity of gifts better, beyond any comparison. We may\ntake shame to ourselves, looking back.\n\nNow, shall I tell you what I did yesterday? It was so warm, so warm,\nthe thermometer at 68 in this room, that I took it into my head to\ncall it April instead of January, and put on a cloak and walked\ndown-stairs into the drawing-room--walked, mind! Before, I was carried\nby one of my brothers,--even to the last autumn-day when I went out--I\nnever walked a step for fear of the cold in the passages. But\nyesterday it was so wonderfully warm, and I so strong besides--it was\na feat worthy of the day--and I surprised them all as much as if I had\nwalked out of the window instead. That kind dear Stormie, who with all\nhis shyness and awkwardness has the most loving of hearts in him, said\nthat he was '_so_ glad to see me'!\n\nWell!--setting aside the glory of it, it would have been as wise\nperhaps if I had abstained; our damp detestable climate reaches us\notherwise than by cold, and I am not quite as well as usual this\nmorning after an uncomfortable feverish night--not very unwell, mind,\nnor unwell at all in the least degree of consequence--and I tell you,\nonly to show how susceptible I really am still, though 'scarcely an\ninvalid,' say the complimenters.\n\nWhat a way I am from your letter--that letter--or seem to be\nrather--for one may think of one thing and yet go on writing\ndistrustedly of other things. So you are 'grateful' to my sisters ...\n_you_! Now I beseech you not to talk such extravagances; I mean such\nextravagances as words like these _imply_--and there are far worse\nwords than these, in the letter ... such as I need not put my finger\non; words which are sense on my lips, but no sense at all on yours,\nand which make me disquietedly sure that you are under an illusion.\nObserve!--_certainly_ I should not choose to have a '_claim_,' see!\nOnly, what I object to, in 'illusions,' 'miracles,' and things of that\nsort, is the want of continuity common to such. When Joshua caused the\nsun to stand still, it was not for a year even!--Ungrateful, I am!\n\nAnd 'pretty well' means 'not well' I am afraid--or I should be gladder\nstill of the new act. You will tell me on Tuesday what 'pretty well'\nmeans, and if your mother is better--or I may have a letter\nto-morrow--dearest! May God bless you!\n\nTo-morrow too, at half past three o'clock, how joyful I shall be that\nmy 'kind considerateness' decided not to receive you until Tuesday. My\nvery kind considerateness, which made me eat my dinner to-day!\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nA hundred letters I have, by this last, ... to set against Napoleon's\nHundred Days--did you know _that_?\n\nSo much better I am to-night: it was nothing but a little chill from\nthe damp--the fog, you see!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, January 19, 1846.]\n\nLove, if you knew but how vexed I was, so very few minutes after my\nnote left last night; how angry with the unnecessary harshness into\nwhich some of the phrases might be construed--you would forgive me,\nindeed. But, when all is confessed and forgiven, the fact\nremains--that it would be the one trial I _know_ I should not be able\nto bear; the repetition of these 'scenes'--intolerable--not to be\nwritten of, even my mind _refuses_ to form a clear conception of them.\n\nMy own loved letter is come--and the news; of which the reassuring\npostscript lets the interrupted joy flow on again. Well, and I am not\nto be grateful for that; nor that you _do_ 'eat your dinner'? Indeed\nyou will be ingenious to prevent me! I fancy myself meeting you on\n'the stairs'--stairs and passages generally, and galleries (ah, thou\nindeed!) all, with their picturesque _accidents_, of landing-places,\nand spiral heights and depths, and sudden turns and visions of half\nopen doors into what Quarles calls 'mollitious chambers'--and above\nall, _landing-places_--they are my heart's delight--I would come upon\nyou unaware in a landing-place in my next dream! One day we may walk\non the galleries round and over the inner court of the Doges' Palace\nat Venice; and read, on tablets against the wall, how such an one was\nbanished for an 'enormous dig (intacco) into the public\ntreasure'--another for ... what you are not to know because his\nfriends have got chisels and chipped away the record of it--underneath\nthe 'giants' on their stands, and in the midst of the _cortile_ the\nbronze fountains whence the girls draw water.\n\nSo _you_ too wrote French verses?--Mine were of less lofty\nargument--one couplet makes me laugh now for the reason of its false\nquantity--I translated the Ode of Alcæus; and the last couplet ran\nthus....\n\n Harmodius, et toi, cher Aristogiton!\n\n * * * * *\n\n * * * * *\n\n Comme l'astre du jour, brillera votre nom!\n\nThe fact was, I could not bear to hurt my French Master's\nfeelings--who inveterately maltreated 'ai's and oi's' and in this\ninstance, an 'ei.' But 'Pauline' is altogether of a different sort of\nprecocity--you shall see it when I can master resolution to transcribe\nthe explanation which I know is on the fly-leaf of a copy here. Of\nthat work, the _Athenæum_ said [several words erased] now, what\noutrageous folly! I care, and you care, precisely nothing about its\nsayings and doings--yet here I talk!\n\nNow to you--Ba! When I go through sweetness to sweetness, at 'Ba' I\nstop last of all, and lie and rest. That is the quintessence of them\nall,--they all take colour and flavour from that. So, dear, dear Ba,\nbe glad as you can to see me to-morrow. God knows how I embalm every\nsuch day,--I do not believe that one of the _forty_ is confounded with\nanother in my memory. So, _that_ is gained and sure for ever. And of\nletters, this makes my 104th and, like Donne's Bride,\n\n ... I take,\n My jewels from their boxes; call\n My Diamonds, Pearls, and Emeralds, and make\n Myself a constellation of them all!\n\nBless you, my own Beloved!\n\nI am much better to-day--having been not so well yesterday--whence the\nnote to you, perhaps! I put that to your charity for construction. By\nthe way, let the foolish and needless story about my whilome friend be\nof this use, that it records one of the traits in that same generous\nlove, of me, I once mentioned, I remember--one of the points in his\ncharacter which, I told you, _would_ account, if you heard them, for\nmy parting company with a good deal of warmth of attachment to myself.\n\nWhat a day! But you do not so much care for rain, I think. My Mother\nis no worse, but still suffering sadly.\n\n Ever your own, dearest ever--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, January 22, 1846.]\n\nEver since I ceased to be with you--ever dearest,--have been with your\n'Luria,' if _that_ is ceasing to be with you--which it _is_, I feel at\nlast. Yet the new act is powerful and subtle, and very affecting, it\nseems to me, after a grave, suggested pathos; the reasoning is done on\nevery hand with admirable directness and adroitness, and poor Luria's\niron baptism under such a bright crossing of swords, most miserably\ncomplete. Still ... is he to die _so_? can you mean it? Oh--indeed I\nforesaw _that_--not a guess of mine ever touched such an end--and I\ncan scarcely resign myself to it as a necessity, even now ... I mean,\nto the act, as Luria's act, whether it is final or not--the act of\nsuicide being so unheroical. But you are a dramatic poet and right\nperhaps, where, as a didactic poet, you would have been wrong, ...\nand, after the first shock, I begin to see that your Luria is the man\nLuria and that his 'sun' lights him so far and not farther than so,\nand to understand the natural reaction of all that generous trust and\nhopefulness, what naturally it would be. Also, it is satisfactory that\nDomizia, having put her woman's part off to the last, should be too\nlate with it--it will be a righteous retribution. I had fancied that\nher object was to isolate him, ... to make his military glory and\nnational recompense ring hollowly to his ears, and so commend herself,\ndrawing back the veil.\n\nPuccio's scornful working out of the low work, is very finely given,\nI think, ... and you have 'a cunning right hand,' to lift up Luria\nhigher in the mind of your readers, by the very means used to pull\ndown his fortunes--you show what a man he is by the very talk of his\nrivals ... by his 'natural godship' over Puccio. Then Husain is nobly\ncharacteristic--I like those streaks of Moorish fire in his speeches.\n'Why 'twas all fighting' &c. ... _that_ passage perhaps is over-subtle\nfor a Husain--but too nobly right in the abstract to be altered, if it\nis so or not. Domizia talks philosophically besides, and how\neloquently;--and very noble she is where she proclaims\n\n The angel in thee and rejects the sprites\n That ineffectual crowd about his strength,\n And mingle with his work and claim a share!--\n\nBut why not 'spirits' rather than 'sprites,' which has a different\nassociation by custom? 'Spirits' is quite short enough, it seems to\nme, for a last word--it sounds like a monosyllable that trembles--or\nthrills, rather. And, do you know, I agree with yourself a little when\nyou say (as did you _not_ say?) that some of the speeches--Domizia's\nfor instance--are too lengthy. I think I should like them to coil up\ntheir strength, here and there, in a few passages. Luria ... poor\nLuria ... is great and pathetic when he stands alone at last, and 'all\nhis waves have gone over him.' Poor Luria!--And now, I wonder where\nMr. Chorley will look, in this work,--along all the edges of the\nhills,--to find, or prove, his favourite 'mist!' On the glass of his\nown opera-lorgnon, perhaps:--shall we ask him to try _that_?\n\nBut first, I want to ask _you_ something--I have had it in my head a\nlong time, but it might as well have been in a box--and indeed if it\nhad been in the box with your letters, I should have remembered to\nspeak of it long ago. So now, at last, tell me--how do you write, O my\npoet? with steel pens, or Bramah pens, or goose-quills or\ncrow-quills?--Because I have a penholder which was given to me when I\nwas a child, and which I have used both then and since in the\nproduction of various great epics and immortal 'works,' until in these\nlatter years it has seemed to me too heavy, and I have taken into\nservice, instead of it, another two-inch-long instrument which makes\nMr. Kenyon laugh to look at--and so, my fancy has run upon your having\nthe heavier holder, which is not very heavy after all, and which will\nmake you think of me whether you choose it or not, besides being made\nof a splinter from the ivory gate of old, and therefore not unworthy\nof a true prophet. Will you have it, dearest? Yes--because you can't\nhelp it. When you come ... on Saturday!--\n\nAnd for 'Pauline,' ... I am satisfied with the promise to see it some\nday ... when we are in the isle of the sirens, or ready for wandering\nin the Doges' galleries. I seem to understand that you would really\nrather wish me not to see it now ... and as long as I _do_ see it! So\n_that shall_ be!--Am I not good now, and not a teazer? If there is any\npoetical justice in 'the seven worlds,' I shall have a letter\nto-night.\n\nBy the way, you owe me two letters by your confession. A hundred and\nfour of mine you have, and I, only a hundred and two of yours ...\nwhich is a 'deficit' scarcely creditable to me, (now is it?) when,\naccording to the law and ordinance, a woman's hundred and four letters\nwould take two hundred and eight at least, from the other side, to\njustify them. Well--I feel inclined to wring out the legal per centage\nto the uttermost farthing; but fall into a fit of gratitude,\nnotwithstanding, thinking of Monday, and how the second letter came\nbeyond hope. Always better, you are, than I guess you to be,--and it\nwas being _best_, to write, as you did, for me to hear twice on one\nday!--best and dearest!\n\nBut the first letter was not what you feared--I know you too well not\nto know how that letter was written and with what intention. _Do\nyou_, on the other hand, endeavour to comprehend how there may be an\neccentricity and obliquity in certain relations and on certain\nsubjects, while the general character stands up worthily of esteem and\nregard--even of yours. Mr. Kenyon says broadly that it is\nmonomania--neither more nor less. Then the principle of passive filial\nobedience is held--drawn (and quartered) from Scripture. He _sees_ the\nlaw and the gospel on his side. Only the other day, there was a\nsetting forth of the whole doctrine, I hear, down-stairs--'passive\nobedience, and particularly in respect to marriage.' One after the\nother, my brothers all walked out of the room, and there was left for\nsole auditor, Captain Surtees Cook, who had especial reasons for\nsitting it out against his will,--so he sate and asked 'if children\nwere to be considered slaves' as meekly as if he were asking for\ninformation. I could not help smiling when I heard of it. He is just\n_succeeding_ in obtaining what is called an 'adjutancy,' which, with\nthe half pay, will put an end to many anxieties.\n\nDearest--when, in the next dream, you meet me in the 'landing-place,'\ntell me why I am to stand up to be reviewed again. What a fancy,\n_that_ is of yours, for 'full-lengths'--and what bad policy, if a\nfancy, to talk of it so! because you would have had the glory and\nadvantage, and privilege, of seeing me on my feet twenty times before\nnow, if you had not impressed on me, in some ineffable manner, that to\nstand on my head would scarcely be stranger. Nevertheless you shall\nhave it your own way, as you have everything--which makes you so very,\nvery, exemplarily submissive, you know!\n\nMr. Kenyon does not come--puts it off to _Saturday_ perhaps.\n\nThe _Daily News_ I have had a glance at. A weak leading article, I\nthought ... and nothing stronger from Ireland:--but enough\nadvertisements to promise a long future. What do you think? or have\nyou not seen the paper? No broad principles laid down. A mere\nnewspaper-support of the 'League.'\n\nMay God bless you. Say how you are--and _do_ walk, and 'care' for\nyourself,\n\n and, so, for your own\n\n _Ba_.\n\nHave I expressed to you at all how 'Luria' impresses _me_ more and\nmore? You shall see the 'remarks' with the other papers--the details\nof what strikes me.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, January 22, 1846.]\n\nBut you did _not_ get the letter last evening--no, for all my good\nintentions--because somebody came over in the morning and forced me to\ngo out ... and, perhaps, I _knew_ what was coming, and had all my\nthoughts _there_, that is, _here_ now, with my own letters from you. I\nthink so--for this punishment, I will tell you, came for some sin or\nother last night. I woke--late, or early--and, in one of those lucid\nmoments when all things are thoroughly _perceived_,--whether suggested\nby some forgotten passage in the past sleep itself, I don't know--but\nI seem to _apprehend_, comprehend entirely, for the first time, what\nwould happen if I lost you--the whole sense of that _closed door_ of\nCatarina's came on me at once, and it was _I_ who said--not as quoting\nor adapting another's words, but spontaneously, unavoidably, '_In that\ndoor, you will not enter, I have_'.... And, dearest, the\n\nUnwritten it must remain.\n\nWhat is on the other leaf, no ill-omen, after all,--because I\nstrengthened myself against a merely imaginary evil--as I do always;\nand _thus_--I know I never can lose you,--you surely are more mine,\nthere is less for the future to give or take away than in the\nordinary cases, where so much less is known, explained, possessed, as\nwith us. Understand for me, my dearest--\n\nAnd do you think, sweet, that there _is_ any free movement of my soul\nwhich your penholder is to secure? Well, try,--it will be yours by\nevery right of discovery--and I, for my part, will religiously report\nto you the first time I think of you 'which, but for your present I\nshould not have done'--or is it not a happy, most happy way of\nensuring a better fifth act to Luria than the foregoing? See the\nabsurdity I write--when it will be more probably the ruin of the\nwhole--for was it not observed in the case of a friend of mine once,\nwho wrote his own part in a piece for private theatricals, and had\nends of his own to serve in it,--that he set to work somewhat after\nthis fashion: 'Scene 1st. A breakfast chamber--Lord and Lady A. at\ntable--Lady A./ No more coffee my dear?--Lord A./ One more cup!\n(_Embracing her_). Lady A./ I was thinking of trying the ponies in the\nPark--are you engaged? Lord A./ Why, there's that bore of a Committee\nat the House till 2. (_Kissing her hand_).' And so forth, to the\nastonishment of the auditory, who did not exactly see the 'sequitur'\nin either instance. Well, dearest, whatever comes of it, the 'aside,'\nthe bye-play, the digression, will be the best, and only true business\nof the piece. And though I must smile at your notion of securing\n_that_ by any fresh appliance, mechanical or spiritual, yet I do thank\nyou, dearest, thank you from my heart indeed--(and I write with\nBramahs _always_--not being able to make a pen!)\n\nIf you have gone so far with 'Luria,' I fancy myself nearly or\naltogether safe. I must not tell you, but I wished just these feelings\nto be in your mind about Domizia, and the death of Luria: the last act\nthrows light back on all, I hope. Observe only, that Luria _would_\nstand, if I have plied him effectually with adverse influences, in\nsuch a position as to render any other end impossible without the hurt\nto Florence which his religion is, to avoid inflicting--passively\nawaiting, for instance, the sentence and punishment to come at night,\nwould as surely inflict it as taking part with her foes. His aim is to\nprevent the harm she will do herself by striking him, so he moves\naside from the blow. But I know there is very much to improve and\nheighten in this fourth act, as in the others--but the right aspect of\nthings seems obtained and the rest of the work is plain and easy.\n\nI am obliged to leave off--the rest to-morrow--and then dear,\nSaturday! I love you utterly, my own best, dearest--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Night.\n [Post-mark, January 23, 1846.]\n\nYes, I understand your 'Luria'--and there is to be more light; and I\nopen the window to the east and wait for it--a little less gladly than\nfor _you_ on Saturday, dearest. In the meanwhile you have 'lucid\nmoments,' and 'strengthen' yourself into the wisdom of learning to\nlove me--and, upon consideration, it does not seem to be so hard after\nall ... there is 'less for the future to take away' than you had\nsupposed--so _that_ is the way? Ah, 'these lucid moments, in which all\nthings are thoroughly _perceived_';--what harm they do me!--And I am\nto 'understand for you,' you say!--Am I?\n\nOn the other side, and to make the good omen complete, I remembered,\nafter I had sealed my last letter, having made a confusion between the\nivory and horn gates, the gates of false and true visions, as I am apt\nto do--and my penholder belongs to the ivory gate, ... as you will\nperceive in your lucid moments--poor holder! But, as you forget me on\nWednesdays, the post testifying, ... the sinecure may not be quite so\ncertain as the Thursday's letter says. And _I_ too, in the meanwhile,\ngrow wiser, ... having learnt something which you cannot do,--you of\nthe 'Bells and Pomegranates': _You cannot make a pen._ Yesterday I\nlooked round the world in vain for it.\n\nMr. Kenyon does not come--_will_ not perhaps until Saturday! Which\nreminds me--Mr. Kenyon told me about a year ago that he had been\npainfully employed that morning in _parting_ two--dearer than\nfriends--and he had done it he said, by proving to either, that he or\nshe was likely to mar the prospects of the other. 'If I had spoken to\neach, of himself or herself,' he said, 'I _never could have done it_.'\n\nWas not _that_ an ingenious cruelty? The remembrance rose up in me\nlike a ghost, and made me ask you once to promise what you promised\n... (you recollect?) because I could not bear to be stabbed with my\nown dagger by the hand of a third person ... _so_! When people have\nlucid moments themselves, you know, it is different.\n\nAnd _shall_ I indeed have a letter to-morrow? Or, not having the\npenholder yet, will you....\n\nGoodnight. May God bless you--\n\n Ever and wholly your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, January 23, 1846.]\n\nNow, of all perverse interpretations that ever were and never ought to\nhave been, commend me to this of Ba's--after I bade her generosity\n'understand me,' too!--which meant, 'let her pick out of my disjointed\nsentences a general meaning, if she can,--which I very well know their\nimperfect utterance would not give to one unsupplied with the key of\nmy whole heart's-mystery'--and Ba, with the key in her hand, to\npretend and poke feathers and penholders into the key-hole, and\ncomplain that the wards are wrong! So--when the poor scholar, one has\nread of, uses not very dissimilar language and argument--who being\nthreatened with the deprivation of his Virgil learnt the Æneid by\nheart and then said 'Take what you can now'!--_that_ Ba calls\n'feeling the loss would not be so hard after all'!--_I_ do not, at\nleast. And if at any future moment I should again be visited--as I\nearnestly desire may never be the case--with a sudden consciousness of\nthe entire inutility of all earthly love (since of _my_ love) to hold\nits object back from the decree of God, if such should call it away;\none of those known facts which, for practical good, we treat as\nsupremely common-place, but which, like those of the uncertainty of\nlife--the very existence of God, I may say--if they were _not_\ncommon-place, and could they be thoroughly apprehended (except in the\nchance minutes which make one grow old, not the mere years)--the\nbusiness of the world would cease; but when you find Chaucer's graver\nat his work of 'graving smale seles' by the sun's light, you know that\nthe sun's self could not have been _created_ on that day--do you\n'understand' that, Ba? And when I am with you, or here or writing or\nwalking--and perfectly happy in the sunshine of you, I very well know\nI am no wiser than is good for me and that there seems no harm in\nfeeling it impossible this should change, or fail to go on increasing\ntill this world ends and we are safe, I with you, for ever. But\nwhen--if only _once_, as I told you, recording it for its very\nstrangeness, I _do_ feel--in a flash--that words are words, and could\nnot alter _that_ decree ... will you tell me how, after all, that\nconviction and the true woe of it are better met than by the as\nthorough conviction that, for one blessing, the extreme woe is\n_impossible_ now--that you _are_, and have been, _mine_, and _me_--one\nwith me, never to be parted--so that the complete separation not being\nto be thought of, such an incomplete one as is yet in Fate's power may\nbe the less likely to attract her notice? And, dearest, in all\nemergencies, see, I go to you for help; for your gift of better\ncomfort than is found in myself. Or ought I, if I could, to add one\nmore proof to the Greek proverb 'that the half is greater than the\nwhole'--and only love you for myself (it is absurd; but if I _could_\ndisentwine you from my soul in that sense), only see my own will, and\ngood (not in _your_ will and good, as I now see them and shall ever\nsee) ... should you say I _did_ love you then? Perhaps. And it would\nhave been better for me, I know--I should not have _written_ this or\nthe like--there being no post in the Siren's isle, as you will see.\n\nAnd the end of the whole matter is--what? Not by any means what my Ba\nexpects or ought to expect; that I say with a flounce 'Catch me\nblotting down on paper, again, the first vague impressions in the\nweakest words and being sure I have only to bid her\n\"understand\"!--when I can get \"Blair on Rhetoric,\" and the additional\nchapter on the proper conduct of a letter'! On the contrary I tell\nyou, Ba, my own heart's dearest, I will provoke you tenfold worse;\nwill tell you all that comes uppermost, and what frightens me or\nreassures me, in moments lucid or opaque--and when all the pen-stumps\nand holders refuse to open the lock, out will come the key perforce;\nand once put that knowledge--of the entire love and worship of my\nheart and soul--to its proper use, and all will be clear--tell me\nto-morrow that it will be clear when I call you to account and exact\nstrict payment for every word and phrase and full-stop and partial\nstop, and no stop at all, in this wicked little note which got so\ntreacherously the kisses and the thankfulness--written with no\npenholder that is to belong to me, I hope--but with the feather,\npossibly, which Sycorax wiped the dew from, as Caliban remembered when\nhe was angry! All but--(that is, all was wrong but)--to be just ...\nthe old, dear, so dear ending which makes my heart beat now as at\nfirst ... and so, pays for all! Wherefore, all is right again, is it\nnot? and you are my own priceless Ba, my very own--and I will have\nyou, if you like that style, and want you, and must have you every day\nand all day long--much less see you to-morrow _stand_--\n\n... Now, there breaks down my new spirit--and, shame or no, I must\npray you, in the old way, _not_ to _receive me standing_--I should not\nremain master of myself I do believe!\n\nYou have put out of my head all I intended to write--and now I slowly\nbegin to remember the matters they seem strangely unimportant--that\npoor impotency of a Newspaper! No--nothing of that for the present.\nTo-morrow my dearest! Ba's first comment--'_To-morrow?_ _To-day_ is\ntoo soon, it seems--yet it is wise, perhaps, to avoid the satiety &c.\n&c. &c. &c. &c.'\n\nDoes she feel how I kissed that comment back on her dear self as fit\npunishment?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, January 26, 1846.]\n\nI must begin by invoking my own stupidity! To forget after all the\npenholder! I had put it close beside me too on the table, and never\nonce thought of it afterwards from first to last--just as I should do\nif I had a common-place book, the memoranda all turning to\nobliviscenda as by particular contact. So I shall send the holder with\nMiss Martineau's books which you can read or not as you like ... they\nhave beauty in passages ... but, trained up against the wall of a set\ndesign, want room for branching and blossoming, great as her skill is.\nI like her 'Playfellow' stories twice as well. Do you know _them_?\nWritten for children, and in such a fine heroic child-spirit as to be\ntoo young and too old for nobody. Oh, and I send you besides a most\nfrightful extract from an American magazine sent to me yesterday ...\nno, the day before ... on the subject of mesmerism--and you are to\nunderstand, if you please, that the Mr. Edgar Poe who stands committed\nin it, is my dedicator ... whose dedication I forgot, by the way, with\nthe rest--so, while I am sending, you shall have his poems with his\nmesmeric experience and decide whether the outrageous compliment to\nE.B.B. or the experiment on M. Vandeleur [Valdemar] goes furthest to\nprove him mad. There is poetry in the man, though, now and then, seen\nbetween the great gaps of bathos.... 'Politian' will make you\nlaugh--as the 'Raven' made _me_ laugh, though with something in it\nwhich accounts for the hold it took upon people such as Mr. N.P.\nWillis and his peers--it was sent to me from _four_ different quarters\nbesides the author himself, before its publication in this form, and\nwhen it had only a newspaper life. Some of the other lyrics have power\nof a less questionable sort. For the author, I do not know him at\nall--never heard from him nor wrote to him--and in my opinion, there\nis more faculty shown in the account of that horrible mesmeric\nexperience (mad or not mad) than in his poems. Now do read it from the\nbeginning to the end. That '_going out_' of the hectic, struck me very\nmuch ... and the writhing _away_ of the upper lip. Most\nhorrible!--Then I believe so much of mesmerism, as to give room for\nthe full acting of the story on me ... without absolutely giving full\ncredence to it, understand.\n\nEver dearest, you could not think me in earnest in that letter? It was\nbecause I understood you so perfectly that I felt at liberty for the\njesting a little--for had I not thought of _that_ before, myself, and\nwas I not reproved for speaking of it, when I said that I was content,\nfor my part, even _so_? Surely you remember--and I should not have\nsaid it if I had not felt with you, felt and known, that 'there is,\nwith us, less for the future to give or take away than in the ordinary\ncases.' So much less! All the happiness I have known has come to me\nthrough you, and it is enough to live for or die in--therefore living\nor dying I would thank God, and use that word '_enough_' ... being\nyours in life and death. And always understanding that if either of us\nshould go, you must let it be this one here who was nearly gone when\nshe knew you, since I could not bear--\n\nNow see if it is possible to write on this subject, unless one laughs\nto stop the tears. I was more wise on Friday.\n\nLet me tell you instead of my sister's affairs, which are so publicly\ntalked of in this house that there is no confidence to be broken in\nrespect to them--yet my brothers only see and hear, and are told\nnothing, to keep them as clear as possible from responsibility. I may\nsay of Henrietta that her only fault is, her virtues being written in\nwater--I know not of one other fault. She has too much softness to be\nable to say 'no' in the right place--and thus, without the slightest\nlevity ... perfectly blameless in that respect, ... she says half a\nyes or a quarter of a yes, or a yes in some sort of form, too\noften--but I will tell you. Two years ago, three men were loving her,\nas they called it. After a few months, and the proper quantity of\ninterpretations, one of them consoled himself by giving nick-names to\nhis rivals. Perseverance and Despair he called them, and so, went up\nto the boxes to see out the rest of the play. Despair ran to a crisis,\nwas rejected in so many words, but appealed against the judgment and\nhad his claim admitted--it was all silence and mildness on each side\n... a tacit gaining of ground,--Despair 'was at least a gentleman,'\nsaid my brothers. On which Perseverance came on with violent\nre-iterations,--insisted that she loved him without knowing it, or\n_should_--elbowed poor Despair into the open streets, who being a\ngentleman wouldn't elbow again--swore that 'if she married another he\nwould wait till she became a widow, trusting to Providence' ... _did_\nwait every morning till the head of the house was out, and sate day by\nday, in spite of the disinclination of my sisters and the rudeness of\nall my brothers, four hours in the drawing-room ... let himself be\nrefused once a week and sate all the longer ... allowed everybody in\nthe house (and a few visitors) to see and hear him in fits of\nhysterical sobbing, and sate on unabashed, the end being that he sits\nnow sole regnant, my poor sister saying softly, with a few tears of\nremorse for her own instability, that she is 'taken by storm and\ncannot help it.' I give you only the _résumé_ of this military\nmovement--and though I seem to smile, which it was impossible to avoid\nat some points of the evidence as I heard it from first one person and\nthen another, yet I am woman enough rather to be glad that the\ndecision is made _so_. He is sincerely attached to her, I believe; and\nthe want of refinement and sensibility (for he understood her\naffections to be engaged to another at one time) is covered in a\nmeasure by the earnestness,--and justified too by the event--everybody\nbeing quite happy and contented, even to Despair, who has a new horse\nand takes lessons in music.\n\nThat's love--is it not? And that's my answer (if you look for it) to\nthe question you asked me yesterday.\n\nYet do not think that I am turning it all to game. I could not do so\nwith any real earnest sentiment ... I never could ... and now least,\nand with my own sister whom I love so. One may smile to oneself and\nyet wish another well--and so I smile to _you_--and it is all safe\nwith you I know. He is a second or third cousin of ours and has golden\nopinions from all his friends and fellow-officers--and for the rest,\nmost of these men are like one another.... I never could see the\ndifference between fuller's earth and common clay, among them all.\n\nWhat do you think he has said since--to _her_ too?--'I always\npersevere about everything. Once I began to write a farce--which they\ntold me was as bad as could be. Well!--I persevered!--_I finished\nit_.' Perfectly unconscious, both he and she were of there being\nanything mal à propos in _that_--and no kind of harm was meant,--only\nit expresses the man.\n\nDearest--it had better be Thursday I think--_our_ day! I was showing\nto-day your father's drawings,--and my brothers, and Arabel besides,\nadmired them very much on the right grounds. Say how you are. You did\nnot seem to me to answer frankly this time, and I was more than half\nuneasy when you went away. Take exercise, dear, dearest ... think of\nme enough for it,--and do not hurry 'Luria.' May God bless you!\n\n Your own\n\n _Ba._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, January 26, 1846.]\n\nI will not try and write much to-night, dearest, for my head gives a\nlittle warning--and I have so much to think of!--spite of my penholder\nbeing kept back from me after all! Now, ought I to have asked for it?\nOr did I not seem grateful enough at the promise? This last would be a\ncharacteristic reason, seeing that I reproached myself with feeling\n_too_ grateful for the 'special symbol'--the 'essential meaning' of\nwhich was already in my soul. Well then, I will--I do pray for\nit--next time; and I will keep it for that one yesterday and all its\nmemories--and it shall bear witness against me, if, on the Siren's\nisle, I grow forgetful of Wimpole Street. And when is 'next time' to\nbe--Wednesday or Thursday? When I look back on the strangely steady\nwidening of my horizon--how no least interruption has occurred to\nvisits or letters--oh, care _you_, sweet--care for us both!\n\nThat remark of your sister's delights me--you remember?--that the\nanger would not be so formidable. I have exactly the fear of\nencountering _that_, which the sense of having to deal with a ghost\nwould induce: there's no striking at it with one's partizan. Well, God\nis above all! It is not my fault if it so happens that by returning my\nlove you make me exquisitely blessed; I believe--more than hope, I am\n_sure_ I should do all I ever _now_ can do, if you were never to know\nit--that is, my love for you was in the first instance its own\nreward--if one must use such phrases--and if it were possible for\nthat ... not _anger_, which is of no good, but that _opposition_--that\nadverse will--to show that your good would be attained by the--\n\nBut it would need to be _shown_ to me. You have said thus to me--in\nthe very last letter, indeed. But with me, or any _man_, the instincts\nof happiness develop themselves too unmistakably where there is\nanything like a freedom of will. The man whose heart is set on being\nrich or influential after the worldly fashion, may be found far enough\nfrom the attainment of either riches or influence--but he will be in\nthe presumed way to them--pumping at the pump, if he is really anxious\nfor water, even though the pump be dry--but not sitting still by the\ndusty roadside.\n\nI believe--first of all, you--but when that is done, and I am allowed\nto call your heart _mine_,--I cannot think you would be happy if\nparted from me--and _that_ belief, coming to add to my own feeling in\n_that_ case. So, this will _be_--I trust in God.\n\nIn life, in death, I am your own, _my_ own! My head has got well\nalready! It is so slight a thing, that I make such an ado about! Do\nnot reply to these bodings--they are gone--they seem absurd! All steps\nsecured but the last, and that last the easiest! Yes--far easiest! For\nfirst you had to be created, only that; and then, in my time; and\nthen, not in Timbuctoo but Wimpole Street, and then ... the strange\nhedge round the sleeping Palace keeping the world off--and then ...\nall was to begin, all the difficulty only _begin_:--and now ... see\nwhere is reached! And I kiss you, and bless you, my dearest, in\nearnest of the end!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, January 27, 1846.]\n\nYou have had my letter and heard about the penholder. Your fancy of\n'not seeming grateful enough,' is not wise enough for _you_, dearest;\nwhen you know that _I_ know your common fault to be the undue\nmagnifying of everything that comes from me, and I am always\ncomplaining of it outwardly and inwardly. That suddenly I should set\nabout desiring you to be more grateful,--even for so great a boon as\nan old penholder,--would be a more astounding change than any to be\nsought or seen in a prime minister.\n\nAnother mistake you made concerning Henrietta and her opinion--and\nthere's no use nor comfort in leaving you in it. Henrietta says that\nthe 'anger would not be so formidable after all'! Poor dearest\nHenrietta, who trembles at the least bending of the brows ... who has\nless courage than I, and the same views of the future! What she\nreferred to, was simply the infrequency of the visits. 'Why was I\nafraid,' she said--'where was the danger? who would be the\n_informer_?'--Well! I will not say any more. It is just natural that\nyou, in your circumstances and associations, should be unable to see\nwhat I have seen from the beginning--only you will not hereafter\nreproach me, in the most secret of your thoughts, for not having told\nyou plainly. If I could have told you with greater plainness I should\nblame myself (and I do not) because it is not an opinion I have, but a\nperception. I see, I know. The result ... the end of all ... perhaps\nnow and then I see _that_ too ... in the 'lucid moments' which are not\nthe happiest for anybody. Remember, in all cases, that I shall not\nrepent of any part of our past intercourse; and that, therefore, when\nthe time for decision comes, you will be free to look at the question\nas if you saw it then for the first moment, without being hampered by\nconsiderations about 'all those yesterdays.'\n\nFor _him_ ... he would rather see me dead at his foot than yield the\npoint: and he will say so, and mean it, and persist in the meaning.\n\nDo you ever wonder at me ... that I should write such things, and have\nwritten others so different? _I have thought that in myself very\noften._ Insincerity and injustice may seem the two ends, while I\noccupy the straight betwixt two--and I should not like you to doubt\nhow this may be! Sometimes I have begun to show you the truth, and\ntorn the paper; I _could_ not. Yet now again I am borne on to tell\nyou, ... to save you from some thoughts which you cannot help perhaps.\n\nThere has been no insincerity--nor is there injustice. I believe, I am\ncertain, I have loved him better than the rest of his children. I have\nheard the fountain within the rock, and my heart has struggled in\ntowards him through the stones of the rock ... thrust off ... dropping\noff ... turning in again and clinging! Knowing what is excellent in\nhim well, loving him as my only parent left, and for himself dearly,\nnotwithstanding that hardness and the miserable 'system' which made\nhim appear harder still, I have loved him and been proud of him for\nhis high qualities, for his courage and fortitude when he bore up so\nbravely years ago under the worldly reverses which he yet felt\nacutely--more than you and I could feel them--but the fortitude was\nadmirable. Then came the trials of love--then, I was repulsed too\noften, ... made to suffer in the suffering of those by my side ...\ndepressed by petty daily sadnesses and terrors, from which it is\npossible however for an elastic affection to rise again as past. Yet\nmy friends used to say 'You look broken-spirited'--and it was true. In\nthe midst, came my illness,--and when I was ill he grew gentler and\nlet me draw nearer than ever I had done: and after that great stroke\n... you _know_ ... though _that_ fell in the middle of a storm of\nemotion and sympathy on my part, which drove clearly against him, God\nseemed to strike our hearts together by the shock; and I was grateful\nto him for not saying aloud what I said to myself in my agony, '_If it\nhad not been for you_'...! And comparing my self-reproach to what I\nimagined his self-reproach must certainly be (for if _I_ had loved\nselfishly, _he_ had not been kind), I felt as if I could love and\nforgive him for two ... (I knowing that serene generous departed\nspirit, and seeming left to represent it) ... and I did love him\nbetter than all those left to _me_ to love in the world here. I proved\na little my affection for him, by coming to London at the risk of my\nlife rather than diminish the comfort of his home by keeping a part of\nmy family away from him. And afterwards for long and long he spoke to\nme kindly and gently, and of me affectionately and with too much\npraise; and God knows that I had as much joy as I imagined myself\ncapable of again, in the sound of his footstep on the stairs, and of\nhis voice when he prayed in this room; my best hope, as I have told\nhim since, being, to die beneath his eyes. Love is so much to me\nnaturally--it is, to all women! and it was so much to _me_ to feel\nsure at last that _he_ loved me--to forget all blame--to pull the\nweeds up from that last illusion of life:--and this, till the\nPisa-business, which threw me off, far as ever, again--farther than\never--when George said 'he could not flatter me' and I dared not\nflatter myself. But do _you_ believe that I never wrote what I did not\nfeel: I never did. And I ask one kindness more ... do not notice what\nI have written here. Let it pass. We can alter nothing by ever so many\nwords. After all, he is the victim. He isolates himself--and now and\nthen he feels it ... the cold dead silence all round, which is the\neffect of an incredible system. If he were not stronger than most men,\nhe could not bear it as he does. With such high qualities too!--so\nupright and honourable--you would esteem him, you would like him, I\nthink. And so ... dearest ... let _that_ be the last word.\n\nI dare say you have asked yourself sometimes, why it was that I never\nmanaged to draw you into the house here, so that you might make your\nown way. Now _that_ is one of the things impossible to me. I have not\ninfluence enough for _that_. George can never invite a friend of his\neven. Do you see? The people who do come here, come by particular\nlicense and association ... Capt. Surtees Cook being one of them.\nOnce ... when I was in high favour too ... I asked for Mr. Kenyon to\nbe invited to dinner--he an old college friend, and living close by\nand so affectionate to me always--I felt that he must be hurt by the\nneglect, and asked. _It was in vain._ Now, you see--\n\nMay God bless you always! I wrote all my spirits away in this letter\nyesterday, and kept it to finish to-day ... being yours every day,\nglad or sad, ever beloved!--\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, January 27, 1846.]\n\nWhy will you give me such unnecessary proofs of your goodness? Why not\nleave the books for me to take away, at all events? No--you must fold\nup, and tie round, and seal over, and be at all the pains in the world\nwith those hands I see now. But you only threaten; say you 'shall\nsend'--as yet, and nothing having come, I do pray you, if not too\nlate, to save me the shame--add to the gratitude you never can now, I\nthink ... only _think_, for you are a siren, and I don't know\ncertainly to what your magic may not extend. Thus, in not so important\na matter, I should have said, the day before yesterday, that no letter\nfrom you could make my heart rise within me, more than of old ...\nunless it should happen to be of twice the ordinary thickness ... and\n_then_ there's a fear at first lest the over-running of my dealt-out\nmeasure should be just a note of Mr. Kenyon's, for instance! But\nyesterday the very seal began with 'Ba'--Now, always seal with that\nseal my letters, dearest! Do you recollect Donne's pretty lines about\nseals?\n\n Quondam fessus Amor loquens Amato,\n Tot et tanta loquens amica, scripsit:\n Tandem et fessa manus dedit Sigillum.\n\nAnd in his own English,\n\n When love, being weary, made an end\n Of kind expressions to his friend,\n He writ; when hand could write no more,\n He gave the seal--and so left o'er.\n\n(By the way, what a mercy that he never noticed the jingle _in posse_\nof ending 'expressions' and beginning 'impressions.')\n\nHow your account of the actors in the 'Love's Labour Lost' amused me!\nI rather like, though, the notion of that steady, business-like\npursuit of love under difficulties; and the _sobbing_ proves something\nsurely! Serjt. Talfourd says--is it not he who says it?--'All tears\nare not for sorrow.' I should incline to say, from my own feeling,\nthat no tears were. They only express joy in me, or sympathy with\njoy--and so is it with you too, I should think.\n\nUnderstand that I do _not_ disbelieve in Mesmerism--I only object to\ninsufficient evidence being put forward as quite irrefragable. I keep\nan open sense on the subject--ready to be instructed; and should have\nrefused such testimony as Miss Martineau's if it had been adduced in\nsupport of something I firmly believed--'non _tali_ auxilio'--indeed,\nso has truth been harmed, and only so, from the beginning. So, I shall\nread what you bid me, and learn all I can.\n\nI am not quite so well this week--yesterday some friends came early\nand kept me at home--for which I seem to suffer a little; less,\nalready, than in the morning--so I will go out and walk away the\nwhirring ... which is all the mighty ailment. As for 'Luria' I have\nnot looked at it since I saw you--which means, saw you in the body,\nbecause last night I saw you; as I wonder if you know!\n\nThursday, and again I am with you--and you will forget nothing ... how\nthe farewell is to be returned? Ah, my dearest, sweetest Ba; how\nentirely I love you!\n\n May God bless you ever--\n\n R.\n\n2. p.m. Your parcel arrives ... the penholder; now what shall I say?\nHow am I to use so fine a thing even in writing to you? I will give it\nyou again in our Isle, and meantime keep it where my other treasures\nare--my letters and my dear ringlet.\n\nThank you--all I can thank.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, January 28, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest--I will say, as you desire, nothing on that subject--but\nthis strictly for myself: you engaged me to consult my own good in the\nkeeping or breaking our engagement; not _your_ good as it might even\nseem to me; much less seem to another. My only good in this\nworld--that against which all the world goes for nothing--is to spend\nmy life with you, and be yours. You know that when I _claim_ anything,\nit is really yourself in me--you _give_ me a right and bid me use it,\nand I, in fact, am most obeying you when I appear most exacting on my\nown account--so, in that feeling, I dare claim, once for all, and in\nall possible cases (except that dreadful one of your becoming worse\nagain ... in which case I wait till life ends with both of us), I\nclaim your promise's fulfilment--say, at the summer's end: it cannot\nbe for your good that this state of things should continue. We can go\nto Italy for a year or two and be happy as day and night are long. For\nme, I adore you. This is all unnecessary, I feel as I write: but you\nwill think of the main fact as _ordained_, granted by God, will you\nnot, dearest?--so, not to be put in doubt _ever again_--then, we can\ngo quietly thinking of after matters. Till to-morrow, and ever after,\nGod bless my heart's own, own Ba. All my soul follows you,\nlove--encircles you--and I live in being yours.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, January 31, 1846.]\n\nLet it be this way, ever dearest. If in the time of fine weather, I am\nnot ill, ... _then_ ... _not now_ ... you shall decide, and your\ndecision shall be duty and desire to me, both--I will make no\ndifficulties. Remember, in the meanwhile, that I _have_ decided to let\nit be as you shall choose ... _shall_ choose. That I love you enough\nto give you up 'for your good,' is proof (to myself at least) that I\nlove you enough for any other end:--but you thought _too much of me in\nthe last letter_. Do not mistake me. I believe and trust in all your\nwords--only you are generous unawares, as other men are selfish.\n\nMore, I meant to say of this; but you moved me as usual yesterday into\nthe sunshine, and then I am dazzled and cannot see clearly. Still I\nsee that you love me and that I am bound to you:--and 'what more need\nI see,' you may ask; while I cannot help looking out to the future, to\nthe blue ridges of the hills, to the _chances_ of your being happy\nwith me. Well! I am yours as _you_ see ... and not yours to teaze you.\nYou shall decide everything when the time comes for doing anything ...\nand from this to then, I do not, dearest, expect you to use 'the\nliberty of leaping out of the window,' unless you are sure of the\nhouse being on fire! Nobody shall push you out of the window--least of\nall, _I_.\n\nFor Italy ... you are right. We should be nearer the sun, as you say,\nand further from the world, as I think--out of hearing of the great\nstorm of gossiping, when 'scirocco is loose.' Even if you liked to\nlive altogether abroad, coming to England at intervals, it would be no\nsacrifice for me--and whether in Italy or England, we should have\nsufficient or more than sufficient means of living, without modifying\nby a line that 'good free life' of yours which you reasonably\npraise--which, if it had been necessary to modify, _we must have\nparted_, ... because I could not have borne to see you do it; though,\nthat you once offered it for my sake, I never shall forget.\n\nMr. Kenyon stayed half an hour, and asked, after you went, if you had\nbeen here long. I reproached him with what they had been doing at his\nclub (the Athenæum) in blackballing Douglas Jerrold, for want of\nsomething better to say--and he had not heard of it. There were more\nblack than white balls, and Dickens was so enraged at the repulse of\nhis friend that he gave in his own resignation like a privy\ncouncillor.\n\nBut the really bad news is of poor Tennyson--I forgot to tell you--I\nforget everything. He is seriously ill with an internal complaint and\nconfined to his bed, as George heard from a common friend. Which does\nnot prevent his writing a new poem--he has finished the second book of\nit--and it is in blank verse and a fairy tale, and called the\n'University,' the university-members being all females. If George has\nnot diluted the scheme of it with some law from the Inner Temple, I\ndon't know what to think--it makes me open my eyes. Now isn't the\nworld too old and fond of steam, for blank verse poems, in ever so\nmany books, to be written on the fairies? I hope they may cure him,\nfor the best deed they can do. He is not precisely in danger,\nunderstand--but the complaint may _run_ into danger--so the account\nwent.\n\nAnd you? how are you? Mind to tell me. May God bless you. Is Monday or\nTuesday to be _our_ day? If it were not for Mr. Kenyon I should take\ncourage and say Monday--but Tuesday and Saturday would do as\nwell--would they not?\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nShall I have a letter?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, January 31, 1846.]\n\nIt is a relief to me this time to obey your wish, and reserve further\nremark on _that_ subject till by and bye. And, whereas some people, I\nsuppose, have to lash themselves up to the due point of passion, and\nchoose the happy minutes to be as loving in as they possibly can ...\n(that is, in _expression_; the just correspondency of word to fact and\nfeeling: for _it_--the love--may be very truly _there_, at the bottom,\nwhen it is got at, and spoken out)--quite otherwise, I do really have\nto guard my tongue and set a watch on my pen ... that so I may say as\nlittle as can well be likely to be excepted to by your generosity.\nDearest, _love_ means _love_, certainly, and adoration carries its\nsense with it--and _so_, you may have received my feeling in that\nshape--but when I begin to hint at the merest putting into practice\none or the other profession, you 'fly out'--instead of keeping your\nthrone. So let this letter lie awhile, till my heart is more used to\nit, and after some days or weeks I will find as cold and quiet a\nmoment as I can, and by standing as far off you as I shall be able,\nsee more--'si _minus propè_ stes, te capiet magis.' Meanwhile, silent\nor speaking, I am yours to dispose of as that _glove_--not that hand.\n\nI must think that Mr. Kenyon sees, and knows, and ... in his goodness\n... hardly disapproves--he knows I could not avoid--escape you--for he\nknows, in a manner, what you are ... like your American; and, early in\nour intercourse, he asked me (did I tell you?) 'what I thought of his\nyoung relative'--and I considered half a second to this effect--'if he\nasked me what I thought of the Queen-diamond they showed me in the\ncrown of the Czar--and I answered truly--he would not return; \"then of\ncourse you mean to try and get it to keep.\"' So I _did_ tell the truth\nin a very few words. Well, it is no matter.\n\nI am sorry to hear of poor Tennyson's condition. The projected\nbook--title, scheme, all of it,--_that_ is astounding;--and fairies?\nIf 'Thorpes and barnes, sheep-pens and dairies--_this_ maketh that\nthere ben no fairies'--locomotives and the broad or narrow gauge must\nkeep the very ghosts of them away. But how the fashion of this world\npasses; the forms its beauty and truth take; if _we_ have the making\nof such! I went last night, out of pure shame at a broken promise, to\nhear Miss Cushman and her sister in 'Romeo and Juliet.' The whole play\ngoes ... horribly; 'speak' bids the Poet, and so M. Walladmir\n[Valdemar] moves his tongue and dispenses with his jaws. Whatever is\nslightly touched in, indicated, to give relief to something actually\ninsisted upon and drawn boldly ... _here_, you have it gone over with\nan unremitting burnt-stick, till it stares black forever! Romeo goes\nwhining about Verona by broad daylight. Yet when a schoolfellow of\nmine, I remember, began translating in class Virgil after this mode,\n'Sic fatur--so said Æneas; lachrymans--_a-crying_' ... our pedagogue\nturned on him furiously--'D'ye think Æneas made such a noise--as _you_\nshall, presently?' How easy to conceive a boyish half-melancholy,\nsmiling at itself.\n\nThen _Tuesday_, and not Monday ... and Saturday will be the nearer\nafterward. I am singularly well to-day--head quite quiet--and\nyesterday your penholder began its influence and I wrote about half my\nlast act. Writing is nothing, nor praise, nor blame, nor living, nor\ndying, but you are all my true life; May God bless you ever--\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, February 2, 1846.]\n\nSomething, you said yesterday, made me happy--'that your liking for me\ndid not come and go'--do you remember? Because there was a letter,\nwritten at a crisis long since, in which you showed yourself awfully,\nas a burning mountain, and talked of 'making the most of your\nfire-eyes,' and of having at intervals 'deep black pits of cold\nwater'!--and the lava of that letter has kept running down into my\nthoughts of you too much, until quite of late--while even yesterday I\nwas not too well instructed to be 'happy,' you see! Do not reproach\nme! I would not have 'heard your enemy say so'--it was your own word!\nAnd the other long word _idiosyncrasy_ seemed long enough to cover it;\nand it might have been a matter of temperament, I fancied, that a man\nof genius, in the mystery of his nature, should find his feelings\nsometimes like dumb notes in a piano ... should care for people at\nhalf past eleven on Tuesday, and on Wednesday at noon prefer a black\nbeetle. How you frightened me with your 'fire-eyes'! 'making the most\nof them' too! and the 'black pits,' which gaped ... _where_ did they\ngape? who could tell? Oh--but lately I have not been crossed so, of\ncourse, with those fabulous terrors--lately that horror of the burning\nmountain has grown more like a superstition than a rational fear!--and\nif I was glad ... happy ... yesterday, it was but as a tolerably\nsensible nervous man might be glad of a clearer moonlight, showing him\nthat what he had half shuddered at for a sheeted ghoule, was only a\nwhite horse on the moor. Such a great white horse!--call it the\n'mammoth horse'--the '_real_ mammoth,' this time!\n\nDearest, did I write you a cold letter the last time? Almost it seems\nso to me! the reason being that my feelings were near to overflow, and\nthat I had to hold the cup straight to prevent the possible dropping\non your purple underneath. _Your_ letter, the letter I answered, was\nin my heart ... _is_ in my heart--and all the yeses in the world would\nnot be too many for such a letter, as I felt and feel. Also, perhaps,\nI gave you, at last, a merely formal distinction--and it comes to the\nsame thing practically without any doubt! but I shrank, with a sort of\ninstinct, from appearing (to myself, mind) to take a security from\nyour words now (said too on an obvious impulse) for what should,\nwould, _must_, depend on your deliberate wishes hereafter. You\nunderstand--you will not accuse me of over-cautiousness and the like.\nOn the contrary, you are all things to me, ... instead of all and\nbetter than all! You have fallen like a great luminous blot on the\nwhole leaf of the world ... of life and time ... and I can see nothing\nbeyond you, nor wish to see it. As to all that was evil and sadness to\nme, I do not feel it any longer--it may be raining still, but I am in\nthe shelter and can scarcely tell. If you _could_ be _too dear_ to me\nyou would be now--but you could not--I do not believe in those\nsupposed excesses of pure affections--God cannot be too great.\n\nTherefore it is a conditional engagement still--all the conditions\nbeing in your hands, except the necessary one, of my health. And shall\nI tell you what is 'not to be put in doubt _ever_'?--your goodness,\n_that_ is ... and every tie that binds me to you. 'Ordained, granted\nby God' it is, that I should owe the only happiness in my life to you,\nand be contented and grateful (if it were necessary) to stop with it\nat this present point. Still I _do not_--there seems no necessity yet.\n\nMay God bless you, ever dearest:--\n\n Your own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]\n\nWell I have your letter--and I send you the postscript to my last one,\nwritten yesterday you observe ... and being simply a postscript in\nsome parts of it, _so_ far it is not for an answer. Only I deny the\n'flying out'--perhaps you may do it a little more ... in your moments\nof starry centrifugal motion.\n\nSo you think that dear Mr. Kenyon's opinion of his 'young\nrelative'--(neither young nor his relative--not very much of either!)\nis to the effect that you couldn't possibly 'escape' her--? It looks\nlike the sign of the Red Dragon, put _so_ ... and your burning\nmountain is not too awful for the scenery.\n\nSeriously ... gravely ... if it makes me three times happy that you\nshould love me, yet I grow uneasy and even saddened when you say\ninfatuated things such as this and this ... unless after all you mean\na philosophical sarcasm on the worth of Czar diamonds. No--do not say\nsuch things! If you do, I shall end by being jealous of some ideal\nCzarina who must stand between you and me.... I shall think that it is\nnot _I_ whom you look at ... and _pour cause_. 'Flying out,' _that_\nwould be!\n\nAnd for Mr. Kenyon, I only know that I have grown the most ungrateful\nof human beings lately, and find myself almost glad when he does not\ncome, certainly uncomfortable when he does--yes, _really_ I would\nrather not see him at all, and when you are not here. The sense of\nwhich and the sorrow for which, turn me to a hypocrite, and make me\nask why he does not come &c. ... questions which never came to my lips\nbefore ... till I am more and more ashamed and sorry. Will it end, I\nwonder, by my ceasing to care for any one in the world, except,\nexcept...? or is it not rather that I feel trodden down by either his\ntoo great penetration or too great unconsciousness, both being\noverwhelming things from him to me. From a similar cause I hate\nwriting letters to any of my old friends--I feel as if it were the\nmerest swindling to attempt to give the least account of myself to\nanybody, and when their letters come and I know that nothing very\nfatal has happened to them, scarcely I can read to an end afterwards\nthrough the besetting care of having to answer it all. Then I am\nignoble enough to revenge myself on people for their stupidities ...\nwhich never in my life I did before nor felt the temptation to do ...\nand when they have a distaste for your poetry through want of\nunderstanding, I have a distaste for _them_ ... cannot help it--and\nyou need not say it is wrong, because I know the whole iniquity of it,\npersisting nevertheless. As for dear Mr. Kenyon--with whom we began,\nand who thinks of you as appreciatingly and admiringly as one man can\nthink of another,--do not imagine that, if he _should_ see anything,\nhe can 'approve' of either your wisdom or my generosity, ... _he_,\nwith his large organs of caution, and his habit of looking right and\nleft, and round the corner a little way. Because, you know, ... if I\nshould be ill _before_ ... why there, is a conclusion!--but if\n_afterward_ ... what? You who talk wildly of my generosity, whereas I\nonly and most impotently tried to be generous, must see how both\nsuppositions have their possibility. Nevertheless you are the master\nto run the latter risk. You have overcome ... to your loss\nperhaps--unless the judgment is revised. As to taking the half of my\nprison ... I could not even smile at _that_ if it seemed probable ...\nI should recoil from your affection even under a shape so fatal to you\n... dearest! No! There is a better probability before us I hope and\nbelieve--in spite of the _possibility_ which it is impossible to deny.\nAnd now we leave this subject for the present.\n\n_Sunday._--You are 'singularly well.' You are very seldom quite well,\nI am afraid--yet 'Luria' seems to have done no harm this time, as you\nare singularly well the day _after_ so much writing. Yet do not hurry\nthat last act.... I won't have it for a long while yet.\n\nHere I have been reading Carlyle upon Cromwell and he is very fine,\nvery much himself, it seems to me, everywhere. Did Mr. Kenyon make you\nunderstand that I had said there was nothing in him but _manner_ ... I\nthought he said so--and I am confident that he never heard such an\nopinion from me, for good or for evil, ever at all. I may have\nobserved upon those vulgar attacks on account of the so-called\n_mannerism_, the obvious fact, that an individuality, carried into the\nmedium, the expression, is a feature in all men of genius, as Buffon\nteaches ... 'Le style, c'est _l'homme_.' But if the _whole man_ were\nstyle, if all Carlyleism were manner--why there would be no man, no\nCarlyle worth talking of. I wonder that Mr. Kenyon should misrepresent\nme so. Euphuisms there may be to the end of the world--affected\nparlances--just as a fop at heart may go without shoestrings to mimic\nthe distractions of some great wandering soul--although _that_ is a\nbad comparison, seeing that what is called Carlyle's mannerism, is not\nhis dress, but his physiognomy--or more than _that_ even.\n\nBut I do not forgive him for talking here against the 'ideals of\npoets' ... opposing their ideal by a mis-called _reality_, which is\nanother sort, a baser sort, of ideal after all. He sees things in\nbroad blazing lights--but he does not analyse them like a\nphilosopher--do you think so? Then his praise for dumb heroic action\nas opposed to speech and singing, what is _that_--when all earnest\nthought, passion, belief, and their utterances, are as much actions\nsurely as the cutting off of fifty heads by one right hand. As if\nShakespeare's actions were not greater than Cromwell's!--\n\nBut I shall write no more. Once more, may God bless you.\n\n Wholly and only\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 4, 1846.]\n\nYou ought hardly,--ought you, my Ba?--to refer to _that_ letter or any\nexpression in it; I had--and _have_, I trust--your forgiveness for\nwhat I wrote, meaning to be generous or at least just, God knows.\nThat, and the other like exaggerations were there to serve the purpose\nof what you properly call a _crisis_. I _did_ believe,--taking an\nexpression, in the note that occasioned mine, in connection with an\nexcuse which came in the postscript for not seeing me on the day\npreviously appointed, I did fully believe that you were about to deny\nme admittance again unless I blotted out--not merely softened\ndown--the past avowal. All was wrong, foolish, but from a good notion,\nI dare to say. And then, that particular exaggeration you bring most\npainfully to my mind--_that_ does not, after all, disagree with what I\nsaid and you repeat--does it, if you will think? I said my other\n'_likings_' (as you rightly set it down) _used_ to 'come and go,' and\nthat my love for you _did not_, and that is true; the first clause as\nthe last of the sentence, for my sympathies are very wide and\ngeneral,--always have been--and the natural problem has been the\ngiving unity to their object, concentrating them instead of\ndispersing. I seem to have foretold, _foreknown_ you in other likings\nof mine--now here ... when the liking '_came_' ... and now elsewhere\n... when as surely the liking '_went_': and if they had stayed before\nthe time would that have been a comfort to refer to? On the contrary,\nI am as little likely to be led by delusions as can be,--for Romeo\n_thinks_ he loves Rosaline, and is excused on all hands--whereas I saw\nthe plain truth without one mistake, and 'looked to like, if looking\nliking moved--and no more deep _did_ I endart mine eye'--about which,\nfirst I was very sorry, and after rather proud--all which I seem to\nhave told you before.--And now, when my whole heart and soul find you,\nand fall on you, and fix forever, I am to be dreadfully afraid the joy\ncannot last, seeing that\n\n--it is so baseless a fear that no illustration will serve! Is it gone\nnow, dearest, ever-dearest?\n\nAnd as you amuse me sometimes, as now, by seeming surprised at some\nchance expression of a truth which is grown a veriest commonplace to\n_me_--like Charles Lamb's 'letter to an elderly man whose education\nhad been neglected'--when he finds himself involuntarily communicating\ntruths above the capacity and acquirements of his friend, and stops\nhimself after this fashion--'If you look round the world, my dear\nSir--for it _is_ round!--so I will make you laugh at me, if you will,\nfor _my_ inordinate delight at hearing the success of your experiment\nwith the opium. I never dared, nor shall dare inquire into your use of\nthat--for, knowing you utterly as I do, I know you only bend to the\nmost absolute necessity in taking more or less of it--so that increase\nof the quantity must mean simply increased weakness, illness--and\ndiminution, diminished illness. And now there _is_ diminution! Dear,\ndear Ba--you speak of my silly head and its ailments ... well, and\nwhat brings on the irritation? A wet day or two spent at home; and\nwhat ends it all directly?--just an hour's walk! So with _me_:\nnow,--fancy me shut in a room for seven years ... it is--no, _don't_\nsee, even in fancy, what is left of me then! But _you_, at the end;\nthis is _all_ the harm: I wonder ... I confirm my soul in its belief\nin perpetual miraculousness ... I bless God with my whole heart that\nit is thus with you! And so, I will not even venture to say--so\nsuperfluous it were, though with my most earnest, most loving breath\n(I who _do_ love you more at every breath I draw; indeed, yes\ndearest,)--I _will not_ bid you--that is, pray you--to persevere! You\nhave all my life bound to yours--save me from _my 'seven years'_--and\nGod reward you!\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 5, 1846.]\n\nBut I did not--dear, dearest--no indeed, I did not mean any harm about\nthe letter. I wanted to show you how you had given me pleasure--and\nso,--did I give you pain? was _that_ my ingenuity? Forgive my\nunhappiness in it, and let it be as if it had not been. Only I will\njust say that what made me talk about 'the thorn in the flesh' from\nthat letter so long, was a sort of conviction of your having put into\nit as much of the truth, _your_ truth, as admitted of the ultimate\npurpose of it, and not the least, slightest doubt of the key you gave\nme to the purpose in question. And so forgive me. Why did you set\nabout explaining, as if I were doubting you? When you said once that\nit 'did not come and go,'--was it not enough? enough to make me feel\nhappy as I told you? Did I require you to write a letter like this?\nNow think for a moment, and know once for all, how from the beginning\nto these latter days and through all possible degrees of crisis, you\nhave been to my apprehension and gratitude, the best, most consistent,\nmost noble ... the words falter that would speak of it all. In nothing\nand at no moment have you--I will not say--failed to _me_, but spoken\nor acted unworthily of yourself at the highest. What have you ever\nbeen to me except too generous? Ah--if I had been only half as\ngenerous, it is true that I never could have seen you again after that\nfirst meeting--it was the straight path perhaps. But I had not\ncourage--I shrank from the thought of it--and then ... besides ... I\ncould not believe that your mistake was likely to last,--I concluded\nthat I might keep my friend.\n\nWhy should any remembrance be painful to _you_? I do not understand.\nUnless indeed I should grow painful to you ... I myself!--seeing that\nevery remembered separate thing has brought me nearer to you, and made\nme yours with a deeper trust and love.\n\nAnd for that letter ... do you fancy that in _my_ memory the sting is\nnot gone from it?--and that I do not carry the thought of it, as the\nRoman maidens, you speak of, their cool harmless snakes, at my heart\nalways? So let the poor letter be forgiven, for the sake of the dear\nletter that was burnt, forgiven by _you_--until you grow angry with me\ninstead--just till then.\n\nAnd that you should care so much about the opium! Then _I_ must care,\nand get to do with less--at least. On the other side of your goodness\nand indulgence (a very little way on the other side) it might strike\nyou as strange that I who have had no pain--no acute suffering to keep\ndown from its angles--should need opium in any shape. But I have had\nrestlessness till it made me almost mad: at one time I lost the power\nof sleeping quite--and even in the day, the continual aching sense of\nweakness has been intolerable--besides palpitation--as if one's life,\ninstead of giving movement to the body, were imprisoned undiminished\nwithin it, and beating and fluttering impotently to get out, at all\nthe doors and windows. So the medical people gave me opium--a\npreparation of it, called morphine, and ether--and ever since I have\nbeen calling it my amreeta draught, my elixir,--because the\ntranquillizing power has been wonderful. Such a nervous system I\nhave--so irritable naturally, and so shattered by various causes, that\nthe need has continued in a degree until now, and it would be\ndangerous to leave off the calming remedy, Mr. Jago says, except very\nslowly and gradually. But slowly and gradually something may be\ndone--and you are to understand that I never _increased_ upon the\nprescribed quantity ... prescribed in the first instance--no! Now\nthink of my writing all this to you!--\n\nAnd after all the lotus-eaters are blessed beyond the opium-eaters;\nand the best of lotuses are such thoughts as I know.\n\nDear Miss Mitford comes to-morrow, and I am not glad enough. Shall I\nhave a letter to make me glad? She will talk, talk, talk ... and I\nshall be hoping all day that not a word may be talked of ... _you_:--a\nforlorn hope indeed! There's a hope for a day like Thursday which is\njust in the middle between a Tuesday and a Saturday!\n\nYour head ... is it ... _how_ is it? tell me. And consider again if it\ncould be possible that I could ever desire to reproach _you_ ... in\nwhat I said about the letter.\n\nMay God bless you, best and dearest. If you are the _compensation_\nblessed is the evil that fell upon me: and _that_, I can say before\nGod.\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, February 6, 1846.]\n\nIf I said you 'gave me pain' in anything, it was in the only way ever\npossible for you, my dearest--by giving _yourself_, in me, pain--being\nunjust to your own right and power as I feel them at my heart: and in\nthat way, I see you will go on to the end, I getting called--in this\nvery letter--'generous' &c. Well, let me fancy you see very, very deep\ninto future chances and how I should behave on occasion. I shall\nhardly imitate you, I whose sense of the present and its claims of\ngratitude already is beyond expression.\n\nAll the kind explaining about the opium makes me happier. 'Slowly and\ngradually' what may _not_ be done? Then see the bright weather while I\nwrite--lilacs, hawthorn, plum-trees all in bud; elders in leaf,\nrose-bushes with great red shoots; thrushes, whitethroats, hedge\nsparrows in full song--there can, let us hope, be nothing worse in\nstore than a sharp wind, a week of it perhaps--and then comes what\nshall come--\n\nAnd Miss Mitford yesterday--and has she fresh fears for you of my evil\ninfluence and Origenic power of 'raying out darkness' like a swart\nstar? Why, the common sense of the world teaches that there is nothing\npeople at fault in any faculty of expression are so intolerant of as\nthe like infirmity in others--whether they are unconscious of, or\nindulgent to their own obscurity and fettered organ, the hindrance\nfrom the fettering of their neighbours' is redoubled. A man may think\nhe is not deaf, or, at least, that you need not be so much annoyed by\nhis deafness as you profess--but he will be quite aware, to say the\nleast of it, when another man can't hear _him_; he will certainly not\nencourage him to stop his ears. And so with the converse; a writer who\nfails to make himself understood, as presumably in my case, may either\nbelieve in his heart that it is _not_ so ... that only as much\nattention and previous instructedness as the case calls for, would\nquite avail to understand him; or he may open his eyes to the fact and\nbe trying hard to overcome it: but on which supposition is he led to\nconfirm another in his unintelligibility? By the proverbial tenderness\nof the eye with the mote for the eye with the beam? If that beam were\njust such another mote--_then_ one might sympathize and feel no such\ninconvenience--but, because I have written a 'Sordello,' do I turn to\njust its _double_, Sordello the second, in your books, and so perforce\nsee nothing wrong? 'No'--it is supposed--'but something _as_ obscure\nin its way.' Then down goes the bond of union at once, and I stand no\nnearer to view your work than the veriest proprietor of one thought\nand the two words that express it without obscurity at all--'bricks\nand mortar.' Of course an artist's whole problem must be, as Carlyle\nwrote to me, 'the expressing with articulate clearness the thought in\nhim'--I am almost inclined to say that _clear expression_ should be\nhis only work and care--for he is born, ordained, such as he is--and\nnot born learned in putting what was born in him into words--what ever\n_can_ be clearly spoken, ought to be. But 'bricks and mortar' is very\neasily said--and some of the thoughts in 'Sordello' not so readily\neven if Miss Mitford were to try her hand on them.\n\nI look forward to a real life's work for us both. _I_ shall do\nall,--under your eyes and with your hand in mine,--all I was intended\nto do: may but _you_ as surely go perfecting--by continuing--the work\nbegun so wonderfully--'a rose-tree that beareth seven-times seven'--\n\nI am forced to dine in town to-day with an old friend--'to-morrow'\nalways begins half the day before, like a Jewish sabbath. Did your\nsister tell you that I met her on the stairs last time? She did _not_\ntell you that I had almost passed by her--the eyes being still\nelsewhere and occupied. Now let me write out that--no--I will send the\nold ballad I told you of, for the strange coincidence--and it is very\ncharming beside, is it not? Now goodbye, my sweetest, dearest--and\ntell me good news of yourself to-morrow, and be but half a quarter as\nglad to see me as I shall be blessed in seeing you. God bless you\never.\n\n Your own\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 7, 1846.]\n\nDearest, to my sorrow I must, I fear, give up the delight of seeing\nyou this morning. I went out unwell yesterday, and a long noisy dinner\nwith speech-making, with a long tiresome walk at the end of it--these\nhave given me such a bewildering headache that I really see some\nreason in what they say here about keeping the house. Will you forgive\nme--and let me forget it all on Monday? On _Monday_--unless I am told\notherwise by the early post--And God bless you ever\n\n Your own--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, February 7, 1846.]\n\nI felt it must be so ... that something must be the matter, ... and I\nhad been so really unhappy for half an hour, that your letter which\ncomes now at four, seems a little better, with all its bad news, than\nmy fancies took upon themselves to be, without instruction. Now _was_\nit right to go out yesterday when you were unwell, and to a great\ndinner?--but I shall not reproach you, dearest, dearest--I have no\nheart for it at this moment. As to Monday, of course it is as you like\n... if you are well enough on Monday ... if it should be thought wise\nof you to come to London through the noise ... if ... you understand\nall the _ifs_ ... and among them the greatest if of all, ... for if\nyou do love me ... _care_ for me even, you will not do yourself harm\nor run any risk of harm by going out _anywhere too soon_. On Monday,\nin case you are _considered well enough_, and otherwise Tuesday,\nWednesday--I leave it to you. Still I _will_ ask one thing, whether\nyou come on Monday or not. _Let_ me have a single line by the nearest\npost to say how you are. Perhaps for to-night it is not possible--oh\nno, it is nearly five now! but a word written on Sunday would be with\nme early on Monday morning, and I know you will let me have it, to\nsave some of the anxious thoughts ... to break them in their course\nwith some sort of certainty! May God bless you dearest of all!--I\nthought of you on Thursday, but did not speak of you, not even when\nMiss Mitford called Hood the greatest poet of the age ... she had been\ndepreciating Carlyle, so I let you lie and wait on the same level, ...\nthat shelf of the rock which is above tide mark! I was glad even, that\nshe did not speak of you; and, under cover of her speech of others, I\nhad my thoughts of you deeply and safely. When she had gone at half\npast six, moreover, I grew over-hopeful, and made up my fancy to have\na letter at eight! The branch she had pulled down, sprang upward\nskyward ... to that high possibility of a letter! Which did not come\nthat day ... no!--and I revenged myself by writing a letter to _you_,\nwhich was burnt afterwards because I would not torment you for\nletters. Last night, came a real one--dearest! So we could not keep\nour sabbath to-day! It is a fast day instead, ... on my part. How\nshould I feel (I have been thinking to myself), if I did not see you\non Saturday, and could not hope to see you on Monday, nor on Tuesday,\nnor on Wednesday, nor Thursday nor Friday, nor Saturday again--if all\nthe sabbaths were gone out of the world for me! May God bless you!--it\nhas grown to be enough prayer!--as _you_ are enough (and all, besides)\nfor\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 7, 1846.]\n\nThe clock strikes--_three_; and I am here, not with you--and my\n'fractious' headache at the very worst got suddenly better just now,\nand is leaving me every minute--as if to make me aware, with an\nundivided attention, that at this present you are waiting for me, and\nsoon will be wondering--and it would be so easy now to dress myself\nand walk or run or ride--do anything that led to you ... but by no\nhaste in the world could I reach you, I am forced to see, before a\nquarter to five--by which time I think my letter must arrive. Dear,\ndearest Ba, did you but know how vexed I am--with myself, with--this\nis absurd, of course. The cause of it all was my going out last\nnight--yet that, neither, was to be helped, the party having been\ntwice put off before--once solely on my account. And the sun shines,\nand you would shine--\n\nMonday is to make all the amends in its power, is it not? Still, still\nI have lost my day.\n\n Bless you, my ever-dearest.\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 9, 1846.]\n\nMy dearest--there are no words,--nor will be to-morrow, nor even in\nthe Island--I know that! But I do love you.\n\nMy arms have been round you for many minutes since the last word--\n\nI am quite well now--my other note will have told you when the change\nbegan--I think I took too violent a shower bath, with a notion of\ngetting better in as little time as possible,--and the stimulus turned\nmere feverishness to headache. However, it was no sooner gone, in a\ndegree, than a worse plague came. I sate thinking of you--but I knew\nmy note would arrive at about four o'clock or a little later--and I\nthought the visit for the quarter of an hour would as effectually\nprevent to-morrow's meeting as if the whole two hours' blessing had\nbeen laid to heart--to-morrow I shall see you, Ba--my sweetest. But\nthere are cold winds blowing to-day--how do you bear them, my Ba?\n'_Care_' you, pray, pray, care for all _I_ care about--and be well, if\nGod shall please, and bless me as no man ever was blessed! Now I kiss\nyou, and will begin a new thinking of you--and end, and begin, going\nround and round in my circle of discovery,--_My_ lotos-blossom!\nbecause they _loved_ the lotos, were lotos-lovers,--[Greek: lôtou t'\nerôtes], as Euripides writes in the [Greek: Trôades].\n\n Your own\n\nP.S. See those lines in the _Athenæum_ on Pulci with Hunt's\ntranslation--all wrong--'_che non si sente_,' being--'that one does\nnot _hear_ him' i.e. the ordinarily noisy fellow--and the rest, male,\npessime! Sic verte, meo periculo, mî ocelle!\n\n Where's Luigi Pulci, that one don't the man see?\n He just now yonder in the copse has '_gone it_' (_n_'andò)\n Because across his mind there came a fancy;\n He'll wish to fancify, perhaps, a sonnet!\n\nNow Ba thinks nothing can be worse than that? Then read _this_ which I\nreally told Hunt and got his praise for. Poor dear wonderful\npersecuted Pietro d'Abano wrote this quatrain on the people's plaguing\nhim about his mathematical studies and wanting to burn him--he helped\nto build Padua Cathedral, wrote a Treatise on Magic still extant, and\npasses for a conjuror in his country to this day--when there is a\nstorm the mothers tell the children that he is in the air; his pact\nwith the evil one obliged him to drink no _milk_; no natural human\nfood! You know Tieck's novel about him? Well, this quatrain is said, I\nbelieve truly, to have been discovered in a well near Padua some fifty\nyears ago.\n\n Studiando le mie cifre, col compasso\n Rilevo, che presto sarò sotterra--\n Perchè del mio saper si fa gran chiasso,\n E gl'ignoranti m'hanno mosso guerra.\n\nAffecting, is it not, in its simple, child like plaining? Now so, if I\nremember, I turned it--word for word--\n\n Studying my ciphers, with the compass\n I reckon--who soon shall be below ground,\n Because of my lore they make great 'rumpus,'\n And against me war makes each dull rogue round.\n\nSay that you forgive me to-morrow!\n\n[The following is in E.B.B.'s handwriting.]\n\n With my compass I take up my ciphers, poor scholar;\n Who myself shall be taken down soon under the ground ...\n Since the world at my learning roars out in its choler,\n And the blockheads have fought me all round.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, February 10, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, I have been possessed by your 'Luria' just as you would\nhave me, and I should like you to understand, not simply how fine a\nconception the whole work seems to me, so developed, but how it has\nmoved and affected me, without the ordinary means and dialect of\npathos, by that calm attitude of moral grandeur which it has--it is\nvery fine. For the execution, _that_ too is worthily done--although I\nagree with you, that a little quickening and drawing in closer here\nand there, especially towards the close where there is no time to\nlose, the reader feels, would make the effect stronger--but you will\nlook to it yourself--and such a conception _must_ come in thunder and\nlightning, as a chief god would--_must_ make its own way ... and will\nnot let its poet go until he speaks it out to the ultimate syllable.\nDomizia disappoints me rather. You might throw a flash more of light\non her face--might you not? But what am I talking? I think it a\nmagnificent work--a noble exposition of the ingratitude of men against\ntheir 'heroes,' and (what is peculiar) an _humane_ exposition ... not\nmisanthropical, after the usual fashion of such things: for the\nreturn, the remorse, saves it--and the 'Too late' of the repentance\nand compensation covers with its solemn toll the fate of persecutors\nand victim. We feel that Husain himself could only say afterward ...\n'_That is done._' And now--surely you think well of the work as a\nwhole? You cannot doubt, I fancy, of the grandeur of it--and of the\n_subtilty_ too, for it is subtle--too subtle perhaps for stage\npurposes, though as clear, ... as to expression ... as to medium ...\nas 'bricks and mortar' ... shall I say?\n\n 'A people is but the attempt of many\n To rise to the completer life of one.'\n\nThere is one of the fine thoughts. And how fine _he_ is, your Luria,\nwhen he looks back to his East, through the half-pardon and\nhalf-disdain of Domizia. Ah--Domizia! would it hurt her to make her\nmore a woman ... a little ... I wonder!\n\nSo I shall begin from the beginning, from the first act, and read\n_through_ ... since I have read the fifth twice over. And remember,\nplease, that I am to read, besides, the 'Soul's Tragedy,' and that I\nshall dun you for it presently. Because you told me it was finished,\notherwise I would not speak a word, feeling that you want rest, and\nthat I, who am anxious about you, would be crossing my own purposes\nby driving you into work. It is the overwork, the overwear of mind and\nheart (for the feelings come as much into use as the thoughts in these\nproductions), that makes you so pale, dearest, that distracts your\nhead, and does all the harm on Saturdays and so many other days\nbesides.\n\nTo-day--how are you? It _was_ right and just for me to write this\ntime, after the two dear notes ... the one on Saturday night which\nmade me praise you to myself and think you kinder than kindest, and\nthe other on Monday morning which took me unaware--such a note, _that_\nwas! Oh it _was_ right and just that I should not teaze you to send me\nanother after those two others,--yet I was very near doing it--yet I\nshould like infinitely to hear to-day how you\nare--unreasonable!--Well! you will write now--you will answer what I\nam writing, and mention yourself particularly and sincerely--Remember!\nAbove all, you will care for your head. I have been thinking since\nyesterday that, coming out of the cold, you might not have refused as\nusual to take something ... hot wine and water, or coffee? Will you\nhave coffee with me on Saturday? 'Shunning the salt,' will you have\nthe sugar? And do tell me, for I have been thinking, are you careful\nas to diet--and will such sublunary things as coffee and tea and cocoa\naffect your head--_for_ or _against_! Then you do not touch wine--and\nperhaps you ought. Surely something may be found or done to do you\ngood. If it had not been for me, you would be travelling in Italy by\nthis time and quite well perhaps.\n\nThis morning I had a letter from Miss Martineau and really read it to\nthe end without thinking it too long, which is extraordinary for me\njust now, and scarcely ordinary in the letter, and indeed it is a\ndelightful letter, as letters go, which are not yours! You shall take\nit with you on Saturday to read, and you shall see that it is worth\nreading, and interesting for Wordsworth's sake and her own. Mr.\nKenyon has it now, because he presses on to have her letters, and I\nshould not like to tell him that you had it first from me.... Also\nSaturday will be time enough.\n\nOh--poor Mr. Horne! shall I tell you some of his offences? That he\ndesires to be called at four in the morning, and does not get up till\neight. That he pours libations on his bare head out of the\nwater-glasses at great dinners. That being in the midst of\nsportsmen--rural aristocrats--lords of soil--and all talking learnedly\nof pointers' noses and spaniels' ears; he has exclaimed aloud in a\nmocking paraphrase--'If I were to hold up a horse by the tail.' The\nwit is certainly doubtful!--That being asked to dinner on Tuesday, he\nwill go on Wednesday instead.--That he throws himself at full length\nwith a gesture approaching to a 'summerset' on satin sofas. That he\ngiggles. That he only _thinks_ he can talk. That his ignorance on all\nsubjects is astounding. That he never read the old ballads, nor saw\nPercy's collection. That he asked _who_ wrote 'Drink to me only with\nthine eyes.' That after making himself ridiculous in attempting to\nspeak at a public meeting, he said to a compassionate friend 'I got\nvery well out of _that_.' That, in writing his work on Napoleon, he\nemployed a man to study the subject for him. That he cares for\nnobody's poetry or fame except his own, and considers Tennyson chiefly\nillustrious as being his contemporary. That, as to politics, he\ndoesn't care '_which_ side.' That he is always talking of 'my shares,'\n'my income,' as if he were a Kilmansegg. Lastly (and understand, this\nis _my_ 'lastly' and not Miss Mitford's, who is far from being out of\nbreath so soon) that he has a mania for heiresses--that he has gone\nout at half past five and 'proposed' to Miss M or N with fifty\nthousand pounds, and being rejected (as the lady thought fit to report\nherself) came back to tea and the same evening 'fell in love' with\nMiss O or P ... with forty thousand--went away for a few months, and\nupon his next visit, did as much to a Miss Q or W, on the promise of\nfour blood horses--has a prospect now of a Miss R or S--with hounds,\nperhaps.\n\nToo, too bad--isn't it? I would repeat none of it except to you--and\nas to the worst part, the last, why some may be coincidence, and some,\nexaggeration, for I have not the least doubt that every now and then a\nfine poetical compliment was turned into a serious thing by the\nlistener, and then the poor poet had critics as well as listeners all\nround him. Also, he rather 'wears his heart on his sleeve,' there is\nno denying--and in other respects he is not much better, perhaps, than\nother men. But for the base traffic of the affair--I do not believe a\nword. He is too generous--has too much real sensibility. I fought his\nbattle, poor Orion. 'And so,' she said 'you believe it possible for a\ndisinterested man to become really attached to two women, heiresses,\non the same day?' I doubted the _fact_. And then she showed me a note,\nan autograph note from the poet, confessing the M or N part of the\nbusiness--while Miss O or P confessed herself, said Miss Mitford. But\nI persisted in doubting, notwithstanding the lady's confessions, or\nconvictions, as they might be. And just think of Mr. Horne not having\ntact enough to keep out of these multitudinous scrapes, for those few\ndays which on three separate occasions he paid Miss Mitford in a\nneighbourhood where all were strangers to him,--and never outstaying\nhis week! He must have been _foolish_, read it all how we may.\n\nAnd so am _I_, to write this 'personal talk' to you when you will not\ncare for it--yet you asked me, and it may make you smile, though\nWordsworth's tea-kettle outsings it all.\n\nWhen your Monday letter came, I was reading the criticism on Hunt and\nhis Italian poets, in the _Examiner_. How I liked to be pulled by the\nsleeve to your translations!--How I liked everything!--Pulci, Pietro\n... and you, best!\n\nYet here's a naiveté which I found in your letter! I will write it out\nthat you may read it--\n\n'However it' (the headache) 'was no sooner gone in a degree, than a\nworse plague came--_I sate thinking of you_.'\n\nVery satisfactory _that_ is, and very clear.\n\nMay God bless you dearest, dearest! Be careful of yourself. The cold\nmakes me _languid_, as heat is apt to make everybody; but I am not\nunwell, and keep up the fire and the thoughts of you.\n\n Your worse ... worst plague\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nI shall hear? yes! And admire my obedience in having written 'a long\nletter' _to_ the letter!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 11, 1846.]\n\nMy sweetest 'plague,' _did_ I really write that sentence so, without\ngloss or comment in close vicinity? I can hardly think it--but you\nknow well, well where the real plague lay,--that I thought of you as\nthinking, in your infinite goodness, of untoward chances which had\nkept me from you--and if I did not dwell more particularly on that\nthinking of _yours_, which became as I say, in the knowledge of it, a\nplague when brought before me _with_ the thought of you,--if I passed\nthis slightly over it was for pure unaffected shame that I should take\nup the care and stop the 'reverie serene' of--ah, the rhyme _lets_ me\nsay--'sweetest eyes were ever seen'--were _ever_ seen! And yourself\nconfess, in the Saturday's note, to having been 'unhappy for half an\nhour till' &c. &c.--and do not I feel _that_ here, and am not I\nplagued by it?\n\nWell, having begun at the end of your letter, dearest, I will go back\ngently (that is backwards) and tell you I 'sate thinking' too, and\nwith no greater comfort, on the cold yesterday. The pond before the\nwindow was frozen ('so as to bear sparrows' somebody said) and I knew\nyou would feel it--'but you are not unwell'--really? thank God--and\nthe month wears on. Beside I have got a reassurance--you asked me once\nif I were superstitious, I remember (as what do I forget that you\nsay?). However that may be, yesterday morning as I turned to look for\na book, an old fancy seized me to try the 'sortes' and dip into the\nfirst page of the first I chanced upon, for my fortune; I said 'what\nwill be the event of my love for Her'--in so many words--and my book\nturned out to be--'Cerutti's Italian Grammar!'--a propitious source of\ninformation ... the best to be hoped, what could it prove but some\nassurance that you were in the Dative Case, or I, not in the ablative\nabsolute? I do protest that, with the knowledge of so many horrible\npitfalls, or rather spring guns with wires on every bush ... such\ndreadful possibilities of stumbling on 'conditional moods,' 'imperfect\ntenses,' 'singular numbers,'--I should have been too glad to put up\nwith the safe spot for the sole of my foot though no larger than\nafforded by such a word as 'Conjunction,' 'possessive pronoun--,'\nsecure so far from poor Tippet's catastrophe. Well, I ventured, and\nwhat did I find? _This_--which I copy from the book now--'_If we love\nin the other world as we do in this, I shall love thee to\neternity_'--from 'Promiscuous Exercises,' to be translated into\nItalian, at the end.\n\nAnd now I reach Horne and his characteristics--of which I can tell you\nwith confidence that they are grossly misrepresented where not\naltogether false--whether it proceed from inability to see what one\nmay see, or disinclination, I cannot say. I know very little of Horne,\nbut my one visit to him a few weeks ago would show the uncandidness of\nthose charges: for instance, he talked a good deal about horses,\nmeaning to ride in Ireland, and described very cleverly an old hunter\nhe had hired once,--how it galloped and could not walk; also he\npropounded a theory of the true method of behaving in the saddle when\na horse rears, which I besought him only to practise in fancy on the\nsofa, where he lay telling it. So much for professing his ignorance in\nthat matter! On a sofa he does throw himself--but when thrown there,\nhe can talk, with Miss Mitford's leave, admirably,--I never heard\nbetter stories than Horne's--some Spanish-American incidents of travel\nwant printing--or have been printed, for aught I know. That he cares\nfor nobody's poetry is _false_, he praises more unregardingly of his\nown retreat, more unprovidingly for his own fortune,--(do I speak\nclearly?)--less like a man who himself has written somewhat in the\n'line' of the other man he is praising--which 'somewhat' has to be\nguarded in its interests, &c., less like the poor professional praise\nof the 'craft' than any other I ever met--instance after instance\nstarting into my mind as I write. To his income I never heard him\nallude--unless one should so interpret a remark to me this last time\nwe met, that he had been on some occasion put to inconvenience by\nsomebody's withholding ten or twelve pounds due to him for an article,\nand promised in the confidence of getting them to a tradesman, which\ndoes not look like 'boasting of his income'! As for the heiresses--I\ndon't believe one word of it, of the succession and transition and\ntrafficking. Altogether, what miserable 'set-offs' to the achievement\nof an 'Orion,' a 'Marlowe,' a 'Delora'! Miss Martineau understands him\nbetter.\n\nNow I come to myself and my health. I am quite well now--at all\nevents, much better, just a little turning in the head--since you\nappeal to my sincerity. For the coffee--thank you, indeed thank you,\nbut nothing after the '_oenomel_' and before half past six. _I_ know\nall about that song and its Greek original if Horne does not--and can\ntell you--, how truly...!\n\n The thirst that from the soul doth rise\n Doth ask a drink divine--\n But might I of Jove's nectar sup\n I would not change for thine! _No, no, no!_\n\n\nAnd by the bye, I have misled you as my wont is, on the subject of\nwine, 'that I do not touch it'--not habitually, nor so as to feel the\nloss of it, that on a principle; but every now and then of course.\n\nAnd now, 'Luria', so long as the parts cohere and the whole is\ndiscernible, all will be well yet. I shall not look at it, nor think\nof it, for a week or two, and then see what I have forgotten. Domizia\nis all wrong; I told you I knew that her special colour had faded,--it\nwas but a bright line, and the more distinctly deep that it was so\nnarrow. One of my half dozen words on my scrap of paper 'pro memoria'\nwas, under the 'Act V.' '_she loves_'--to which I could not bring it,\nyou see! Yet the play requires it still,--something may yet be\neffected, though.... I meant that she should propose to go to Pisa\nwith him, and begin a new life. But there is no hurry--I suppose it is\nno use publishing much before Easter--I will try and remember what my\nwhole character _did_ mean--it was, in two words, understood at the\ntime by 'panther's-beauty'--on which hint I ought to have spoken! But\nthe work grew cold, and you came between, and the sun put out the fire\non the hearth _nec vult panthera domari_!\n\nFor the 'Soul's Tragedy'--_that_ will surprise you, I think. There is\nno trace of you there,--you have not put out the black face of\n_it_--it is all sneering and _disillusion_--and shall not be printed\nbut burned if you say the word--now wait and see and then say! I will\nbring the first of the two parts next Saturday.\n\nAnd now, dearest, I am with you--and the other matters are forgotten\nalready. God bless you, I am ever your own R. You will write to me I\ntrust? And tell me how to bear the cold.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 12, 1846.]\n\nAh, the 'sortes'! Is it a double oracle--'swan and shadow'--do you\nthink? or do my eyes see double, dazzled by the light of it? 'I shall\nlove thee to eternity'--I _shall_.\n\nAnd as for the wine, I did not indeed misunderstand you 'as my wont\nis,' because I understood simply that 'habitually' you abstained from\nwine, and I meant exactly that perhaps it would be better for your\nhealth to take it habitually. It _might_, you know--not that I pretend\nto advise. Only when you look so much too pale sometimes, it comes\ninto one's thoughts that you ought not to live on cresses and cold\nwater. Strong coffee, which is the nearest to a stimulant that I dare\nto take, as far as ordinary diet goes, will almost always deliver _me_\nfrom the worst of headaches, but there is no likeness, no comparison.\nAnd your 'quite well' means that dreadful 'turning' still ... still!\nNow do not think any more of the Domizias, nor 'try to remember,'\nwhich is the most wearing way of thinking. The more I read and read\nyour 'Luria,' the grander it looks, and it will make its own road with\nall understanding men, you need not doubt, and still less need you try\nto make me uneasy about the harm I have done in 'coming between,' and\nall the rest of it. I wish never to do you greater harm than just\n_that_, and then with a white conscience 'I shall love thee to\neternity!... dearest! You have made a golden work out of your\n'golden-hearted Luria'--as once you called him to me, and I hold it in\nthe highest admiration--_should_, if you were precisely nothing to me.\nAnd still, the fifth act _rises_! That is certain. Nevertheless I seem\nto agree with you that your hand has vacillated in your Domizia. We do\nnot know her with as full a light on her face, as the other\npersons--we do not see the _panther_,--no, certainly we do not--but\nyou will do a very little for her which will be everything, after a\ntime ... and I assure you that if you were to ask for the manuscript\nbefore, you should not have a page of it--_now_, you are only to rest.\nWhat a work to rest upon! Do consider what a triumph it is! The more I\nread, the more I think of it, the greater it grows--and as to 'faded\nlines,' you never cut a pomegranate that was redder in the deep of it.\nAlso, no one can say 'This is not clearly written.' The people who are\nat 'words of one syllable' may be puzzled by you and Wordsworth\ntogether this time ... as far as the expression goes. Subtle thoughts\nyou always must have, in and out of 'Sordello'--and the objectors\nwould find even Plato (though his medium is as lucid as the water that\nran beside the beautiful plane-tree!) a little difficult perhaps.\n\nTo-day Mr. Kenyon came, and do you know, he has made a beatific\nconfusion between last Saturday and next Saturday, and said to me he\nhad told Miss Thomson to mind to come on Friday if she wished to see\nme ... 'remembering' (he added) 'that Mr. Browning took _Saturday_!!'\nSo I let him mistake the one week for the other--'Mr. Browning took\nSaturday,' it was true, both ways. Well--and then he went on to tell\nme that he had heard from Mrs. Jameson who was at Brighton and unwell,\nand had written to say this and that to him, and to enquire\nbesides--now, what do you think, she enquired besides? 'how you and\n... Browning were' said Mr. Kenyon--I write his words. He is coming,\nperhaps to-morrow, or perhaps Sunday--Saturday is to have a twofold\nsafety. That is, if you are not ill again. Dearest, you will not think\nof coming if you are ill ... unwell even. I shall not be frightened\nnext time, as I told you--I shall have the precedent. Before, I had to\nthink! 'It has never happened _so_--there must be a cause--and if it\nis a very, very, bad cause, why no one will tell _me_ ... it will not\nseem _my_ concern'--_that_ was my thought on Saturday. But another\ntime ... only, if it is possible to keep well, do keep well, beloved,\nand think of me instead of Domizia, and let there be no other time for\nyour suffering ... my waiting is nothing. I shall remember for the\nfuture that you may have the headache--and do you remember it too!\n\nFor Mr. Horne I take your testimony gladly and believingly. _She\nblots_ with her _eyes_ sometimes. She hates ... and loves, in extreme\ndegrees. We have, once or twice or thrice, been on the border of\nmutual displeasure, on this very subject, for I grew really vexed to\nobserve the trust on one side and the _dyspathy_ on the other--using\nthe mildest of words. You see, he found himself, down in Berkshire, in\nquite a strange element of society,--he, an artist in his good and his\nevil,--and the people there, 'county families,' smoothly plumed in\ntheir conventions, and classing the ringlets and the aboriginal way of\nusing water-glasses among offences against the Moral Law. Then,\nmeaning to be agreeable, or fascinating perhaps, made it twenty times\nworse. Writing in albums about the graces, discoursing meditated\nimpromptus at picnics, playing on the guitar in fancy dresses,--all\nthese things which seemed to poor Orion as natural as his own stars I\ndare say, and just the things suited to the _genus_ poet, and to\nhimself specifically,--were understood by the natives and their 'rural\ndeities' to signify, that he intended to marry one half the county,\nand to run away with the other. But Miss Mitford should have known\nbetter--_she_ should. And she _would_ have known better, if she had\nliked him--for the liking could have been unmade by no such offences.\nShe is too fervent a friend--she can be. Generous too, she can be\nwithout an effort; and I have had much affection from her--and accuse\nmyself for seeming to have less--but--\n\nMay God bless you!--I end in haste after this long lingering.\n\n Your\n\n BA.\n\nNot unwell--_I_ am not! I forgot it, which proves how I am not.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 13, 1846.]\n\nTwo nights ago I read the 'Soul's Tragedy' once more, and though there\nwere not a few points which still struck me as successful in design\nand execution, yet on the whole I came to a decided opinion, that it\nwill be better to postpone the publication of it for the present. It\nis not a good ending, an auspicious wind-up of this series;\nsubject-matter and style are alike unpopular even for the literary\n_grex_ that stands aloof from the purer _plebs_, and uses that\nprivilege to display and parade an ignorance which the other is\naltogether unconscious of--so that, if 'Luria' is _clearish_, the\n'Tragedy' would be an unnecessary troubling the waters. Whereas, if I\nprinted it first in order, my readers, according to custom, would make\nthe (comparatively) little they did not see into, a full excuse for\nshutting their eyes at the rest, and we may as well part friends, so\nas not to meet enemies. But, at bottom, I believe the proper objection\nis to the immediate, _first_ effect of the whole--its moral\neffect--which is dependent on the contrary supposition of its being\nreally understood, in the main drift of it. Yet I don't know; for I\nwrote it with the intention of producing the best of all\neffects--perhaps the truth is, that I am tired, rather, and desirous\nof getting done, and 'Luria' will answer my purpose so far. Will not\nthe best way be to reserve this unlucky play and in the event of a\nsecond edition--as Moxon seems to think such an apparition\npossible--might not this be quietly inserted?--in its place, too, for\nit was written two or three years ago. I have lost, of late, interest\nin dramatic writing, as you know, and, perhaps, occasion. And,\ndearest, I mean to take your advice and be quiet awhile and let my\nmind get used to its new medium of sight; seeing all things, as it\ndoes, through you: and then, let all I have done be the prelude and\nthe real work begin. I felt it would be so before, and told you at the\nvery beginning--do you remember? And you spoke of Io 'in the proem.'\nHow much more should follow now!\n\nAnd if nothing follows, I have _you_.\n\nI shall see you to-morrow and be happy. To-day--is it the weather or\nwhat?--something depresses me a little--to-morrow brings the remedy\nfor it all. I don't know why I mention such a matter; except that I\ntell you everything without a notion of after-consequence; and because\nyour dearest, dearest presence seems under any circumstances as if\ncreated just to help me _there_; if my spirits rise they fly to you;\nif they fall, they hold by you and cease falling--as now. Bless you,\nBa--my own best blessing that you are! But a few hours and I am with\nyou, beloved!\n\n Your own", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Evening.\n [Post-mark, February 16, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, though you wanted to make me say one thing displeasing\nto you to-day, I had not courage to say two instead ... which I might\nhave done indeed and indeed! For I am capable of thinking both\nthoughts of 'next year,' as you suggested them:--because while you are\nwith me I see only _you_, and you being you, I cannot doubt a power of\nyours nor measure the deep loving nature which I feel to be so\ndeep--so that there may be ever so many 'mores,' and no 'more' wonder\nof mine!--but afterwards, when the door is shut and there is no 'more'\nlight nor speaking until Thursday, why _then_, that I do not see _you_\nbut _me_,--_then_ comes the reaction,--the natural lengthening of the\nshadows at sunset,--and _then_, the 'less, less, less' grows to seem\nas natural to my fate, as the 'more' seemed to your nature--I being I!\n\n_Sunday._--Well!--you are to try to forgive it all! And the truth,\nover and under all, is, that I scarcely ever do think of the future,\nscarcely ever further than to your next visit, and almost never\nbeyond, except for your sake and in reference to that view of the\nquestion which I have vexed you with so often, in fearing for your\nhappiness. Once it was a habit of mind with me to live altogether in\nwhat I called the future--but the tops of the trees that looked\ntowards Troy were broken off in the great winds, and falling down into\nthe river beneath, where now after all this time they grow green\nagain, I let them float along the current gently and pleasantly. Can\nit be better I wonder! And if it becomes worse, can I help it? Also\nthe future never seemed to belong to me so little--never! It might\nappear wonderful to most persons, it is startling even to myself\nsometimes, to observe how free from anxiety I am--from the sort of\nanxiety which might be well connected with my own position _here_, and\nwhich is personal to myself. _That_ is all thrown behind--into the\nbushes--long ago it was, and I think I told you of it before.\nAgitation comes from indecision--and _I_ was decided from the first\nhour when I admitted the possibility of your loving me really.\nNow,--as the Euphuists used to say,--I am 'more thine than my own' ...\nit is a literal truth--and my future belongs to you; if it was mine,\nit was mine to give, and if it was mine to give, it was given, and if\nit was given ... beloved....\n\nSo you see!\n\nThen I will confess to you that all my life long I have had a rather\nstrange sympathy and dyspathy--the sympathy having concerned the genus\n_jilt_ (as vulgarly called) male and female--and the dyspathy--the\nwhole class of heroically virtuous persons who make sacrifices of what\nthey call 'love' to what they call 'duty.' There are exceptional cases\nof course, but, for the most part, I listen incredulously or else with\na little contempt to those latter proofs of strength--or weakness, as\nit may be:--people are not usually praised for giving up their\nreligion, for unsaying their oaths, for desecrating their 'holy\nthings'--while believing them still to be religious and sacramental!\nOn the other side I have always and shall always understand how it is\npossible for the most earnest and faithful of men and even of women\nperhaps, to err in the convictions of the heart as well as of the\nmind, to profess an affection which is an illusion, and to recant and\nretreat loyally at the eleventh hour, on becoming aware of the truth\nwhich is in them. Such men are the truest of men, and the most\ncourageous for the truth's sake, and instead of blaming them I hold\nthem in honour, for me, and always did and shall.\n\nAnd while I write, you are 'very ill'--very ill!--how it looks,\nwritten down _so_! When you were gone yesterday and my thoughts had\ntossed about restlessly for ever so long, I was wise enough to ask\nWilson how _she_ thought you were looking, ... and she 'did not know'\n... she 'had not observed' ... 'only certainly Mr. Browning ran\nup-stairs instead of walking as he did the time before.'\n\nNow promise me dearest, dearest--not to trifle with your health. Not\nto neglect yourself ... not to tire yourself ... and besides to take\nthe advice of your medical friend as to diet and general\ntreatment:--because there must be a wrong and a right in everything,\nand the right is very important under your circumstances ... if you\nhave a tendency to illness. It may be right for you to have wine for\ninstance. Did you ever try the putting your feet into hot water at\nnight, to prevent the recurrence of the morning headache--for the\naffection of the head comes on early in the morning, does it not? just\nas if the sleeping did you harm. Now I have heard of such a remedy\ndoing good--and could it _increase_ the evil?--mustard mixed with the\nwater, remember. Everything approaching to _congestion_ is full of\nfear--I tremble to think of it--and I bring no remedy by this teazing\nneither! But you will not be 'wicked' nor 'unkind,' nor provoke the\nevil consciously--you will keep quiet and forswear the going out at\nnights, the excitement and noise of parties, and the worse excitement\nof composition--you promise. If you knew how I keep thinking of you,\nand at intervals grow so frightened! Think _you_, that you are three\ntimes as much to me as I can be to you at best and greatest,--because\nyou are more than three times the larger planet--and because too, you\nhave known other sources of light and happiness ... but I need not say\nthis--and I shall hear on Monday, and may trust to you every day ...\nmay I not? Yet I would trust my soul to you sooner than your own\nhealth.\n\nMay God bless you, dear, dearest. If the first part of the 'Soul's\nTragedy' should be written out, I can read _that_ perhaps, without\ndrawing you in to think of the second. Still it may be safer to keep\noff altogether for the present--and let it be as you incline. I do not\nspeak of 'Luria.'\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nIf it were not for Mr. Kenyon, I should say, almost, Wednesday,\ninstead of Thursday--I want to see you so much, and to see for myself\nabout the looks and spirits, only it would not do if he found you here\non Wednesday. Let him come to-morrow or on Tuesday, and Wednesday will\nbe safe--shall we consider? what do you think?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, February 16, 1846.]\n\nHere is the letter again, dearest: I suppose it gives me the same\npleasure, in reading, as you--and Mr. K. as me, and anybody else as\nhim; if all the correspondence which was claimed again and burnt on\nsome principle or other some years ago be at all of the nature of this\nsample, the measure seems questionable. Burn anybody's _real_\nletters, well and good: they move and live--the thoughts, feelings,\nand expressions even,--in a self-imposed circle limiting the\nexperience of two persons only--_there_ is the standard, and to _that_\nthe appeal--how should a third person know? His presence breaks the\nline, so to speak, and lets in a whole tract of country on the\noriginally inclosed spot--so that its trees, which were from side to\nside there, seem left alone and wondering at their sudden unimportance\nin the broad land; while its 'ferns such as I never saw before' and\nwhich have been petted proportionably, look extravagant enough amid\nthe new spread of good honest grey grass that is now the earth's\ngeneral wear. So that the significance is lost at once, and whole\nvalue of such letters--the cypher changed, the vowel-points removed:\nbut how can that affect clever writing like this? What do you, to whom\nit is addressed, see in it more than the world that wants to see it\nand shan't have it? One understands shutting an unprivileged eye to\nthe ineffable mysteries of those 'upper-rooms,' now that the broom and\ndust pan, stocking-mending and gingerbread-making are invested with\nsuch unforeseen reverence ... but the carriage-sweep and quarry,\ntogether with Jane and our baskets, and a pleasant shadow of\nWordsworth's Sunday hat preceding his own rapid strides in the\ndirection of Miss Fenwick's house--surely, 'men's eyes were made to\nsee, so let them gaze' at all _this_! And so I, gazing with a clear\nconscience, am very glad to hear so much good of a very good person\nand so well told. She plainly sees the proper use and advantage of a\ncountry-life; and _that_ knowledge gets to seem a high point of\nattainment doubtless by the side of the Wordsworth she speaks of--for\n_mine_ he shall not be as long as I am able! Was ever such a '_great_'\npoet before? Put one trait with the other--the theory of rural\ninnocence--alternation of 'vulgar trifles' with dissertating with\nstyle of 'the utmost grandeur that _even you_ can conceive' (speak for\nyourself, Miss M.!)--and that amiable transition from two o'clock's\ngrief at the death of one's brother to three o'clock's happiness in\nthe 'extraordinary mesmeric discourse' of one's friend. All this, and\nthe rest of the serene and happy inspired daily life which a piece of\n'unpunctuality' can ruin, and to which the guardian 'angel' brings as\ncrowning qualification the knack of poking the fire adroitly--of\nthis--what can one say but that--no, best hold one's tongue and read\nthe 'Lyrical Ballads' with finger in ear. Did not Shelley say long ago\n'He had no more _imagination_ than a pint-pot'--though in those days\nhe used to walk about France and Flanders like a man? _Now_, he is\n'most comfortable in his worldly affairs' and just this comes of it!\nHe lives the best twenty years of his life after the way of his own\nheart--and when one presses in to see the result of the rare\nexperiment ... what the _one_ alchemist whom fortune has allowed to\nget all his coveted materials and set to work at last in earnest with\nfire and melting-pot--what _he_ produces after all the talk of him and\nthe like of him; why, you get _pulvis et cinis_--a man at the mercy of\nthe tongs and shovel!\n\nWell! Let us despair at nothing, but, wishing success to the newer\naspirant, expect better things from Miss M. when the 'knoll,' and\n'paradise,' and their facilities, operate properly; and that she will\nmake a truer estimate of the importance and responsibilities of\n'authorship' than she does at present, if I understand rightly the\nsense in which she describes her own life as it means to be; for in\none sense it is all good and well, and quite natural that she should\nlike 'that sort of strenuous handwork' better than book-making; like\nthe play better than the labour, as we are apt to do. If she realises\na very ordinary scheme of literary life, planned under the eye of God\nnot 'the public,' and prosecuted under the constant sense of the\nnight's coming which ends it good or bad--then, she will be sure to\n'like' the rest and sport--teaching her maids and sewing her gloves\nand making delicate visitors comfortable--so much more rational a\nresource is the worst of them than gin-and-water, for instance. But\nif, as I rather suspect, these latter are to figure as a virtual\n_half_ duty of the whole Man--as of equal importance (on the ground of\nthe innocence and utility of such occupations) with the book-making\naforesaid--always supposing _that_ to be of the right kind--_then_ I\nrespect Miss M. just as I should an Archbishop of Canterbury whose\nbusiness was the teaching A.B.C. at an infant-school--he who might set\non the Tens to instruct the Hundreds how to convince the Thousands of\nthe propriety of doing that and many other things. Of course one will\nrespect him only the more if when _that_ matter is off his mind he\nrelaxes at such a school instead of over a chess-board; as it will\nincrease our love for Miss M. to find that making 'my good Jane (from\nTyne-mouth)'--'happier and--I hope--wiser' is an amusement, or more,\nafter the day's progress towards the 'novel for next year' which is to\ninspire thousands, beyond computation, with the ardour of making\ninnumerable other Janes and delicate relatives happier and wiser--who\nknows but as many as Burns did, and does, so make happier and wiser?\nOnly, _his quarry_ and after-solace was that 'marble bowl often\nreplenished with whiskey' on which Dr. Curry discourses mournfully,\n'Oh, be wiser Thou!'--and remember it was only _after_ Lord Bacon had\nwritten to an end _his_ Book--given us for ever the Art of\nInventing--whether steam-engine or improved dust-pan--that he took on\nhimself to do a little exemplary 'hand work'; got out on that cold St.\nAlban's road to stuff a fowl with snow and so keep it fresh, and got\ninto his bed and died of the cold in his hands ('strenuous _hand_\nwork'--) before the snow had time to melt. He did not begin in his\nyouth by saying--'I have a horror of merely writing 'Novum Organums'\nand shall give half my energies to the stuffing fowls'!\n\nAll this it is _my_ amusement, of an indifferent kind, to put down\nsolely on the pleasant assurance contained in that postscript, of the\none way of never quarrelling with Miss M.--'by joining in her plan\nand practice of plain speaking'--could she but 'get people to do it!'\nWell, she gets me for a beginner: the funny thing would be to know\nwhat Chorley's desperate utterance amounted to! Did you ever hear of\nthe plain speaking of some of the continental lottery-projectors? An\nestate on the Rhine, for instance, is to be disposed of, and the\nholder of the lucky ticket will find himself suddenly owner of a\nmediæval castle with an unlimited number of dependencies--vineyards,\nwoods, pastures, and so forth--all only waiting the new master's\narrival--while inside, all is swept and garnished (not to say,\nvarnished)--the tables are spread, the wines on the board, all is\nready for the reception _but_ ... here 'plain speaking' becomes\nnecessary--it prevents quarrels, and, could the projector get people\nto practise it as he does all would be well; so he, at least, will\nspeak plainly--you hear what _is_ provided but, he cannot, dares not\nwithhold what is _not_--there is then, to speak plainly,--no night\ncap! You _will_ have to bring your own night cap. The projector\nfurnishes somewhat, as you hear, but not _all_--and now--the worst is\nheard,--will you quarrel with him? Will my own dear, dearest Ba please\nand help me here, and fancy Chorley's concessions, and tributes, and\nrecognitions, and then, at the very end, the 'plain words,' to\ncounterbalance all, that have been to overlook and pardon?\n\nOh, my own Ba, hear _my_ plain speech--and how this is _not_ an\nattempt to frighten you out of your dear wish to '_hear_ from me'--no,\nindeed--but a whim, a caprice,--and now it is out! over, done with!\nAnd now I am with you again--it is to _you_ I shall write next. Bless\nyou, ever--my beloved. I am much better, indeed--and mean to be well.\nAnd you! But I will write--this goes for nothing--or only _this_, that\nI am your very own--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, February 16, 1846.]\n\nMy long letter is with you, dearest, to show how serious my illness\nwas 'while you wrote': unless you find that letter too foolish, as I\ndo on twice thinking--or at all events a most superfluous bestowment\nof handwork while the heart was elsewhere, and with you--never more\nso! Dear, dear Ba, your adorable goodness sinks into me till it nearly\npains,--so exquisite and strange is the pleasure: _so_ you care for\nme, and think of me, and write to me!--I shall never die for you, and\nif it could be so, what would death prove? But I can live on, your own\nas now,--utterly your own.\n\nDear Ba, do you suppose we differ on so plain a point as that of the\nsuperior wisdom, and generosity, too, of announcing such a change &c.\nat the eleventh hour? There can be no doubt of it,--and now, what of\nit to me?\n\nBut I am not going to write to-day--only this--that I am better,\nhaving not been quite so well last night--so I shut up books (that is,\nof my own) and mean to think about nothing but you, and you, and still\nyou, for a whole week--so all will come right, I hope! _May_ I take\nWednesday? And do you say that,--hint at the possibility of that,\nbecause you have been reached by my own remorse at feeling that if I\nhad kept my appointment _last_ Saturday (but one)--Thursday would have\nbeen my day this past week, and this very Monday had been gained?\nShall I not lose a day for ever unless I get Wednesday and\nSaturday?--yet ... care ... dearest--let nothing horrible happen.\n\nIf I do not hear to the contrary to-morrow--or on Wednesday early--\n\nBut write and bless me dearest, most dear Ba. God bless you ever--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 17, 1846.]\n\n_Méchant comme quatre!_ you are, and not deserving to be let see the\nfamous letter--is there any grammar in _that_ concatenation, can you\ntell me, now that you are in an arch-critical humour? And remember\n(turning back to the subject) that personally she and I are strangers\nand that therefore what she writes for me is naturally scene-painting\nto be looked at from a distance, done with a masterly hand and most\namiable intention, but quite a different thing of course from the\nintimate revelations of heart and mind which make a living thing of a\nletter. If she had sent such to me, I should not have sent it to Mr.\nKenyon, but then, she would not have sent it to me in any case. What\nshe _has_ sent me might be a chapter in a book and has the life proper\nto itself, and I shall not let you try it by another standard, even if\nyou wished, but you don't--for I am not so _bête_ as not to understand\nhow the jest crosses the serious all the way you write. Well--and Mr.\nKenyon wants the letter the second time, not for himself, but for Mr.\nCrabb Robinson who promises to let me have a new sonnet of\nWordsworth's in exchange for the loan, and whom I cannot refuse\nbecause he is an intimate friend of Miss Martineau's and once allowed\nme to read a whole packet of letters from her to him. She does not\nobject (as I have read under her hand) to her letters being shown\nabout in MS., notwithstanding the anathema against all printers of the\nsame (which completes the extravagance of the unreason, I think) and\npeople are more anxious to see them from their presumed nearness to\nannihilation. I, for my part, value letters (to talk literature) as\nthe most vital part of biography, and for any rational human being to\nput his foot on the traditions of his kind in this particular class,\ndoes seem to me as wonderful as possible. Who would put away one of\nthose multitudinous volumes, even, which stereotype Voltaire's\nwrinkles of wit--even Voltaire? I can read book after book of such\nreading--or could! And if her principle were carried out, there would\nbe an end! Death would be deader from henceforth. Also it is a wrong\nselfish principle and unworthy of her whole life and profession,\nbecause we should all be ready to say that if the secrets of our daily\nlives and inner souls may instruct other surviving souls, let them be\nopen to men hereafter, even as they are to God now. Dust to dust, and\nsoul-secrets to humanity--there are natural heirs to all these things.\nNot that I do not intimately understand the shrinking back from the\nidea of publicity on any terms--not that I would not myself destroy\npapers of mine which were sacred to _me_ for personal reasons--but\nthen I never would call this natural weakness, virtue--nor would I, as\na teacher of the public, announce it and attempt to justify it as an\nexample to other minds and acts, I hope.\n\nHow hard you are on the mending of stockings and the rest of it! Why\nnot agree with me and like that sort of homeliness and simplicity in\ncombination with such large faculty as we must admit _there_? Lord\nBacon did a great deal of trifling besides the stuffing of the fowl\nyou mention--which I did not remember: and in fact, all the great work\ndone in the world, is done just by the people who know how to\ntrifle--do you not think so? When a man makes a principle of 'never\nlosing a moment,' he is a lost man. Great men are eager to find an\nhour, and not to avoid losing a moment. 'What are you doing' said\nsomebody once (as I heard the tradition) to the beautiful Lady Oxford\nas she sate in her open carriage on the race-ground--'Only a little\nalgebra,' said she. People who do a little algebra on the race-ground\nare not likely to do much of anything with ever so many hours for\nmeditation. Why, you must agree with me in all this, so I shall not be\nsententious any longer. Mending stockings is not exactly the sort of\npastime _I_ should choose--who do things quite as trifling without the\nutility--and even your Seigneurie peradventure.... I stop there for\nfear of growing impertinent. The _argumentum ad hominem_ is apt to\nbring down the _argumentum ad baculum_, it is as well to remember in\ntime.\n\nFor Wordsworth ... you are right in a measure and by a standard--but I\nhave heard such really desecrating things of him, of his selfishness,\nhis love of money, his worldly _cunning_ (rather than prudence) that I\nfelt a relief and gladness in the new chronicle;--and you can\nunderstand how _that_ was. Miss Mitford's doctrine is that everything\nput into the poetry, is taken out of the man and lost utterly by him.\nHer general doctrine about poets, quite amounts to that--I do not say\nit too strongly. And knowing that such opinions are held by minds not\nfeeble, it is very painful (as it would be indeed in any case) to see\nthem apparently justified by royal poets like Wordsworth. Ah, but I\nknow an answer--I see one in my mind!\n\nSo again for the letters. Now ought I not to know about letters, I who\nhave had so many ... from chief minds too, as society goes in England\nand America? And _your_ letters began by being first to my intellect,\nbefore they were first to my heart. All the letters in the world are\nnot like yours ... and I would trust them for that verdict with any\njury in Europe, if they were not so far too dear! Mr. Kenyon wanted to\nmake me show him your letters--I did show him the first, and resisted\ngallantly afterwards, which made him say what vexed me at the moment,\n... 'oh--you let me see only _women's_ letters,'--till I observed that\nit was a breach of confidence, except in some cases, ... and that _I_\nshould complain very much, if anyone, man or woman, acted so by\nmyself. But nobody in the world writes like you--not so _vitally_--and\nI have a right, if you please, to praise my letters, besides the\nreason of it which is as good.\n\nAh--you made me laugh about Mr. Chorley's free speaking--and, without\nthe personal knowledge, I can comprehend how it could be nothing very\nferocious ... some 'pardonnez moi, vous êtes un ange.' The amusing\npart is that by the same post which brought me the Ambleside document,\nI heard from Miss Mitford 'that it was an admirable thing of Chorley\nto have persisted in not allowing Harriet Martineau to quarrel with\nhim' ... so that there are laurels on both sides, it appears.\n\nAnd I am delighted to hear from you to-day just _so_, though I\nreproach you in turn just _so_ ... because you were not 'depressed' in\nwriting all this and this and this which has made me laugh--you were\nnot, dearest--and you call yourself better, 'much better,' which means\na very little perhaps, but is a golden word, let me take it as I may.\nMay God bless you. Wednesday seems too near (now that this is Monday\nand you are better) to be _our_ day ... perhaps it does,--and Thursday\n_is_ close beside it at the worst.\n\n Dearest I am your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]\n\nNow forgive me, dearest of all, but I must teaze you just a little,\nand entreat you, if only for the love of me, to have medical advice\nand follow it _without further delay_. I like to have recourse to\nthese medical people quite as little as you can--but I am persuaded\nthat it is necessary--that it is at least _wise_, for you to do so\nnow, and, you see, you were 'not quite so well' again last night! So\nwill you, for me? Would _I_ not, if you wished it? And on Wednesday,\nyes, on Wednesday, come--that is, if coming on Wednesday should really\nbe not bad for you, for you _must_ do what is right and kind, and I\ndoubt whether the omnibus-driving and the noises of every sort betwixt\nus, should not keep you away for a little while--I trust you to do\nwhat is best for both of us.\n\nAnd it is not best ... it is not good even, to talk about 'dying for\nme' ... oh, I do beseech you never to use such words. You make me feel\nas if I were choking. Also it is nonsense--because nobody puts out a\ncandle for the light's sake.\n\nWrite _one line_ to me to-morrow--literally so little--just to say how\nyou are. I know by the writing here, what _is_. Let me have the one\nline by the eight o'clock post to-morrow, Tuesday.\n\nFor the rest it may be my 'goodness' or my badness, but the world\nseems to have sunk away beneath my feet and to have left only you to\nlook to and hold by. Am I not to _feel_, then, any trembling of the\nhand? the least trembling?\n\nMay God bless both of us--which is a double blessing for me\nnotwithstanding my badness.\n\n_I trust you about Wednesday_--and if it should be wise and kind not\nto come quite so soon, we will take it out of other days and lose not\none of them. And as for anything 'horrible' being likely to happen, do\nnot think of that either,--there can be nothing horrible while you are\nnot ill. So be well--try to be well--use the means and, well or ill,\nlet me have the one line to-morrow ... Tuesday. I send you the foolish\nletter I wrote to-day in answer to your too long one--too long, was it\nnot, as you felt? And I, the writer of the foolish one, am\ntwice-foolish, and push poor 'Luria' out of sight, and refuse to\nfinish my notes on him till the harm he has done shall have passed\naway. In my badness I bring false accusation, perhaps, against poor\nLuria.\n\nSo till Wednesday--or as you shall fix otherwise.\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "6-1/2 Tuesday Evening.\n\nMy dearest, your note reaches me only _now_, with an excuse from the\npostman. The answer you expect, you shall have the only way possible.\nI must make up a parcel so as to be able to knock and give it. I shall\nbe with you to-morrow, God willing--being quite well.\n\n Bless you ever--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 19, 1846.]\n\nMy sweetest, best, dearest Ba I _do_ love you less, much less already,\nand adore you more, more by so much more as I see of you, think of\nyou--I am yours just as much as those flowers; and you may pluck those\nflowers to pieces or put them in your breast; it is not because you so\nbless me now that you may not if you please one day--you will stop me\nhere; but it is the truth and I live in it.\n\nI am quite well; indeed, this morning, _noticeably_ well, they tell\nme, and well I mean to keep if I can.\n\nWhen I got home last evening I found this note--and I have _accepted_,\nthat I might say I could also keep an engagement, if so minded, at\nHarley Street--thereby insinuating that other reasons _may_ bring me\ninto the neighbourhood than _the_ reason--but I shall either not go\nthere, or only for an hour at most. I also found a note headed\n'Strictly private and confidential'--so here it goes from my mouth to\nmy heart--pleasantly proposing that I should start in a few days for\nSt. Petersburg, as secretary to somebody going there on a 'mission of\nhumanity'--_grazie tante_!\n\nDid you hear of my meeting someone at the door whom I take to have\nbeen one of your brothers?\n\nOne thing vexed me in your letter--I will tell you, the praise of\n_my_ letters. Now, one merit they have--in language mystical--that of\nhaving _no_ merit. If I caught myself trying to write finely,\ngraphically &c. &c., nay, if I found myself conscious of having in my\nown opinion, so written, all would be over! yes, over! I should be\nrespecting you inordinately, paying a proper tribute to your genius,\nsummoning the necessary collectedness,--plenty of all that! But the\nfeeling with which I write to you, not knowing that it is\nwriting,--with _you_, face and mouth and hair and eyes opposite me,\ntouching me, knowing that all _is_ as I say, and helping out the\nimperfect phrases from your own intuition--_that_ would be gone--and\n_what_ in its place? 'Let us eat and drink for to-morrow we write to\nAmbleside.' No, no, love, nor can it ever be so, nor should it ever be\nso if--even if, preserving all that intimate relation, with the\ncarelessness, _still_, somehow, was obtained with no effort in the\nworld, graphic writing and philosophic and what you please--for I\n_will_ be--_would_ be, better than my works and words with an infinite\nstock beyond what I put into convenient circulation whether in fine\nspeeches fit to remember, or fine passages to quote. For the rest, I\nhad meant to tell you before now, that you often put me 'in a maze'\nwhen you particularize letters of mine--'such an one was kind' &c. I\nknow, sometimes I seem to give the matter up in despair, I take out\npaper and fall thinking on you, and bless you with my whole heart and\nthen begin: 'What a fine day this is?' I distinctly remember having\ndone that repeatedly--but the converse is not true by any means, that\n(when the expression may happen to fall more consentaneously to the\nmind's motion) that less is felt, oh no! But the particular thought at\nthe time has not been of the _insufficiency_ of expression, as in the\nother instance.\n\nNow I will leave off--to begin elsewhere--for I am always with you,\nbeloved, best beloved! Now you will write? And walk much, and sleep\nmore? Bless you, dearest--ever--\n\n Your own,", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-marks, Mis-sent to Mitcham. February 19 and 20, 1846.]\n\nBest and kindest of all that ever were to be loved in dreams, and\nwondered at and loved out of them, you are indeed! I cannot make you\nfeel how I felt that night when I knew that to save me an anxious\nthought you had come so far so late--it was almost too much to feel,\nand _is_ too much to speak. So let it pass. You will never act so\nagain, ever dearest--you shall not. If the post sins, why leave the\nsin to the post; and I will remember for the future, will be ready to\nremember, how postmen are fallible and how you live at the end of a\nlane--and not be uneasy about a silence if there should be one\nunaccounted for. For the Tuesday coming, I shall remember that\ntoo--who could forget it?... I put it in the niche of the wall, one\ngolden lamp more of your giving, to throw light purely down to the end\nof my life--I do thank you. And the truth is, I _should_ have been in\na panic, had there been no letter that evening--I was frightened the\nday before, then reasoned the fears back and waited: and if there had\nbeen no letter after all--. But you are supernaturally good and kind.\nHow can I ever 'return' as people say (as they might say in their\nledgers) ... any of it all? How indeed can I who have not even a heart\nleft of my own, to love you with?\n\nI quite trust to your promise in respect to the medical advice, if\nwalking and rest from work do not prevent at once the recurrence of\nthose sensations--it was a promise, remember. And you will tell me the\nvery truth of how you are--and you will try the music, and not be\nnervous, dearest. Would not _riding_ be good for you--consider. And\nwhy should you be 'alone' when your sister is in the house? How I keep\nthinking of you all day--you cannot really be alone with so many\nthoughts ... such swarms of thoughts, if you could but see them,\ndrones and bees together!\n\nGeorge came in from Westminster Hall after we parted yesterday and\nsaid that he had talked with the junior counsel of the wretched\nplaintiffs in the Ferrers case, and that the belief was in the mother\nbeing implicated, although not from the beginning. It was believed too\nthat the miserable girl had herself taken step after step into the\nmire, involved herself gradually, the first guilt being an\nextravagance in personal expenses, which she lied and lied to account\nfor in the face of her family. 'Such a respectable family,' said\nGeorge, 'the grandfather in court looking venerable, and everyone\nindignant upon being so disgraced by her!' But for the respectability\nin the best sense, I do not quite see. That all those people should\nacquiesce in the indecency (according to every standard of English\nmanners in any class of society) of thrusting the personal expenses of\na member of their family on Lord Ferrers, she still bearing their\nname--and in those peculiar circumstances of her supposed position\ntoo--where is the respectability? And they are furious with her, which\nis not to be wondered at after all. Her counsel had an interview with\nher previous to the trial, to satisfy themselves of her good faith,\nand she was quite resolute and earnest, persisting in every statement.\nOn the coming out of the anonymous letters, Fitzroy Kelly said to the\njuniors that if anyone could suggest a means of explanation, he would\nbe eager to carry forward the case, ... but for him he saw no way of\nescaping from the fact of the guilt of their client. Not a voice could\nspeak for her. So George was told. There is no ground for a\nprosecution for a conspiracy, he says, but she is open to the charge\nfor _forgery_, of course, and to the dreadful consequences, though it\nis not considered at all likely that Lord Ferrers could wish to\ndisturb her beyond the ruin she has brought on her own life.\n\nThink of Miss Mitford's growing quite cold about Mr. Chorley who has\nspent two days with her lately, and of her saying in a letter to me\nthis morning that he is very much changed and grown to be 'a\npresumptuous coxcomb.' He has displeased her in some way--that is\nclear. What changes there are in the world.\n\nShould I ever change to _you_, do you think, ... even if you came to\n'love me less'--not that I meant to reproach you with that\npossibility. May God bless you, dear dearest. It is another miracle\n(beside the many) that I get nearer to the mountains yet still they\nseem more blue. Is not _that_ strange?\n\n Ever and wholly\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, February 20, 1846.]\n\nAnd I offended you by praising your letters--or rather _mine_, if you\nplease--as if I had not the right! Still, you shall not, shall not\nfancy that I meant to praise them in the way you seem to think--by\ncalling them 'graphic,' 'philosophic,'--why, did I ever use such\nwords? I agree with you that if I could play critic upon your letters,\nit would be an end!--but no, no ... I did not, for a moment. In what I\nsaid I went back to my first impressions--and they were _vital_\nletters, I said--which was the résumé of my thoughts upon the early\nones you sent me, because I felt your letters to be _you_ from the\nvery first, and I began, from the beginning, to read every one several\ntimes over. Nobody, I felt, nobody of all these writers, did write as\nyou did. Well!--and had I not a right to say _that_ now at last, and\nwas it not natural to say just _that_, when I was talking of other\npeople's letters and how it had grown almost impossible for me to read\nthem; and do I deserve to be scolded? No indeed.\n\nAnd if I had the misfortune to think now, when you say it is a fine\nday, that _that_ is said in more music than it could be said in by\nanother--where is the sin against _you_, I should like to ask. It is\nyourself who is the critic, I think, after all. But over all the\nbrine, I hold my letters--just as Camoens did his poem. They are _best\nto me_--and they are _best_. I knew what _they_ were, before I knew\nwhat _you_ were--all of you. And I like to think that I never fancied\nanyone on a level with you, even in a letter.\n\nWhat makes you take them to be so bad, I suppose, is just feeling in\nthem how near we are. _You say that!_--not I.\n\nBad or good, you _are_ better--yes, 'better than the works and\nwords'!--though it was very shameful of you to insinuate that I talked\nof fine speeches and passages and graphical and philosophical\nsentences, as if I had proposed a publication of 'Elegant Extracts'\nfrom your letters. See what blasphemy one falls into through a\nbeginning of light speech! It is wiser to talk of St. Petersburg; for\nall Voltaire's ... '_ne disons pas de mal de Nicolas_.'\n\nWiser--because you will not go. If you were going ... well!--but there\nis no danger--it would not do you good to go, I am so happy this time\nas to be able to think--and your 'mission of humanity' lies\nnearer--'strictly private and confidential'? but not in Harley\nStreet--so if you go _there_, dearest, keep to the 'one hour' and do\nnot suffer yourself to be tired and stunned in those hot rooms and\nmade unwell again--it is plain that you cannot bear that sort of\nexcitement. For Mr. Kenyon's note, ... it was a great temptation to\nmake a day of Friday--but I resist both for Monday's sake and for\nyours, because it seems to me safer not to hurry you from one house to\nanother till you are tired completely. I shall think of you so much\nthe nearer for Mr. Kenyon's note--which is something gained. In the\nmeanwhile you are better, which is everything, or seems so. Ever\ndearest, do you remember what it is to me that you should be better,\nand keep from being worse again--I mean, of course, _try_ to keep from\nbeing worse--be wise ... and do not stay long in those hot Harley\nStreet rooms. Ah--now you will think that I am afraid of the\nunicorns!--\n\nThrough your being ill the other day I forgot, and afterwards went on\nforgetting, to speak of and to return the ballad--which is delightful;\nI have an unspeakable delight in those suggestive ballads, which seem\nto make you touch with the end of your finger the full warm life of\nother times ... so near they bring you, yet so suddenly all passes in\nthem. Certainly there is a likeness to your Duchess--it is a curious\ncrossing. And does it not strike you that a verse or two must be\nwanting in the ballad--there is a gap, I fancy.\n\nTell Mr. Kenyon (if he enquires) that you come here on Monday instead\nof Saturday--and if you can help it, do not mention Wednesday--it will\nbe as well, not. You met Alfred at the door--he came up to me\nafterwards and observed that 'at last he had seen you!' 'Virgilium\ntantum vidi!'\n\nAs to the thing which you try to say in the first page of this letter,\nand which you 'stop' yourself in saying ... _I_ need not stop you in\nit....\n\nAnd now there is no time, if I am to sleep to-night. May God bless\nyou, dearest, dearest.\n\nI must be your own while He blesses _me_.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, February 20, 1846.]\n\nHere is my Ba's dearest _first_ letter come four hours after the\nsecond, with '_Mis-sent to Mitcham_' written on its face as a\nreason,--one more proof of the negligence of somebody! But I _do_ have\nit at last--what should I say? what do you expect me to say? And the\nfirst note seemed quite as much too kind as usual!\n\nLet me write to-morrow, sweet? I am quite well and sure to mind all\nyou bid me. I shall do no more than look in at that place (they are\nthe cousins of a really good friend of mine, Dr. White--I go for\n_him_) if even that--for to-morrow night I must go out again, I\nfear--to pay the ordinary compliment for an invitation to the R.S.'s\n_soirée_ at Lord Northampton's. And then comes Monday--and to-night\nany unicorn I may see I will not find myself at liberty to catch.\n(N.B.--should you meditate really an addition to the 'Elegant\nExtracts'--mind this last joke is none of mine but my father's; when\nwalking with me when a child, I remember, he bade a little urchin we\nfound fishing with a stick and a string for sticklebacks in a\nditch--'to mind that he brought any sturgeon he might catch to the\nking'--he having a claim on such a prize, by courtesy if not right).\n\nAs for Chorley, he is neither the one nor the other of those ugly\nthings. One remembers Regan's 'Oh Heaven--so you will rail at _me_,\nwhen you are in the mood.' But what a want of self-respect such\njudgments argue, or rather, want of knowledge what true self-respect\nis: 'So I believed yesterday, and _so_ now--and yet am neither hasty,\nnor inapprehensive, nor malevolent'--what then?\n\n--But I will say more of my mind--(not of that)--to-morrow, for time\npresses a little--so bless you my ever ever dearest--I love you\nwholly.\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 21, 1846.]\n\nAs my sisters did not dine at home yesterday and I see nobody else in\nthe evening, I never heard till just now and _from Papa himself_, that\n'George was invited to meet Mr. Browning and Mr. Procter.' How\nsurprised you will be. It must have been a sudden thought of Mr.\nKenyon's.\n\nAnd I have been thinking, thinking since last night that I wrote you\nthen a letter all but ... insolent ... which, do you know, I feel half\nashamed to look back upon this morning--particularly what I wrote\nabout 'missions of humanity'--now was it not insolent of me to write\nso? If I could take my letter again I would dip it into Lethe between\nthe lilies, instead of the post office:--but I can't--so if you\nwondered, you must forget as far as possible, and understand how it\nwas, and that I was in brimming spirits when I wrote, from two causes\n... first, because I had your letter which was a pure goodness of\nyours, and secondly because you were 'noticeably' better you said, or\n'noticeably well' rather, to mind my quotations. So I wrote what I\nwrote, and gave it to Arabel when she came in at midnight, to give it\nto Henrietta who goes out before eight in the morning and often takes\ncharge of my letters, and it was too late, at the earliest this\nmorning, to feel a little ashamed. Miss Thomson told me that she had\ndetermined to change the type of the few pages of her letterpress\nwhich had been touched, and that therefore Mr. Burges's revisions of\nmy translations should be revised back again. She appears to be a very\nacute person, full of quick perceptions--naturally quick, and\ncarefully trained--a little over anxious perhaps about mental lights,\nand opening her eyes still more than she sees, which is a common fault\nof clever people, if one must call it a fault. I like her, and she is\nkind and cordial. Will she ask you to help her book with a translation\nor two, I wonder. Perhaps--if the courage should come. Dearest, how I\nshall think of you this evening, and how near you will seem, not to be\nhere. I had a letter from Mr. Mathews the other day, and smiled to\nread in it just what I had expected, that he immediately sent Landor's\nverses on you to a _few editors_, friends of his, in order to their\ncommunication to the public. He received my apology for myself with\nthe utmost graciousness. A kind good man he is.\n\nAfter all, do you know, I am a little vexed that I should have even\n_seemed_ to do wrong in my speech about the letters. It must have been\nwrong, if it seemed so to you, I fancy now. Only I really did no more\nmean to try your letters ... mine ... such as they are to me now, by\nthe common critical measure, than the shepherds praised the pure tenor\nof the angels who sang 'Peace upon earth' to them. It was enough that\nthey knew it for angels' singing. So do _you_ forgive me, beloved, and\nput away from you the thought that I have let in between us any\nmiserable stuff 'de métier,' which I hate as you hate. And I will not\nsay any more about it, not to run into more imprudences of mischief.\n\nOn the other hand I warn you against saying again what you began to\nsay yesterday and stopped. Do not try it again. What may be quite good\nsense from me, is from _you_ very much the reverse, and pray observe\nthat difference. Or did you think that I was making my own road clear\nin the the thing I said about--'jilts'? No, you did not. Yet I am\nready to repeat of myself as of others, that if I ceased to love you,\nI certainly would act out the whole consequence--but _that_ is an\nimpossible 'if' to my nature, supposing the conditions of it otherwise\nto be probable. I never loved anyone much and ceased to love that\nperson. Ask every friend of mine, if I am given to change even in\nfriendship! _And to you...!_ Ah, but you never think of such a thing\nseriously--and you are conscious that you did not say it very sagely.\nYou and I are in different positions. Now let me tell you an apologue\nin exchange for your Wednesday's stories which I liked so, and mine\nperhaps may make you 'a little wiser'--who knows?\n\nIt befell that there stood in hall a bold baron, and out he spake to\none of his serfs ... 'Come thou; and take this baton of my baronie,\nand give me instead thereof that sprig of hawthorn thou holdest in\nthine hand.' Now the hawthorn-bough was no larger a thing than might\nbe carried by a wood-pigeon to the nest, when she flieth low, and the\nbaronial baton was covered with fine gold, and the serf, turning it\nin his hands, marvelled greatly.\n\nAnd he answered and said, 'Let not my lord be in haste, nor jest with\nhis servant. Is it verily his will that I should keep his golden\nbaton? Let him speak again--lest it repent him of his gift.'\n\nAnd the baron spake again that it was his will. 'And I'--he said once\nagain--'shall it be lawful for me to keep this sprig of hawthorn, and\nwill it not repent thee of thy gift?'\n\nThen all the servants who stood in hall, laughed, and the serf's hands\ntrembled till they dropped the baton into the rushes, knowing that his\nlord did but jest....\n\nWhich mine did not. Only, _de te fabula narratur_ up to a point.\n\nAnd I have your letter. 'What did I expect?' Why I expected just\n_that_, a letter in turn. Also I am graciously pleased (yes, and very\nmuch pleased!) to '_let_ you write to-morrow.' How you spoil me with\ngoodness, which makes one 'insolent' as I was saying, now and then.\n\nThe worst is, that I write 'too kind' letters--I!--and what does that\ncriticism mean, pray? It reminds me, at least, of ... now I will tell\nyou what it reminds me of.\n\nA few days ago Henrietta said to me that she was quite uncomfortable.\nShe had written to somebody a not kind enough letter, she thought, and\nit might be taken ill. 'Are _you_ ever uncomfortable, Ba, after you\nhave sent letters to the post?' she asked me.\n\n'Yes,' I said, 'sometimes, but from a reason just the very reverse of\nyour reason, _my_ letters, when they get into the post, seem too\nkind,--rather.' And my sisters laughed ... laughed.\n\nBut if _you_ think so beside, I must seriously set to work, you see,\nto correct that flagrant fault, and shall do better in time _dis\nfaventibus_, though it will be difficult.\n\nMr. Kenyon's dinner is a riddle which I cannot read. _You_ are\ninvited to meet Miss Thomson and Mr. Bayley and '_no one else_.'\nGeorge is invited to meet Mr. Browning and Mr. Procter and '_no one\nelse_'--just those words. The '_absolu_' (do you remember Balzac's\nbeautiful story?) is just _you_ and 'no one else,' the other elements\nbeing mere uncertainties, shifting while one looks for them.\n\nAm I not writing nonsense to-night? I am not 'too _wise_' in any case,\nwhich is some comfort. It puts one in spirits to hear of your being\n'well,' ever and ever dearest. Keep so for _me_. May God bless you\nhour by hour. In every one of mine I am your own\n\n BA.\n\nFor Miss Mitford ...\n\n But people are not angels quite ...\n\nand she sees the whole world in stripes of black and white, it is her\nway. I feel very affectionately towards her, love her sincerely. She\nis affectionate to _me_ beyond measure. Still, always I feel that if I\nwere to vex her, the lower deep below the lowest deep would not be low\nenough for _me_. I always feel _that_. She would advertise me directly\nfor a wretch proper.\n\nThen, for all I said about never changing, I have ice enough over me\njust now to hold the sparrows!--in respect to a great crowd of people,\nand she is among them--for reasons--for reasons.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 23, 1846.]\n\nSo all was altered, my love--and, instead of Miss T. and the other\nfriend, I had your brother and Procter--to my great pleasure. After, I\nwent to that place, and soon got away, and am very well this morning\nin the sunshine; which I feel with you, do I not? Yesterday after\ndinner we spoke of Mrs. Jameson, and, as my wont is--(Here your letter\nreaches me--let me finish this sentence now I have finished kissing\nyou, dearest beyond all dearness--My own heart's Ba!)--oh, as I am\nused, I left the talking to go on by itself, with the thought busied\nelsewhere, till at last my own voice startled me for I heard my tongue\nutter 'Miss Barrett ... that is, Mrs. Jameson says' ... or 'does ...\nor does not.' I forget which! And if anybody noticed the _gaucherie_\nit must have been just your brother!\n\nNow to these letters! I do solemnly, unaffectedly wonder how you can\nput so much pure felicity into an envelope so as that I shall get it\nas from the fount head. This to-day, those yesterday--there is, I see,\nand know, thus much goodness in line after line, goodness to be\nscientifically appreciated, _proved there_--but over and above, is it\nin the writing, the dots and traces, the seal, the paper--here does\nthe subtle charm lie beyond all rational accounting for? The other day\nI stumbled on a quotation from J. Baptista Porta--wherein he avers\nthat any musical instrument made out of wood possessed of medicinal\nproperties retains, being put to use, such virtues undiminished,--and\nthat, for instance, a sick man to whom you should pipe on a pipe of\nelder-tree would so receive all the advantage derivable from a\ndecoction of its berries. From whence, by a parity of reasoning, I may\ndiscover, I think, that the very ink and paper were--ah, what were\nthey? Curious thinking won't do for me and the wise head which is\nmine, so I will lie and rest in my ignorance of content and understand\nthat without any magic at all you simply wish to make one\nperson--which of your free goodness proves to be your R.B.--to make me\nsupremely happy, and that you have your wish--you _do_ bless me! More\nand more, for the old treasure is piled undiminished and still the new\ncomes glittering in. Dear, dear heart of my heart, life of my life,\n_will this last_, let _me_ begin to ask? Can it be meant I shall live\nthis to the end? Then, dearest, care also for the life beyond, and put\nin my mind how to testify here that I have felt, if I could not\ndeserve that a gift beyond all gifts! I hope to work hard, to prove I\ndo feel, as I say--it would be terrible to accomplish nothing now.\n\nWith which conviction--renewed conviction time by time, of your\nextravagance of kindness to me unworthy,--will it seem\ncharacteristically consistent when I pray you not to begin frightening\nme, all the same, with threats of writing _less_ kindly? That must not\nbe, love, for _your_ sake now--if you had not thrown open those\nwindows of heaven I should have no more imagined than that Syrian lord\non whom the King leaned 'how such things might be'--but, once their\ninfluence showered, I should know, too soon and easily, if they shut\nup again! You have committed your dear, dearest self to that course of\nblessing, and blessing on, on, for ever--so let all be as it is, pray,\n_pray_!\n\nNo--not _all_. No more, ever, of that strange\nsuspicion--'insolent'--oh, what a word!--nor suppose I shall\nparticularly wonder at its being fancied applicable to _that_, of all\nother passages of your letter! It is quite as reasonable to suspect\nthe existence of such a quality _there_ as elsewhere: how _can_ such a\nthing, _could_ such a thing come from you to me? But, dear Ba, _do_\nyou know me better! _Do_ feel that I know you, I am bold to believe,\nand that if you were to run at me with a pointed spear I should be\nsure it was a golden sanative, Machaon's touch, for my entire good,\nthat I was opening my heart to receive! As for words, written or\nspoken--I, who sin forty times in a day by light words, and untrue to\nthe thought, I am certainly not used to be easily offended by other\npeoples' words, people in the world. But _your_ words! And about the\n'mission'; if it had not been a thing to jest at, I should not have\nbegun, as I did--as you felt I did. I know now, what I only suspected\nthen, and will tell you all the matter on Monday if you care to hear.\nThe 'humanity' however, would have been unquestionable if I had chosen\nto exercise it towards the poor weak incapable creature that wants\n_somebody_, and urgently, I can well believe.\n\nAs for your apologue, it is naught--as you felt, and so broke off--for\nthe baron knew well enough it was a spray of the magical tree which\nonce planted in his domain would shoot up, and out, and all round, and\nbe glorious with leaves and musical with birds' nests, and a fairy\nsafeguard and blessing thenceforward and for ever, when the foolish\nbaton had been broken into ounces of gold, even if gold it _were_, and\nspent and vanished: for, he said, such gold lies in the highway, men\npick it up, more of it or less; but this one slip of the flowering\ntree is all of it on this side Paradise. Whereon he laid it to his\nheart and was happy--in spite of his disastrous chase the night\nbefore, when so far from catching an unicorn, he saw not even a\nrespectable prize-heifer, worth the oil-cake and rape-seed it had\ndoubtless cost to rear her--'insolence!'\n\nI found no opportunity of speaking to Mr. K. about Monday, but nothing\nwas said of last Wednesday, and he must know I did not go yesterday.\nSo, Monday is laughing in sunshine surely! Bless you, my sweetest. I\nlove you with my whole heart; ever shall love you.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 24, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, it is only when you go away, when you are quite gone,\nout of the house and the street, that I get up and think properly, and\nwith the right gratitude of your flowers. Such beautiful flowers you\nbrought me this time too! looking like summer itself, and smelling!\nDoing the 'honour due' to the flowers, makes your presence a little\nlonger with me, the sun shines back over the hill just by that time,\nand then drops, till the next letter.\n\nIf I had had the letter on Saturday as ought to have been, no, I could\n_not_ have answered it so that you should have my answer on\nSunday--no, I should still have had to write first.\n\nNow you understand that I do not object to the writing first, but only\nto the hearing second. I would rather write than not--I! But to be\nwritten to is the chief gladness of course; and with all you say of\nliking to have my letters (which I like to hear quite enough indeed)\nyou cannot pretend to think that _yours_ are not more to _me_, most to\n_me_! Ask my guardian-angel and hear what he says! Yours will look\nanother way for shame of measuring joys with him! Because as I have\nsaid before, and as he says now, you are all to me, all the light, all\nthe life; I am living for you now. And before I knew you, what was I\nand where? What was the world to me, do you think? and the meaning of\nlife? And now, when you come and go, and write and do not write, all\nthe hours are chequered accordingly in so many squares of white and\nblack, as if for playing at fox and goose ... only there is no fox,\nand I will not agree to be goose for one ... _that_ is _you_ perhaps,\nfor being 'too easily' satisfied.\n\nSo my claim is that you are more to me than I can be to you at any\nrate. Mr. Fox said on Sunday that I was a 'religious hermit' who wrote\n'poems which ought to be read in a Gothic alcove'; and religious\nhermits, when they care to see visions, do it better, they all say,\nthrough fasting and flagellation and seclusion in dark places. St.\nTheresa, for instance, saw a clearer glory by such means, than your\nSir Moses Montefiore through his hundred-guinea telescope. Think then,\nhow every shadow of my life has helped to throw out into brighter,\nfuller significance, the light which comes to me from you ... think\nhow it is the one light, seen without distractions.\n\n_I_ was thinking the other day that certainly and after all (or rather\nbefore all) I had loved you all my life unawares, that is, the idea of\nyou. Women begin for the most part, (if ever so very little given to\nreverie) by meaning, in an aside to themselves, to love such and such\nan ideal, seen sometimes in a dream and sometimes in a book, and\nforswearing their ancient faith as the years creep on. I say a book,\nbecause I remember a friend of mine who looked everywhere for the\noriginal of Mr. Ward's 'Tremaine,' because nothing would do for _her_,\nshe insisted, except just _that_ excess of so-called refinement, with\nthe book-knowledge and the conventional manners, (_loue qui peut_,\nTremaine), and ended by marrying a lieutenant in the Navy who could\nnot spell. Such things happen every day, and cannot be otherwise, say\nthe wise:--and _this_ being otherwise with _me_ is miraculous\ncompensation for the trials of many years, though such abundant,\noverabundant compensation, that I cannot help fearing it is too much,\nas I know that you are too good and too high for me, and that by the\ndegree in which I am raised up you are let down, for us two to find a\nlevel to meet on. One's ideal must be above one, as a matter of\ncourse, you know. It is as far as one can reach with one's eyes\n(soul-eyes), not reach to touch. And here is mine ... shall I tell\nyou? ... even to the visible outward sign of the black hair and the\ncomplexion (why you might ask my sisters!) yet I would not tell you,\nif I could not tell you afterwards that, if it had been red hair\nquite, it had been the same thing, only I prove the coincidence out\nfully and make you smile half.\n\nYet indeed I did not fancy that I was to love _you_ when you came to\nsee me--no indeed ... any more than I did your caring on your side. My\nambition when we began our correspondence, was simply that you should\nforget I was a woman (being weary and _blasée_ of the empty written\ngallantries, of which I have had my share and all the more perhaps\nfrom my peculiar position which made them so without consequence),\nthat you should forget _that_ and let us be friends, and consent to\nteach me what you knew better than I, in art and human nature, and\ngive me your sympathy in the meanwhile. I am a great hero-worshipper\nand had admired your poetry for years, and to feel that you liked to\nwrite to me and be written to was a pleasure and a pride, as I used\nto tell you I am sure, and then your letters were not like other\nletters, as I must not tell you again. Also you _influenced_ me, in a\nway in which no one else did. For instance, by two or three half words\nyou made me see you, and other people had delivered orations on the\nsame subject quite without effect. I surprised everybody in this house\nby consenting to see you. Then, when you came, you never went away. I\nmean I had a sense of your presence constantly. Yes ... and to prove\nhow free that feeling was from the remotest presentiment of what has\noccurred, I said to Papa in my unconsciousness the next morning ...\n'it is most extraordinary how the idea of Mr. Browning does beset\nme--I suppose it is not being used to see strangers, in some\ndegree--but it haunts me ... it is a persecution.' On which he smiled\nand said that 'it was not grateful to my friend to use such a word.'\nWhen the letter came....\n\nDo you know that all that time I was frightened of you? frightened in\nthis way. I felt as if you had a power over me and meant to use it,\nand that I could not breathe or speak very differently from what you\nchose to make me. As to my thoughts, I had it in my head somehow that\nyou read _them_ as you read the newspaper--examined them, and fastened\nthem down writhing under your long entomological pins--ah, do you\nremember the entomology of it all?\n\nBut the power was used upon _me_--and I never doubted that you had\nmistaken your own mind, the strongest of us having some exceptional\nweakness. Turning the wonder round in all lights, I came to what you\nadmitted yesterday ... yes, I saw _that_ very early ... that you had\ncome here with the intention of trying to love whomever you should\nfind, ... and also that what I had said about exaggerating the amount\nof what I could be to you, had just operated in making you more\ndetermined to justify your own presentiment in the face of mine.\nWell--and if that last clause was true a little, too ... why should I\nbe sorry now ... and why should you have fancied for a moment, that\nthe first could make me sorry. At first and when I did not believe\nthat you really loved me, when I thought you deceived yourself,\n_then_, it was different. But now ... now ... when I see and believe\nyour attachment for me, do you think that any cause in the world\n(except what diminished it) could render it less a source of joy to\nme? I mean as far as I myself am considered. Now if you ever fancy\nthat I am _vain_ of your love for me, you will be unjust, remember. If\nit were less dear, and less above me, I might be vain perhaps. But I\nmay say _before_ God and you, that of all the events of my life,\ninclusive of its afflictions, nothing has humbled me so much as your\nlove. Right or wrong it may be, but true it _is_, and I tell you. Your\nlove has been to me like God's own love, which makes the receivers of\nit kneelers.\n\nWhy all this should be written, I do not know--but you set me thinking\nyesterday in that backward line, which I lean back to very often, and\nfor once, as you made me write directly, why I wrote, as my thoughts\nwent, that way.\n\nSay how you are, beloved--and do not brood over that 'Soul's Tragedy,'\nwhich I wish I had here with 'Luria,' because, so, you should not see\nit for a month at least. And take exercise and keep well--and remember\nhow many letters I must have before Saturday. May God bless you. Do\nyou want to hear me say\n\n I cannot love you less...?\n\n_That_ is a doubtful phrase. And\n\n I cannot love you more\n\nis doubtful too, for reasons I could give. More or less, I really love\nyou, but it does not sound right, even _so_, does it? I know what it\nought to be, and will put it into the 'seal' and the 'paper' with the\nineffable other things.\n\nDearest, do not go to St. Petersburg. Do not think of going, for fear\nit should come true and you should go, and while you were helping the\nJews and teaching Nicholas, what (in that case) would become of your\n\n BA?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, February 24, 1846.]\n\nAh, sweetest, in spite of our agreement, here is the note that sought\nnot to go, but must--because, if there is no speaking of Mrs. Jamesons\nand such like without bringing in your dear name (not _dearest_ name,\nmy Ba!) what is the good of not writing it down, now, when I, though\npossessed with the love of it no more than usual, yet _may_ speak, and\nto a hearer? And I have to thank you with all my heart for the good\nnews of the increasing strength and less need for the opium--how I do\nthank you, my dearest--and desire to thank God through whose goodness\nit all is! This I could not but say now, to-morrow I will write at\nlength, having been working a little this morning, with whatever\neffect. So now I will go out and see your elm-trees and gate, and\nthink the thoughts over again, and coming home I shall perhaps find a\nletter.\n\n Dearest, dearest--my perfect blessing you are!\n\n May God continue his care for us. R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, February 25, 1846.]\n\nOnce you were pleased to say, my own Ba, that 'I made you do as I\nwould.' I am quite sure, you make me _speak_ as you would, and not at\nall as I mean--and for one instance, I never surely spoke anything\nhalf so untrue as that 'I came with the intention of loving whomever I\nshould find'--No! wreathed shells and hollows in ruins, and roofs of\ncaves may transform a voice wonderfully, make more of it or less, or\nso change it as to almost alter, but turn a 'no' into a 'yes' can no\necho (except the Irish one), and I said 'no' to such a charge, and\nstill say 'no.' I _did_ have a presentiment--and though it is hardly\npossible for me to look back on it now without lending it the true\ncolours given to it by the event, yet I _can_ put them aside, if I\nplease, and remember that I not merely hoped it would not be so (_not_\nthat the effect I expected to be produced would be _less_ than in\nanticipation, certainly I did not hope _that_, but that it would range\nitself with the old feelings of simple reverence and sympathy and\nfriendship, that I should love you as much as I supposed I _could_\nlove, and no more) but in the confidence that nothing could occur to\ndivert me from my intended way of life, I made--went on making\narrangements to return to Italy. You know--did I not tell you--I\nwished to see you before I returned? And I had heard of you just so\nmuch as seemed to make it impossible such a relation could ever exist.\nI know very well, if you choose to refer to my letters you may easily\nbring them to bear a sense in parts, more agreeable to your own theory\nthan to mine, the true one--but that was instinct,\nProvidence--anything rather than foresight. Now I will convince you!\nyourself have noticed the difference between the _letters_ and the\n_writer_; the greater 'distance of the latter from you,' why was that?\nWhy, if not because the conduct _began_ with _him_, with one who had\nnow seen you--was no continuation of the conduct, as influenced by the\nfeeling, of the letters--else, they, if _near_, should have enabled\nhim, if but in the natural course of time and with increase of\nfamiliarity, to become _nearer_--but it was not so! The letters began\nby loving you after their way--but what a world-wide difference\nbetween _that_ love and the true, the love from seeing and hearing and\nfeeling, since you make me resolve, what now lies blended so\nharmoniously, into its component parts. Oh, I know what is old from\nwhat is new, and how chrystals may surround and glorify other vessels\nmeant for ordinary service than Lord N's! But I _don't_ know that\nhandling may not snap them off, some of the more delicate ones; and if\nyou let me, love, I will not again, ever again, consider how it came\nand whence, and when, so curiously, so pryingly, but believe that it\nwas always so, and that it all came at once, all the same; the more\nunlikelinesses the better, for they set off the better the truth of\ntruths that here, ('how begot? how nourished?')--here is the whole\nwondrous Ba filling my whole heart and soul; and over-filling it,\nbecause she is in all the world, too, where I look, where I fancy. At\nthe same time, because all is so wondrous and so sweet, do you think\nthat it would be _so_ difficult for me to analyse it, and give causes\nto the effects in sufficiently numerous instances, even to 'justify my\npresentiment?' Ah, dear, dearest Ba, I could, could indeed, could\naccount for all, or enough! But you are unconscious, I do believe, of\nyour power, and the knowledge of it would be no added grace, perhaps!\nSo let us go on--taking a lesson out of the world's book in a\ndifferent sense. You shall think I love you for--(tell me, you must,\nwhat for) while in my secret heart I know what my 'mission of\nhumanity' means, and what telescopic and microscopic views it procures\nme. Enough--Wait, one word about the 'too kind letters'--could not the\nsame Montefiore understand that though he deserved not one of his\nthousand guineas, yet that he is in disgrace if they bate him of his\nnext gift by merely _ten_? It _is_ all too kind--but I shall feel the\ndiminishing of the kindness, be very sure! Of that there is, however,\nnot too alarming a sign in this dearest, because last of all--dearest\nletter of all--till the next! I looked yesterday over the 'Tragedy,'\nand think it will do after all. I will bring one part at least next\ntime, and 'Luria' take away, if you let me, so all will be off my\nmind, and April and May be the welcomer? Don't think I am going to\ntake any extraordinary pains. There are some things in the 'Tragedy' I\nshould like to preserve and print now, leaving the future to spring\nas it likes, in any direction, and these half-dead, half-alive works\nfetter it, if left behind.\n\nYet one thing will fetter it worse, only one thing--if _you_, in any\nrespect, stay behind? You that in all else help me and will help me,\nbeyond words--beyond dreams--if, because I find you, your own works\n_stop_--'then comes the Selah and the voice is hushed.' Oh, no, no,\ndearest, _so_ would the help cease to be help--the joy to be joy, Ba\nherself to be _quite_ Ba, and my own Siren singing song for song. Dear\nlove, will that be kind, and right, and like the rest? Write and\npromise that all shall be resumed, the romance-poem chiefly, and I\nwill try and feel more yours than ever now. Am I not with you in the\nworld, proud of you--and _vain_, too, very likely, which is all the\nsweeter if it is a sin as you teach me. Indeed dearest, I have set my\nheart on your fulfilling your mission--my heart is on it! Bless you,\nmy Ba--\n\n Your R.B.\n\nI am so well as to have resumed the shower-bath (this morning)--and I\nwalk, especially near the elms and stile--and mean to walk, and be\nvery well--and you, dearest?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 26, 1846.]\n\nI confess that while I was writing those words I had a thought that\nthey were not quite yours as you said them. Still it comes to\nsomething in their likeness, but we will not talk of it and break off\nthe chrystals--they _are_ so brittle, then? do you know _that_ by an\n'instinct.' But I agree that it is best not to talk--I 'gave it up' as\na riddle long ago. Let there be 'analysis' even, and it will not be\nsolution. I have my own thoughts of course, and you have yours, and\nthe worst is that a third person looking down on us from some\nsnow-capped height, and free from personal influences, would have\n_his_ thoughts too, and _he_ would think that if you had been\nreasonable as usual you would have gone to Italy. I have by heart (or\nby head at least) what the third person would think. The third person\nthundered to me in an abstraction for ever so long, and at intervals I\nhear him still, only you shall not to-day, because he talks 'damnable\niterations' and teazes you. Nay, the first person is teazing you now\nperhaps, without going any further, and yet I must go a little\nfurther, just to say (after accepting all possible unlikelinesses and\nmiracles, because everything was miraculous and impossible) that it\nwas agreed between us long since that you did not love me for\nanything--your having no reason for it is the only way of your not\nseeming unreasonable. Also _for my own sake_. I like it to be so--I\ncannot have peace with the least change from it. Dearest, take the\nbaron's hawthorn bough which, in spite of his fine dream of it is dead\nsince the other day, and so much the worse than when I despised it\nlast--take that dead stick and push it upright into the sand as the\ntide rises, and the whole blue sea draws up its glittering breadth and\nlength towards and around it. But what then? What does _that prove_?\n... as the philosopher said of the poem. So we ought not to talk of\nsuch things; and we get warned off even in the accidental\nillustrations taken up to light us. Still, the stick certainly did not\ndraw the sea.\n\nDearest and best you were yesterday, to write me the little note! You\nare better than the imaginations of my heart, and _they_, as far as\nthey relate to you (not further) are _not_ desperately wicked, I\nthink. I always expect the kindest things from you, and you always are\ndoing some kindness beyond what is expected, and this is a miracle\ntoo, like the rest, now isn't it? When the knock came last night, I\nknew it was your letter, and not another's. Just another little leaf\nof my Koran! How I thank you ... thank you! If I write too kind\nletters, as you say, why they may be too kind for me to send, but not\nfor you to receive; and I suppose I think more of you than of me,\nwhich accounts for my writing them, accounts and justifies. And _that_\nis my reflection not now for the first time. For we break rules very\noften--as that exegetical third person might expound to you clearly\nout of the ninety-sixth volume of the 'Code of Conventions,' only you\nare not like another, nor have you been to me like another--you began\nwith most improvident and (will you let me say?) _unmasculine_\ngenerosity, and Queen Victoria does not sit upon a mat after the\nfashion of Queen Pomare, nor should.\n\nBut ... but ... you know very fully that you are breaking faith in the\nmatter of the 'Tragedy' and 'Luria'--you promised to rest--and _you\nrest for three days_. Is it _so_ that people get well? or keep well?\nIndeed I do not think I shall let you have 'Luria.' Ah--be careful, I\ndo beseech you--be careful. There is time for a pause, and the works\nwill profit by it themselves. And _you_! And I ... if you are ill!--\n\nFor the rest I will let you walk in my field, and see my elms as much\nas you please ... though I hear about the shower bath with a little\nsuspicion. Why, if it did you harm before, should it not again? and\nwhy should you use it, if it threatens harm? Now tell me if it hasn't\nmade you rather unwell since the new trial!--tell me, dear, dearest.\n\nAs for myself, I believe that you set about exhorting me to be busy,\njust that I might not reproach _you_ for the over-business. Confess\nthat _that_ was the only meaning of the exhortation. But no, you are\nquite serious, you say. You even threaten me in a sort of underground\nmurmur, which sounds like a nascent earthquake; and if I do not write\nso much a day directly, your stipendiary magistrateship will take away\nmy license to be loved ... I am not to be Ba to you any longer ... you\nsay! And is _this_ right? now I ask you. Ever so many chrystals fell\noff by that stroke of the baton, I do assure you. Only you did not\nmean quite what you said so too articulately, and you will unsay it,\nif you please, and unthink it near the elms.\n\nAs for the writing, I will write ... I have written ... I am writing.\nYou do not fancy that I have given up writing?--No. Only I have\ncertainly been more loitering and distracted than usual in what I have\ndone, which is not my fault--nor yours directly--and I feel an\nindisposition to setting about the romance, the hand of the soul\nshakes. I am too happy and not calm enough, I suppose, to have the\nright inclination. Well--it will come. But all in blots and fragments\nthere are verses enough, to fill a volume done in the last year.\n\nAnd if there were not ... if there were none ... I hold that I should\nbe Ba, and also _your_ Ba ... which is 'insolence' ... will you say?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, February 26, 1846.]\n\nAs for the 'third person,' my sweet Ba, he was a wise speaker from the\nbeginning; and in our case he will say, turning to me--'the late\nRobert Hall--when a friend admired that one with so high an estimate\nof the value of intellectuality in woman should yet marry some kind of\ncook-maid animal, as did the said Robert; wisely answered, \"you can't\nkiss Mind\"! May _you_ not discover eventually,' (this is to me) 'that\nmere intellectual endowments--though incontestably of the loftiest\ncharacter--mere Mind, though that Mind be Miss B's--cannot be\n_kissed_--nor, repent too late the absence of those humbler qualities,\nthose softer affections which, like flowerets at the mountain's foot,\nif not so proudly soaring as, as, as!...' and so on, till one of us\ndied, with laughing or being laughed at! So judges the third person!\nand if, to help him, we let him into your room at Wimpole Street,\nsuffered him to see with Flush's eyes, he would say with just as wise\nan air 'True, mere personal affections may be warm enough, but does it\naugur well for the durability of an attachment that it should be\n_wholly, exclusively_ based on such perishable attractions as the\nsweetness of a mouth, the beauty of an eye? I could wish, rather, to\nknow that there was something of less transitory nature co-existent\nwith this--some congeniality of Mental pursuit, some--' Would he not\nsay that? But I can't do his platitudes justice because here is our\npost going out and I have been all the morning walking in the perfect\njoy of my heart, with your letter, and under its blessing--dearest,\ndearest Ba--let me say more to-morrow--only this now, that you--ah,\nwhat are you not to me! My dearest love, bless you--till to-morrow\nwhen I will strengthen the prayer; (no, _lengthen_ it!)\n\n Ever your own.\n\n'Hawthorn'[1]--to show how Spring gets on!\n\n[Footnote 1: Sprig of Hawthorn enclosed with letter.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, February 27, 1846.]\n\nIf all third persons were as foolish as this third person of yours,\never dearest, first and second persons might follow their own devices\nwithout losing much in the way of good counsel. But you are unlucky in\nyour third person as far as the wits go, he talks a great deal of\nnonsense, and Flush, who is sensible, will have nothing to do with\nhim, he says, any more than you will with Sir Moses:--he is quite a\nthird person _singular_ for the nonsense he talks!\n\nSo, instead of him, you shall hear what I have been doing to-day. The\nsun, which drew out you and the hawthorns, persuaded me that it was\nwarm enough to go down-stairs--and I put on my cloak as if I were\ngoing into the snow, and went into the drawing-room and took\nHenrietta by surprise as she sate at the piano singing. Well, I meant\nto stay half an hour and come back again, for I am upon 'Tinkler's\nground' in the drawing-room and liable to whole droves of morning\nvisitors--and Henrietta kept me, kept me, because she wanted me,\nbesought me, to stay and see the great sight of Capt. Surtees\nCook--_plus_ his regimentals--fresh from the royal presence at St.\nJames's, and I never saw him in my life, though he is a sort of\ncousin. So, though I hated it as you may think, ... not liking to be\nunkind to my sister, I stayed and stayed one ten minutes after\nanother, till it seemed plain that he wasn't coming at all (as I told\nher) and that Victoria had kept him to dinner, enchanted with the\nregimentals. And half laughing and half quarrelling, still she kept me\nby force, until a knock came most significantly ... and '_There_ is\nSurtees' said she ... 'now you must and shall stay! So foolish,' (I\nhad my hand on the door-handle to go out) 'he, your own cousin too!\nwho always calls you Ba, except before Papa.' Which might have\nencouraged me perhaps, but I can't be sure of it, as the very next\nmoment apprized us both that no less a person than Mrs. Jameson was\nstanding out in the passage. The whole 36th. regiment could scarcely\nhave been more astounding to me. As to staying to see her in that\nroom, with the prospect of the military descent in combination, I\ncouldn't have done it for the world! so I made Henrietta, who had\ndrawn me into the scrape, take her up-stairs, and followed myself in a\nminute or two--and the corollary of this interesting history is, that\nbeing able to talk at all after all that 'fuss,' and after walking\n'up-stairs and down-stairs' like the ancestor of your spider, proves\nmy gigantic strength--now doesn't it?\n\nFor the rest, 'here be proofs' that the first person can be as foolish\nas any third person in the world. What do you think?\n\nAnd Mrs. Jameson was kind beyond speaking of, and talked of taking me\nto Italy. What do you say? It is somewhere about the fifth or sixth\nproposition of the sort which has come to me. I shall be embarrassed,\nit seems to me, by the multitude of escorts to Italy. But the\nkindness, one cannot laugh at so much kindness.\n\nI wanted to hear her speak of you, and was afraid. I _could not_ name\nyou. Yet I _did_ want to hear the last 'Bell' praised.\n\nShe goes to Ireland for two months soon, but prints a book first, a\ncollection of essays. I have not seen Mr. Kenyon, with whom she dined\nyesterday. The Macreadys were to be there, and he told me a week ago\nthat he very nearly committed himself in a 'social mistake' by\ninviting you to meet them.\n\nAh my hawthorn spray! Do you know, I caught myself pitying it for\nbeing gathered, with that green promise of leaves on it! There is room\ntoo on it for the feet of a bird! Still I shall keep it longer than it\nwould have stayed in the hedge, _that_ is certain!\n\nThe first you ever gave me was a yellow rose sent in a letter, and\nshall I tell you what _that_ means--the yellow rose? '_Infidelity_,'\nsays the dictionary of flowers. You see what an omen, ... to begin\nwith!\n\nAlso you see that I am not tired with the great avatar to-day--the\n'fell swoop' rather--mine, into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Jameson's\non _me_.\n\nAnd I shall hear to-morrow again, really? I '_let_' you. And you are\nbest, kindest, dearest, every day. Did I ever tell you that you made\nme do what you choose? I fancied that I only _thought_ so. May God\nbless you. I am your own.\n\nShall I have the 'Soul's Tragedy' on Saturday?--any of it? But _do not\nwork_--I beseech you to take care.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, February 27, 1846.]\n\nTo be sure my 'first person' was nonsensical, and, in that respect\nmade speak properly, I hope, only he was cut short in the middle of\nhis performance by the exigencies of the post. So, never mind what\nsuch persons say, my sweetest, because they know nothing at all--_quod\nerat demonstrandum_. But you, love, you speak roses, and\nhawthorn-blossoms when you tell me of the cloak put on, and the\ndescent, and the entry, and staying and delaying. I will have had a\nhand in all that; I know what I wished all the morning, and now this\nmuch came true! But you should have seen the regimentals, if I could\nhave so contrived it, for I confess to a Chinese love for bright\nred--the very names 'vermilion' 'scarlet' warm me, yet in this cold\nclimate nobody wears red to comfort one's eye save soldiers and fox\nhunters, and old women fresh from a Parish Christmas Distribution of\ncloaks. To dress in floating loose crimson silk, I almost understand\nbeing a Cardinal! Do you know anything of Nat Lee's Tragedies? In one\nof them a man angry with a Cardinal cries--\n\n Stand back, and let me mow this poppy down,\n This rank red weed that spoils the Churches' corn.\n\nIs not that good? and presently, when the same worthy is poisoned\n(that is the Cardinal)--they bid him--'now, Cardinal, lie down and\nroar!'\n\n Think of thy scarlet sins!\n\nOf the justice of all which, you will judge with no Mrs. Jameson for\nguide when we see the Sistina together, I trust! By the way, yesterday\nI went to Dulwich to see some pictures, by old Teniers, Murillo,\nGainsborough, Raphael!--then twenty names about, and last but one, as\nif just thought of, 'Correggio.' The whole collection, including 'a\n_divine_ picture by Murillo,' and Titian's Daughter (hitherto supposed\nto be in the Louvre)--the whole I would, I think, have cheerfully\ngiven a pound or two for the privilege of not possessing--so execrable\nas sign-paintings even! 'Are there worse poets in their way than\npainters?' Yet the melancholy business is here--that the bad poet goes\nout of his way, writes his verses in the language he learned in order\nto do a hundred other things with it, all of which he can go on and do\nafterwards--but the painter has spent the best of his life in learning\neven how to produce such monstrosities as these, and to what other\ngood do his acquisitions go? This short minute of life our one chance,\nan eternity on either side! and a man does not walk whistling and\nruddy by the side of hawthorn hedges in spring, but shuts himself up\nand conies out after a dozen years with 'Titian's Daughter' and,\nthere, gone is his life, let somebody else try!\n\nI have tried--my trial is made too!\n\nTo-morrow you shall tell me, dearest, that Mrs. Jameson wondered to\nsee you so well--did she not wonder? Ah, to-morrow! There is a lesson\nfrom all this writing and mistaking and correcting and being\ncorrected; and what, but that a word goes safely only from lip to lip,\ndearest? See how the cup slipped from the lip and snapped the\nchrystals, you say! But the writing is but for a time--'a time and\ntimes and half a time!'--would I knew when the prophetic weeks end!\nStill, one day, as I say, no more writing, (and great scandalization\nof the third person, peeping through the fringes of Flush's ears!)\nmeanwhile, I wonder whether if I meet Mrs. Jameson I may practise\ndiplomacy and say carelessly 'I should be glad to know what Miss B. is\nlike--' No, that I must not do, something tells me, 'for reasons, for\nreasons'--\n\nI do not know--you may perhaps have to wait a little longer for my\n'divine Murillo' of a Tragedy. My sister is copying it as I give the\npages, but--in fact my wise head does ache a little--it is\ninconceivable! As if it took a great storm to topple over some stone,\nand once the stone pushed from its right place, any bird's foot, which\nwould hardly bend the hawthorn spray, may set it trembling! The aching\nbegins with reading the presentation-list at the Drawing-room quite\nnaturally, and with no shame at all! But it is gentle, well-behaved\naching now, so I _do_ care, as you bid me, Ba, my Ba, whom I call Ba\nto my heart but could not, I really believe, call so before another,\neven your sister, if--if--\n\nBut Ba, I call you boldly here, and I dare kiss your dear, dear eyes,\ntill to-morrow--Bless you, my own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, March 2, 1846.]\n\nYou never could think that I meant any insinuation against you by a\nword of what was said yesterday, or that I sought or am likely to seek\na 'security'! do you know it was not right of you to use such an\nexpression--indeed no. You were angry with me for just one minute, or\nyou would not have used it--and why? Now what did I say that was wrong\nor unkind even by construction? If I did say anything, it was three\ntimes wrong, and unjust as well as unkind, and wronged my own heart\nand consciousness of all that you are to me, more than it could _you_.\nBut you began speaking of yourself just as a woman might speak under\nthe same circumstances (you remember what you said), and then _I_,\nremembering that all the men in the world would laugh such an idea to\nscorn, said something to that effect, you _know_. I once was in\ncompany with a man, however, who valued himself very much on his\nconstancy to a woman who was so deeply affected by it that she became\nhis wife at last ... and the whole neighbourhood came out to stare at\nhim on that ground as a sort of monster. And can you guess what the\nconstancy meant? Seven years before, he loved that woman, he said, and\nshe repulsed him. 'And in the meantime, _how many_?' I had the\nimpertinence to ask a female friend who told me the tale. 'Why,' she\nanswered with the utmost simplicity, 'I understand that Miss A. and\nMiss B. and Mrs. C. would not listen to him, but he took Miss D.'s\nrejection most to heart.' That was the head and front of his\n'constancy' to Miss E., who had been loved, she boasted, for seven\nyears ... that is, once at the beginning and once at the end. It was\njust a coincidence of the 'premier pas' and the 'pis aller.'\n\nBeloved, I could not mean this for you; you are not made of such\nstuff, as we both know.\n\nAnd for myself, it was my compromise with my own scruples, that you\nshould not be 'chained' to me, not in the merest metaphor, that you\nshould not seem to be bound, in honour or otherwise, so that if you\nstayed with me it should be your free choice to stay, not the\n_consequence_ of a choice so many months before. That was my\ncompromise with my scruples, and not my doubt of your affection--and\nleast of all, was it an intention of trifling with you sooner or later\nthat made me wish to suspend all _decisions_ as long as possible. I\nhave decided (for me) to let it be as you shall please--now I told you\nthat before. Either we will live on as we are, until an obstacle\narises,--for indeed I do not look for a 'security' where you suppose,\nand the very appearance of it _there_, is what most rebuts me--or I\nwill be yours in the obvious way, to go out of England the next\nhalf-hour if possible. As to the steps to be taken (or not taken)\nbefore the last step, we must think of those. The worst is that the\nonly question is about a _form_. Virtually the evil is the same all\nround, whatever we do. Dearest, it was plain to see yesterday evening\nwhen he came into this room for a moment at seven o'clock, before\ngoing to his own to dress for dinner ... plain to see, that he was not\naltogether pleased at finding you here in the morning. There was no\npretext for objecting gravely--but it was plain that he was not\npleased. Do not let this make you uncomfortable, he will forget all\nabout it, and I was not _scolded_, do you understand. It was more\nmanner, but my sisters thought as I did of the significance:--and it\nwas enough to prove to me (if I had not known) what a desperate game\nwe should be playing if we depended on a yielding nerve _there_.\n\nAnd to-day I went down-stairs (to prove how my promises stand) though\nI could find at least ten good excuses for remaining in my own room,\nfor our cousin, Sam Barrett, who brought the interruption yesterday\nand put me out of humour (it wasn't the fault of the dear little\ncousin, Lizzie ... my 'portrait' ... who was '_so_ sorry,' she said,\ndear child, to have missed Papa somewhere on the stairs!) the cousin\nwho should have been in Brittany yesterday instead of here, sate in\nthe drawing-room all this morning, and had visitors there, and so I\nhad excellent excuses for never moving from my chair. Yet, the field\nbeing clear at _half-past two_! I went for half an hour, just--just\nfor _you_. Did you think of me, I wonder? It was to meet your thoughts\nthat I went, dear dearest.\n\nHow clever these sketches are. The expression produced by such\napparently inadequate means is quite striking; and I have been making\nmy brothers admire them, and they 'wonder you don't think of employing\nthem in an illustrated edition of your works.' Which might be, really!\nAh, you did not ask for 'Luria'! Not that I should have let you have\nit!--I think I should not indeed. Dearest, you take care of the head\n... and don't make that tragedy of the soul one for mine, by letting\nit make you ill. Beware too of the shower-bath--it plainly does not\nanswer for you at this season. And walk, and think of me for _your_\ngood, if such a combination should be possible.\n\nAnd _I_ think of _you_ ... if I do not of Italy. Yet I forget to speak\nto you of the Dulwich Gallery. I never saw those pictures, but am\nastonished that the whole world should be wrong in praising them.\n'Divine' is a bad word for Murillo in any case--because he is\nintensely human in his most supernatural subjects. His beautiful\nTrinity in the National Gallery, which I saw the last time I went out\nto look at pictures, has no deity in it--and I seem to see it now. And\ndo you remember the visitation of the angels to Abraham (the Duke of\nSutherland's picture--is it not?) where the mystic visitors look like\nshepherds who had not even dreamt of God? But I always understood that\nthat Dulwich Gallery was famous for great works--you surprise me! And\nfor painters ... their badness is more ostentatious than that of\npoets--they stare idiocy out of the walls, and set the eyes of\nsensitive men on edge. For the rest, however, I very much doubt\nwhether they wear their lives more to rags, than writers who mistake\ntheir vocation in poetry do. There is a mechanism in poetry as in the\nother art--and, to men not native to the way of it, it runs hard and\nheavily. The 'cudgelling of the brain' is as good labour as the\ngrinding of the colours, ... do you not think?\n\nIf ever I am in the Sistine Chapel, it will not be with Mrs.\nJameson--no. If ever I should be there, what teaching I shall want,\n_I_ who have seen so few pictures, and love them only as children do,\nwith an unlearned love, just for the sake of the thoughts they bring.\nWonderfully ignorant I am, to have had eyes and ears so long! There is\nmusic, now, which lifts the hair on my head, I feel it so much, ...\nyet all I know of it as art, all I have heard of the works of the\nmasters in it, has been the mere sign and suggestion, such as the\nprivate piano may give. I never heard an oratorio, for instance, in my\nlife--judge by _that_! It is a guess, I make, at all the greatness and\ndivinity ... feeling in it, though, distinctly and certainly, that a\ncomposer like Beethoven _must_ stand above the divinest painter in\nsoul-godhead, and nearest to the true poet, of all artists. And this\nI felt in my guess, long before I knew you. But observe how, if I had\ndied in this illness, I should have left a sealed world behind me!\n_you_, unknown too--unguessed at, _you_, ... in many respects,\nwonderfully unguessed at! Lately I have learnt to despise my own\ninstincts. And apart from those--and _you_, ... it was right for me to\nbe melancholy, in the consciousness of passing blindfolded under all\nthe world-stars, and of going out into another side of the creation,\nwith a blank for the experience of this ... the last revelation,\nunread! How the thought of it used to depress me sometimes!\n\nTalking of music, I had a proposition the other day from certain of\nMr. Russell's (the singer's) friends, about his setting to music my\n'Cry of the Children.' His programme exhibits all the horrors of the\nworld, I see! Lifeboats ... madhouses ... gamblers' wives ... all done\nto the right sort of moaning. His audiences must go home delightfully\nmiserable, I should fancy. He has set the 'Song of the Shirt' ... and\nmy 'Cry of the Children' will be acceptable, it is supposed, as a\nclimax of agony. Do you know this Mr. Russell, and what sort of music\nhe suits to his melancholy? But to turn my 'Cry' to a 'Song,' a\nburden, it is said, is required--he can't sing it without a burden!\nand behold what has been sent 'for my approval'.... I shall copy it\n_verbatim_ for you....\n\n And the threads twirl, twirl, twirl,\n Before each boy and girl;\n And the wheels, big and little, still whirl, whirl, whirl.\n\n... accompaniment _agitato_, imitating the roar of the machinery!\n\nThis is not endurable ... ought not to be ... should it now? Do tell\nme.\n\nMay God bless you, very dearest! Let me hear how you are--and think\nhow I am\n\n Your own....", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 2, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I have been kept in town and just return in time to say why\nyou have _no_ note ... to-morrow I will write ... so much there is to\nsay on the subject of this letter I find.\n\n Bless you, all beloved--\n\n R.B.\n\nOh, do not sleep another night on that horrible error I have led you\ninto! The 'Dulwich Gallery'!--!!!--oh, no. Only some pictures to be\nsold at the Greyhound Inn, Dulwich--'the genuine property of a\ngentleman deceased.'", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 2, 1846.]\n\nOne or two words, if no more, I must write to dearest Ba, the night\nwould go down in double blackness if I had neither written nor been\nwritten to! So here is another piece of 'kindness' on my part, such as\nI have received praise for of late! My own sweetest, there is just\nthis good in such praise, that by it one comes to something pleasantly\ndefinite amid the hazy uncertainties of mere wishes and\npossibilities--while my whole heart does, _does_ so yearn, love, to do\nsomething to prove its devotion for you; and, now and then, amuses\nitself with foolish imaginings of real substantial services to which\nit should be found equal if fortune so granted; suddenly you interpose\nwith thanks, in such terms as would all too much reward the highest of\neven those services which are never to be; and for what?--for a note,\na going to Town, a ----! Well, there are definite beginnings\ncertainly, if you will recognise them--I mean, that since you _do_\naccept, far from 'despising this day of small things,' then I may\ntake heart, and be sure that even though none of the great\nachievements should fall to my happy chance, still the barrenest,\nflattest life will--_must_ of needs produce in its season better\nfruits than these poor ones--I keep it, value it, now, that it may\nproduce such.\n\nAlso I determine never again to 'analyse,' nor let you analyse if the\nsweet mouth can be anyway stopped: the love shall be one and\nindivisible--and the Loves we used to know from\n\n One another huddled lie ...\n Close beside Her tenderly--\n\n(which is surely the next line). Now am I not anxious to know what\nyour father said? And if anybody else said or wondered ... how should\nI know? Of all fighting--the warfare with shadows--what a work is\n_there_. But tell me,--and, with you for me--\n\nBless me dearest ever, as the face above mine blesses me--\n\n Your own\n\nSir Moses set off this morning, I hear--somebody yesterday called the\ntelescope an 'optical delusion,' anticipating many more of the kind!\nSo much for this 'wandering Jew.'", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 3, 1846.]\n\nUpon the whole, I think, I am glad when you are kept in town and\nprevented from writing what you call 'much' to me. Because in the\nfirst place, the little from _you_, is always much to _me_--and then,\nbesides, _the letter comes_, and with it the promise of another! Two\nletters have I had from you to-day, ever dearest! How I thank\nyou!--yes, _indeed_! It was like yourself to write yesterday ... to\nremember what a great gap there would have been otherwise, as it\nlooked on this side--here. The worst of Saturday is (when you come on\nit) that Sunday follows--Saturday night bringing no letter. Well, it\nwas very good of you, best of you!\n\nFor the 'analyzing' I give it up willingly, only that I must say what\naltogether I forgot to say in my last letter, that it was not _I_, if\nyou please, who spoke of the chrystals breaking away! And you, to\nquote me with that certainty! \"The chrystals are broken off,\" _you\nsay_.' _I_ say!! When it was in your letter, and not at all in mine!!\n\nThe truth is that I was stupid, rather, about the Dulwich\ncollection--it was my fault. I caught up the idea of the gallery out\nof a heap of other thoughts, and really might have known better if I\nhad given myself a chance, by considering.\n\nMr. Kenyon came to-day, and has taken out a licence, it seems to me,\nfor praising you, for he praised and praised. Somebody has told him\n(who had spent several days with you in a house with a large library)\nthat he came away 'quite astounded by the versatility of your\nlearning'--and that, to complete the circle, you discoursed as\nscientifically on the training of greyhounds and breeding of ducks as\nif you had never done anything else all your life. Then dear Mr.\nKenyon talked of the poems; and hoped, very earnestly I am sure, that\nyou would finish 'Saul'--which you ought to do, must do--_only not\nnow_. By the way Mrs. Coleridge had written to him to enquire whether\nyou had authority for the 'blue lilies,' rather than white. Then he\nasked about 'Luria' and 'whether it was obscure'; and I said, not\nunless the people, who considered it, began by blindfolding\nthemselves.\n\nAnd where do you think Mr. Kenyon talks of going next February--a long\nwhile off to be sure? To Italy of course. Everybody I ever heard of\nseems to be going to Italy next winter. He visits his brother at\nVienna, and 'may cross the Alps and get to Pisa'--it is the shadow of\na scheme--nothing certain, so far.\n\nI did not go down-stairs to-day because the wind blew and the\nthermometer fell. To-morrow, perhaps I may. And _you_, dearest\ndearest, might have put into the letters how you were when you wrote\nthem. You might--but you did not feel well and would not say so.\nConfess that that was the reason. Reason or no reason, mention\nyourself to-morrow, and for the rest, do not write a long letter so as\nto increase the evil. There was nothing which I can remember as\nrequiring an answer in what I wrote to you, and though I _will_ have\nmy letter of course, it shall be as brief as possible, if briefness is\ngood for you--_now always remember that_. Why if I, who talk against\n'Luria,' should work the mischief myself, what should I deserve? I\nshould be my own jury directly and not recommend to mercy ... not to\nmine. Do take care--care for _me_ just so much.\n\nAnd, except that taking care of your health, what would you do for me\nthat you have not done? You have given me the best of the possible\ngifts of one human soul to another, you have made my life new, and am\nI to count these things as small and insufficient? Ah, you _know_, you\n_know_ that I cannot, ought not, will not.\n\nMay God bless you. He blesses me in letting me be grateful to you as\nyour Ba.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, March 3, 1846.]\n\nFirst and most important of all,--dearest, 'angry'--with you, and for\n_that_! It is just as if I had spoken contemptuously of that Gallery I\nso love and so am grateful to--having been used to go there when a\nchild, far under the age allowed by the regulations--those two Guidos,\nthe wonderful Rembrandt of Jacob's vision, such a Watteau, the\ntriumphant three Murillo pictures, a Giorgione music-lesson group,\nall the Poussins with the 'Armida' and 'Jupiter's nursing'--and--no\nend to 'ands'--I have sate before one, some _one_ of those pictures I\nhad predetermined to see, a good hour and then gone away ... it used\nto be a green half-hour's walk over the fields. So much for one error,\nnow for the second like unto it; what I meant by charging you with\n_seeing_, (not, _not_ '_looking_ for')--_seeing_ undue 'security' in\n_that_, in the form,--I meant to say 'you talk about me being 'free'\nnow, free till _then_, and I am rather jealous of the potency\nattributed to the _form_, with all its solemnity, because it _is_ a\nform, and no more--yet you frankly agree with me that _that_ form\ncomplied with, there is no redemption; yours I am _then_ sure enough,\nto repent at leisure &c. &c.' So I meant to ask, 'then, all _now_\nsaid, all short of that particular form of saying it, all goes for\ncomparatively nothing'? Here it is written down--you 'wish to\n_suspend_ all decisions as long as possible'--_that_ form effects the\ndecision, then,--till then, 'where am I'? Which is just what Lord\nChesterfield cautions people against asking when they tell stories.\nLove, Ba, my own heart's dearest, if all is _not_ decided\n_now_--why--hear a story, à propos of storytelling, and deduce what is\ndeducible. A very old Unitarian minister met a still older evangelical\nbrother--John Clayton (from whose son's mouth I heard what you shall\nhear)--the two fell to argument about the true faith to be held--after\nwords enough, 'Well,' said the Unitarian, as winding up the\ncontroversy with an amicable smile--'at least let us hope we are both\nengaged in the _pursuit_ of Truth!'--'_Pursuit_ do you say?' cried the\nother, 'here am I with my years eighty and odd--if I haven't _found_\nTruth by this time where is my chance, pray?' My own Ba, if I have not\nalready _decided_, alas for me and the solemn words that are to help!\nThough in another point of view there would be some luxurious feeling,\nbeyond the ordinary, in knowing one was kept safe to one's heart's\ngood by yet another wall than the hitherto recognised ones. Is there\nany parallel in the notion I once heard a man deliver himself of in\nthe street--a labourer talking with his friends about '_wishes_'--and\nthis one wished, if he might get his wish, 'to have a nine gallon cask\nof strong ale set running that minute and his own mouth to be _tied_\nunder it'--the exquisiteness of the delight was to be in the security\nupon security,--the being 'tied.' Now, Ba says I shall not be\n'chained' if she can help!\n\nBut now--here all the jesting goes. You tell me what was observed in\nthe 'moment's' visit; by you, and (after, I suppose) by your sisters.\nFirst, I _will_ always see with your eyes _there_--next, what I see I\nwill _never_ speak, if it pain you; but just this much truth I ought\nto say, I think. I always give myself to you for the worst I am,--full\nof faults as you will find, if you have not found them. But I _will_\nnot affect to be so bad, so wicked, as I count wickedness, as to call\nthat conduct other than intolerable--_there_, in my conviction of\n_that_, is your real 'security' and mine for the future as the\npresent. That a father choosing to give out of his whole day some five\nminutes to a daughter, supposed to be prevented from participating in\nwhat he, probably, in common with the whole world of sensible men, as\ndistinguished from poets and dreamers, consider _every_ pleasure of\nlife, by a complete foregoing of society--that he, after the Pisa\nbusiness and the enforced continuance, and as he must believe,\npermanence of this state in which any other human being would go\nmad--I do dare say, for the justification of God, who gave the mind to\nbe _used_ in this world,--where it saves us, we are taught, or\ndestroys us,--and not to be sunk quietly, overlooked, and forgotten;\nthat, under these circumstances, finding ... what, you say, unless he\nthinks he _does_ find, he would close the door of his house instantly;\na mere sympathizing man, of the same literary tastes, who comes\ngood-naturedly, on a proper and unexceptionable introduction, to chat\nwith and amuse a little that invalid daughter, once a month, so far as\nis known, for an hour perhaps,--that such a father should show\nhimself '_not pleased_ plainly,' at such a circumstance ... my Ba, it\nis SHOCKING! See, I go _wholly_ on the supposition that the real\nrelation is not imagined to exist between us. I so completely could\nunderstand a repugnance to trust you to me were the truth known, that,\nI will confess, I have several times been afraid the very reverse of\nthis occurrence would befall; that your father would have at some time\nor other thought himself obliged, by the usual feeling of people in\nsuch cases, to see me for a few minutes and express some commonplace\nthanks after the customary mode (just as Capt. Domett sent a heap of\nunnecessary thanks to me not long ago for sending now a letter now a\nbook to his son in New Zealand--keeping up the spirits of poor dear\nAlfred now he is cut off from the world at large)--and if _this_ had\nbeen done, I shall not deny that my heart would have accused\nme--unreasonably I _know_ but still, suppression, and reserve, and\napprehension--the whole of _that is_ horrible always! But this way of\nlooking on the endeavour of anybody, however humble, to just preserve\nyour life, remedy in some degree the first, if it _was_ the first,\nunjustifiable measure,--this being 'displeased'--is exactly what I did\n_not_ calculate upon. Observe, that in this _only_ instance I am able\nto do as I shall be done by; to take up the arms furnished by the\nworld, the usages of society--this is monstrous on the _world's_\nshowing! I say this now that I may never need recur to it--that you\nmay understand why I keep _such_ entire silence henceforth.\n\nGet but well, keep but _as_ well, and all is easy now. This wonderful\nwinter--the spring--the summer--you will take exercise, go up and down\nstairs, get strong. _I pray you, at your feet, to do this, dearest!_\nThen comes Autumn, with the natural expectations, as after _rouge_ one\nexpects _noir_: the _likelihood_ of a _severe_ winter after this mild\none, which to prevent, you reiterate your demand to go and save your\nlife in Italy, ought you not to do that? And the matters brought to\nissue, (with even, if possible, less shadow of ground for a refusal\nthan before, if you are _well_, plainly well enough to bear the\nvoyage) _there_ I _will_ bid you 'be mine in the obvious way'--if you\nshall preserve your belief in me--and you _may_ in much, in all\nimportant to you. Mr. Kenyon's praise is undeserved enough, but\nyesterday Milnes said I was the only literary man he ever knew, _tenax\npropositi_, able to make out a life for himself and abide in\nit--'for,' he went on, 'you really do live without any of this\n_titillation_ and fussy dependence upon adventitious excitement of all\nkinds, they all say they can do without.' That is _more_ true--and I\n_intend_ by God's help to live wholly for you; to spend my whole\nenergies in reducing to practice the feeling which occupies me, and in\nthe practical operation of which, the other work I had proposed to do\nwill be found included, facilitated--I shall be able--but of this\nthere is plenty time to speak hereafter--I shall, I believe, be able\nto do this without even allowing the world to _very much_\nmisinterpret--against pure lying there is no defence, but all up to\nthat I hope to hinder or render unimportant--as you shall know in time\nand place.\n\nI have written myself grave, but write to _me_, dear, dearest, and I\nwill answer in a lighter mood--even now I can say how it was\nyesterday's hurry happened. I called on Milnes--who told me Hanmer had\nbroken a bone in his leg and was laid up, so I called on him too--on\nMoxon, by the way, (his brother telling me strangely cheering news,\nfrom the grimmest of faces, about my books selling and likely to sell\n... your wishes, Ba!)--then in Bond Street about some business with\nsomebody, then on Mrs. Montagu who was out walking all the time, and\nhome too. I found a letter from Mr. Kenyon, perfectly kind, asking me\nto go on Monday to meet friends, and with yours to-day comes another\nconfirming the choice of the day. How entirely kind he is!\n\nI am very well, much better, indeed--taking that bath with sensibly\ngood effect, to-night I go to Montagu's again; for shame, having kept\naway too long.\n\nAnd the rest shall answer _yours_--dear! Not 'much to answer?' And\nBeethoven, and Painting and--what _is_ the rest and shall be answered!\nBless you, now, my darling--I love you, ever shall love you, ever be\nyour own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 4, 1846.]\n\nYes, but, dearest, you mistake me, or you mistake yourself. I am sure\nI do not over-care for forms--it is not my way to do it--and in this\ncase ... no. Still you must see that here is a fact as well as a form,\nand involving a frightful quantity of social inconvenience (to use the\nmildest word) if too hastily entered on. I deny altogether looking\nfor, or 'seeing' any 'security' in it for myself--it is a mere form\nfor the heart and the happiness: illusions may pass after as before.\nStill the truth is that if they were to pass with you now, you stand\nfree to act according to the wide-awakeness of your eyes, and to\nreform your choice ... see! whereas afterward you could not carry out\nsuch a reformation while I was alive, even if I helped you. All I\ncould do for you would be to walk away. And you pretend not to see\nthis broad distinction?--ah. For me I have seen just this and no more,\nand have felt averse to forestall, to seem to forestall even by an\nhour, or a word, that stringency of the legal obligation from which\nthere _is_ in a certain sense no redemption. Tie up your drinker under\nthe pour of his nine gallons, and in two minutes he will moan and\nwrithe (as you perfectly know) like a Brinvilliers under the\nwater-torture. That he _asked_ to be tied up, was unwise on his own\nprinciple of loving ale. And _you_ sha'n't be 'chained' up, if you\nwere to ask twenty times: if you have found truth or not in the\nwater-well.\n\nYou do not see aright what I meant to tell you on another subject. If\nhe was displeased, (and it was expressed by a shadow a mere negation\nof pleasure) it was not with you as a visitor and my friend. You must\nnot fancy such a thing. It was a sort of instinctive indisposition\ntowards seeing you here--unexplained to himself, I have no doubt--of\ncourse unexplained, or he would have desired me to receive you never\nagain, _that_ would have been done at once and unscrupulously. But\nwithout defining his own feeling, he rather disliked seeing you\nhere--it just touched one of his vibratory wires, brushed by and\ntouched it--oh, we understand in this house. He is not a nice\nobserver, but, at intervals very wide, he is subject to\nlightnings--call them fancies, sometimes right, sometimes wrong.\nCertainly it was not in the character of a 'sympathising friend' that\nyou made him a very little cross on Monday. And yet you never were nor\nwill be in danger of being _thanked_, he would not think of it. For\nthe reserve, the apprehension--dreadful those things are, and\ndesecrating to one's own nature--but we did not make this position, we\nonly endure it. The root of the evil is the miserable misconception of\nthe limits and character of parental rights--it is a mistake of the\nintellect rather than of the heart. Then, after using one's children\nas one's chattels for a time, the children drop lower and lower toward\nthe level of the chattels, and the duties of human sympathy to them\nbecome difficult in proportion. And (it seems strange to say it, yet\nit is true) _love_, he does not conceive of at all. He has feeling, he\ncan be moved deeply, he is capable of affection in a peculiar way, but\n_that_, he does not understand, any more than he understands Chaldee,\nrespecting it less of course.\n\nAnd you fancy that I could propose Italy again? after saying too that\nI never would? Oh no, no--yet there is time to think of this, a\nsuperfluity of time, ... 'time, times and half a time' and to make\none's head swim with leaning over a precipice is not wise. The roar\nof the world comes up too, as you hear and as I heard from the\nbeginning. There will be no lack of 'lying,' be sure--'pure lying'\ntoo--and nothing you can do, dearest dearest, shall hinder my being\ntorn to pieces by most of the particularly affectionate friends I have\nin the world. Which I do not think of much, any more than of Italy.\nYou will be mad, and I shall be bad ... and _that_ will be the effect\nof being poets! 'Till when, where are you?'--why in the very deepest\nof my soul--wherever in it is the fountain head of loving! beloved,\n_there_ you are!\n\nSome day I shall ask you 'in form,'--as I care so much for forms, it\nseems,--what your 'faults' are, these immense multitudinous faults of\nyours, which I hear such talk of, and never, never, can get to see.\nWill you give me a catalogue raisonnée of your faults? I should like\nit, I think. In the meantime they seem to be faults of obscurity, that\nis, invisible faults, like those in the poetry which do not keep it\nfrom selling as I am _so, so_ glad to understand. I am glad too that\nMr. Milnes knows you a little.\n\nNow I must end, there is no more time to-night. God bless you, very\ndearest! Keep better ... try to be well--as _I_ do for you since you\nask me. Did I ever think that _you_ would think it worth while to ask\nme _that_? What a dream! reaching out into the morning! To-day however\nI did not go down-stairs, because it was colder and the wind blew its\nway into the passages:--if I can to-morrow without risk, I will, ...\nbe sure ... be sure. Till Thursday then!--till eternity!\n\n'Till when, where am I,' but with you? and what, but yours\n\n Your\n\n BA.\n\nI have been writing 'autographs' (save my _mark_) for the North and\nthe South to-day ... the Fens, and Golden Square. Somebody asked for\na verse, ... from either 'Catarina' or 'Flush' ... 'those poems' &c.\n&c.! Such a concatenation of criticisms. So I preferred Flush of\ncourse--i.e. gave him the preferment.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 4, 1846.]\n\nAh, sweetest, don't mind people and their lies any more than I shall;\nif the toad _does_ 'take it into his toad's head to spit at you'--you\nwill not 'drop dead,' I warrant. All the same, if one may make a\ncircuit through a flower-bed and see the less of his toad-habits and\ngeneral ugliness, so much the better--no words can express my entire\nindifference (far below _contempt_) for what can be said or done. But\none thing, only one, I choose to hinder being said, if I can--the\nothers I would not if I could--why prevent the toad's puffing himself\nout thrice his black bigness if it amuses him among those wet stones?\nWe shall be in the sun.\n\nI dare say I am unjust--hasty certainly, in the other matter--but all\nfaults are such inasmuch as they are 'mistakes of the\nintellect'--toads may spit or leave it alone,--but if I ever see it\nright, exercising my intellect, to treat any human beings like my\n'chattels'--I shall pay for that mistake one day or another, I am\nconvinced--and I very much fear that you would soon discover what one\nfault of mine is, if you were to hear anyone assert such a right in my\npresence.\n\nWell, I shall see you to-morrow--had I better come a little later, I\nwonder?--half-past three, for instance, staying, as last time, till\n... ah, it is ill policy to count my treasure aloud! Or shall I come\nat the usual time to-morrow? If I do _not_ hear, at the usual\ntime!--because, I think you would--am sure you would have considered\nand suggested it, were it necessary.\n\nBless you, dearest--ever your own.\n\nI said nothing about that Mr. Russell and his proposition--by all\nmeans, yes--let him do more good with that noble, pathetic 'lay'--and\ndo not mind the 'burthen,' if he is peremptory--so that he duly\nspecify '_by the singer_'--with _that_ precaution nothing but good can\ncome of his using it.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, March 6, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest I lose no time in writing, you see, so as to be written\nto at the soonest--and there is another reason which makes me hasten\nto write ... it is not all mercantile calculation. I want you to\nunderstand me.\n\nNow listen! I seem to understand myself: it seems to me that every\nword I ever said to you on one subject, is plainly referable to a\nclass of feelings of which you could not complain ... could not. But\nthis is _my_ impression; and yours is different:--you do not\nunderstand, you do not see by my light, and perhaps it is natural that\nyou should not, as we stand on different steps of the argument. Still\nI, who said what I did, _for you_, and from an absorbing consideration\nof what was best _for you_, cannot consent, even out of anxiety for\nyour futurity, to torment you now, to vex you by a form of speech\nwhich you persist in translating into a want of trust in you ... (_I_,\nwant trust in you!!) into a need of more evidence about you from\nothers ... (_could_ you say so?) and even into an indisposition on my\npart to fulfil my engagement--no, dearest dearest, it is not right of\nyou. And therefore, as you have these thoughts reasonably or\nunreasonably, I shall punish you for them at once, and 'chain' you ...\n(as you wish to be chained), chain you, rivet you--do you feel how the\nlittle fine chain twists round and round you? do you hear the stroke\nof the riveting? and you may _feel that_ too. Now, it is done--now,\nyou are chained--_Bia_ has finished the work--I, _Ba_! (observe the\nanagram!) and not a word do you say, of Prometheus, though you have\nthe conscience of it all, I dare say. Well! you must be pleased, ...\nas it was 'the weight of too much liberty' which offended you: and now\nyou believe, perhaps, that I trust you, love you, and look to you over\nthe heads of the whole living world, without any one head needing to\nstoop; you _must_, if you please, because you belong to me now and\nshall believe as I choose. There's a ukase for you! Cry out ... repent\n... and I will loose the links, and let you go again--_shall_ it be\n'_My dear Miss Barrett_?'\n\nSeriously, you shall not think of me such things as you half said, if\nnot whole said, to-day. If all men were to speak evil of you, my heart\nwould speak of you the more good--_that_ would be the one result with\n_me_. Do I not know you, soul to soul? should I believe that any of\nthem could know you as I know you? Then for the rest, I am not afraid\nof 'toads' now, not being a child any longer. I am not inclined to\nmind, if _you_ do not mind, what may be said about us by the\nbenevolent world, nor will other reasons of a graver kind affect me\notherwise than by the necessary pain. Therefore the whole rests with\nyou--unless illness should intervene--and you will be kind and good\n(will you not?) and not think hard thoughts of me ever again--no. It\nwasn't the sense of being less than you had a right to pretend to,\nwhich made me speak what you disliked--for it is _I_ who am\n'unworthy,' and not another--not certainly that other!\n\nI meant to write more to-night of subjects farther off us, but my\nsisters have come up-stairs and I must close my letter quickly.\nBeloved, take care of your head! Ah, do not write poems, nor read, nor\nneglect the walking, nor take that shower-bath. _Will_ you, instead,\ntry the warm bathing? Surely the experiment is worth making for a\nlittle while. Dearest beloved, do it for your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 6, 1846.]\n\nI am altogether your own, dearest--the words were only words and the\nplayful feelings were play--while the _fact_ has always been so\nirresistibly obvious as to make them _break_ on and off it,\nfantastically like water turning to spray and spurts of foam on a\ngreat solid rock. _Now_ you call the rock, a rock, but you must have\nknown what chance you had of pushing it down when you sent all those\nlight fancies and free-leaves, and refusals-to-hold-responsible, to do\nwhat they could. It _is_ a rock; and may be quite barren of good to\nyou,--not large enough to build houses on, not small enough to make a\nmantelpiece of, much less a pedestal for a statue, but it is real\nrock, that is all.\n\nIt is always _I_ who 'torment' _you_--instead of taking the present\nand blessing you, and leaving the future to its own cares. I certainly\nam not apt to look curiously into what next week is to bring, much\nless next month or six months, but you, the having you, my own,\ndearest beloved, _that_ is as different in kind as in degree from any\nother happiness or semblance of it that even seemed possible of\nrealization. Then, now, the health is all to stay, or retard us--oh,\nbe well, my Ba!\n\nLet me speak of that letter--I am ashamed at having mentioned those\ncircumstances, and should not have done so, but for their\ninsignificance--for I knew that if you ever _did_ hear of them, all\nany body _would_ say would not amount to enough to be repeated to me\nand so get explained at once. Now that the purpose is gained, it seems\nlittle worth gaining. You bade me not send the letter: I will not.\n\nAs for 'what people say'--ah--Here lies a book, Bartoli's 'Simboli'\nand this morning I dipped into his Chapter XIX. His 'Symbol' is\n'Socrate fatto ritrar su' Boccali' and the theme of his dissertating,\n'L'indegnità del mettere in disprezzo i più degni filosofi\ndell'antichità.' He sets out by enlarging on the horror of it--then\ndescribes the character of Socrates, then tells the story of the\nrepresentation of the 'Clouds,'and thus gets to his 'symbol'--'le\npazzie fatte spacciare a Socrate in quella commedia ... il misero in\ntanto scherno e derisione del pubblico, che perfino i vasai\ndipingevano il suo ritratto sopra gli orci, i fiaschi, i boccali, e\nogni vasellamento da più vile servigio. Così quel sommo filosofo ...\nfu condotto a far di se par le case d'Atene una continua commedia, con\nsolamente vederlo comparir così scontraffatto e ridicolo, come i vasai\nsel formavano d'invenzione'--\n\nThere you have what a very clever man can say in choice Tuscan on a\npassage in Ælian which he takes care not to quote nor allude to, but\nwhich is the sole authority for the fact. Ælian, speaking of Socrates'\nmagnanimity, says that on the first representation, a good many\nforeigners being present who were at a loss to know 'who could be this\nSocrates'--the sage himself stood up that he might be pointed out to\nthem by the auditory at large ... 'which' says Ælian--'was no\ndifficulty for them, to whom his features were most familiar,--_the\nvery potters being in the habit of decorating their vessels with his\nlikeness_'--no doubt out of a pleasant and affectionate admiration.\nYet see how 'people' can turn this out of its sense,--'say' their say\non the simplest, plainest word or deed, and change it to its opposite!\n'God's great gift of speech abused' indeed!\n\nBut what shall we hear of it _there_, my Siren?\n\nOn Monday--is it not? _Who_ was it looked into the room just at our\nleave-taking?\n\nBless you, my ever dearest,--remember to walk, to go down-stairs--and\nbe sure that I will endeavour to get well for my part. To-day I am\nvery well--with this letter!\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 7, 1846.]\n\nAlways _you_, is it, who torments me? always _you_? Well! I agree to\nbear the torments as Socrates his persecution by the potters:--and by\nthe way he liked those potters, as Plato shows, and was fain to go to\nthem for his illustrations ... as I to you for all my light. Also,\nwhile we are on the subject, I will tell you another fault of your\nBartoli ... his 'choice Tuscan' filled one of my pages, in the place\nof my English better than Tuscan.\n\nFor the letter you mentioned, I meant to have said in mine yesterday,\nthat I was grateful to you for telling me of it--_that_ was one of the\nprodigalities of your goodness to me ... not thrown away, in one\nsense, however superfluous. Do you ever think how I must feel when you\novercome me with all this generous tenderness, only beloved! I cannot\nsay it.\n\nBecause it is colder to-day I have not been down-stairs but let\nto-morrow be warm enough--_facilis descensus_. There's something\ninfernal to me really, in the going down, and now too that our cousin\nis here! Think of his beginning to attack Henrietta the other day....\n'_So_ Mr. C. has retired and left the field to Surtees Cook. Oh ...\nyou needn't deny ... it's the news of all the world except your\nfather. And as to _him_, I don't blame you--he never will consent to\nthe marriage of son or daughter. Only you should consider, you know,\nbecause he won't leave you a shilling, &c. &c....' You hear the sort\nof man. And then in a minute after ... 'And what is this about Ba?'\n'About Ba' said my sisters, 'why who has been persuading you of such\nnonsense?' 'Oh, my authority is very good,--perfectly unnecessary for\nyou to tell any stories, Arabel,--a literary friendship, is it?' ...\nand so on ... after that fashion! This comes from my brothers of\ncourse, but we need not be afraid of its passing _beyond_, I think,\nthough I was a good deal vexed when I heard first of it last night and\nhave been in cousinly anxiety ever since to get our Orestes safe away\nfrom those Furies his creditors, into Brittany again. He is an\nintimate friend of my brothers besides the relationship, and they talk\nto him as to each other, only they oughtn't to have talked _that_, and\nwithout knowledge too.\n\nI forgot to tell you that Mr. Kenyon was in an immoderate joy the day\nI saw him last, about Mr. Poe's 'Raven' as seen in the _Athenæum_\nextracts, and came to ask what I knew of the poet and his poetry, and\ntook away the book. It's the rhythm which has taken him with 'glamour'\nI fancy. Now you will stay on Monday till the last moment, and go to\nhim for dinner at six.\n\nWho 'looked in at the door?' Nobody. But Arabel a little way opened\nit, and hearing your voice, went back. There was no harm--_is_ no fear\nof harm. Nobody in the house would find his or her pleasure in running\nthe risk of giving me pain. I mean my brothers and sisters would not.\n\nAre you trying the music to charm the brain to stillness? Tell me. And\nkeep from that 'Soul's Tragedy' which did so much harm--oh, that I had\nbound you by some Stygian oath not to touch it.\n\nSo my rock ... may the birds drop into your crevices the seeds of all\nthe flowers of the world--only it is not for _those_, that I cling to\nyou as the single rock in the salt sea.\n\n Ever I am\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 7, 1846.]\n\nYou call me 'kind'; and by this time I have no heart to call you such\nnames--I told you, did I not once? that 'Ba' had got to convey\ninfinitely more of you to my sense than 'dearest,' 'sweetest,' all or\nany epithets that break down with their load of honey like bees--to\nsay you are 'kind,' you that so entirely and unintermittingly bless\nme,--it will never do now, 'Ba.' All the same, one way there is to\nmake even 'Ba' dearer,--'_my_ Ba,' I say to myself!\n\nAbout my _fears_--whether of opening doors or entering people--one\nthing is observable and prevents the possibility of any\nmisconception--I desire, have been in the habit of desiring, to\n_increase_ them, far from diminishing--they relate, of course,\nentirely to _you_--and only through _you_ affect me the least in the\nworld. Put your well-being out of the question, so far as I can\nunderstand it to be involved,--and the pleasure and pride I should\nimmediately choose would be that the whole world knew our position.\nWhat pleasure, what pride! But I endeavour to remember on all\noccasions--and perhaps succeed in too few--that it is very easy for me\nto go away and leave you who cannot go. I only allude to this because\nsome people are 'naturally nervous' and all that--and I am quite of\nanother kind.\n\nLast evening I went out--having been kept at home in the afternoon to\nsee somebody ... went walking for hours. I am quite well to-day and,\nnow your letter comes, my Ba, most happy. And, as the sun shines, you\nare perhaps making the perilous descent now, while I write--oh, to\nmeet you on the stairs! And I shall really see you on Monday, dearest?\nSo soon, it ought to feel, considering the dreary weeks that now get\nto go between our days! For music, I made myself melancholy just now\nwith some 'Concertos for the Harpsichord by Mr. Handel'--brought home\nby my father the day before yesterday;--what were light, modern things\nonce! Now I read not very long ago a French memoir of 'Claude le\nJeune' called in his time the Prince of Musicians,--no,\n'_Phoenix_'--the unapproachable wonder to all time--that is, twenty\nyears after his death about--and to this pamphlet was prefixed as\nmotto this startling axiom--'In Music, the Beau Ideal changes every\nthirty years'--well, is not that _true_? The _Idea_, mind,\nchanges--the general standard ... so that it is no answer that a\nsingle air, such as many one knows, may strike as freshly as\never--they were _not_ according to the Ideal of their own time--just\nnow, they drop into the ready ear,--next hundred years, who will be\nthe Rossini? who is no longer the Rossini even I remember--his early\novertures are as purely Rococo as Cimarosa's or more. The sounds\nremain, keep their character perhaps--the scale's proportioned notes\naffect the same, that is,--the major third, or minor seventh--but the\narrangement of these, the sequence the law--for them, if it _should_\nchange every thirty years! To Corelli nothing seemed so conclusive in\nHeaven or earth as this\n\n[Illustration: Music]\n\nI don't believe there is one of his sonatas wherein that formula does\nnot do duty. In these things of Handel that seems replaced by\n\n[Illustration: Music]\n\n--that was the only true consummation! Then,--to go over the hundred\nyears,--came Rossini's unanswerable coda:\n\n[Illustration: Music]\n\nwhich serves as base to the infinity of songs, gone, gone--_so_ gone\nby! From all of which Ba draws _this_ 'conclusion' that these may be\nworse things than Bartoli's Tuscan to cover a page with!--yet, yet the\npity of it! Le Jeune, the Phoenix, and Rossini who directed his\nletters to his mother as 'mother of the famous composer'--and Henry\nLawes, and Dowland's Lute, ah me!\n\nWell, my conclusion is the best, the everlasting, here and I trust\nelsewhere--I am your own, my Ba, ever your\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 10, 1846.]\n\nNow I shall know what to believe when you talk of very bad and very\nindifferent doings of yours. Dearest, I read your 'Soul's Tragedy'\nlast night and was quite possessed with it, and fell finally into a\nmute wonder how you could for a moment doubt about publishing it. It\nis very vivid, I think, and vital, and impressed me more than the\nfirst act of 'Luria' did, though I do not mean to compare such\ndissimilar things, and for pure nobleness 'Luria' is\nunapproachable--will prove so, it seems to me. But this 'Tragedy'\nshows more heat from the first, and then, the words beat down more\nclosely ... well! I am struck by it all as you see. If you keep it up\nto this passion, if you justify this high key-note, it is a great\nwork, and worthy of a place next 'Luria.' Also do observe how\nexcellently balanced the two will be, and how the tongue of this next\nsilver Bell will swing from side to side. And _you_ to frighten me\nabout it. Yes, and the worst is (because it was stupid in me) the\nworst is that I half believed you and took the manuscript to be\nsomething inferior--for _you_--and the adviseableness of its\npublication, a doubtful case. And yet, after all, the really worst is,\nthat you should prove yourself such an adept at deceiving! For can it\nbe possible that the same\n\n 'Robert Browning'\n\nwho (I heard the other day) said once that he could 'wait three\nhundred years,' should not feel the life of centuries in this work\ntoo--can it be? Why all the pulses of the life of it are beating in\neven _my_ ears!\n\nTell me, beloved, how you are--I shall hear it to-night--shall I not?\nTo think of your being unwell, and forced to go here and go there to\nvisit people to whom your being unwell falls in at best among the\nsecondary evils!--makes me discontented--which is one shade more to\nthe uneasiness I feel. Will you take care, and not give away your life\nto these people? Because I have a better claim than they ... and shall\nput it in, if provoked ... _shall_. Then you will not use the\nshower-bath again--you promise? I dare say Mr. Kenyon observed\nyesterday how unwell you were looking--tell me if he didn't! Now do\nnot work, dearest! Do not think of Chiappino, leave him behind ... he\nhas a good strong life of his own, and can wait for you. Oh--but let\nme remember to say of him, that he and the other personages appear to\nme to articulate with perfect distinctness and clearness ... you need\nnot be afraid of having been obscure in this first part. It is all as\nlucid as noon.\n\nShall I go down-stairs to-day? 'No' say the privy-councillors,\n'because it is cold,' but I _shall_ go peradventure, because the sun\nbrightens and brightens, and the wind has gone round to the west.\n\nGeorge had come home yesterday before you left me, but the stars were\nfavourable to us and kept him out of this room. Now he is at\nWorcester--went this morning, on those never ending 'rounds,' poor\nfellow, which weary him I am sure.\n\nAnd why should music and the philosophy of it make you 'melancholy,'\never dearest, more than the other arts, which each has the seal of the\nage, modifying itself after a fashion and _to_ one? Because it changes\nmore, perhaps. Yet all the Arts are mediators between the soul and the\nInfinite, ... shifting always like a mist, between the Breath on this\nside, and the Light on that side ... shifted and coloured; mediators,\nmessengers, projected from the Soul, to go and feel, for Her, _out\nthere_!\n\nYou don't call me 'kind' I confess--but then you call me 'too kind'\nwhich is nearly as bad, you must allow on your part. Only you were not\nin earnest when you said _that_, as it appeared afterward. _Were_ you,\nyesterday, in pretending to think that I owed you nothing ... _I_?\n\nMay God bless you. He knows that to give myself to you, is not to pay\nyou. Such debts are not so paid.\n\n Yet I am your\n\n BA.\n\n_People's Journal_ for March 7th.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 10, 1846.]\n\nDear, dear Ba, if you were here I should not much _speak_ to you, not\nat first--nor, indeed, at last,--but as it is, sitting alone, only\nwords can be spoken, or (worse) written, and, oh how different to look\ninto the eyes and imagine what _might_ be said, what ought to be said,\nthough it never can be--and to sit and say and write, and only imagine\nwho looks above me, looks down, understanding and pardoning all! My\nlove, my Ba, the fault you found once with some expressions of mine\nabout the amount of imperishable pleasures already hoarded in my mind,\nthe indestructible memories of you; that fault, which I refused to\nacquiesce under the imputation of, at first, you remember--well,\n_what_ a fault it was, by this better light! If all stopped here and\nnow; horrible! complete oblivion were the thing to be prayed for,\nrather! As it is, _now_, I must go on, must live the life out, and die\nyours. And you are doing your utmost to advance the event of\nevents,--the exercise, and consequently (is it not?) necessarily\nimproved sleep, and the projects for the fine days, the walking ... a\npure bliss to think of! Well, now--I think I shall show seamanship of\na sort, and 'try another tack'--do not be over bold, my sweetest; the\ncold _is_ considerable,--taken into account the previous mildness. One\nill-advised (I, the _adviser_, I should remember!) too early, or too\nlate descent to the drawing-room, and all might be ruined,--thrown\nback so far ... seeing that our flight is to be prayed for 'not in the\nwinter'--and one would be called on to wait, wait--in this world where\nnothing waits, rests, as can be counted on. Now think of this, too,\ndearest, and never mind the slowness, for the sureness' sake! How\nperfectly happy I am as you stand by me, as yesterday you stood, as\nyou seem to stand now!\n\nI will write to-morrow more: I came home last night with a head rather\nworse; which in the event was the better, for I took a little medicine\nand all is very much improved to-day. I shall go out presently, and\nreturn very early and take as much care as is proper--for I thought of\nBa, and the sublimities of Duty, and that gave myself airs of\nimportance, in short, as I looked at my mother's inevitable arrow-root\nthis morning. So now I am well; so now, is dearest Ba well? I shall\nhear to-night ... which will have its due effect, that circumstance,\nin quickening my retreat from Forster's Rooms. All was very pleasant\nlast evening--and your letter &c. went _à qui de droit_, and Mr. W.\n_Junior_ had to smile good-naturedly when Mr. Burges began laying down\nthis general law, that the sons of all men of genius were poor\ncreatures--and Chorley and I exchanged glances after the fashion of\ntwo Augurs meeting at some street-corner in Cicero's time, as he says.\nAnd Mr. Kenyon was kind, kinder, kindest, as ever, 'and thus ends a\nwooing'!--no, a dinner--my wooing ends never, never; and so prepare\nto be asked to give, and give, and give till all is given in Heaven!\nAnd all I give _you_ is just my heart's blessing; God bless you, my\ndearest, dearest Ba!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 11, 1846.]\n\nYou find my letter I trust, for it was written this morning in time;\nand if these two lines should not be flattery ... oh, rank flattery!\n... why happy letter is it, to help to bring you home ten minutes\nearlier, when you never ought to have left home--no, indeed! I knew\nhow it would be yesterday, and how you would be worse and not better.\nYou are not fit to go out, dear dearest, to sit in the glare of lights\nand talk and listen, and have the knives and forks to rattle all the\nwhile and remind you of the chains of necessity. Oh--should I bear it,\ndo you think? I was thinking, when you went away--_after_ you had\nquite gone. You would laugh to see me at my dinner--Flush and\nme--Flush placing in me such an heroic confidence, that, after he has\ncast one discriminating glance on the plate, and, in the case of\n'chicken,' wagged his tail with an emphasis, ... he goes off to the\nsofa, shuts his eyes and allows a full quarter of an hour to pass\nbefore he returns to take his share. Did you ever hear of a dog before\nwho did not persecute one with beseeching eyes at mealtimes? And\nremember, this is not the effect of _discipline_. Also if another than\nmyself happens to take coffee or break bread in the room here, he\nteazes straightway with eyes and paws, ... teazes like a common dog\nand is put out of the door before he can be quieted by scolding. But\nwith _me_ he is sublime! Moreover he has been a very useful dog in his\ntime (in the point of capacity), causing to disappear supererogatory\ndinners and impossible breakfasts which, to do him justice, is a feat\naccomplished without an objection on his side, always.\n\nSo, when you write me such a letter, I write back to you about Flush.\nDearest beloved, but I have read the letter and felt it in my heart,\nthrough and through! and it is as wise to talk of Flush foolishly, as\nto fancy that I _could say how_ it is felt ... this letter! Only when\nyou spoke last of breaking off with such and such recollections, it\nwas the melancholy of the breaking off which I protested against, was\nit not? and _not_ the insufficiency of the recollections. There might\nhave been something besides in jest. Ah, but _you_ remember, if you\nplease, that _I_ was the first to wish (wishing for my own part, if I\ncould wish exclusively) to break off in the middle the silken thread,\nand you told me, not--you forbade me--do you remember? For, as\nhappiness goes, the recollections were enough, ... _are_ enough for\n_me_! I mean that I should acknowledge them to be full compensation\nfor the bitter gift of life, _such as it was_, to me! if that\nsubject-matter were broken off here! 'Bona verba' let me speak\nnevertheless. You mean, you say, to run all risks with me, and I don't\nmean to draw back from my particular risk of ... what am I to do to\nyou hereafter to make you vexed with me? What is there in marriage to\nmake all these people on every side of us, (who all began, I suppose,\nby talking of love,) look askance at one another from under the silken\nmask ... and virtually hate one another through the tyranny of the\nstronger and the hypocrisy of the weaker party. It never could be so\nwith _us_--_I know that_. But you grow awful to me sometimes with the\nvery excess of your goodness and tenderness, and still, I think to\nmyself, if you do not keep lifting me up quite off the ground by the\nstrong faculty of love in you, I shall not help falling short of the\nhope you have placed in me--it must be 'supernatural' of you, to the\nend! or I fall short and disappoint you. Consider this, beloved. Now\nif I could put my soul out of my body, just to stand up before you\nand make it clear.\n\nI did go to the drawing-room to-day ... would ... should ... did. The\nsun came out, the wind changed ... where was the obstacle? I spent a\nquarter of an hour in a fearful solitude, listening for knocks at the\ndoor, as a ghost-fearer might at midnight, and 'came home' none the\nworse in any way. Be sure that I shall 'take care' better than you do,\nand there, is the worst of it all--for _you_ let people make you ill,\nand do it yourself upon occasion.\n\nYou know from my letter how I found you out in the matter of the\n'Soul's Tragedy.' Oh! so bad ... so weak, so unworthy of your name! If\nsome other people were half a quarter as much the contrary!\n\nAnd so, good-night, dear dearest. In spite of my fine speeches about\n'recollections,' I should be unhappy enough to please you, with _only\nthose_ ... without you beside! I could not take myself back from being\n\n Your own--", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 11, 1846.]\n\nDear, dear Ba, but indeed I _did_ return home earlier by two or three\ngood hours than the night before--and to find _no_ letter,--none of\nyours! _That_ was reserved for this morning early, and then a rest\ncame, a silence, over the thoughts of you--and now again, comes this\nlast note! Oh, my love--why--what is it you think to do, or become\n'afterward,' that you may fail in and so disappoint me? It is not very\nunfit that you should thus punish yourself, and that, sinning by your\nown ambition of growing something beyond my Ba even, you should 'fear'\nas you say! For, sweet, why wish, why think to alter ever by a line,\nchange by a shade, turn better if that were possible, and so only rise\nthe higher above me, get further from instead of nearer to my heart?\nWhat I expect, what I build my future on, am quite, quite prepared to\n'risk' everything for,--is that one belief that you _will not alter_,\nwill just remain as you are--meaning by '_you_,' the love in you, the\nqualities I have _known_ (for you will stop me, if I do not stop\nmyself) what I have evidence of in every letter, in every word, every\nlook. Keeping these, if it be God's will that the body passes,--what\nis that? Write no new letters, speak no new words, look no new\nlooks,--only tell me, years hence that the present is alive, that what\nwas once, still is--and I am, must needs be, blessed as ever! You\nspeak of my feeling as if it were a pure speculation--as if because I\n_see somewhat_ in you I make a calculation that there must be more to\nsee somewhere or other--where bdellium is found, the onyx-stone may be\nlooked for in the mystic land of the four rivers! And perhaps ... ah,\npoor human nature!--perhaps I _do_ think at times on what _may_ be to\nfind! But what is that to you? I _offer_ for the _bdellium_--the other\nmay be found or not found ... what I see glitter on the ground, _that_\nwill suffice to make me rich as--rich as--\n\nSo bless you my own Ba! I would not wait for paper, and you must\nforgive half-sheets, instead of a whole celestial quire to my love and\npraise. Are you so well? So adventurous? Thank you from my heart of\nhearts. And I am quite well to-day (and have received a note from\nProcter _just_ this _minute_ putting off his dinner on account of the\ndeath of his wife's sister's husband abroad). Observe _this_ sheet I\ntake as I find--I mean, that the tear tells of no improper speech\nrepented of--what English, what sense, what a soul's tragedy! but\nthen, what real, realest love and more than love for my ever dearest\nBa possesses her own--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 12, 1846.]\n\nWhen my Orpheus writes '[Greek: Peri lithôn]' he makes a great mistake\nabout onyxes--there is more true onyx in this letter of his that I\nhave just read, than he will ever find in the desert land he goes to.\nAnd for what 'glitters on the ground,' it reminds me of the yellow\nmetal sparks found in the Malvern Hills, and how we used to laugh\nyears ago at one of our geological acquaintances, who looked\nmole-hills up that mountain-range in the scorn of his eyes, saying ...\n'Nothing but mica!!' Is anybody to be rich through 'mica', I wonder?\nthrough 'Nothing but mica?' 'As rich as--as rich as' ... _Walter the\nPennyless_?\n\nDearest, best you are nevertheless, and it is a sorry jest which I can\nbreak upon your poverty, with that golden heart of yours so\napprehended of mine! Why if I am 'ambitious'--is it not because you\nlove me as if I were worthier of your love, and that, _so_, I get\nfrightened of the opening of your eyelids to the _un_worthiness? 'A\nlittle sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to\nsleep'--_there_, is my 'ambition for afterward.' Oh--you do not\nunderstand how with an unspeakable wonder, an astonishment which keeps\nme from drawing breath, I look to this Dream, and 'see your face as\nthe face of an angel,' and fear for the vanishing, ... because dreams\nand angels _do_ pass away in this world. But _you_, _I_ understand\n_you_, and all your goodness past expression, past belief of mine, if\nI had not known you ... just _you_. If it will satisfy you that I\nshould know you, love you, love you--why then indeed--because I never\nbowed down to any of the false gods I know the gold from the mica, ...\nI! 'My own beloved'--you should have my soul to stand on if it could\nmake you stand higher. Yet you shall not call me 'ambitious.'\n\nTo-day I went down-stairs again, and wished to know whether you were\nwalking in your proportion--and your letter does call you 'better,'\nwhether you walked enough or not, and it bears the Deptford post-mark.\nOn Saturday I shall see how you are looking. So pale you were last\ntime! I know Mr. Kenyon must have observed it, (dear Mr. Kenyon ...\nfor being 'kinder and kindest') and that one of the 'augurs'\nmarvelled at the other! By the way I forgot yesterday to tell you how\nMr. Burges's 'apt remark' did amuse me. And Mr. Kenyon who said much\nthe same words to me last week in relation to this very Wordsworth\njunior, writhed, I am sure, and wished the ingenious observer with the\nlost plays of Æschylus--oh, I seem to see Mr. Kenyon's face! He was to\nhave come to tell me how you all behaved at dinner that day, but he\nkeeps away ... you have given him too much to think of perhaps.\n\nI heard from Miss Mitford to-day that Mr. Chorley's hope is at an end\nin respect to the theatre, and (I must tell you) she praises him\nwarmly for his philosophy and fortitude under the disappointment. How\nmuch philosophy does it take,--please to instruct me,--in order to the\ndecent bearing of such disasters? Can I fancy one, shorter than you by\na whole head of the soul, condescending to '_bear_' such things? No,\nindeed.\n\nBe good and kind, and do not work at the 'Tragedy' ... do not.\n\nSo you and I have written out all the paper in London! At least, I\nsend and send in vain to have more envelopes 'after my kind,' and the\nlast answer is, that a 'fresh supply will arrive in eight days from\nParis, and that in the meanwhile they are quite _out_ in the article.'\nAn awful sign of the times, is this famine of envelopes ... not to\nspeak of the scarcity of little sheets:--and the augurs look to it all\nof course.\n\nFor _my_ part I think more of Chiappino--Chiappino holds me fast.\n\nBut I must let _you_ go--it is too late. This dearest letter, which\nyou sent me! I thank you for it with ever so much dumbness. May God\nbless you and keep you, and make you happy for me.\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 12, 1846.]\n\nHow I get to understand this much of Law--that prior possession is\nnine points of it! Just because your infinite adroitness got first\nhold of the point of view whence our connection looks like 'a dream'\n... I find myself shut out of my very own, unable to say what is\noftenest in my thought; whereas the dear, miraculous dream _you_ were,\nand are, my Ba! Only, _vanish_--_that_ you will never! My own, and for\never!\n\nYesterday I read the poor, inconceivably inadequate notice in the\n_People's Journal_. How curiously wrong, too, in the personal guesses!\nSad work truly. For my old friend Mrs. Adams--no, I must be silent:\nthe lyrics seem doggerel in its utter purity. And so the people are to\nbe instructed in the new age of gold! I _heard_ two days ago precisely\nwhat I told you--that there was a quarrel, &c. which this service was\nto smooth over, no doubt. Chorley told me, in a hasty word only, that\nall was over, Mr. Webster would not have anything to do with his play.\nThe said W. is one of the poorest of poor creatures, and as Chorley\nwas certainly forewarned, forearmed I will hope him to have been\nlikewise--still it is very disappointing--he was apparently nearer\nthan most aspirants to the prize,--having the best will of the\nactresses on whose shoulder the burthen was to lie. I hope they have\nbeen quite honest with him--knowing as I do the easy process of\ntransferring all sorts of burthens, in that theatrical world, from\nresponsible to irresponsible members of it, actors to manager, manager\nto actors, as the case requires. And it is a 'hope deferred' with\nChorley; not for the second or third time. I am very glad that he\ncares no more than you tell me.\n\nStill you go down-stairs, and still return safely, and every step\nleads us nearer to _my_ 'hope.' How unremittingly you bless me--a\nvisit promises a letter, a letter brings such news, crowns me with\nsuch words, and speaks of another visit--and so the golden links\nextend. Dearest words, dearest letters--as I add each to my heap, I\nsay--I _do_ say--'I was _poor_, it now seems, a minute ago, when I had\nnot _this_!' Bless you, dear, dear Ba. On Saturday I shall be with\nyou, I trust--may God bless you! Ever your own", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, March 16, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest I am going to say one word first of all lest I should\nforget it afterward, of the two or three words which you said\nyesterday and so passingly that you probably forget to-day having said\nthem at all. We were speaking of Mr. Chorley and his house, and you\nsaid that you did not care for such and such things for yourself, but\nthat for others--now you remember the rest. And I just want to say\nwhat it would have been simpler to have said at the time--only not so\neasy--(I _couldn't_ say it at the time) that you are not if you please\nto fancy that because I am a woman I have not the pretension to do\nwith as little in any way as you yourself ... no, it is not _that_ I\nmean to say.... I mean that you are not, if you please, to fancy that,\nbecause I am a woman, I look to be cared for in those outside things,\nor should have the slightest pleasure in any of them. So never wish\nnor regret in your thoughts to be able or not to be able to care this\nand this for _me_; for while you are thinking so, our thoughts go\ndifferent ways, which is wrong. Mr. Fox did me a great deal too much\nhonour in calling me 'a religious hermit'; he was 'curiously' in\nfault, as you saw. It is not my vocation to sit on a stone in a\ncave--I was always too fond of lolling upon sofas or in chairs nearly\nas large,--and this, which I sit in, was given to me when I was a\nchild by my uncle, the uncle I spoke of to you once, and has been\nlolled in nearly ever since ... when I was well enough. Well--_that_\nis a sort of luxury, of course--but it is more idle than expensive, as\na habit, and I do believe that it is the 'head and foot of my\noffending' in that matter. Yes--'confiteor tibi' besides, that I do\nhate white dimity curtains, which is highly improper for a religious\nhermit of course, but excusable in _me_ who would accept brown serge\nas a substitute with ever so much indifference. It is the white light\nwhich comes in the dimity which is so hateful to me. To 'go mad in\nwhite dimity' seems perfectly natural, and consequential even. Set\naside these foibles, and one thing is as good as another with me, and\nthe more simplicity in the way of living, the better. If I saw Mr.\nChorley's satin sofas and gilded ceilings I should call them very\npretty I dare say, but never covet the possession of the like--it\nwould never enter my mind to do so. Then Papa has not kept a carriage\nsince I have been grown up (they grumble about it here in the house,\nbut when people have once had great reverses they get nervous about\nspending money) so I shall not miss the Clarence and greys ... and I\ndo entreat you _not_ to put those two ideas together again of _me_ and\nthe finery which has nothing to do with me. I have talked a great deal\ntoo much of all this, you will think, but I want you, once for all, to\napply it broadly to the whole of the future both in the general view\nand the details, so that we need not return to the subject. Judge for\nme as for yourself--_what is good for you is good for me_. Otherwise I\nshall be humiliated, you know; just as far as I know your thoughts.\n\nMr. Kenyon has been here to-day--and I have been down-stairs--two\ngreat events! He was in brilliant spirits and sate talking ever so\nlong, and named you as he always does. Something he asked, and then\nsaid suddenly ... 'But I don't see why I should ask _you_, when I\nought to know him better than you can.' On which I was wise enough to\nchange colour, as I felt, to the roots of my hair. There is the\neffect of a bad conscience! and it has happened to me before, with Mr.\nKenyon, three times--once particularly, when I could have cried with\nvexation (to complete the effects!), he looked at me with such\ninfinite surprise in a dead pause of any speaking. _That_ was in the\nsummer; and all to be said for it now, is, that it couldn't be helped:\ncouldn't!\n\nMr. Kenyon asked of 'Saul.' (By the way, you never answered about the\nblue lilies.) He asked of 'Saul' and whether it would be finished in\nthe new number. He hangs on the music of your David. Did you read in\nthe _Athenæum_ how Jules Janin--no, how the critic on Jules Janin (was\nit the critic? was it Jules Janin? the glorious confusion is gaining\non me I think) has magnificently confounded places and persons in\nRobert Southey's urn by the Adriatic and devoted friendship for Lord\nByron? And immediately the English observer of the phenomenon, after\nmoralizing a little on the crass ignorance of Frenchmen in respect to\nour literature, goes on to write like an ignoramus himself, on Mme.\nCharles Reybaud, encouraging that pure budding novelist, who is in\nfact a hack writer of romances third and fourth rate, of questionable\npurity enough, too. It does certainly appear wonderful that we should\nnot sufficiently stand abreast here in Europe, to justify and\nnecessitate the establishment of an European review--journal\nrather--(the 'Foreign Review,' so called, touching only the summits of\nthe hills) a journal which might be on a level with the intelligent\nreaders of all the countries of Europe, and take all the rising\nreputations of each, with the national light on them as they rise,\ninto observation and judgment. If nobody can do this, it is a pity I\nthink to do so much less--both in France and England--to snatch up a\nFrench book from over the Channel as ever and anon they do in the\n_Athenæum_, and say something prodigiously absurd of it, till people\ncry out 'oh oh' as in the House of Commons.\n\nOh--oh--and how wise I am to-day, as if I were a critic myself!\nYesterday I was foolish instead--for I couldn't get out of my head all\nthe evening how you said that you would come 'to see a candle held up\nat the window.' Well! but I do not mean to love you any more just\nnow--so I tell you plainly. Certainly I will not. I love you already\ntoo much perhaps. I feel like the turning Dervishes turning in the sun\nwhen you say such words to me--and I _never shall_ love you any\n'less,' because it is too much to be made less of.\n\nAnd you write to-morrow? and will tell me how you are? honestly will\ntell me? May God bless you, most dear!\n\n I am yours--'Tota tua est'\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, March 16, 1846.]\n\nHow will the love my heart is full of for you, let me be silent?\nInsufficient speech is better than no speech, in one regard--the\nspeaker had _tried_ words, and if they fail, hereafter he needs not\nreflect that he did not even try--so with me now, that loving you, Ba,\nwith all my heart and soul, all my senses being lost in one wide\nwondering gratitude and veneration, I press close to you to say so, in\nthis imperfect way, my dear dearest beloved! Why do you not help me,\nrather than take my words, my proper word, from me and call them\nyours, when yours they are not? You said lately love of you 'made you\nhumble'--just as if to hinder _me_ from saying that earnest\ntruth!--entirely true it is, as I feel ever more convincingly. You do\nnot choose to understand it should be so, nor do I much care, for the\none thing you must believe, must resolve to believe in its length and\nbreadth, is that I do love you and live only in the love of you.\n\nI will rest on the confidence that you do so believe! You _know_ by\nthis that it is no shadowy image of you and _not_ you, which having\nattached myself to in the first instance, I afterward compelled my\nfancy to see reproduced, so to speak, with tolerable exactness to the\noriginal idea, in you, the dearest real _you_ I am blessed with--you\n_know_ what the eyes are to me, and the lips and the hair. And I, for\nmy part, know _now_, while fresh from seeing you, certainly _know_,\nwhatever I may have said a short time since, that _you_ will go on to\nthe end, that the arm round me will not let me go,--over such a blind\nabyss--I refuse to think, to fancy, _towards_ what it would be to\nloose you now! So I give my life, my soul into your hand--the giving\nis a mere form too, it is yours, ever yours from the first--but ever\nas I see you, sit with you, and come away to think over it all, I find\nmore that seems mine to give; you give me more life and it goes back\nto you.\n\nI shall hear from you to-morrow--then, I will go out early and get\ndone with some calls, in the joy and consciousness of what waits me,\nand when I return I will write a few words. Are these letters, these\nmerest attempts at getting to talk with you through the distance--yet\nalways with the consolation of feeling that you will know all,\ninterpret all and forgive it and put it right--can such things be\ncared for, expected, as you say? Then, Ba, my life _must_ be better\n... with the closeness to help, and the 'finding out the way' for\nwhich love was always noted. If you begin making in fancy a lover to\nyour mind, I am lost at once--but the one quality of _affection_ for\nyou, which would sooner or later have to be placed on his list of\ncomponent graces; _that_ I will dare start supply--the entire love you\ncould dream of _is_ here. You think you see some of the other\nadornments, and only too many; and you will see plainer one day, but\nwith that I do not concern myself--you shall admire the true\nheroes--but me you shall love for the love's sake. Let me kiss you,\nyou, my dearest, dearest--God bless you ever--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 16, 1846.]\n\nIndeed I would, dearest Ba, go with entire gladness and pride to see a\nlight that came from your room--why should that surprise you? Well,\nyou will _know_ one day.\n\nWe understand each other too about the sofas and gilding--oh, I know\nyou, my own sweetest! For me, if I had set those matters to heart, I\nshould have turned into the obvious way of getting them--not _out_ of\nit, as I did resolutely from the beginning. All I meant was, to\nexpress a very natural feeling--if one could give you diamonds for\nflowers, and if you liked diamonds,--then, indeed! As it is, wherever\nwe are found shall be, if you please, 'For the love's sake found\ntherein--sweetest _house_ was ever seen!'\n\nMr. Kenyon must be merciful. Lilies are of all colours in\nPalestine--one sort is particularized as _white_ with a dark blue spot\nand streak--the water lily, lotos, which I think I meant, is _blue_\naltogether.\n\nI have walked this morning to town and back--I feel much better,\n'honestly'! The head better--the spirits rising--as how should they\nnot, when _you_ think all will go well in the end, when you write to\nme that you go down-stairs and are stronger--and when the rest is\nwritten?\n\nNot more now, dearest, for time is pressing, but you will answer\nthis,--the love that is not here,--not the idle words, and I will\nreply to-morrow. Thursday is so far away yet!\n\nBless you, my very own, only dearest!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 17, 1846.]\n\nDearest, you are dearest always! Talk of Sirens, ... there must be\nsome masculine ones 'rari nantes,' I fancy, (though we may not find\nthem in unquestionable authorities like your Ælian!) to justify this\nvoice I hear. Ah, how you speak, with that pretension, too, to\ndumbness! What should people be made of, in order to bear such words,\ndo you think? Will all the wax from all the altar-candles in the\nSistine Chapel, keep the piercing danger from their ears? Being tied\nup a good deal tighter than Ulysses did not save _me_. Dearest\ndearest: I laugh, you see, as usual, not to cry! But deep down, deeper\nthan the Sirens go, deep underneath the tides, _there_, I bless and\nlove you with the voice that makes no sound.\n\nOther human creatures (how often I do think it to myself!) have their\ngood things scattered over their lives, sown here and sown there, down\nthe slopes, and by the waysides. But with me ... I have mine all\npoured down on one spot in the midst of the sands!--if you knew what I\nfeel at moments, and at half-hours, when I give myself up to the\nfeeling freely and take no thought of red eyes. A woman once was\nkilled with gifts, crushed with the weight of golden bracelets thrown\nat her: and, knowing myself, I have wondered more than a little, how\nit was that I could _bear_ this strange and unused gladness, without\nsinking as the emotion rose. Only I was incredulous at first, and the\nday broke slowly ... and the gifts fell like the rain ... softly; and\nGod gives strength, by His providence, for sustaining blessings as\nwell as stripes. Dearest--\n\nFor the rest I understand you perfectly--perfectly. It was simply to\nyour _thoughts_, that I replied ... and that you need not say to\nyourself any more, as you did once to me when you brought me flowers,\nthat you wished they were diamonds. It was simply to prevent the\naccident of such a _thought_, that I spoke out mine. You would not\nwish accidentally that you had a double-barrelled gun to give me, or a\ncardinal's hat, or a snuff box, and I meant to say that you _might as\nwell_--as diamonds and satin sofas à la Chorley. Thoughts are\nsomething, and _your_ thoughts are something more. To be sure they\nare!\n\nYou are better you say, which makes me happy of course. And you will\nnot make the 'better' worse again by doing wrong things--_that_ is my\npetition. It was the excess of goodness to write those two letters for\nme in one day, and I thank you, thank you. Beloved, when you write,\n_let_ it be, if you choose, ever so few lines. Do not suffer me (for\nmy own sake) to tire you, because two lines or three bring _you_ to me\n... remember ... just as a longer letter would.\n\nBut where, pray, did I say, and when, that 'everything would end\nwell?' Was _that_ in the dream, when we two met on the stairs? I did\nnot really say so I think. And 'well' is how you understand it. If you\njump out of the window you succeed in getting to the ground, somehow,\ndead or alive ... but whether _that_ means 'ending well,' depends on\nyour way of considering matters. I am seriously of opinion\nnevertheless, that if 'the arm,' you talk of, _drops_, it will not be\nfor weariness nor even for weakness, but because it is cut off at the\nshoulder. _I_ will not fail to you,--may God so deal with me, so bless\nme, so leave me, as I live only for you and _shall_. Do you doubt\n_that_, my only beloved! Ah, you know well--_too well_, people would\nsay ... but I do not think it 'too well' myself, ... knowing _you_.\n\n Your\n\n BA.\n\nHere is a gossip which Mr. Kenyon brought me on Sunday--disbelieving\nit himself, he asseverated, though Lady Chantrey said it 'with\nauthority,'--that Mr. Harness had offered his hand heart and\necclesiastical dignities to Miss Burdett Coutts. It is Lady Chantrey's\nand Mr. Kenyon's _secret_, remember.\n\nAnd ... will you tell me? How can a man spend four or five successive\nmonths on the sea, most cheaply--at the least pecuniary expense, I\nmean? Because Miss Mitford's friend Mr. Buckingham is ordered by his\nmedical adviser to complete his cure by these means; and he is not\nrich. Could he go with sufficient comfort by a merchant's vessel to\nthe Mediterranean ... and might he drift about among the Greek\nislands?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n\n'Out of window' would be well, as I see the leap, if it ended (_so far\nas I am concerned_) in the worst way imaginable--I would I 'run the\nrisk' (Ba's other word) rationally, deliberately,--knowing what the\nordinary law of chances in this world justifies in such a case; and if\nthe result after all _was_ unfortunate, it would be far easier to\nundergo the extremest penalty with so little to reproach myself\nfor,--than to put aside the adventure,--waive the wondrous probability\nof such best fortune, in a fear of the barest possibility of an\nadverse event, and so go to my grave, Walter the Penniless, with an\neternal recollection that Miss Burdett Coutts once offered to wager\nsundry millions with me that she could throw double-sixes a dozen\ntimes running--which wager I wisely refused to accept because it was\nnot written in the stars that such a sequence might never be. I had\nrather, rather a thousand-fold lose my paltry stake, and be the one\nrecorded victim to such an unexampled unluckiness that half a dozen\nmad comets, suns gone wrong, and lunatic moons must have come\nlaboriously into conjunction for my special sake to bring it to pass,\nwhich were no slight honour, properly considered!--And this is _my_\nway of laughing, dearest Ba, when the excess of belief in you, and\nhappiness with you, runs over and froths if it don't\nsparkle--underneath is a deep, a sea not to be moved. But chance,\nchance! there is _no_ chance here! I _have_ gained enough for my life,\nI can only put in peril the gaining more than enough. You shall change\naltogether my dear, dearest love, and I will be happy to the last\nminute on what I can remember of this past year--I _could_ do that.\n_Now_, jump with me out, Ba! If you feared for yourself--all would be\ndifferent, sadly different--But saying what you do say, promising 'the\nstrength of arm'--do not wonder that I call it an assurance of all\nbeing 'well'! All is _best_, as you promise--dear, darling Ba!--and I\nsay, in my degree, with all the energy of my nature, _as you say_,\npromise as you promise--only meaning a worship of you that is solely\nfit for me, fit by position--are not you my 'mistress?' Come, some\ngood out of those old conventions, in which you lost faith after the\nBower's disappearance, (it was carried by the singing angels, like the\nhouse at Loretto, to the Siren's isle where we shall find it preserved\nin a beauty 'very rare and absolute')--is it not right you should be\nmy Lady, my Queen? and you are, and ever must be, dear Ba. Because I\nam suffered to kiss the lips, shall I ever refuse to embrace the feet?\nand kiss lips, and embrace feet, love you _wholly_, my Ba! May God\nbless you--\n\n Ever your own,\n\n R.\n\nIt would be easy for Mr. Buckingham to find a Merchant-ship bound for\nsome Mediterranean port, after a week or two in harbour, to another\nand perhaps a third--Naples, Palermo, Syra, Constantinople, and so on.\nThe expense would be very trifling, but the want of comfort _enormous_\nfor an invalid--the one advantage is the solitariness of the _one_\npassenger among all those rough new creatures. _I_ like it much, and\nsoon get deep into their friendship, but another has other ways of\nviewing matters. No one article provided by the ship in the way of\nprovisions can anybody touch. Mr. B. must lay in his own stock, and\nthe horrors of dirt and men's ministry are portentous, yet by a little\narrangement beforehand much might be done. Still, I only know my own\npowers of endurance, and counsel nobody to gain my experience. On the\nother hand, were all to do again, I had rather have seen Venice _so_,\nwith the five or six weeks' absolute rest of the mind's eyes, than any\nother imaginable way,--except Balloon-travelling.\n\nDo you think they meant Landor's 'Count Julian'--the 'subject of his\ntragedy' sure enough,--and that _he_ was the friend of Southey? So it\nstruck me--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 18, 1846.]\n\nAh well--we shall see. Only remember that it is not my fault if I\nthrow the double sixes, and if you, on [_some sun-shiny_ day, (a day\ntoo late to help yourself) stand face to face with a milkwhite\nunicorn.][1] Ah--do not be angry. It is ungrateful of me to write\nso--I put a line through it to prove I have a conscience after all. I\nknow that you love me, and I know it so well that I was reproaching\nmyself severely not long ago, for seeming to love your love more than\nyou. Let me tell you how I proved _that_, or seemed. For ever so long,\nyou remember, I have been talking finely about giving you up for your\ngood and so on. Which was sincere as far as the words went--but oh,\nthe hypocrisy of our souls!--of mine, for instance! 'I would give you\nup for your good'--_but_ when I pressed upon myself the question\nwhether (if I had the power) I would consent to make you willing to be\ngiven up, by throwing away your love into the river, in a ring like\nCharlemagne's, ... why I found directly that I would throw myself\nthere sooner. I could not do it in fact--I shrank from the test. A\nvery pitiful virtue of generosity, is your Ba's! Still, it is not\npossible, I think, that she should '_love your love more than you_.'\nThere must be a mistake in the calculation somewhere--a figure dropt.\nIt would be too bad for her!\n\nYour account of your merchantmen, though with Venice in the distance,\nwill scarcely be attractive to a confirmed invalid, I fear--and yet\nthe steamers will be found expensive beyond his means. The\nsugar-vessels, which I hear most about, give out an insufferable smell\nand steam--let us talk of it a little on Thursday. On Monday I forgot.\n\nFor Landor's 'Julian,' oh no, I cannot fancy it to be probable that\nthose Parisians should know anything of Landor, even by a mistake. Do\nyou not suppose that the play is founded (confounded) on Shelley's\npoem, as the French use materials ... by distraction, into confusion?\nThe 'urn by the Adriatic' (which all the French know how to turn\nupside down) fixes the reference to Shelley--does it not?\n\nNot a word of the head--what does _that_ mean, I wonder. I have not\nbeen down-stairs to-day--the wind is too cold--but you have walked?\n... there was no excuse for you. God bless you, ever dearest. It is my\nlast word till Thursday's first. A fine queen you have, by the way!--a\nqueen Log, whom you had better leave in the bushes! Witness our\nhand....\n\n BA--REGINA.\n\n[Footnote 1: The words in brackets are struck out.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 18, 1846.]\n\nIndeed, dearest, you shall not have _last word_ as you think,--all the\n'risk' shall not be mine, neither; how can I, in the event, throw\nambs-ace (is not that the old word?) and not peril _your_ stakes too,\nwhen once we have common stock and are partners? When I see the\nunicorn and grieve proportionately, do you mean to say you are not\ngoing to grieve too, for my sake? And if so--why, _you_ clearly run\nexactly the same risk,--_must_,--unless you mean to rejoice in my\nsorrow! So your chance is my chance; my success your success, you say,\nand my failure, your failure, will you not say? You see, you see, Ba,\nmy own--own! What do you think frightened me in your letter for a\nsecond or two? You write 'Let us talk on Thursday ... Monday I\nforgot'--which I read,--'no, not on Thursday--I had forgotten! It is\nto be _Monday_ when we meet next'!--whereat\n\n ... as a goose\n In death contracts his talons close,\n\nas Hudibras sings--I clutched the letter convulsively--till relief\ncame.\n\nSo till to-morrow--my all-beloved! Bless you. I am rather hazy in the\nhead as Archer Gurney will find in due season--(he comes, I told\nyou)--but all the morning I have been going for once and for ever\nthrough the 'Tragedy,' and it is _done_--(done _for_). Perhaps I may\nbring it to-morrow--if my sister can copy all; I cut out a huge kind\nof sermon from the middle and reserve it for a better time--still it\nis very long; so long! So, if I ask, may I have 'Luria' back to\nmorrow? So shall printing begin, and headache end--and 'no more for\nthe present from your loving'\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, March 20, 1846.]\n\nI shall be late with my letter this morning because my sisters have\nbeen here talking, talking ... and I did not like to say exactly 'Go\naway that I may write.' Mr. Kenyon shortened our time yesterday too by\na whole half-hour or three quarters--the stars are against us. He is\ncoming on Sunday, however, he says, and if so, Monday will be safe and\nclear--and not a word was said after you went, about you: he was in a\ngood joyous humour, as you saw, and the letter he brought was, oh! so\ncomplimentary to me--I will tell you. The writer doesn't see anything\n'in Browning and Turner,' she confesses--'_may_ perhaps with time and\nstudy,' but for the present sees nothing,--only has wide-open eyes of\nadmiration for E.B.B. ... now isn't it satisfactory to _me_? Do you\nunderstand the full satisfaction of just that sort of thing ... to be\npraised by somebody who sees nothing in Shakespeare?--to be found on\nthe level of somebody so flat? Better the bad-word of the Britannia,\nten times over! And best, to take no thought of bad or good words! ...\nexcept such as I shall have to-night, perhaps! Shall I?\n\nWill you be pleased to understand in the meanwhile a little about the\n'risks' I am supposed to run, and not hold to such a godlike\nsimplicity ('gods and bulls,' dearest!) as you made show of yesterday?\nIf we two went to the gaming-table, and you gave me a purse of gold to\nplay with, should I have a right to talk proudly of 'my stakes?' and\nwould any reasonable person say of both of us playing together as\npartners, that we ran 'equal risks'? I trow not--and so do _you_ ...\nwhen you have not predetermined to be stupid, and mix up the rouge and\nnoir into 'one red' of glorious confusion. What had I to lose on the\npoint of happiness when you knew me first?--and if now I lose (as I\ncertainly may according to your calculation) the happiness you have\ngiven me, why still I am your debtor for _the gift_ ... now see! Yet\nto bring you down into my ashes ... _that_ has been so intolerable a\npossibility to me from the first. Well, perhaps I run _more_ risk than\nyou, under that one aspect. Certainly I never should forgive myself\nagain if you were unhappy. 'What had _I_ to do,' I should think, 'with\ntouching your life?' And if ever I am to think so, I would rather that\nI never had known you, seen your face, heard your voice--which is the\nuttermost sacrifice and abnegation. I could not say or sacrifice any\nmore--not even for _you_! _You_, for _you_ ... is all I can!\n\nSince you left me I have been making up my mind to your having the\nheadache worse than ever, through the agreement with Moxon. I do, do\nbeseech you to spare yourself, and let 'Luria' go as he is, and above\nall things not to care for my infinite foolishnesses as you see them\nin those notes. Remember that if you are ill, it is not so easy to\nsay, 'Now I will be well again.' Ever dearest, care for me in\nyourself--say how you are.... I am not unwell to-day, but feel flagged\nand weak rather with the cold ... and look at your flowers for courage\nand an assurance that the summer is within hearing. May God bless you\n... blessing _us_, beloved!\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nMr. Poe has sent me his poems and tales--so now I must write to thank\nhim for his dedication. Just now I have the book. As to Mr.\nBuckingham, he will go, Constantinople and back, before we talk of\nhim.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 21, 1846.]\n\nDearest,--it just strikes me that I _might_ by some chance be kept in\ntown this morning--(having to go to Milnes' breakfast there)--so as\nnot to find the note I venture to expect, in time for an answer by our\nlast post to-night. But I will try--this only is a precaution against\nthe possibility. Dear, dear Ba! I cannot thank you, know not how to\nthank you for the notes! I adopt every one, of course, not as Ba's\nnotes but as Miss Barrett's, not as Miss Barrett's but as anybody's,\neverybody's--such incontestable improvements they suggest. When shall\nI tell you more ... on Monday or Tuesday? _That_ I _must_\nknow--because you appointed Monday, 'if nothing happened--' and Mr. K.\nhappened--can you let me hear by our early post to-morrow--as on\nMonday I am to be with Moxon early, you know--and no letters arrive\nbefore 11-1/2 or 12. I was not very well yesterday, but to-day am much\nbetter--and you,--I say how _I_ am precisely to have a double right to\nknow _all_ about you, dearest, in this snow and cold! How do you bear\nit? And Mr. K. spoke of '_that_ being your worst day.' Oh, dear\ndearest Ba, remember how I live in you--on the hopes, with the memory\nof you. Bless you ever!\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, March 21, 1846.]\n\nI do not understand how my letters limp so instead of flying as they\nought with the feathers I give them, and how you did not receive last\nnight, nor even early this morning, what left me at two o'clock\nyesterday. But I understand _now_ the not hearing from you--you were\nnot well. Not well, not well ... _that_ is always 'happening' at\nleast. And Mr. Moxon, who is to have his first sheet, whether you are\nwell or ill! It is wrong ... yes, very wrong--and if one point of\nwrongness is touched, we shall not easily get right again--as I think\nmournfully, feeling confident (call me Cassandra, but I cannot jest\nabout it) feeling certain that it will end (the means being so\npersisted in) by some serious illness--serious sorrow,--on yours and\nmy part.\n\nAs to Monday, Mr. Kenyon said he would come again on Sunday--in which\ncase, Monday will be clear. If he should not come on Sunday, he will\nor may on Monday,--yet--oh, in every case, perhaps you can come on\nMonday--there will be no time to let you know of Mr. Kenyon--and\n_probably_ we shall be safe, and your being in town seems to fix the\nday. For myself I am well enough, and the wind has changed, which will\nmake me better--this cold weather oppresses and weakens me, but it is\nclose to April and can't last and won't last--it is warmer already.\nBeware of the notes! They are not Ba's--except for the insolence, nor\nEBB's--because of the carelessness. If I had known, moreover, that you\nwere going to Moxon's on Monday, they should have gone to the fire\nrather than provoked you into superfluous work for the short interval.\nJust so much are they despised of both EBB and Ba.\n\nI am glad I did not hear from you yesterday because you were not\nwell, and you _must never_ write when you are not well. But if you had\nbeen quite well, should I have heard?--_I doubt it_. You meant me to\nhear from you only once, from Thursday to Monday. Is it not the truth\nnow that you hate writing to me?\n\nThe _Athenæum_ takes up the 'Tales from Boccaccio' as if they were\nworth it, and imputes in an underground way the authorship to the\nmembers of the 'coterie' so called--do you observe _that_? There is an\nimplication that persons named in the poem wrote the poem themselves.\nAnd upon _whom_ does the critic mean to fix the song of 'Constancy'\n... the song which is 'not to puzzle anybody' who knows the tunes of\nthe song-writers! The perfection of commonplace it seems to me. It\nmight have been written by the 'poet Bunn.' Don't you think so?\n\nWhile I write this you are in town, but you will not read it till\nSunday unless I am more fortunate than usual. On Monday then! And no\nword before? No--I shall be sure not to hear to-night. Now do try not\nto suffer through 'Luria.' Let Mr. Moxon wait a week rather. There is\ntime enough.\n\n Ever your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, March 23, 1846.]\n\nOh, my Ba--how you shall hear of this to-morrow--that is all: _I_ hate\nwriting? See when presently I _only_ write to you daily, hourly if you\nlet me? Just this _now_--I will be with you to-morrow in any case--I\ncan go away _at once_, if need be, or stay--if you like you can stop\nme by sending a note for me _to Moxon's before_ 10 o'clock--if\nanything calls for such a measure.\n\nNow briefly,--I am unwell and entirely irritated with this sad\n'Luria'--I thought it a failure at first, I find it infinitely worse\nthan I thought--it is a pure exercise of _cleverness_, even where most\nsuccessful; clever attempted reproduction of what was conceived by\nanother faculty, and foolishly let pass away. If I go on, even hurry\nthe more to get on, with the printing,--it is to throw out and away\nfrom me the irritating obstruction once and forever. I have corrected\nit, cut it down, and it may stand and pledge me to doing better\nhereafter. I say, too, in excuse to myself, _unlike_ the woman at her\nspinning-wheel, 'He thought of his _flax_ on the whole far more than\nof his singing'--more of his life's sustainment, of dear, dear Ba he\nhates writing to, than of these wooden figures--no wonder all is as it\nis?\n\nHere is a pure piece of the old Chorley leaven for you, just as it\nreappears ever and anon and throws one back on the mistrust all but\nabandoned! Chorley _knows_ I have not seen that Powell for nearly\nfifteen months--that I never heard of the book till it reached me in a\nblank cover--that I never contributed a line or word to it directly or\nindirectly--and I should think he _also knows_ that all the sham\nlearning, notes &c., all that saves the book from the deepest deep of\ncontempt, was contributed by Heraud (_a regular critic in the\n'Athenæum'_), who received his pay for the same: he knows I never\nspoke in my life to 'Jones or Stephens'--that there is no 'coterie' of\nwhich I can, by any extension of the word, form a part--that I am in\nthis case at the mercy of a wretched creature who to get into my\nfavour again (to speak the plain truth) put in the gross, disgusting\nflattery in the notes--yet Chorley, knowing this, none so well, and\nwhat the writer's end is--(to have it supposed I, and the others\nnamed--Talfourd, for instance--ARE his friends and helpers)--he\ncondescends to _further_ it by such a notice, written with that\nobservable and characteristic duplicity, that to poor gross stupid\nPowell it shall look like an admiring 'Oh, fie--_so_ clever but _so_\nwicked'!--a kind of _D'Orsay's_ praise--while to the rest of his\nreaders, a few depreciatory epithets--slight sneers convey his real\nsentiments, he trusts! And this he does, just because Powell buys an\narticle of him once a quarter and would _expect_ notice. I think I\nhear Chorley--'You know, I _cannot_ praise such a book--it _is_ too\nbad'--as if, as if--oh, it makes one sicker than having written\n'Luria,' there's one comfort! I shall call on Chorley and ask for\n_his_ account of the matter. Meantime nobody will read his foolish\nnotice without believing as he and Powell desire! Bless you, my own\nBa--to-morrow makes amends to R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, March 24, 1846.]\n\nHow ungrateful I was to your flowers yesterday, never looking at them\nnor praising them till they were put away, and yourself gone away--and\n_that_ was _your_ fault, be it remembered, because you began to tell\nme of the good news from Moxon's, and, in the joy of it, I missed the\nflowers ... for the nonce, you know. Afterward they had their due, and\nall the more that you were not there. My first business when you are\nout of the room and the house, and the street perhaps, is to arrange\nthe flowers and to gather out of them all the thoughts you leave\nbetween the leaves and at the end of the stalks. And shall I tell you\nwhat happened, not yesterday, but the Thursday before? no, it was the\nFriday morning, when I found, or rather Wilson found and held up from\nmy chair, a bunch of dead blue violets. Quite dead they seemed! You\nhad dropped them and I had sate on them, and where we murdered them\nthey had lain, poor things, all the night through. And Wilson thought\nit the vainest of labours when she saw me set about reviving them,\ncutting the stalks afresh, and dipping them head and ears into\nwater--but then she did not know how you, and I, and ours, live under\na miraculous dispensation, and could only simply be astonished when\nthey took to blowing again as if they never had wanted the dew of the\ngarden, ... yes, and when at last they outlived all the prosperity of\nthe contemporary white violets which flourished in water from the\nbeginning, and were free from the disadvantage of having been sate\nupon. Now you shall thank me for this letter, it is at once so amusing\nand instructive. After all, too, it teaches you what the great events\nof my life are, not that the resuscitation of your violets would not\nreally be a great event to me, even if I led the life of a pirate,\nbetween fire and sea, otherwise. But take _you_ away ... out of my\nlife!--and what remains? The only greenness I used to have (before you\nbrought your flowers) was as the grass growing in deserted streets,\n... which brings a proof, in every increase, of the extending\ndesolation.\n\nDearest, I persist in thinking that you ought not to be too disdainful\nto explain your meaning in the Pomegranates. Surely you might say in a\nword or two that, your title having been doubted about (to your\nsurprise, you _might_ say!), you refer the doubters to the Jewish\npriest's robe, and the Rabbinical gloss ... for I suppose it is a\ngloss on the robe ... do you not think so? Consider that Mr. Kenyon\nand I may fairly represent the average intelligence of your\nreaders,--and that _he_ was altogether in the clouds as to your\nmeaning ... had not the most distant notion of it,--while I, taking\nhold of the priest's garment, missed the Rabbins and the distinctive\nsignificance, as completely as he did. Then for Vasari, it is not the\nhandbook of the whole world, however it may be Mrs. Jameson's. Now why\nshould you be too proud to teach such persons as only desire to be\ntaught? I persist--I shall teaze you.\n\nThis morning my brothers have been saying ... 'Ah you had Mr. Browning\nwith you yesterday, I see by the flowers,' ... just as if they said 'I\nsee queen Mab has been with you.' Then Stormie took the opportunity of\nswearing to me by all his gods that your name was mentioned lately in\nthe House of Commons--_is_ that true? or untrue? He forgot to tell me\nat the time, he says,--and you were named with others and in relation\nto copyright matters. _Is_ it true?\n\nMr. Hornblower Gill is the author of a Hymn to Passion week, and wrote\nto me as the 'glorifier of pain!' to remind me that the best glory of\na soul is shown in the joy of it, and that all chief poets except\nDante have seen, felt, and written it so. Thus and therefore was\nmatured his purpose of writing an 'ode to joy,' as I told you. The man\nseems to have very good thoughts, ... but he writes like a colder\nCowley still ... no impulse, no heat for fusing ... no inspiration, in\nfact. Though I have scarcely done more than glance at his 'Passion\nweek,' and have little right to give an opinion.\n\nIf you have killed Luria as you helped to kill my violets, what shall\nI say, do you fancy? Well--we shall see! Do not kill yourself,\nbeloved, in any case! The [Greek: iostephanoi Mousai] had better die\nthemselves first! Ah--what am I writing? What nonsense? I mean, in\ndeep earnest, the deepest, that you should take care and exercise, and\nnot be vexed for Luria's sake--Luria will have his triumph presently!\nMay God bless you--prays your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, March 24, 1846.]\n\nMy own dearest, if you _do_--(for I confess to nothing of the kind),\nbut if you _should_ detect an unwillingness to write at certain times,\nwhat would that prove,--I mean, what that one need shrink from\navowing? If I never had you before me except when writing letters to\nyou--then! Why, we do not even _talk_ much now! witness Mr. Buckingham\nand his voyage that ought to have been discussed!--Oh, how coldly I\nshould write,--how the bleak-looking paper would seem unpropitious to\ncarry my feeling--if all had to begin and try to find words _this_\nway!\n\nNow, this morning I have been out--to town and back--and for all the\nwalking my head aches--and I have the conviction that presently when I\nresign myself to think of you wholly, with only the pretext,--the\nmake-believe of occupation, in the shape of some book to turn over the\nleaves of,--I shall see you and soon be well; so soon! You must know,\nthere is a chair (one of the kind called gond_ó_la-chairs by\nupholsterers--with an emphasized o)--which occupies the precise place,\nstands just in the same relation to this chair I sit on now, that\nyours stands in and occupies--to the left of the fire: and, how often,\nhow _always_ I turn in the dusk and _see_ the dearest real Ba with me.\n\nHow entirely kind to take that trouble, give those sittings for me! Do\nyou think the kindness has missed its due effect? _No, no_, I am\nglad,--(_knowing what I_ now _know_,--what you meant _should be_, and\ndid all in your power to prevent) that I have _not_ received the\npicture, if anything short of an adequate likeness. 'Nil nisi--te!'\nBut I have set my heart on _seeing_ it--will you remember next time,\nnext Saturday?\n\nI will leave off now. To-morrow, dearest, only dearest Ba, I will\nwrite a longer letter--the clock stops it this afternoon--it is later\nthan I thought, and our poor crazy post! This morning, hoping against\nhope, I ran to meet our postman coming meditatively up the lane--with\n_a_ letter, indeed!--but Ba's will come to-night--and I will be happy,\nalready _am_ happy, expecting it. Bless you, my own love,\n\n Ever your--", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 25, 1846.]\n\nAh; if I '_do_' ... if I '_should_' ... if I _shall_ ... if I _will_\n... if I _must_ ... what can all the 'ifs' prove, but a most\nhypothetical state of the conscience? And in brief, I beg you to\nstand convinced of one thing, that whenever the 'certain time' comes\nfor to 'hate writing to me' confessedly, 'avowedly,' (oh what words!)\n_I shall not like it at all_--not for all the explanations ... and the\nsights in gondola chairs, which the person seen is none the better\nfor! The [Greek: eidôlon] sits by the fire--the real Ba is cold at\nheart through wanting her letter. And that's the doctrine to be\npreached now, ... is it? I 'shrink,' shrink from it. That's your\nword!--and mine! Dearest, I began by half a jest and end by\nhalf-gravity, which is the fault of your doctrine and not of me I\nthink. Yet it is ungrateful to be grave, when practically you are good\nand just about the letters, and generous too sometimes, and I could\nnot bear the idea of obliging you to write to me, even once ...\nwhen.... Now do not fancy that I do not understand. I understand\nperfectly, on the contrary. Only do _you_ try not to dislike writing\nwhen you write, or not to write when you dislike it ... _that_, I ask\nof you, dear dearest--and forgive me for all this over-writing and\nteazing and vexing which is foolish and womanish in the bad sense. It\nis a way of meeting, ... the meeting in letters, ... and next to\nreceiving a letter from you, I like to write one to you ... and, so,\nrevolt from thinking it lawful for you to dislike.... Well! the\nGoddess of Dulness herself couldn't have written _this_ better,\nanyway, nor more characteristically.\n\nI will tell you how it is. You have spoilt me just as I have spoilt\nFlush. Flush looks at me sometimes with reproachful eyes 'a fendre le\ncoeur,' because I refuse to give him my fur cuffs to tear to pieces.\nAnd as for myself, I confess to being more than half jealous of the\n[Greek: eidôlon] in the gondola chair, who isn't the real Ba after\nall, and yet is set up there to do away with the necessity 'at certain\ntimes' of writing to her. Which is worse than Flush. For Flush, though\nhe began by shivering with rage and barking and howling and gnashing\nhis teeth at the brown dog in the glass, has learnt by experience what\nthat image means, ... and now contemplates it, serene in natural\nphilosophy. Most excellent sense, all this is!--and dauntlessly\n'delivered!'\n\nYour head aches, dearest. Mr. Moxon will have done his worst, however,\npresently, and then you will be a little better I do hope and\ntrust--and the proofs, in the meanwhile, will do somewhat less harm\nthan the manuscript. You will take heart again about 'Luria' ... which\nI agree with you, is more diffuse ... that is, less close, than any of\nyour works, not diffuse in any bad sense, but round, copious, and\nanother proof of that wonderful variety of faculty which is so\nstriking in you, and which signalizes itself both in the thought and\nin the medium of the thought. You will appreciate 'Luria' in time--or\nothers will do it for you. It is a noble work under every aspect. Dear\n'Luria'! Do you remember how you told me of 'Luria' last year, in one\nof your early letters? Little I thought that ever, ever, I should feel\nso, while 'Luria' went to be printed! A long trail of thoughts, like\nthe rack in the sky, follows his going. Can it be the same 'Luria,' I\nthink, that 'golden-hearted Luria,' whom you talked of to me, when you\ncomplained of keeping 'wild company,' in the old dear letter? And I\nhave learnt since, that '_golden-hearted_' is not a word for him only,\nor for him most. May God bless you, best and dearest! I am your own to\nlive and to die--\n\n BA.\n\n_Say how you are._ I shall be down-stairs to-morrow if it keeps warm.\n\nMiss Thomson wants me to translate the Hector and Andromache scene\nfrom the 'Iliad' for her book; and I am going to try it.\n\n\nEND OF THE FIRST VOLUME\n\n\n_Spottiswoode & Co. Printers, New-street Square, London_", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 1", + "period": "1845–1846" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/browning_vol2.json b/letters/browning_vol2.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c90d1d --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/browning_vol2.json @@ -0,0 +1,2338 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, March 25, 1846.]\n\nYou were right to bid me never again wish my poor flowers were\n‘diamonds’—you could not, I think, speak so to my heart of any diamonds.\nGod knows my life is for you to take just as you take flowers:—these last\nplease you, serve you best when plucked—and ‘my life’s rose’ ... if I\ndared profane _that_ expression I would say, you have but to ‘stoop’ for\nit. Foolish, as all words are.\n\nYou _dwell_ on that notion of your being peculiarly isolated,—of\nany kindness to you, in your present state, seeming doubled and\nquadrupled—what do I, what could anyone infer from _that_ but, most\nobviously, that it was a very fortunate thing for such kindness, and that\nthe presumable bestower of it got all his distinction from the fact that\nno better ... however, I hate this and cannot go on. Dearest, believe\nthat under ordinary circumstances, with ordinary people, all operates\ndifferently—the _imaginary_ kindness-bestower with his ideal methods of\nshowing and proving his love,—_there_ would be the rival to fear!\n\nDo not let us talk of this—you always beat me, beside, turn my own\nillustrations into obscurations—as in the notable case of the _cards_ and\nstakes and risks—I suppose, (to save my vanity!) that if I knew anything\nabout cards, I might go on, a step at least, with my argument. I once\nheard a dispute in the street between the proprietor of an oyster-stall\nand one of his customers—_who_ was in the wrong ... that is, _who_ used\nthe clenching argument you shall hear presently, I don’t remember; but\n_one_ brought the other to this pass—‘_Are_ there three shells to an\noyster?’—Just that! If there _were not_—he would clearly be found in the\nwrong, that was all!—‘_Why_,’ ... began the other; and I regret I did\nnot catch the rest—there was such a clear possibility contained in that\n‘_Why_ ... an oyster _might_ have three shells!’\n\nNote the adroitness,—(calm heroic silence of the _act_ rather than\na merely attempted _word_,) the mastery with which, taking up Ba’s\nimplied challenge, I _do_ furnish her with both ‘amusement and\ninstruction’—moreover I will at Ba’s bidding amuse and instruct the world\nat large, and make them know all to be known—for my purposes—about ‘Bells\nand Pomegranates’—yes, it will be better.\n\nI said rather hastily that my head ‘ached’ yesterday: that meant, only\nthat it was more observable because, after walking, it is usually\nwell—and I had been walking. To-day it is much better; I sit reading\n‘Cromwell,’ and the newspaper, and presently I shall go out—all will be\nbetter now, I hope—it shall not be my fault, at least, depend on that.\nAll my work (work!)—well, such as it is, it is done—and I scarcely care\n_how_—I shall be prouder to begin one day—(may it be soon!—) with your\nhand in mine from the beginning—_that_ is a very different thing in\nits effect from the same hand touching mine _after_ I had begun, with\nno suspicion such a chance could befall! I repeat, both these things,\n‘Luria’ and the other, are _manqué_, failures—the life-incidents ought to\nhave been acted over again, experienced afresh; and I had no inclination\nnor ability. But one day, my siren!\n\nLet me make haste and correct a stupid error. I spoke to my father\nlast night about that tragedy of the _studs_—I was wholly _out_ in the\nstory—the sufferer was his _uncle_, and the scene should have been laid\non the Guinea coast. À propos of errors—the copyright matter is most\nlikely a case of copy-_wrong_ by reporters—I never heard of it before—to\nbe sure, I signed a petition of Miss Martineau’s superintending once on a\ntime—but long ago, ‘I, I, I’—how, dear, all important ‘I’ takes care of\nhimself, and issues bulletins, and corrects his wise mistakes, and all\nthis to ... just ‘one of his readers of the average intelligence.’ Are\nyou that, so much as that, Ba? I will tell you—if you do not write to\nme all about _your_ dear, dearest self, I shall sink with shame at the\nrecollection of what this letter and its like prove to be—_must_ prove to\nbe! Dear love, tell me—that you walk and are in good spirits, and I will\ntry and write better. May God bless my own beloved!—Ever her own\n\n R.\n\nI think, am all but sure, there is a _Mrs._ Hornblower something!\n\nJust a minute to say your second note has come, and that I _do_ hate\n_hate_ having to write, not kiss my answer on your dearest mouth—kindest,\ndearest—to-morrow I will try—and meantime—though Ba by the fire will not\nbe cold at heart, cold _of_ heart, at least, and I will talk to _her_ and\nmore than talk—My dearest, dearest one!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 26, 1846.]\n\nBut if people half say things,—intimate things, as when your disputant in\nthe street (you are felicitous, I think, in your street-_experiences_)\nsuggested the possible case of the ‘three oyster shells to an\noyster,’—why you must submit to be answered a little, and even confuted\nat need. Now just see—\n\n... ‘Got all his distinction from the fact that no better’ ... That is\nprecisely _the fact_ ... _so_ ... as you have stated it, and implied ...\n‘The fact that no better’ ... _is to be found in the world—no better_ ...\n_none_. There, is the peculiar combination. The isolation on one side,\nand the best in the whole world, coming in for company! And I ‘dwell’\nupon it, never being tired ... and if _you_ are tired already, you must\nbe tired of _me_, because the ‘dwelling’ has grown to be a part of me and\nI cannot put it away. It is my especial miracle _à moi_. ‘No better?’ No,\nindeed! not in the seven worlds! and just _there_, lies the miraculous\npoint.\n\nBut you mean it perhaps otherwise. You mean that it is a sort of _pis\naller_ on my part. A _pis aller_ along the Via lactea ... is _that_ what\nyou mean?\n\nShall I let you off the rest, dearest, dearest? though you deserve ever\nso much more, for implying such monstrous things, and treading down all\nmy violets, so and so. What did I say to set you writing so? I cannot\nremember at all? If I ‘dwell’ on anything, beloved, it is that I feel\nit strongly, be sure—and if I feel gratitude to you with the other\nfeelings, you should not grudge what is a happy feeling in itself, and\nnot dishonouring (I answer for _that_) to the object of it.\n\nNow I shall tell you. I had a visitor to-day—Mrs. Jameson; and when she\nwent away she left me ashamed of myself—I felt like a hypocrite—_I_, who\nwas not born for one, I think. She began to talk of you ... talked like\na wise woman, which she is ... led me on to say just what I might have\nsaid if I had not known you, (she, thoroughly impressed with the notion\nthat we two are strangers!) and made me quite leap in my chair with a\nsudden consciousness, by exclaiming at last ... ‘I am really glad to\nhear you speak so. Such appreciation’ &c. &c. ... imagine what she went\non to say. Dearest—I believe she rather gives me a sort of credit for\n_appreciating you_ without the jealousy ‘_de métier_.’ Good Heavens ...\nhow humiliating some conditions of praise are! She _approved_ me with\nher eye—indeed she did. And this, while we were agreeing that you were\nthe best ... ‘none better’ ... none so good ... of your country and age.\nDo you know, while we were talking, I felt inclined both to laugh and to\ncry, and if I had ‘given way’ the least, she would have been considerably\nastounded. As it was, my hands were so marble-cold when she took leave\nof me, that she observed it and began making apologies for exhausting\nme. Now here is a strip of the ‘world,’ ... see what colour it will turn\nto presently! We had better, I think, go farther than to your siren’s\nisland—into the desert ... shall we say? Such stories there will be! For\ncertain, ... I shall have seen you just once out of the window! Shall you\nnot be afraid? Well—and she talked of Italy too—it was before she talked\nof _you_—and she hoped I had not given up the thoughts of going there.\nTo which I said that ‘I had not ... but that it seemed like scheming\nto travel in the moon.’ She talked of a difference, and set down the\nmoon-travelling as simple lunacy. ‘And simply lunatical,’ ... I said, ...\n‘my thoughts, if chronicled, would be taken to be, perhaps’—‘No, no, no,!\n...’ she insisted ... ‘as long as I kept to the earth, everything was to\nbe permitted to me.’\n\nHow people talk at cross-purposes in this world ... and act so too! It’s\nthe very spirit of worldly communion. Souls are gregarious in a sense,\nbut no soul touches another, as a general rule. I like Mrs. Jameson\nnevertheless—I like her _more_. She appreciates you—and it is _my_ turn\nto praise for that, now. I am to see her again to-morrow morning, when\nshe has the goodness to promise to bring some etchings of her own, her\nillustrations of the new essays, for me to look at.\n\nAh—your ‘_failures_ in “Luria” and the “Tragedy”’—Proud, we should all\nbe, to fail exactly so.\n\nDearest, are you better indeed? Walk ... talk to the Ba in the chair ...\ngo on to be better, ever dearest. May God bless you! Ah ... the ‘I’s.’\nYou do not see that the ‘I’s’—as you make them, ... all turn to ‘yous’\nby the time they get to me. The ‘I’s’ indeed! How dare you talk against\nmy eyes? For me, I was going down-stairs to-day, but it was wet and\nwindy and I was warned not to go. If I am in bad or good spirits, judge\nfrom this foolish letter—foolish and wise, both!—but not melancholy,\n_anywise_. When one drops into a pun, one might as well come to an end\naltogether—it can’t be worse with one.\n\nNor can it be better than being\n\n Your own\n\n ‘_No better_’!!.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, March 26, 1846.]\n\nSometimes I have a disposition to dispute with dearest Ba, to wrench her\nsimile-weapons out of the dexterous hand (that is, try and do so) and\nhave the truth of things my way and its own way, not hers, if she _be_\nBa—(observe, I say nothing about ever meeting with remarkable success in\nsuch undertakings, only, that they _are_ entered on sometimes). But at\nother times I seem as if I must lie down, like Flush, with all manner of\ncoral necklaces about my neck, and two sweet mysterious hands on my head,\nand so be forced to hear verses on me, Ba’s verses, in which I, that am\nbut Flush of the lower nature, am called loving friend and praised for\nnot preferring to go ‘coursing hares’—with ‘other dogs.’ So I will lie\nnow, as you will have it, and say in Flush-like tones (the looks that\nare dog’s tones)—I don’t _don’t_ know how it is, or why, or what it all\nwill end in, but I am very happy and what I hear must mean right, by the\nmusic,—though the meaning is above me,—and here _are_ the hands—which\nI may, and will, look up to, and kiss—determining not to insist any\nmore this time that at Miss Mitford’s were sundry dogs, brighter than\n‘brown’—See where, just where, Flush stops discreetly! ‘Eternity’ he\nwould have added, ‘but stern death’ &c. &c.\n\nI treat these things lightheartedly, as you see—instead of seriously,\nwhich would at first thought seem the wiser course—‘for after all, she\nwill find out one day’ &c. _No_, dearest,—I do not fear that! Why make\nuneasy words of saying simply I shall continue to give you my best\nflowers, all I can find—if I bring violets, or grass, when you expected\nto get roses,—you will know there were none in my garden—that is all.\n\nAnd for you—as I may have told you once,—as I tell myself always—you are\n_entirely_ what I love—not just a rose plucked off with an inch of stalk,\nbut presented as a rose should be, with a green world of boughs round:\nall about you is ‘to my heart’—(to my mind, as they phrase it)—and were\nit not that, of course, I know _when_ to have done with fancyings and\nmerely flitting permissible ‘inly-sayings with heart-playing,’ and when\nit is time to look at the plain ‘best’ through the lock of ‘good’ and\n‘better’ in circumstances and accident—I _do_ say—were the best blessing\nof all, the blessing I trust and believe God intends, of your perfect\nrestoration to health,—were _that_ not so palpably best,—I should catch\nmyself desirous that your present state of _unconfirmed_ health might\nnever pass away! Ba _understands_, I know! After all, it will always\nstay, that luxury,—if but through the memory of what has been, and _may_\nrecur, that deepest luxury that makes my very heartstrings tremble in the\nthought of—that I shall have a right, a duty—where in another case, they\nwould be uncalled for, superfluous, impertinent. Tapers ordinarily burn\nbest _let alone_, with all your light depending on the little flame, the\ndarkest night but for it—why, stand off—what good can you do, so long as\nthere is no extraordinary evil to avert, breaking down of the candlestick\nto prevent? But _here_—there will be reason as well as a delight beyond\ndelights in always learning to close over, all but holding the flame in\nthe hollow of one’s hand! I shall have a right to think it is not mere\npleasure, merely for myself, that I care and am close by—and that which\nthus is called ‘not for myself’ _is_, after all, in its essence, _most_\nfor myself,—why it is a luxury, a last delight!—\n\nIn the procurement of which there will be this obstacle, or grave matter\nto be first taken into consideration,—that the world will ‘change\ncolour’ about it, will have its own thoughts on the subject I have my\nown thoughts, on _its_ subject, the affairs of the world and pieces of\nperfect good fortune it approves of, and stamps for enviable—and on the\nwhole the world has quite a right to treat me unceremoniously,—I having\nbegun it. As for the ‘seeing out of the window once’—those who knew\nnothing about us but our names had better think _that_ was the way, than\nmost others; and the half-dozen who knew a little more, may hear the true\naccount if they please, when they hear anything—those who know _all_, all\nnecessary to know, will understand my 137 letters here and my 54 visits\n... see, I write as if this were to be pleaded to-night—would it were! As\nif you had to write the _meeting_ between Hector and Andromache, not the\nparting! By the way, dearest, what enchanted poetry all your translations\nfor Miss Thomson are—as Carlyle says! ‘Nobody can touch them, get at\nthem!’ How am I the better for Nonnus, and Apuleius? Now, do you serve me\nwell _there_?\n\nI shall hear to-morrow of Mrs. Jameson’s etchings and discourses? and\nmore good news of you, darling? I am _quite_ well to-day—going out with\nmy sister to dine next door—then, over to-morrow, and the letter, will\ncome Saturday, my day.\n\nBless you, my own best, dearest—I am your own.\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, March 27, 1846.]\n\nNot the ‘dexterous hand’—say rather the good cause. For the rest, when\nyou turn into a dog and lie down, are you not afraid that a sorcerer\nshould go by and dash the water and speak the formula of the old tales.\n‘If thou wert born a dog, remain a dog, but if not’.... If not ... _what_\nis to happen? Aminè whipped her enchanted hounds ever so often in the day\n... ah, what nonsense happens!\n\nDear, dearest, how you ‘take me with guile,’ or with stronger than guile,\n... with that divine right you have, of talking absurdities! You make it\nclear at last that I am so much the better for being bad ... and _I_ ...\nshall I laugh? _can_ I? is it possible? The words go too deep ... as deep\nas death which cannot laugh! And I am forbidden to ‘dwell’ on the meaning\nof them—I! There are ‘_I’s_’ to match yours!\n\nI shall have the right of doing one thing, ... (passing to _my_ rights).\nI shall hold to the right of remembering to my last hour, that _you_, who\nmight well have passed by on the other side if we two had met on the road\nwhen I was riding at ease, ... _did not_ when I was in the dust. I choose\nto remember _that_ to the end of feeling. As for _men_, you are not to\ntake me to be quite ignorant of what they are worth in the gross. The\nmost blindfolded women may see a little under the folds ... and I have\nseen quite enough to be glad to shut my eyes. Did I not tell you that I\nnever thought that any man whom _I_ could love, would stoop to love _me_,\neven if I attained so far as the sight of such. Which I _never attained_\n... until ... until! Then, that _you_ should care for me.!! Oh—I hold\nto my rights, though you overcome me in most other things. And it is my\nright to love you better than I could do if I were more worthy to be\nloved by you.\n\nMrs. Jameson came late to-day, ... at five—and was hurried and could\nnot stay ten minutes, ... but showed me her etchings and very kindly\nleft a ‘Dead St. Cecilia’ which I admired most, for its beautiful\nlifelessness. She is not to be in town again, she said, till a month\nhas gone—a month, at least. Oh—and ‘quite uneasy’ she was, about my\n‘cold hands’—yesterday—she thought she had put me to death with\nover-talking!—which made me smile a little ... ‘subridens.’ But she\nis very kind and affectionate; and you were right to teach me to like\nher—and now, do you know, I look in vain for the ‘steely eyes’ I fancied\nI saw once, and see nothing but two good and true ones.\n\nWell—here is an end till Saturday. It is too late ... or I could go on\nwriting ... which I do not hate indeed. Talking of hating, ... ‘what you\nlove entirely’ means _that you love entirely_ ... and no more and no\nless. If it did not mean so, I should be unhappy about the _mistake_ ...\nbut to ‘love entirely’ is not a mistake and cannot pass for one either on\nearth or in Heaven. May God bless you, ever dearest. Such haste I write\nin—as if the angels were running up Jacob’s ladder!—or _down_ it, rather,\nat this close!\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, March 27, 1846.]\n\n‘Qui laborat, orat’; so they used to say, and in that case I have been\ndevotional to a high degree this morning. Seven holes did I dig (to keep\nup inversions of style)—seven rose-trees did I plant—(‘Brennus’—and\n‘Madame Lafarge’! are two names I remember; very characteristic of old\nGaul and young France—) and, for my pains, the first fruits, first\nblossoms some two or three months hence, will come, and will go to\ndearest Ba who first taught me what a rose really _was_, how sweet it\nmight become with superadded memories of the room and the chair and the\nvase, and the cutting stalks and pouring fresh water ... ah, my own\nBa!—And did you think to warn me out of the Flush-simile by the hint of\nAminè’s privilege which it would warrant? If the ‘ever so much whipping’\nshould please you!... And beside it was, if I recollect, for the\ncreature’s good, those poor imprisoned sisters, all the time. Moreover, I\n_was_ ‘born’ all this and more, that you _will_ know, at least—and only\nwalked glorious and erect on two legs till dear Siren, an old friend of,\nand deep in the secrets of Circe, sprinkled the waters ... perhaps on\nthose roses—No, before that!—\n\nWell, to-morrow comes fast now—and I shall trust to be with you my\nbeloved—and, first, you are to show me the portrait, remember.\n\nI am glad you like Mrs. Jameson—do not _I_ like her all the better, much\nthe better! But it is fortunate I shall not see her by any chance just\nnow—she would be sure to begin and tell me about _you_—and if my hands\ndid not turn cold, my ear-tips would assuredly turn red. I daresay that\nSt. Cecilia is the beautiful statue above her tomb at Rome; covered with\na veil—affectingly beautiful; I well remember how she lies.\n\nNow good-bye; and to-morrow! Bless you, ever dear, dearest Ba—\n\n Your own\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n\nNow, I think, if I had been ‘pricked at the heart’ by dear, dearest Ba’s\ncharge yesterday,—if I did not _certainly_ know why it might sometimes\nseem better to be silent than to speak,—should I not be found taking\nout three or four sheets of paper, and beginning to write, and write!\nMy own, dearest and best, it is _not_ so,—not wrong, my heart’s self\ntells me,—and tells you! But, for the rest, there shall never pass a day\ntill my death wherein I will not write to you, so long as you let me,\nexcepting those days I may spend with you, partly or ... altogether—Love,\nshall I have very, very long to be hating to write, yet writing?\n\nYou see sometimes how I _talk_ to you,—even in mere talking what a\nstrange work I make of it. I go on thinking quite another way; so,\ngenerally, I often have thought, the little I _have_ written, has been\nan unconscious scrawling with the mind fixed somewhere else: the subject\nof the scrawl may have previously been the real object of the mind on\nsome similar occasion,—the very thing which _then_ to miss, (finding in\nits place _such another_ result of a still prior fancy-fit)—which then to\nsee escape, or find escaped, was the vexation of the time! One cannot,\n(or _I_ cannot) _finish up_ the work in one’s mind, put away the old\nprojects and take up new. Well, this which I feel on so many occasions,\ndo you wonder if—if!\n\nI should write on _this_ for ever! It is all so strange, such a dream as\nyou say!\n\nIndeed, love, the picture is not like, nor ‘flattered’ by any means,\nyet I don’t know how it is, I cannot be cross with it—there is a touch\nof truth in the eyes,—would one have believed _that_? I know my own way\nwith portraits; how I let them master eventually my most decided sense\nof their _unlikeness_—and _this_ finds me very prepared—still—it seems\nalready more faithful than last night ... how do I determine where the\nmiraculousness ends? (My Mother was greatly impressed by it—and my\nsister, coming (from my room) into the room where I was with a visitor,\nbefore whom she could not speak English, said ‘_È molto bella_’!)\n\nHere is my ‘proof’—I found it as I expected. I fear I must put you\nto that trouble of sending the other two acts—I hate to think of so\ntroubling you! But do not, Ba, hurry yourself—nor take extraordinary\npains—what is worth your pains in these poor things? I like Luria\nbetter now,—it may do, now,—probably because it _must_; but, as I said\nyesterday, I seriously hope and trust to shew my sense of gratitude for\nwhat is promised my future life, by doing some real work in it; work of\nyours, as through you. I have felt, not for the first time now, but from\nthe beginning vexed, foolishly vexed perhaps, that I could not without\nattracting undesirable notice, ‘dedicate,’ in the true sense of the word,\nthis or the last number to you. But if any really worthy performance\n_should_ follow, then my mouth will be unsealed. All is forewritten!\n\nI wonder if you have ventured down this sunny afternoon—tell me how you\nare, and, once again, do not care about those papers; any time will do.\n\nSo, bless you, my own—my all-beloved Ba.\n\n Your R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 30, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I have been trying your plan of thinking of you instead of\nwriting, to-day, and the end is that I am driven to the last of the\nday and have scarcely room in it to write what I would. Observe if you\nplease, how badly ‘the system works,’ as the practical people say. Then\nMr. Kenyon came and talked,—asked when I had seen you, ... and desired,\n‘if ever I saw you again,’ (ah, what an ‘if ever’!) that I would enquire\nabout the ‘blue lilies’ ... which I satisfied him were of the right\ncolour, on your authority.\n\nBut, to go to the ‘Tragedy’—I am not to admire it ... am I? And you\nreally think that anyone who can think ... feel ... could help such an\nadmiration, or ought to try to help it? Now just see. It is a new work\nwith your mark on it. That is ... it would make some six or sixteen\nworks for other people, if ‘cut up into little stars’—rolled out ...\ndiluted with rain-water. But it is your work as it is—and if you do not\ncare for _that, I_ care, and shall remember to care on. It is a work\nfull of power and significance, and I am not at all sure (not that it\nis wise to make comparisons, but that I want you to understand how I am\nimpressed!)—I am not at all sure that if I knew you now first and only by\nthese two productions, ... ‘Luria’ and the ‘Tragedy,’ ... I should not\ninvoluntarily attribute more power and a higher faculty to the writer\nof the last—I _should_, I think—yet ‘Luria’ is the completer work....\nI know it very well. Such thoughts, you have, in this second part of\nthe Tragedy! a ‘Soul’s Tragedy’ indeed! No one _thinks_ like you—other\npoets talk like the merest women in comparison. Why it is full of hope\nfor both of us, to look forward and consider what you may achieve with\nthat combination of authority over the reasons and the passions, and\nthat wonderful variety of the plastic power! But I am going to tell\nyou—Certainly I think you were right (though you know I doubted and cried\nout) I think now you were right in omitting the theological argument you\ntold me of, from this second part. It would clog the action, and already\nI am half inclined to fancy it a little clogged in one or two places—but\nif this is true even, it would be easy to lighten it. Your Ogniben (here\nis my only criticism in the ways of objection) seems to me almost too\nwise for a crafty worldling—tell me if he is not! Such thoughts, for the\nrest, you are prodigal of! That about the child, ... do you remember how\nyou brought it to me in your first visit, nearly a year ago?\n\nNearly a year ago! how the time passes! If I had ‘done my duty’ like the\nenchanted fish leaping on the gridiron, and seen you never again after\nthat first visit, you would have forgotten all about me by this day. Or\nat least, ‘that prude’ I should be! Somewhere under your feet, I should\nbe put down by this day! Yes! and my enchanted dog would be coursing\n‘some small deer’ ... some unicorn of a ‘golden horn,’ ... (_not_ the\nKilmansegg gold!) out of hearing if I should have a mind to whistle ever\nso, ... but out of harm’s way perhaps besides.\n\nWell, I do think of it sometimes as you see. Which proves that I love\nyou better than myself by the whole width of the Heavens; the sevenfold\nHeavens. Yet I think again how He of the heavens and earth brought us\ntogether so wonderfully, holding two souls in His hand. If my fault was\nin it, my _will_ at least was not. Believe it of me, dear dearest, that\nI who am as clear-sighted as other women, ... and not more humble (as\nto the approaches of common men), was quite resolutely blind when _you_\ncame—I could not understand the possibility of _that_. It was too much\n... too surpassing. And so it will seem to the end. The astonishment, I\nmean, will not cease to be. It is my own especial fairy-tale ... from the\nspells of which, may you be unharmed...! How one writes and writes over\nand over the same thing! But day by day the same sun rises, ... over, and\nover, and nobody is tired. May God bless you, dearest of all, and justify\nwhat has been by what shall be, ... and let me be free of spoiling any\nsun of yours! Shall you ever tell me in your thoughts, I wonder, to get\nout of your sun? No—no—Love keeps love too safe! and I have faith, you\nsee, as a grain of mustard-seed!\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\n_Say how you are ... mind!_", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, March 30, 1846.]\n\n‘The system,’ Ba?—Were _you_ to stop writing, as if for my reasons? Could\n_I_ do without your letters, on any pretence? You say well—it was a\nfoolish fancy, and now—have done with it!\n\nAnd do you think you _could_ have refused to see me after that visit? I\nmean, do you think I did not resolve so to conduct myself; so to ‘humble\nmyself and go still and softly all my days’; that your suspicion should\nneeds insensibly clear up ... (if it had been _so_ pre-ordained, and that\nno more was in my destiny,) and at last I should have been written down\nyour friend for ever, and let come and stay, on that footing. But you\nreally think the confirmation of that sentence must have been attended\nwith such an effect—that I should have forgotten you or _so_ remembered\nyou? You think that on the strength of such a love as _that_, I would\nhave ventured a month of my future life ... much less, the whole of it?\n_Not you_, Ba,—my dearest, dearest!\n\nHow you surprise me (what ever may you think) by liking that ‘Tragedy’!\nIt seems as if, having got out of the present trouble, I shall never fall\ninto its fellow—I will strike, for the future, on the glowing, malleable\nmetal; afterward, _filing_ is quite another process from hammering, and a\nmore difficult one. Note, that ‘filing’ is the wrong word,—and the rest\nof it, the wrong simile,—and all of it, in its stupid wrongness very\ncharacteristic of what I try to illustrate—oh, the better, better days\nare before me _there_ as in all else! But, do you notice how stupid I am\nto-day? My head begins again—that is the fact; it is better a good deal\nthan in the morning—its œconomy passes my comprehension altogether, that\nis the other fact. With the deep joy in my heart below—this morning’s\nletter here—what _does_ the head mean by its perversity? I will go out\npresently and walk it back to its senses.\n\nDearest, did you receive my ‘proof’ this morning? Do not correct nor\nlook at it, nor otherwise trouble yourself—there is plenty of time. But\nwhat day is ours to be? Of that you say nothing, and of my poems a great\ndeal, ‘O _you_ inverter!’ But _I_ am, rather, a _re_verter—and _you_\nshall revert, and mind the natural order of things, and tell me first of\nall—(in to-night’s letter, dearest?)—that it is to be on—?\n\nNow let me kiss you here—my own Ba! Being stupid makes _some_ difference\nin me—I am no poet, nor prose-writer, nor rational ‘Christian, pagan\nnor man’ this afternoon—but I _am_ now—as yesterday—as the long ‘year\nago’—your own, utterly your own! May God bless you! (I wondered yesterday\nif you had gone down-stairs—‘_no_’ I infer!)", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n\nDearest, I send you back the two parts of the ‘Soul’s Tragedy,’ and the\nproof. On a strip of paper are two or three _inanities_ in the form of\ndoubts I had in reading the first part. I think upon the whole that you\nowe me all gratitude for the help of so much high critical wisdom—of\nwhich this paper is a fair proof and expression.\n\nThe proof, the printed ‘Luria’ I mean, has more than pleased me. It\nis noble and admirable; and grows greater, the closer seen. The most\nexceptionable part, it seems to me, is Domizia’s retraction at the last,\nfor which one looks round for the sufficient motive. But the impression\nof the whole work goes straight to the soul—it is heroic in the best\nsense.\n\nI write in such haste. Oh—I should have liked to have read again the\nsecond part of the ‘Tragedy,’ but dare not keep it though you give me\nleave. I think of the printers—and you will let me have the proof, in\nthis case also.\n\nYour letter shall be answered presently. Your sister’s word about the\npicture proves very conclusively how wonderfully like it must be as a\nportrait! _That_ would settle the question to any ‘Royal Commission’ in\nthe world—only we need not go so far.\n\nDearest I end here—to begin again in another half hour. Ah—and you\npromise, you promise—\n\n No time—but ever your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, March 31, 1846.]\n\nAh now, now, you _see_! Held up in _that_ light, it _is_ ‘a foolish\nfancy,’ and unlawful, besides! ‘Not on any _pretence_’ will you do\nwithout letters ... _you_! And you count it among the imaginations of\nyour heart that _I_ could do without them better perhaps ... _I_ ... to\nwhom they are sun, air, and human voices, at the very lowest calculation?\nWhy seriously you don’t imagine that your letters are not a thousand\ntimes more to _me_, than letters ever in the world were before, ... since\n‘Heaven first brought them to some wretch’s aid.’ If you _do_, that _is_\nthe foolishest fancy of all.\n\nSo foolish as to be unspeakable. We will ‘have done with it,’ as you say.\nI only ‘revert’ and innocently,—I do not reproach, even ignorantly,—I\nam grateful rather. What you said in the letter this morning made me\ngrateful, ... and oh, so glad! so glad! what you said, I mean, of writing\nto me on every day that we did not meet on otherwise. That promise seemed\nto bring us nearer (see how I think of letters!), nearer than another\nword _could_, though you went for it to the end of the universe, ...\nthat other word. So I accept the promise as a promise of pure gold, and\nthank _you_, as pure gold too, which you are, or rather far above. Only\nmy own dearest, you shall not write long letters ... long letters are out\nof the agreement.... I never feel the need of length _as long as_ the\nwriting is _there_ ... just the little shred of the Koran, to be gathered\nup reverently ... (Inshallah!)—and then, you shall not write at all when\nyou are not well ... no, you shall not. So remember from henceforth!\nShall I whip my enchanted dog when he is so good and true?—not to say\nthat the tags of the lashes (do you call them _tags_?) would swing round\nand strike me on the shoulders? Dearest, you are the best, kindest in\nthe world—such a very, very, _very_ ‘little lower than the angels!’ If\never I could take advantage of your goodness and tenderness, to teaze and\nvex you, ... what should _I_ be, I have been seriously enquiring to-day,\nhead on hand, when I had sent away ‘Luria.’ For I sent it away, and the\n‘Tragedy’ with it, and I hope you will have all to-morrow morning at the\nfurthest, ... before you get this letter. There was a note too in the\nparcel.\n\nAs to dedications ... believe me that I would not have them if I could\n... that is, _even if there were no dangers_. I could not bear to have\nwords from you which the world might listen to ... I mean, that to be\ncommended of you in _that_ way, on _that_ ground, would make me feel cold\nto the heart. Oh no, no, no! It is better to have the proof-sheet as I\nhad it this morning: it is the better glory ... as glory!\n\n‘Not worthy of my pains’ ... you are right! But infinitely worthy of my\n_pleasures_—such pleasure as I could gather from nothing else, except\nfrom your letters and your very presence. Do you think that anything\nbeside in the whole world could bring pleasure to me, as pleasure goes,\n... anything like reading your poetry? My ‘pains’ indeed! It is a\nfelicitous word—‘je vous en fais mon compliment.’\n\nAnd all this time, while I write lightly, you are not well perhaps—you\nwere unwell when you wrote to me; you were unwell a little yesterday\neven. Say how you are to-morrow—do not forget. For the cause of the\nunwellness, _I_ see it, if _you_ do not. It was _the proof-correcting_—I\nexpected that you would be unwell—it is no worse than was threatened to\nmy thoughts. The comfort is that all this wrong work is coming to an\nend, and that it is covenanted between us for you to _rest absolutely_\nfrom henceforth. Say how you are, dearest dearest. And walk, walk. For\nme, I have not been down-stairs. It has been cold—too cold for _that_, I\nthought.\n\nOh—but I wanted to say one thing! That wonderful picture, which is\nnot much like a unicorn or even ‘a whale’ ... but rather more perhaps\nthan like _me_, you may keep for weeks or months, if you choose; if it\ncontinues ‘not to make you cross.’ Because _it_ does not flatter, and\nbecause _you_ do not flatter (in such equal proportions!): the sympathy\naccounts for the liking ... or absence of dislike; on your part.\n\nNow I must end. _Thursday_ is our day, I think:—and it is easier to say\n‘Thursday’ on Monday than on Saturday ... a discovery of mine, _that_, as\ngood as Faraday’s last!\n\nSay how you are. Do not forget. I had to say.... What I cannot, to-night.\n\n But I am your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday\n [Post-mark, March 31, 1846.]\n\nDear, dear, Ba, what shall I say or not say? On a kind of principle, I\nhave tried before this to _subdue_ the expression of gratitude for the\nmaterial, _worldly_ good you do me—for my poor store of words would all\npay themselves away here, at the beginning, and so leave the higher,\npeculiar, _Ba’s own_ gifts even without a _cry_ of _acknowledgment_, not\nto say of thanks. But somehow you, you my dearest, my Ba, look out of\nall imaginable nooks and crevices in the materiality—I see you through\nyour goodness,—I cannot distinguish between your acts now,—the greater,\nindeed, and the lesser! Which _is_ the ‘lesser’? _With you_ all their\nheap of work seems no more than——. (I cannot even think of what may serve\nfor some lesser act of kindness! _That_ is just what I wanted to say—‘the\neffect defective comes by cause’ here—there _is_ no ‘lesser’ blessing in\nyour power, as I said!)\n\nNow, darling,—it is late in the afternoon, as posts go—I have been out\nall the morning in town, and while I was happy with one letter (found\nwaiting my return)—the parcel comes—so I will just say this much, (this\n_little_, this _least_)—this word now—and by to-night all shall be\ncorrected, I hope, and got rid of fairly. And to-morrow, I will have you\nto myself, my best one, and will write till you cry out against me. I go\nnow. God bless you and reward you—prays your very own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening,\n [Post-mark, March 31, 1846.]\n\nIf people were always as grateful to other people for being just kind\nto _themselves_, ... what a grateful world we should have of it! The\nactual _good_ you get out of me, may be stated at about _two commas and a\nsemi-colon_—do I overstate it, I wonder? _You_, on the other side, never\noverstate anything ... never enlarge ... never exaggerate! In fact, the\nimmense ‘worldly’ advantages which fall to you from _me_, are plain to\nbehold. Dearest, what nonsense you talk some times, for a man so wise!\nnonsense as wonderful in its way for ‘Robert Browning’ as the dancing\nof polkas! The worst is, that it sets me wishing impotently, to do some\nreally good helpful thing for you—and I cannot,—cannot. The good comes to\nme from you, and will not go back again. Even the loving you, ... which\nis all I can, ... have I not had to question of it again and again....\n“Is _that_ good?” Now see.\n\nI shall be anxious to hear your own thoughts of the ‘Soul’s Tragedy’ when\nyou have it in print. You liked ‘Luria’ better for seeing it printed—and\nI must have you like the ‘Tragedy’ in proportion. It _strikes_ me.\nIt is original, as they say. There is something in it awakening ...\nstriking:—and when it has awakened, it won’t let you go to sleep again\nimmediately.\n\nAnd of yourself, not a word. You might have said _one_ word—but you\nhave been in London which makes me hope that you are perhaps a little\nbetter ... or at least not worse. Oh, I do not hope _much_ while you are\nabout this printing. You are sure not to be well. That is to be accepted\nas a necessary consequence—it cannot be otherwise. The comfort is,\nthat the whole will be put away in a week or ten days, and that then\nI may set myself to hope for you, as the roses to blow in June. Fit\nsummer-business, _that_ will be! And you will help me, and walk and take\ncare.\n\nWhat do you think I have been doing to-day to Mr. Kenyon? Sending him\nthe ‘enchanted poetry’ which such as _you_ are never to see ... the\ntranslation about Hector and Andromache!—yes, really. Yet after all it\nis not that I like him so much better than you ... I do not indeed ...\nit is just that Miss Thomson and her book are of consequence to him, and\nthat he hears through Miss Bayley and herself of the attempt here and the\nfailure there, ... and so, being interested altogether, he asked me to\nlet him see what I did with Homer. And it is not much. Old Homer laughs\nhis translators to very scorn ... and he does not spare _me_, for being\na woman. Surpassingly and profoundly beautiful that scene is. I have\ntried it in blank verse. About a year ago, when I had a sudden fit of\ntranslating, I made an experiment on the first fifty lines of the Iliad\nin a rhymed measure which seemed to me rather nearer to the Greek cadence\nthan our common heroic verse. Listen to what I remember—\n\n Thus he spake in his prayer: and Apollo gave ear to the whole;\n And came down from the steep of Olympus, with wrath in his soul;\n On his shoulder the bow, and the quiver fast woven by fate,\n And the darts hurtled on, as he trod, with the thrill of his hate\n And the step of his godhead. Like night did he travel below—\n And he sate down afar from the ships, and drew strong to the bow—\n\nAnd so we get to the arrows you talked of ... ah, do you remember ... do\nyou remember? ... which were to kill dogs and mules, you said! But they\ndidn’t. I have an enchanted dog (‘which nobody _can_ deny’!) and am not\nfar to seek in my Apollo.\n\nTo-day I had a letter from Miss Mitford who says that, inasmuch as she\ndoes not go to Paris, she shall come for a fortnight to London and ‘see\nme every day.’!! No time is fixed—but I look a little aghast. _Am I not\ngrateful and affectionate?_ Is it right of you, not to let me love anyone\nas I used to do? Is it in _that_ sense that you kill the dogs and mules?\nPerhaps. The truth is, I would rather she did not come—far rather. And\nshe may not, after all— ... now I am ashamed of myself thoroughly\n\nI have not been down-stairs to-day—the weather seemed so doubtful.\nTo-morrow, if it is possible, I will ... must ... do it. So ... goodbye\ntill the day after—Thursday. May God bless you every day! and if only as\nI think of you ... you would not lose much!\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, April 1, 1846.]\n\n_Now_—dear, dearest Ba—let me begin the only way!—And so you are kissed\nwhether you feel it or not—through the distance, what matter? Dear love,\nI return from town—my writing has gone away—you remain, and we are\ntogether—as I said, it _would_ be, so it is! And here is your letter,\nand here are recollections of all the letters for so long, all the\nperfect kindnesses which I did not answer, meaning to answer them one\nday—and, one day, look to receive (I may write you) a huge sheetful of\nanswers to bygone interrogatories,—sins of omission remedied according\nto ability—and you will stare like a man, I read of somewhere, who asked\nhis neighbour ‘how he fed that mule of his, so as to keep it in such\ngood case?’—and then, struck by some other fancy, went on to talk of\nother matters till the day’s end—when, on alighting at their Inn (for\nthese two were journeying, and the talk began with the stirrup-cup)—the\nother, who had been watching his opportunity, breaking silence for the\nfirst time, answered—‘With oats and hay.’ Observe that the only part of\nthe story I parallel is the _surprise_ at the end—for I am not going\nto get whipped before I deserve, Aminè (_Ba mine_). At all events I\nwill answer this last dear note. The ‘good’ you do me, I see you cannot\nsee nor understand _yet_—there is my answer! Here, in this instance, I\ncorrected everything,—altered, improved. Did you notice the alterations\n(curtailments) in ‘Luria’? Well, I put in a few phrases in the second\npart of the other,—where Ogniben speaks—and hope that they give a little\nmore insight as to his character—which I meant for that of a man of wide\nspeculation and narrow practice,—universal understanding of men and\nsympathy with them, yet professionally restricted claims for himself,\nfor his own life. _There_, was the theology to have come in! He should\nhave explained, ‘the belief in a future state, with me, modifies every\nfeeling derivable from this present life—I consider _that_ as dependent\non foregoing _this_—consequently, I may see that your principles are\nperfectly right and proper to be embraced so far as concerns this world,\nthough I believe there is an eventual gain, to be obtained elsewhere,\nin either opposing or disregarding them,—in not availing myself of the\nadvantages they procure.’ Do you see?—as a man may not choose to drink\nwine, for his health’s sake, or from a scruple of conscience &c.—and\nyet may be a good judge of what wine should be, how it _ought_ to\ntaste—something like this was _meant_—and when it is forgotten almost,\nand only the written thing with a shadow of the meaning stays,—you\nwonder that the written thing gets to look better in time? Do you think\nif I could forget _you_, Ba, I should not reconcile myself to your\npicture—which already I love better than yesterday—and which, to revenge,\nI know I shall by this time to-morrow like less, so far less. Well, and\nthen there is Domizia—I _could not_ bring her to my purpose. I left the\nneck stiff that was to have bowed of its own accord—for nothing graceful\ncould be accomplished by pressing with both hands on the head above! I\nmeant to make her leave off her own projects through love of Luria. As\nit is, they in a manner fulfil themselves, so far as she has any power\nover them, and then, she being left unemployed, sees Luria, begins to\nsee him, having hitherto seen only her own ends which he was to further.\nOh, enough of it! I have told you, and tell you and will tell you, my Ba,\nbecause it is simple truth,—that you have been ‘helping’ me to cover a\ndefeat, not gain a triumph. If I had not known you _so far_ THESE works\nmight have been the _better_:—as assuredly, the greater works, I trust\nwill follow,—they would have suffered in proportion! If you take a man\nfrom prison and set him free ... do you not probably cause a signal\ninterruption to his previously all ingrossing occupation, and sole labour\nof love, of carving bone-boxes, making chains of cherry-stones, and\nother such time-beguiling operations—does he ever take up that business\nwith the old alacrity? No! But he begins ploughing, building—(castles he\nmakes, no bone-boxes now). I may plough and build—but there,—leave them\nas they are!\n\nHere an end till to-morrow—my best dearest. I am very well to-day—I\nforgot to say anything yesterday. You did not go down-stairs, for all\nyour good intentions, I hope—this morning I mean: observe how the days\nare made—the mornings are warm and sunny—after gets up such a wind as now\nhowls—what a sound! The most melancholy in the whole world I think.\n\nNo—I can’t do what I had set down—keep my remonstrance and upbraiding on\nthe Homer-subject till to-morrow and then speak arrows. What do you mean,\nBa, by ‘remembering’ those lines you give me—have you no more written\ndown, _Quite_ happy and original they are—but to-morrow this is waited\nfor—dearest, bless you ever! your\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday\n [Post-mark, April 3, 1846.]\n\nDearest, your flowers make the whole room look like April, they are\nso full of colours ... growing fuller and fuller as we get nearer to\nthe sun. The wind was melancholy too, all last night—oh, _I_ think the\nwind melancholy, just as _you_ do,—or _more_ than you do perhaps for\nhaving spent so many restless days and nights close on the sea-shore in\nDevonshire. I seem now always to hear the sea _in_ the wind, voice within\nvoice! But I like a sudden wind not too loud,—a wind which you hear the\nrain in rather than the sea—and I like the half cloudy half sunny April\nweather, such as we have it here in England, with a west or south wind—I\nlike and enjoy _that_; and remember vividly how I used to like to walk\nor wade nearly up to my waist in the wet grass or weeds, with the sun\noverhead, and the wind darkening or lightening the verdure all round.\n\nBut none of it was happiness, dearest dearest. Happiness does not come\nwith the sun or the rain. Since my illness, when the door of the future\nseemed shut and locked before my face, and I did not tire myself with\nknocking any more, I thought I was happier, happy, I thought, just\nbecause I was tranquil _unto death_. Now I know life from death, ... and\nthe unsorrowful life for the first time since I was a woman; though I\nsit here on the edge of a precipice in a position full of anxiety and\ndanger. What matter, ... if one shuts one’s eyes, and listens to the\nbirds singing? Do you know, I am glad—I could almost thank God—that Papa\nkeeps so far from me ... that he has given up coming in the evening ...\nI could almost thank God. If he were affectionate, and made me, or _let_\nme, feel myself necessary to him, ... how should I bear (even with my\nreason on my side) to prepare to give him pain? So that the Pisa business\nlast year, by sounding the waters, was good in its way ... and the pang\nthat came with it to me, was also good. He feels!—he loves me ... but it\nis not (this, I mean to say) to the _trying_ degrees of feeling and love\n... trying to _me_. Ah, well! In any case, I should have ended probably,\nin giving up all for you—I do not profess otherwise. I used to think I\nshould, if ever I loved anyone—and if the love of you is different from,\nit is greater than, anything preconceived ... divined.\n\nMrs. Jameson, the other day, brought out a theory of hers which I refused\nto receive, and which I thought to myself she would apply to _me_ some\nday, with the rest of what Miss Mitford calls ‘those good-for-nothing\npoets and poetesses.’ She maintained, (Mrs. Jameson did) that ‘artistical\nnatures never learn wisdom from experience—that sorrow teaches them\nnothing—leaves no trace at all—that the mind is modified in no way by\npassion—suffering.’ Which I disbelieved quite, and ventured to say on\nthe other side, that although practically a man or woman might not be\nwiser, through perhaps the interception of a vivid apprehension of the\npresent, which might put back the influence of the future over actions,\n... yet that it was impossible for a self-conscious nature (which all\nthese artistic natures are) and a sensitive nature, not to receive\nsome sort of modification from things suffered—‘No’—she said, ‘they\ndid not! she had known and loved such—and they were like children, all\nof them,—essentially immature.’ But she did not persuade me. What is\n_inequality_ of nature, as Dugald Stewart observed it, (and did he not\nsay that men of genius had lop-sided minds?) is different, I think, from\nimmaturity in her sense of the word. We were talking of her friend Mrs.\nButler, which brought us to the subject. Presently she will say of you\nand me ... ‘Just see there! she meant no harm, poor thing, I dare say—but\nshe acts like a child! And, for _him_, _his_ is the imbecility of most\nregent genius ... such as I am to live to see confessed imperial, or I\ndie a disappointed woman.’!\n\nDo you hear? _I_ do, distinctly. _You_, in the meantime, are looking at\nthe ‘locks’ ... just as poor Louis Seize did when they were preparing his\nguillotine.\n\nMay God bless you, my own dearest—Think of me _a little_—as you say!\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, April 3, 1846.]\n\nI want to tell you a thing before I forget it, my own Ba—a thing that\npleased me to find out this morning. A few days ago there was a paragraph\nin the newspaper about Lord Compton and his ways at Rome. His address\nwas to be read in the general list of working-artists kept for public\ninspection at Monaldini’s news-room, and the Earl’s self was to be found\nin fraternal association with ‘young art,’ at board and sporting-place,\nwearing the same distinctive _blouse_ and Louis II. hat with great\nflaps; even his hair as picturesquely disordered as the best of\nthem—(the artists, not flaps)—at all which the reporter seemed scarcely\nto know whether he ought to laugh or cry. This I read in the _Daily\nNews_ with other gossip about Rome, last Wednesday. But this morning a\n_Cambridge Advertiser_ of the same day reaches me—and there, under the\nhead of College news (after recording that Mr. A. has been appointed\nto this vicarage, and Mr. B. licensed to the other curacy)—one finds\nthis—‘The Earl Compton, M.A. (Hon. 1837)—is of great fame in Rome as a\nPainter!’—which the other authority wholly forgot to mention; supposing,\nno doubt, all the love went to the blouse and flapped hat aforesaid!\nNow, is it not a good instance of that fascination which the _true_\nlife at Rome (apart from the stupidities of the travelling English)\nexercises every now and then on susceptible people? The best thing for\nan English Earl to do,—(who will be a Marquis one day)—would be to stay\nhere and vindicate his title by honest work with the opportunities it\naffords him—but if he _cannot_ rise to the dignity of the best part,\nsurely this, he chooses, is better than many others—being caught as some\nnoblemen were yesterday, for instance, superintending a dog-fight in\nsome horrible den of thieves in St. Giles’s. I don’t know, after all,\nwhy I tell you this,—but that amid all the dull doings of the notable\ndull ones there, and their ‘honours’—(such a wonder of a man was Smith’s\nprize-man,—another had got to be gloriously first in the Classical\nTripos)—this bit of ‘fame at Rome’ seemed like a break of blue real sky\nwith a star in it, shining through the canvas sham clouds and oil-paper\nmoons of a theatre.\n\nNow I get to you, my Ba! How strange! It does so happen that I took the\npen and laid out the paper with, I really think, a completer, deeper\nyearning of love to _you_ than usual even—I seemed to have a thousand\nthings that I _could_ say _now_—and on touching the paper ... see—I start\noff with a foolish story and still foolisher comment as if there were no\nBa close at my head all the time, straight before my eyes too! So it is\nwith me—I give the _expressing_ part up at once! It must be understood,\ninferred,—(_proved_, never!) All nonsense, so I will stay—and try to be\nwise to-morrow—_now_, I have no note to guide me and half put into my\nmouth what I ought to say. So, dear, dear Ba, goodbye! I very well know\nwhat this letter is worth—yet because of the love and endeavour _un_seen,\nmay I not have the hand to kiss—and without the glove? It _is_ kissed,\nwhether you give it or no,—for there are two long days more to wait—and\nthen comes Monday! Bless you till then, and ever, my dearest: My own Ba—\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 4, 1846.]\n\nShall the heir to a Marquisate ‘justify his title’ in these days?\nIs not the best thing he can do for _himself_, to forget it in a\nstudio at Rome?—and one of the best things he can do for his country,\nperhaps, to desecrate it at dog-fighting before the eyes of all men?\nI should not like to have to justify my Marquisate to reasonable\nmen now-a-days,—should _you_ ... seriously speaking? It would be a\nhard task, and rather dull in the performance. On the other hand, the\nnoble dog-fighters (unconscious patriots!) find it easy and congenial\noccupation down in St. Giles’s, rubbing out (as in the old game of fox\nand goose) figure by figure, prestige by prestige, the gross absurdity of\nhereditary legislators, lords, and the like. Yet of the three positions,\nI would rather be at Rome, certainly a man looks nobler there, is better,\nis happier ... a good deal nearer the angels than on his ‘landed estates’\nplaying at feudal proprietor, or even in St. Giles’s dog-fighting. See\nwhat a republican you have for a ... _Ba_. Did you fancy me capable\nof writing such unlawful, disorderly things? And it isn’t out of\nbitterness, nor covetousness ... no, indeed. People in general would\nrather be Marquises than Roman artists, consulting their own wishes and\ninclination. I, for my part, ever since I could speak my mind and knew\nit, always openly and inwardly preferred the glory of those who live by\ntheir heads, to the opposite glory of those who carry other people’s\narms. So much for glory. Happiness goes the same way to my fancy. There\nis something fascinating to me, in that Bohemian way of living ... all\nthe conventions of society cut so close and thin, that the soul can see\nthrough ... beyond ... above. It is ‘real life’ as you say ... whether at\nRome or elsewhere. I am very glad that you like simplicity in habits of\nlife—it has both reasonableness and sanctity. People are apt to suffocate\ntheir faculties by their manners—English people especially. I admire that\nyou,—R.B.,—who have had temptation more than enough, I am certain, under\nevery form, have lived in the midst of this London of ours, close to the\ngreat social vortex, yet have kept so safe, and free, and calm and pure\nfrom the besetting sins of our society. When you came to see me first, I\ndid not expect so much of you in that one respect. How could I? You had\nlived in the world, I knew, and I thought ... well!—what matter, _now_,\nwhat I thought?\n\nI will tell you instead how to-day has gone by with me. Not like\nyesterday, indeed! In the first place, I went down-stairs, walked up and\ndown the drawing-room twice, and finding nobody there (they were all\nhaving luncheon in the dining-room) came up-stairs again ... half-way on\nthe stairs met Flush, who having been asleep, had not missed me till just\nthen, and was in the act of search. I was lost for ever, thought poor\nFlush. At least I think he thought so by his eyes. They were three times\ntheir usual largeness—he looked quite wild ... and leaped against me\nwith such an ecstasy of astonished joy, that I nearly fell backward down\nthe stairs (whereupon, you would have had to go to the Siren’s island,\ndearest, all by yourself!) After which escape of mine and Flushie’s, and\nwhen I had persuaded him to be good and quiet and to believe that I was\nnot my own ghost, I came home with him and prepared to see....\n\nI will tell you. She is a Mrs. Paine who lives at Farnham, and learns\nGreek, and writes to me such overcoming letters, that at last, and in a\nmoment of imprudent reaction from an ungrateful discourtesy on my part,\nI agreed to see her if she ever came to London. Upon which, she comes\ndirectly—I am taken in my trap. She comes and returns the same day, and\nall to see me. Well—she had been kind to me ... and she came at two\nto-day. Do you know, ... for the first five minutes, I _repented quite_?\nDearest ... she came just with the sort of face which a child might take\nto see a real, alive lioness at the Zoological Gardens ... she just sate\ndown on a chair, and stared. How can people do such things in this year\nof grace when they are abolishing the Corn Laws, I wonder? For my part it\nwas so unlike anything civilized I had ever been used to that I felt as\nif my voice and breath went together. It would have saved me to be able\nto _stare back again_, but _that_ was out of my power. So I endured—and,\nafter a pause, ran violently down a steep place into some sort of\nconversation (thinking of your immortal Simpson, and vowing never to be\ndrawn into such a situation again) and in a little while, I was able\nto recognize that there was nothing worse than bad manners—_ignorant_\nmanners—and that, for the rest, my antagonist was a young, pretty woman\n(_rather_ pretty), enthusiastic and provincial, with a strong love for\npoetry and literature generally, loving Carlyle and _your_self, (could\nI hold out against _that_?) and telling me all her domestic happinesses\nwith a frankness which quite appeased me and prevented my being too tired\n... though she stayed two hours, and _wasn’t you_!—\n\nSo there is my history of to-day for you! To-morrow you will have the\nproof—and perhaps, _I_ shall! Monday will bring a better thing than a\nproof. May God bless you, beloved. Say how you are ... to-morrow! _Mind_\nto do it ... or I will not sit any more in your gondola-chair. How can\nyou make me, unless I choose?\n\nAnd you speak against my letter to-night? you shall not dare do such\nthings. It is a good, dear letter, and it is mine to call so ... and I\nknew its fellows before I knew you and loved them before I loved you,\nand so you are not to be proud and scornful and try to put them down ‘in\n_that_ way.’\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [April 4, 1846.]\n\nOh, my two letters—and to turn from such letters to you, to my own Ba!—I\nvery well know I am not grateful enough, if there is any grace in _that_,\nany power to avert punishment, as one hopes! But all my hope is in future\nendeavour—it _is_, my Ba,—this is earnest truth. And one thing that\nstrikes me on hearing such prognostications of Mrs. Jameson’s opinion on\n_our_ subject—is that—as far as I am concerned ... or yourself, indeed—we\nmust make up our mind to endure the stress of it, and of such opinions\ngenerally, with all resignation ... and by the time we _can_ answer,—why,\nalas, they are gone and forgotten, so that there’s no paying them for\ntheir impertinence. I mean, that I do not _expect_, as a foolish fanciful\nboy might, that on the sudden application of ‘Hymen’s torch’ (to give\nthe old simile one chance more) your happiness will blaze out apparent\nto the whole world lying in darkness, like a wondrous ‘Catherine-wheel,’\nnow all blue, now red, and so die at the bed amid an universal clapping\nof hands—I trust a long life of real work ‘begun, carried on and ended,’\nas it never otherwise could have been (certainly by _me_ ... and if\nI dare hope, _you_, dearest, it is because you teach me to aspire to\nthe height)—that the attainment of all that happiness of daily, hourly\nlife in entire affection, which seeing that men of genius need rather\nmore—ah, these words, I cannot look back and take up the thread of the\nsentence,—but I wanted to say—we will live the real answer, will we not,\ndearest, all the stupidity against ‘genius’ ‘poets,’ and the like, is got\npast the stage of being treated with patient consideration and gentle\npity—it is _too_ vexatious, if it will not lie still, out of the way, by\nthis time. What _is_ the crime, to his fellow man or woman (not to God,\nI know that—these are peculiar sins to Him—whether greater in His eyes,\nwho shall say?)—but to mankind, _what_ is crime which would have been\nprevented but for the ‘genius’ involved in it? A man of genius ill-treats\nhis wife—well, take away the ‘genius’—does he so naturally improve? See\nthe article in to-day’s _Athenæum_, about the French Duel—far enough\nfrom ‘men of genius’ these Dujarriers &c.—but go to-night into half the\n_estaminets_ of Paris, and see whether the quarrels over dice and some\nwine present any more pleasing matter of contemplation _au fond_. Sin is\nsin everywhere and the worse, I think, for the grossness. Being fired at\nby a duellist is a little better, I think also, than being struck on the\nface by some ruffian. These are extreme cases—but go higher and it is the\nsame thing. Poor, cowardly miscreated natures abound—if you could throw\n‘genius’ into their composition, they would become more degraded still, I\nsuppose!\n\nI know I want every faculty I can by any possibility dare—want all, and\nmuch more, to teach me what you are, my own Ba, and what I should do to\nprove that I am taught, and do know.\n\nI will write at length to you to-morrow, my all beloved. I am, somehow,\noverflowing with things to say, and the time is _fearfully_ short—my\nproofs have just arrived, here they are, not even _glanced_ over by\nme—(To-morrow, love! not one thing answered in my letters, as when I read\nand read them to-night I shall say to myself). Bless you, dearest, dearest\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [April 5, 1846.]\n\nIt seems to me the safest way to send back the proofs by the early Monday\npost: you may choose perhaps to bring the sheet corrected into town when\nyou come, and so I shall let you have what you sent me, before you come\nto take it ... though I thought first of waiting. To-morrow I shall force\nyou to tell me how you like the ‘Tragedy’ _now_! For my part, it delights\nme—and must raise your reputation as a poet and thinker ... _must_.\nChiappino is highly dramatic in that first part, and speaks so finely\nsometimes that it is a wrench to one’s sympathies to find him overthrown.\nDo you know that, as far as the _temper_ of the man goes, I am acquainted\nwith a Chiappino ... just such a man, in the temper, the pride and the\nbitterness ... not in other things. When I read your manuscript I was\nreminded—but here in print it, seems to grow nearer and nearer. My\nChiappino has tired me out at last—I have borne more from him than women\nought to bear from men, because he was unfortunate and embittered in his\nnature and by circumstances, and because I regarded him as a friend of\nmany years. Yet, as I have told him, anyone, who had not such confidence\nin me, would think really _ill of me_ through reading the insolent\nletters which he has thought fit to address to me on what he called a\npure principle of adoration. At last I made up my mind (and shall keep it\nso) to answer no letter of the kind. Men are ignoble in some things, past\nthe conceiving of their fellows. Again and again I have said ... ‘Specify\nyour charge against me’—but there is no charge. With the most reckless\nand dauntless inconsistency I am lifted halfway to the skies, and made a\nmark there for mud pellets—so that I have been excited sometimes to say\nquite passionately ... ‘If I am the filth of the earth, tread on me—if\nI am an angel of Heaven, respect me—but I can’t be both, remember.’ See\nwhere your Chiappino leads you ... and me! Though I shall not tell you\nthe other name of mine. Whenever I see him now, I make Arabel stay in\nthe room—otherwise I _am afraid_—he is such a violent man. A good man,\nthough, in many respects, and quite an old friend. Some men grow incensed\nwith the continual pricks of ill-fortune, like mad bulls: some grow tame\nand meek.\n\nWell—_I_ did not like the spirit of the _Athenæum_ remarks either. I\nlike what _you_ say. These literary men are never so well pleased, as\nin having opportunities of barking against one another—and, for the\n_Athenæum_ people, if they wanted to be didactic as to morals, they\nmight have taken occasion to be so out of their own order, and in their\nown country. And then to bring in Balzac _so_! The worst of Balzac (who\nhas not a fine moral sense at any time, great and gifted as he is), the\nvery worst of him, is his bearing towards his literary brothers ... the\nmanner in which he, who can so nobly present genius to the reverence of\nhumanity in scientific men (as he describes them in his books), always\ndishonours and depreciates it in the man of letters and the poet. See his\n‘Grand Homme de Province à Paris,’ one of the most powerful of his works,\nbut the remark is true everywhere. I go on writing as if I were not to\nsee you directly. It is past four oclock—and if Mr. Kenyon does not come\nto-day, he may come to-morrow, and find you, who were here last Thursday\nto his knowledge!—Half I fear.\n\nObserve the proof. Since you have two, you say, I have not scrupled to\nwrite down on this ever so much improvidence, which you will glance at\nand decide upon finally.\n\n‘Grateful’ ... ‘grateful’ ... what a word _that_ is. I never would have\nsuch a word on any proof that came to me for correction. Do not use\nsuch inapplicable words—do not, dearest! for you know very well in your\nunderstanding (if not in your heart) that if such a word is to be used\nby either of us, it is _not by you_. My word, I shall keep mine,—_I_ am\n‘grateful’—_you_ cannot be ‘grateful’ ... for ineffable reasons....\n\n ‘Pour bonnes raisons\n Que l’on n’ose dire.\n Et que nous taisons.’\n\nFor the rest, it is certainly very likely that you may ‘want all your\nfaculties, _and more_’ ... to bear with me ... to support me with\ngraceful resignation; and who can tell whether I may not be found\nintolerable after all?\n\nBy the way (talking of St. Catherine’s wheels and the like torments) you\nwrote ‘gag’ ... did you not? ... where the proof says ‘gadge’—I did not\nalter it. More and more I like ‘Luria.’\n\n Your BA.\n\nMr. Kenyon has been here—so our Monday is safe.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, April 6, 1846.]\n\nI sent you some even more than usual hasty foolish words,—not caring\nmuch, however—for dearest Ba shall have to forgive my shortcomings every\nhour in the day,—it is her destiny, and I began unluckily with that\nstupidest of all notions,—that about the harm coming of genius &c., so I\nfell with my subject and we rolled in the mud together—_pas vrai?_ But\nthere was so many other matters alluded to in your _dearest_ (because\nlast) letter—there are many things in which I agree with you to such a\ntremblingly exquisite exactness, so to speak, that I hardly dare cry out\nlest the charm break, the imaginary oscillation prove incomplete and\nyour soul, _now_ directly over, pass beyond mine yet, and not _stay_! Do\nyou understand, dear soul of my soul, dearest Ba? Oh, how different it\nall might be! In this House of life—where I go, you go—where I ascend\nyou run before—when I descend it is after you. Now, one might have a\npiece of Ba, but a very little of her, and make it up into a lady and\na mistress, and find her a room to her mind perhaps when she should\nsit and sing, ‘warble eat and dwell’ like Tennyson’s blackbird, and to\nvisit her there with due honour one might wear the finest of robes, use\nthe courtliest of ceremonies—and then—after a time, leave her there and\ngo, the door once shut, without much blame, to throw off the tunic and\nput on Lord Compton’s blouse and go whither one liked—after, to me, the\nmost melancholy fashion in the world. How different with us! If it were\n_not_, indeed—what a mad folly would marriage be! Do you know what quaint\nthought strikes me, out of old Bunyan, on this very subject? He says\n(with another meaning though) ‘Who would keep a cow, that may buy milk at\na penny the quart’—(elegant allusion). Just so,—whoever wants ‘a quart’\nof this other comfort, as solace of whatever it may be (at breakfast\nor tea time too), why not go and ‘buy’ the same, and having discussed\nit, drink claret at dinner at his club? Why did not Mr. Butler _read_\nFanny Kemble’s verses, paying his penny of intellectual labour, and see\nher play ‘Portia’ at night, and make her a call or ride with her in the\nmiddle of the day—why ‘keep the cow’? _But_—don’t you know they prescribe\nto some constitutions the _perpetual living_ in a cow-house? the breath,\nthe unremitting influence is everything,—not the milk—(now, Ba—Ba is\nsuddenly Ἴω πλανωμένη and Mrs. Jameson is the Gadfly—and I am laughed\nat—not too cruelly, or the other lock of hair becomes mine—with which\nlocks ... and not with Louis Seize iron knick-nack ones, I rather think I\nwas occupied last time, last farewell taking—)\n\nFrom all which I infer—that I shall see you to-morrow! Yes, or I should\nnot have the heart to be so glad and absurd.\n\nWell, to-morrow makes amends—dear, dear Ba! Why do you persist in trying\nto turn my head so? It does not turn, I look the more steadfastly at\nthe feet and the ground, for all your crying and trying! But something\nshocking might happen—_would_ happen, if it were not written that I am to\nget nothing but good from Ba,—and _who, who_ began calling names—who used\nthe word ‘flatterer’ first?\n\nBless you my own dearest flatterer—I love you with heart and soul. Are\nyou down-stairs to day? it is warm, the rain you like—yes you are down, I\nthink. God keep you wherever you are!\n\n Your own.\n\nI went last night to Lord Compton’s father’s Soirée,—and for all our deep\nconvictions, and philosophic rejoicing, I assure you that of the two or\nthree words that we interchanged—congratulation on the bright fortune\nof his son formed no part,—any more than intelligence about ordering\nRegiments to India whenever I met the relatives of the ordered. And\nyesterday morning I planted a full dozen more rose-trees, all white—to\ntake away the yellow-rose reproach!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [April 6, 1846.]\n\nI shall receive a note from you presently, I trust—but this had better\ngo now—for I expect a friend, and must attend to him as he wants to go\nwalking—so, dearest—dearest, take my—last work I ever shall _send_ you,\nif God please!\n\nA word about a passage or two,—I had forgotten to say before—gadge is a\nreal name (in Johnson, too) for a torturing iron—it is part of the horror\nof such things that they should be mysteriously named,—indefinitely,—‘The\nDuke of Exeter’s Daughter’ for instance ... Ugh!—Besides, am I not\na rhymester? Well, who knows but one may want to use such a word in\na couplet with ‘_badge_’—which, if one reject the old and obsolete\n‘_fadge_,’ is rhymeless?\n\nThen Chiappino remarks that men of genius usually do the _reverse_ ...\nof beginning by dethroning &c. and so arriving with utmost reluctancy\nat the acknowledgment of a natural and unalterable _inequality_ of\nMankind—instead of _that_, they begin _at once_, he says, by recognizing\nit in their adulation &c. &c.—I have supplied the words ‘_at once_,’ and\ntaken out ‘_virtually_,’ which was unnecessary; so that the parallel\npossibly reads clearlier. I know there are other things to say—but at\nthis moment my memory is at fault.\n\nCan you tell me Mrs. Jameson’s address?\n\nMy sea-friend’s opinion is altogether unfavourable to the notion of an\ninvalid’s trusting himself alone in a merchant vessel—he says—‘it will\ncertainly be the gentleman’s death.’ So very small a degree of comfort\ncan be secured amid all the inevitable horrors of dirt, roughness, &c.\nThe expenses are trifling in any case, on that very account. Any number\nof the _Shipping Gazette_ (I think) will give a list of all vessels about\nto sail, with choice of ports—or on the walls of the Exchange one may see\ntheir names placarded, with reference to the Agent—or he will, himself,\n(my friend Chas. Walton) do his utmost with a shipowner, we both know,\nand save some expense, perhaps. I made him remark the difference between\nmy carelessness of accommodations and an invalid’s proper attention\nbeforehand—but he persisted in saying nothing can be done, nothing\neffectual. My time is out—but I must bless you my ever dearest Ba—and\nkiss you—\n\n Ever your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, April 7, 1846.]\n\nDearest, it is not I who am a ‘flatterer’—and if I used the word first,\nit is because I had the right of it, I remember, long and long ago.\nThere is the vainest of vanities in discussing the application of such a\nword ... and so, when you said the other day that you ‘never flattered’\nforsooth ... (oh no!) I would not contradict you for fear of the endless\nflattery it would lead to. Only that I do not choose (because such things\nare allowed to pass) to be called on my side ‘a flatterer’—I! _That_ is\ntoo much, and too out of place. What do I ever say that is like flattery?\nI am allowed, it may be hoped, to admire the ‘Lurias’ and the rest, quite\nlike other people, and even to _say_ that I admire them ... may I not\nlawfully? If _that_ is flattery woe to me! I tell you the real truth, as\nI see the truth, even in respect to _them_ ... the ‘Lurias’....\n\nFor instance, did I flatter you and say that you were right yesterday?\nIndeed I thought you as wrong as possible ... wonderfully wrong on\nsuch a subject, for _you_ ... who, only a day or two before, seemed so\nfree from conventional fallacies ... so free! You would abolish the\npunishment of death too ... and put away wars, I am sure! But honourable\nmen are bound to keep their honours clean at the expense of so much\ngunpowder and so much risk of life ... _that_ must be, ought to be, ...\nlet judicial deaths and military glory be abolished ever so! For my\npart, I set all Christian principle aside, (although if it were carried\nout ... and principle is nothing unless carried out ... it would not\nmean cowardice but magnanimity) but I set it aside and go on the bare\nsocial rational ground ... and I do advisedly declare to you that I\ncannot conceive of any _possible combination of circumstances_ which\ncould ... I will _not_ say _justify_, but even _excuse_, an honourable\nman’s having recourse to the duellist’s pistol, either on his own\naccount or another’s. Not only it seems to me horribly wrong ... but\nabsurdly wrong, it seems to me. Also ... as a matter of pure reason\n... the Parisian method of taking aim and blowing off a man’s head for\nthe sins of his tongue, I do take to have a sort of judicial advantage\nover the Englishman’s six paces ... throwing the dice for his life or\nanother man’s, because wounded by that man in his honour. His honour!—Who\nbelieves in such an honour ... liable to such amends, and capable of such\nrecovery! _You_ cannot, I think—in the secret of your mind. Or if _you\ncan ... you_, who are a teacher of the world ... poor world—it is more\ndesperately wrong than I thought.\n\nA man calls you ‘a liar’ in an assembly of other men. Because he is a\ncalumniator, and, on that very account, a worse man than you, you ask him\nto go down with you on the only ground on which you two are equals ...\nthe duelling-ground, ... and with pistols of the same length and friends\nnumerically equal on each side, play at lives with him, both mortal men\nthat you are. If it was proposed to you to play at real dice for the\nratification or non-ratification of his calumny, the proposition would be\nlaughed to scorn ... and yet the chance (as chance) seems much the same,\n... and the death is an exterior circumstance which cannot be imagined to\nhave much virtue. At best, what do you prove by your duel? ... that your\ncalumniator, though a calumniator, is not a coward in the vulgar sense\n... and that yourself, though you may still be a liar ten times over, are\nnot a coward either! ‘Here be proofs.’\n\nAnd as to the custom of duelling preventing insults ... why you _say_\nthat a man of honour should not go out with an unworthy adversary. Now\nsupposing a man to be withheld from insult and calumny, just by the fear\nof being shot ... who is more unworthy than such a man? Therefore you\nconclude irrationally, illogically, that the system operates beyond the\nlimit of its operations.—Oh! I shall write as quarrelsome letters as I\nchoose. You are wrong, I know and feel, when you advocate the pitiful\nresources of this corrupt social life, ... and if you are wrong, how are\nwe to get right, we all who look to you for teaching. Are _you_ afraid\ntoo of being taken for a coward? or would you excuse that sort of fear\n... that cowardice of cowardice, in other men? For me, I value your\nhonour, just as you do ... more than your life ... of the two things:\nbut the madness of this foolishness is so clear to my eyes, than instead\nof opening the door for you and keeping your secret, as that miserable\nwoman did last year, for the man shot by her sister’s husband, I would\njust _call in the police_, though you were to throw me out of the window\nafterwards. So, with that beautiful vision of domestic felicity, (which\nMrs. Jameson would leap up to see!) I shall end my letter—isn’t it a\nletter worth thanking for?—\n\nEver dearest, do _you_ promise me that you never will be provoked into\nsuch an act—never? Mr. O’Connell vowed it to himself, for a dead man ...\nand you may to me, for a living woman. Promises and vows may be foolish\nthings for the most part ... but they cannot be more foolish than, in\nthis case, the thing vowed against. So promise and vow. And I will\n‘flatter’ you in return in the lawful way ... for you _will_ ‘make me\nhappy’ ... so far! May God bless you, beloved! It is so wet and dreary\nto-day that I do not go down-stairs—I sit instead in the gondola chair\n... do you not see? ... and think of you ... do you not feel? I even love\nyou ... if _that_ were worth mentioning....\n\n being your own\n\n BA.\n\nHow good of you to write so on Sunday! to compare with _my_ bad!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, April 7, 1846.]\n\nThey have just sent me _one_ proof, only—so I have been correcting\neverything as fast as possible, that, returning it at once, a _revise_\nmight arrive, fit to send, for _this_ that comes is just as bad as if\nI had let it alone in the first instance. All your corrections are\ngolden. In ‘Luria,’ I alter ‘little circle’ to ‘circling faces’—which\nis more like what I meant. As for that point we spoke of yesterday—it\nseems ‘past praying for’—if I make the speech an ‘aside,’ I _commit_\nOgniben to that opinion:—did you notice, at the beginning of the second\npart, that on this Ogniben’s very entry (as described by a bystander),\nhe is made to say, for first speech, ‘I have known so many leaders of\nrevolts’—‘_laughing gently to himself_’? This, which was wrongly printed\nin italics, as if a comment of the bystander’s own, was a characteristic\ncircumstance, as I meant it. All these opinions should be delivered with\na ‘gentle laughter to himself’—but—as is said elsewhere,—we profess and\nwe perform! Enough of it—Meliora sper_u_mus!\n\nWhat am I to say next, my Ba? When I write my best and send ‘grateful’ to\nyou—you send my proof back, ‘_grateful_ (_h_)’ Then I _must_ do and say\nwhat you hate ... for I am one entire gratitude to you, God knows! May\nHe reward you.\n\nIt is late; bless you once again, my dearest! You have nothing so much\nyours as\n\n R.\n\nMy mother says that I paid only fifteen or sixteen pounds for the\nVenice voyage, and much less for the Naples one—_ten_, and no more, she\nthinks—and I think; but _that_ represents _twenty_—as the other, twenty\nfive or thirty pounds, to a person unconnected with the freighting party.\n(In the first ship, Rothschild sent a _locomotive_ entire, with all its\nappurtenances, for one article, to Trieste). Can I make enquiries for\nyou? Nay, I _will_, and at once.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 8, 1846.]\n\nIn my _disagree_ ... able letter this morning, I forgot to write\nhow, after you went away, and I came to read again the dedication, I\nadmired it more and more—it is most graceful and complete. Landor will\nbe gratified and grateful ... he, allowably—and only _you_ shall be\n‘hateful’ ... and only to _me_, dearest, ... so that it doesn’t matter\nmuch. As to Ogniben, you understand best of course—_I_ understood the\n‘laughing gently to himself,’ though I omitted to notice the italics. I\nperfectly understood that it was the bystander’s observation.\n\nYour letter came so late to-night that I despaired of it—the postman\nfell into a trance somewhere I fancy, and it was not till nine oclock\nthat the knock (equal to the tapping of a fairy’s wand) came to the\ndoor. Now I have two letters to thank you for together ... for the dear\none on Monday, which lay in the shadow of your coming, and so was a\nlittle, little, less thought of than it could have been under any other\npossible circumstance ... and for this letter to-night. Well! and for\nMr. Buckingham’s voyage, if you will and can conveniently, (I use _that_\nword for my sake, not for your sake—because I think of _you_ and not of\n_him_!) but if you can without inconvenience make enquiries about these\nvessels, why I shall be glad and shall set it to your account as one\ngoodness more. It would be easy for him (and _you_ should have done it,\nin _your_ voyage) to take with him those potted meats and portable soups\nand essences of game which would prevent his being reduced to common\nfare with the sailors. Then a mattress is as portable as the soups,\nnearly. Apart from the asafœtida he may endure, I should think. Do you\nknow, I was amused at myself yesterday, after the first movement, for\nliking to hear you say that ‘dry biscuits satisfied’ you—because, after\nall, I should not be easy to see you living on dry biscuits ... Ceres\nand Bacchus forbid! Oh—I don’t profess to apply, out of a pure poetical\njustice, Lord Byron’s Pythagoreanism to the ‘nobler half of creation’—do\nnot be afraid—but it _is_ rather desecrating and disenchanting to mark\nhow certain of those said Nobilities turn upon their dinners as on the\npivot of the day, for their good pleasure and good temper besides. Did\nyou ever observe a lord of creation knit his brows together because the\ncutlets were underdone, shooting enough fire from his eyes to overdo them\nto cinders ... ‘cinder-blast’ them, as Æschylus would have it? Did you\never hear of the litany which some women say through the first course ...\nlow to themselves? Perhaps not! it does not enter into your imagination\nto conceive of things, which nevertheless _are_.\n\nNot that I ever thought of _you_ with reference to _such_—oh no, no!\nBut every variety of the ‘Epicuri de grege porcus,’ I have a sort of\nindisposition to ... even as the animal itself (pork of nature and the\nkitchen) I avoid like a Jewish woman. Do you smile? And did I half\n(or whole) make you angry this morning through being so didactic and\ndetestable? Will you challenge me to six paces at Chalk Farm, and _will_\nyou ‘take aim’ this time and put an end to every sort of pretence in me\nto other approaches between us two? Tell me if you are angry, dearest! I\n_ask_ you to tell me if you felt (for the time even) vexed with me.... I\nwant to know.... I _need_ to know. Do _you_ not know what my reflection\nmust reasonably be?... That is, _apart from provocation and excitement_,\nyou believe in the necessity of such and such resources, ... provoked and\nexcited you would apply to them—there could be no counteracting force ...\nno help nor hope.\n\nSo I spoke my mind—and you are vexed with me, which I feel in the air.\nMay God bless you dearest, dearest! Forgive, as you can, best,\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, April 8, 1846.]\n\nFirst of all, kiss me, dearest,—and again—and now, with the left arm\nround you, I will write what I think in as few words as possible.\nI think the fault of not carrying out principles is _yours_, here.\nSeveral principles would arrive at the result you desire—Christianity,\nStoicism, Asceticism, Epicureanism (in the modern sense)—all these\n‘carried out’ stop the procedure you deprecate—but I fancy, as you state\nyour principle, that it is an _eclecticism_ from these and others;\nand presently one branch crosses its fellow, and we _stop_, arrive at\nnothing. Do you accept ‘life’s warm-beating joy and dole,’ for an object\nof that life? Is ‘society’ a thing to desire to participate in? not by\nthe one exceptional case out of the million, but by men generally,—men\nwho ‘live’ only for living’s sake, in the first instance; next, men who,\nhaving ulterior objects and aims of happiness, yet derive various degrees\nof sustainment and comfort from the social life round them; and so on,\nhigher up, till you come to the half-dozen, for whom we need not be\npressingly urgent to legislate just yet, having to attend to the world\nfirst. Well, is social life, a good, generally to these? If so,—go back\nto another principle which I suppose you to admit,—that ‘good’ may be\n_lawfully_ held, defended,—even to the death. Now see where the ‘cross’\ntakes place. Something occurs which forces a man to _hold_ this, defend\nthis—he _must_ do this, or _renounce_ it. You let him do neither. Do\nnot say he _needs_ not renounce it,—we go avowedly on the vulgar broad\nground of fact—you very well know it is a _fact_ that by his refusing to\naccept a challenge, or send one, on conventionally sufficient ground, he\nwill be infallibly excluded from a certain class of society thenceforth\nand forever. What society _should_ do rather, is wholly out of the\nquestion—what _will_ be done? And now, candidly, can you well fancy a\nmore terrible wrong than this to the ordinary multitude of men? Alter the\nprinciples of your reasoning—say, Christianity forbids this,—and _that_\nwill do—rational Simon renounces on his pillar more than the pleasures\nof society if so he may save his soul: say, society is not worth living\nin,—it is no wrong to be forced to quit it—_that_ will do, also,—a man\nwith ‘Paradise Lost’ or ‘Othello’ to write; or with a Ba to live beside\nfor his one companion,—or many other compensations,—_he_ may retire\nto his own world easily. Say, on the lowest possible ground, ‘out of\nsociety one eats, drinks &c. excellently well; what loss is there?’—all\nthese principles _avail_; but _mix_ them—and they surely neutralize each\nother. A man _may_ live, enjoy life, oppose an attempt to prevent his\nenjoying life,—yet not—you see! ‘The method is irrational, proves nothing\n&c.’—what is that to the question? Is the _effect_ disputable or no?\nWordsworth decides he had better go to court—then he must buy or borrow a\ncourt-dress. He goes because of the poetry in him. What irrationality in\nthe bag and sword—in the grey duffil gown yonder, he wrote—half through\nthe exceeding ease and roominess of it—‘The Excursion’; how proper he\nshould go in it, therefore ... beside it will wring his heartstrings\nto pay down the four pounds, ten and sixpence: good, Mr. Wordsworth!\nThere’s no compulsion; go back to the lakes and be entirely approved of\nby Miss Norwick! ... but, if you _do_ choose to kiss hands (instead of\ncheeks ‘smackingly’) why, you must even resolve to ‘grin and bear it’ (a\nsea-phrase!)—and, Ba, your imaginary man, who is called ‘liar’ before\na large assembly, must decide for one or the other course. ‘He makes\nhis antagonist double the wrong’? Nay—_here_ the wrong begins—the poor\nauthor of the outrage should have known his _word_ was _nothing_—the\nsense of it, he and his like express abundantly every hour of the day,\nif they please, in language only a shade removed from this that causes\nall the harm,—and who does other than utterly, ineffably despise them?\nbut he chooses, as the very phrase is, to _oblige_ his adversary to act\nthus. _He_ is nothing (I am going on your own case of a supposed futile\ncause of quarrel)—he may _think_ just what he pleases—but having _said_\nthis and _so_,—_it is entirely society’s affair_—and what _is_ society’s\npresent decision? Directly it relaxes a regulation, allows another outlet\nto the natural contempt for, and indifference to such men and their\nopinions spoken or unspoken, everybody avails himself of it directly. If\nthe Lord Chamberlain issues an order this morning, ‘No swords need be\nworn at next levee’—who will appear with one? A politician is allowed to\ncall his opponent a destructive &c. A critic may write that the author of\nsuch a book or such, is the poorest creature in the world—and who dreams\nof being angry? but society up to this time says, ‘if a man calls another\n&c. &c., _then_ he must’—Will you renounce society? _I for one, could,\neasily: so therefore shall Mr. Kenyon!_ Beside, I on purpose depreciate\nthe value of an admission into society ... as if it were only for those\nwho recognize no other value; and the wiser men might easily forego it.\n_Not so easily!_ There are uses in it, great uses, for purposes quite\nbeyond its limits—you pass through it, mix with it, to get something\nby it: you do _not_ go in to the world to live on the breath of every\nfool there, but you reach something _out_ of the world by being let go\nquietly, if not with a favourable welcome, among them. I leave _here_\nto go to Wimpole Street:—I want to have as little as possible to say to\nthe people I find _between_—but, do you know, if I allow a foolish child\nto put the very smallest of fool’s caps on my head instead of the hat I\nusually wear, though the comfort would be considerable in the change,—yet\nI shall be followed by an increasing crowd, say to Charing Cross, and\nthence pelted, perhaps, till I reach No. 50—there, perhaps to find the\nservant hesitate about opening the door to such an apparition,—and when\nPapa comes to hear how illustriously your visitor was attended through\nthe streets! why he will specially set apart Easter Monday to testify in\nperson his sense of the sublime philosophy, will he not? My Ba—I tell the\nchild on the first symptom of such a wish on his part ‘Don’t!’ with all\nthe eloquence in my power—if I can put it handsomely off my head, even, I\nwill, and with pitying good nature—but if I _must_ either wear the cap,\nand pay the penalty, or—slap his face, why—! ‘Ah,’ you say, ‘but he has\ngot a pistol that you don’t see and will shoot you dead like a foolish\nchild as he is.’ That he may! Have I to be told that in this world men,\nfoolish or wicked, do inflict tremendous injuries on their unoffending\nfellows? Let God look to it, I say with reverence, and do _you_ look\nto this point, _where_ the injury _is_, _begins_. The foolish man who\nthrows some disfiguring liquid in your face, which to remove you must\nhave recourse to some dangerous surgical operation,—perilling himself,\ntoo, by the consequent vengeance of the law, if you sink under knife or\ncauterizing iron,—shall I say ‘the fault is _yours_—why submit to the\noperation? The fault is _his_ that institutes the very fault—which begin\nby teaching him from his cradle in every possible shape! But don’t,\ndon’t say—‘the operation is _unnecessary_; your blistered face will look,\n_does_ look just as usual, not merely to me who know you, perhaps love\nyou,—but to the whole world ... on whose opinion of its agreeableness,\nI confess that you are dependent for nearly every happy minute of your\nlife.’ In all this, I speak for the world, _not_ for me—I have other,\ntoo many other sources of enjoyment—I could _easily_, I think, do what\nyou require. I endeavour to care for others with none of these; as dear,\ndearest Ba, sitting in her room because of a dull day, would have _me_\ntake a few miles’ exercise. Has everybody a Ba? I had not last year—yet\nlast year I had reasons, and still have, for, on occasion, renouncing\nsociety fifty times over: what I should do, therefore, is as improper to\nbe held up for an example, as the exemplary behaviour of Walpole’s old\nFrench officer of ninety, who ‘hearing some youths diverting themselves\nwith some girls in a tent close by, asked, ‘Is this the example _I_ set\nyou, gentlemen?’. But I shall be dishonoured however—Ba will ‘go and call\nthe police’—why, so should I for your brother, in all but the extremest\ncase!—because when I had told all the world, _with whom the concern\nsolely_ is, that, despite his uttermost endeavour, I had done this,—the\nworld would be satisfied at once—and the whole procedure is _meant_ to\nsatisfy the world—even the foolishest know that the lion in a cage,\nthrough no fault of his, cannot snap at a fly outside the bars. The thing\nto know is, will Ba dictate to her husband ‘a refusal to fight,’ and then\nrecommend him to go to a dinner-party? Say, ‘give up the dinner for my\nsake,’ if you like—one _or_ the other it _must_ be: you know, I hate and\nrefuse dinner-parties. Does everybody?\n\nBut now in candour, hear me: I write all this to show the _not such\nirrationality_ of the practice even on comparatively frivolous grounds\n... and that those individuals to whom you once admit society may be a\nlegitimate enjoyment, must take such a course to retain the privileges\nthey value—and that the painful consequences should be as unhesitatingly\nattributed to the first offence and its author,—as the explosion and\nhorror to the fool who _would_ put the match, in play perhaps, to\nthe powder-barrel. And I excepted myself from the operation of this\nnecessity. But I must confess that I can conceive of ‘combinations\nof circumstances’ in which I see two things only ... or a Third: a\nmiscreant to be put out the world, my own arm and best will to do it;\nand, perhaps, God to excuse; which is, approve. My Ba, what is Evil, in\nits unmistakable shape, but a thing to suppress at any price? I _do_\napprove of judicial punishment to death under some circumstances—I think\nwe may, _must_ say: ‘when it comes to _that_, we will keep our pact of\nlife, stand by God and put _that_ out of us, our world—_it_ shall not\nbe endured, or _we_ shall not be endured’! Dear Ba, is Life to become\na child’s game? A. is wronged, B. rights him, and is a hero as we say;\nB. is wronged again, by C.; but he must not right himself; _that_ is\nD.’s proper part, who again is to let _E._ do the same kind office for\n_him_—and so on. ‘Defend the poor and fatherless’—and we all applaud—but\nif they could defend themselves, why not? I will not fancy cases—here’s\none that strikes me—a fact. Some soldiers were talking over a watch fire\nabroad—one said that once he was travelling in Scotland and knocked at a\ncottage-door—an old woman with one child let him in, gave him a supper\nand a bed—next morning he asked how they lived, and she said the cow,\nthe milk of which he was then drinking, and the kale in the garden, such\nas he was eating—were all her ‘_mailien_’ or sustenance—whereon, rising\nto go, he, for the fun, ‘killed the cow and destroyed the kale’—‘the\nold witch crying out she should certainly be starved’—then he went his\nway. ‘And she _was_ starved, of course,’ said a young man; ‘do you\n_rue_ it?’—The other laughed ‘Rue aught like that!’—The young man said.\n‘I was the boy, and that was my mother—now then!’—In a minute or two\nthe preparer of this ‘combination of circumstances’ lay writhing with\na sword through him up to the hilt—‘If you had _rued_ it’—the youth\nsaid—‘you should have answered it only to God!’\n\nMore than enough of this—but I was anxious to stand clearer in your\ndear eyes. ‘Vows and promises!’—I want to leave society for the Sirens’\nisle,—and _now_, I _often seriously reproach_ myself with conduct\nquite the reverse of what you would guard against: I have too much\n_indifferentism_ to the opinions of Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown—by no means\nam anxious to have his notions agree with mine. Smith thinks Cromwell\na canting villain,—Brown believes no dissenter can be saved,—and I\nrepeat Goethe’s ‘Be it your unerring rule, ne’er to contradict a fool,\nfor if folly choose to brave you, all your wisdom cannot save you!’\nAnd sometimes I help out their arguments by a touch or two, after\nOgniben’s fashion—it all seems so wearisomely unprofitable; what comes\nof Smith’s second thought if you change his first—out of _that_ second\nwill branch as great an error, you may be sure! (11 o’clock) Here comes\nyour letter! My own Ba! My dearest best, best beloved! _I_, angry! oh,\nhow you misinterpret, misunderstand the motions of my mind! In all that\nI said, or write here, I speak of others—others, if you please, of\nlimited natures: I say why _they_ may be excused ... that is all. ‘_You\ndo not like pork_’? _But_ those poor Irish Colliers whose only luxury is\n_bacon_ once a month; you understand _them_ liking it? I do not value\nsociety—others do: ‘_we are all His children_’ says Euripides and quotes\nPaul.\n\nNow, love, let this be a moot point to settle among the flowers one\nday—with Sir Thomas Browne’s ‘other hard questions yet not impossible\nto be solved’ (‘What song the Sirens sang to Ulysses,’ is the first!)\nin which blessed hope let me leave off; for I confess to having written\nmyself all-but-tired, headachy. But ‘vexed with you’! Ba, Ba; you perplex\nme, bewilder me; let me get right again; kiss me, dearest, and all is\nright—God bless you ever—\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 9, 1846.]\n\n_After_ the question about the ‘Sirens’ song to Ulysses, dearest? Then\ndirectly _before_, I suppose, the other ‘difficult question’ talked of\nby your Sir Thomas Browne, as to ‘what name Achilles bore when he lived\namong the women.’ _That_, you think, will be an appropriate position for\nour ‘moot point’ which, once in England, was guilty of tiring you and\nmaking your head ache:—and as for Achilles’ name when he lived among\nwomen, it was Μῶρος you will readily guess, and I shall not dare to deny.\nOnly ... only ... I never shall be convinced on the ‘previous question’\nby the arguments of your letter—it is not possible.\n\nMay I say just one thing, without touching that specific subject? There\nis a certain class of sacrifice which men who live in society, should pay\nwillingly to society ... the sacrifice of little or indifferent things,\n... in respect to mere manners and costume. There is another class of\nsacrifice which should be refused by every righteous man though ever so\neminently a social man, and though to the loss of his social position.\nNow you would be the last, I am sure, to confound these two classes of\nsacrifice—and you will admit that our question is simply _between them_\n... and to which of them, duelling belongs ... and not at all whether\nsociety is in itself a desirable thing and much rejoiced in by the Browns\nand Smiths. You refuse to wear a fool’s cap in the street, because\nsociety forbids you—which is well: but if, in order to avoid wearing\nit, you shoot the ‘foolish child’ who forces it upon you ... why you do\n_not_ well, by any means: it would not be well even for a Brown or a\nSmith—but for my poet of the ‘Bells and Pomegranates,’ it is very ill,\nwonderfully ill ... so ill, that I shut my eyes, and have the heartache\n(for the headache!) only to think of it. So I will not. Why should we\nsee things so differently, ever dearest? If anyone had asked me, I could\nhave answered for you that you saw it quite otherwise. And you would hang\nmen even—you!\n\nWell! Because I do ‘not rue’ (and am so much the more unfit to die) I am\nto be stabbed through the body by an act of ‘private judgment’ of my next\nneighbour. So I must take care and ‘rue’ when I do anything wrong—and\nI begin now, for being the means of tiring you, ... and for seeming to\npersist _so_! You may be right and I wrong, of course—I only speak as\nI _see_. And will not speak any more last words ... taking pardon for\nthese. _I rue._\n\nTo-day I was down-stairs again—and if the sun shines on as brightly, I\nshall be out of doors before long perhaps.\n\nYour headache! tell me how your headache is,—remember to tell me. When\nyour letter came, I kissed it by a sort of instinct ... not that I do\nalways at first sight (please to understand), but because the writing\ndid not look angry ... not vexed writing. Then I read ... ‘First of all,\nkiss’....\n\nSo it seemed like magic.\n\nOnly I know that if I went on to write disagreeing disagreeable letters,\nyou might not help to leave off loving me at the end. I seem to see\nthrough this crevice.\n\nGood Heavens!—how dreadfully natural it would be to me, seem to me, if\nyou _did_ leave off loving me! How it would be like the sun’s setting ...\nand no more wonder! Only, more darkness, more pain. May God bless you my\nonly dearest! and me, by keeping me\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday. 8 A.M.\n [Post-mark, April 9, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I have to go out presently and shall not be able to return\nbefore night ... so that the letter I expect will only be read _then_,\nand answered to-morrow—what will it be, the letter? Nothing but dear\nand kind, I know ... even deserve to know, in a sense,—because I am\nsure all in _my_ letter was meant to be ‘read by your light.’ I submit,\nunfeignedly, to you, there as elsewhere—and,—as I said, I think,—I wrote\n_so_, precisely because it was never likely to be my own case. I should\nconsider it the _most_ unhappy thing that could possibly happen to\nme,—(putting aside the dreadful possibilities one refuses to consider at\nall,—the _most_).\n\nHave you made any discoveries about the disposition of Saturday? May I\ncome, dearest? (On Saturday evening I shall see a friend who will tell\nme all he knows about ships and voyage expenses—or refer me to higher\nauthorities.)\n\nBless you, now and ever, my own Ba. Do you know, next Saturday, in its\nposition of successor to Good Friday, will be the anniversary of Mr.\nKenyon’s asking me, some four years ago, ‘if _I would like to see_ Miss\nB.’ How I remember? I was staying with him for a couple of days. Now, I\nwill ask myself ‘would you like to kiss Ba?’ ‘_Then comes the Selah._’\nGoodbye, dearest-dearest!\n\n Yours R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 10, 1846.]\n\nI thought you had not written to me to-night, ever dearest! Nine o’clock\ncame and went, and I heard no postman’s knock; and I supposed that I did\nnot deserve (in your mind) to hear it at all. At last I rang the bell and\nsaid to Wilson ... ‘Look in the letter-box—there may be a letter perhaps.\nIf there should be none, you need not come up-stairs to tell me—I shall\nunderstand.’ So she left me, and, _that_ time, I listened for _footsteps_\n... the footsteps of my letter. If I had not heard them directly, what\nshould I have thought?\n\nYou are good and kind, ... _too_ good and kind, ... always, always!—and\nI love you gratefully and shall to the end, and with an unspeakable\napprehension of what you are in yourself, and towards me:—yet you\ncannot, you know,—you know you cannot, dearest ... ‘submit’ to me in\nan _opinion_, any more than I could to you, if I desired it ever so\nanxiously. We will talk no more however on this subject now. I have had\nsome pain from it, of course ... but I am satisfied to have had the\npain, for the knowledge ... which was as necessary as possible, under\ncircumstances, for more reasons than one.\n\nDearest ... before I go to talk of something else ... will you be\nbesought of me to consider within yourself, ... and not with me to\nteaze you; _why_ the ‘case,’ spoken of, should ‘never in likelihood be\nyour own?’ Are you and yours charmed from the influence of offensive\nobservations ... _personally_ offensive? ‘The most unhappy thing that\ncould happen to you,’ is it, on that account, the farthest thing?\n\nNow—! Mrs. Jameson was here to-day, and in the room before, almost, I\nheard of her being on the stairs. It is goodnatured of her to remember\nme in her brief visits to London—and she brought me two or three St.\nSebastians with the arrows through them, etched by herself, to look\nat—very goodnatured! Once she spoke of you—‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you saw Mr.\nBrowning’s last number! yes, I remember how you spoke of it. I suppose\nMr. Kenyon lent you his copy’.... And before I could speak, she was on\nanother subject. But I should not have had heart to say what I meant and\npredetermined to say, even if the opportunity to-day had been achieved.\nAs if you could not be read except in Mr. Kenyon’s copy! I might have\nconfessed to my own copy, even if not to my own original ... do you not\nthink?\n\nBefore she came, I went down to the drawing-room, I and Flush, and\nfound no one there ... and walked drearily up and down the rooms, and,\nso, came back to mine. May you have spent your day better. There was\nsunshine for you, as I could see. God bless you and keep you. Saturday\nmay be clear for us, or may not—and if it should not be clear, certainly\nMonday and Tuesday will not ... what shall be done? Will you wait till\nWednesday? or will you (now let it be as you choose!) come on Saturday,\nrunning the risk of finding only a parcel ... a book and a letter ... and\nso going away, if there should be reasons against the visit. Because last\nMonday was _known_ of, and I shall not ascertain until Saturday whether\nor not we shall be at liberty. Or ... shall we at once say _Wednesday_?\nIt is for your decision. You go out on Saturday evening ... and perhaps\naltogether there may be a conspiracy against Saturday. Judge and decide.\n\nI am writing as with the point of a pilgrim’s staff rather than a pen.\n‘We are all strangers and pilgrims.’ Can you read anywise?\n\nI think of you, bless you, love you—but it would have been better for\nyou never to have seen my face perhaps, though Mr. Kenyon gave the first\nleave. _Perhaps!!_—I ‘flatter’ _myself_ to-night, in change for _you_.\n\n Best beloved I am your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday—2 o’clock p.m.\n [Post-mark, April 10, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest I wrote last night what might make you doubtful and\nuncomfortable about Saturday; being doubtful myself and not knowing what\nword to say of it. But just now Papa has been here in the room with\nme,—and a beatific Jamaica packet has just come in, as the post declares\n... (Benedetta sia l’ora &c.!) and he will ‘hear more,’ he says, ‘_in the\ncity to-morrow_!’—So we are safe. Come, if there should be no reason\nof your own for staying. For me, I seem to have more need than usual of\nseeing you. May God bless you. I am\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, April 10, 1846.]\n\nDearest, sweetest best—how can you, seeing so much, yet see that\n‘possibility’—_I leave off loving_ you! and be ‘angry’ and ‘vexed’ and\nthe rest! Well—take care I don’t answer fairly and plainly that I _can_\ndo all this—as the poor women had to confess in their bewilderment\nwhen grave judges asked ‘by which of the thirty-seven ways they were\naccustomed to signify their desire of his presence to Asmodeus—&c.\n&c.—But I cannot jest, nor trifle here—I protest in the most solemn way\nI am capable of conceiving, that I am altogether unable to imagine how\nor whence or why any possible form of anger or vexation or any thing\nakin can or could or should or shall ever rise in me to you—it is a\nsense hitherto undreamed of, a new faculty—altogether an inexplicable,\nimpossible feeling. I am not called on, surely, to suppose cases of\npure impossibility? To say, ‘if you did thus or thus,’—what I know you\ncould no more do than go and kill cows with your own hand, and dig up\nkale grounds? But I _can_ fancy your being angry with me, very angry—and\nspeaking the truth of the anger—that is to be _fancied_: and God knows I\nshould in that case kiss _my_ letters, here, till you pleased to judge\nme not unworthy to kiss the hem of your garment again. My own Ba! My\nelection is made or God made it for me,—and is irrevocable. I am wholly\nyours. I see you have yet to understand what that implies,—but you will\none day. And in this, just said, I understand _serious_ anger, for\nserious offences; to which, despite my earnest endeavour, who shall say I\nmay not be liable? What are you given me for but to make me better—and,\nin that, happier? If you could save my soul, ‘so as by fire,’ would your\ndear love shrink from that? But in the matter we really refer to....\nOh, Ba, did I not pray you at the beginning to _tell_ me the instant\nyou detected anything to be altered by _human_ effort? to give me that\nchance of becoming more like you and worthier of you? and here where\nyou think me gravely in the wrong, and I am growing conscious of being\nin the wrong,—one or two repetitions of such conduct as yours, such\n‘disagreeable letters,’ and I _must_ ‘leave off’.... When I do _that_ on\nsuch ground ... I need imprecate no foolish sense on my head,—the very\nworst will be in full operation. I only wrote to justify an old feeling,\nexercised only in the case of others I have heard of—men called ‘cool\nmurderers,’ ‘deliberate imbruers of their hands in,’ &c. &c.—and I meant\njust to say,—well,—I, and others, despise your society and only go into\nit now to be the surer that, when we leave it, we were not excluded as\nthe children turn from the grapes because their teeth are set on edge,\nwhatever may be the foxes’ pretext—but, for your own devoted followers\nbe a little more merciful, and while you encourage them to spend a dozen\nyears in a law-suit, lest they lose a few pounds ... but I won’t repeat\nthe offence, dear—_you are right_ and I am wrong and will lay it to\nheart, and now kiss, not your feet this time, because I am the prouder,\nfar from the more humble, by this admission and retractation——\n\nYour note arrives here—Ba;—it would have been ‘better for me,’ _that_?\nOh, dearest, let us marry soon, very soon, and end all this! If I\ncould begin taking exceptions again, I might charge you with such wild\nconventionalism, such wondrous perversity of sight or blindness rather!\n_Can_ you, now, by this time, tell me or yourself that you could believe\nme happy with any other woman that ever breathed? I tell _you_, without\naffectation, that I lay the whole blame to myself ... that I feel that if\nI had spoken my love out _sufficiently_, all this doubt could never have\nbeen possible. You quite believe I am in earnest, know my own mind and\nspeak as I feel, on these points we disputed about—yet _I am_ far from\nbeing sure of it, or so it seems now—but, as for loving you,—_there_ I\nmistake, or may be wrong, or may, or might or or—\n\n_Now_ kiss me, my best-dearest beloved! It seems I am always understood\n_so_—the words are words, and faulty, and inexpressive, or wrongly\nexpressive,—but when I live under your eyes, and die, you will never\nmistake,—you _do not now_, thank God, say to me—‘you want to go elsewhere\nfor all you say the visit seems too brief’—and, ‘you would change me for\nanother, for all you possess’—never do you _say_ such things—but when I\nam away, all the mistaking begins—let it end soon, come, dearest life of\nmy life, light of my soul, heart’s joy of my heart!\n\nYou feel I _must_ see you to-morrow if possible—at all events I will call\nfor the parcel. (What made you suppose I was engaged to-morrow night? The\nsaying that I should meet my sea-faring friend, perhaps? But that is to\nbe _here_—he comes here—at all events, I recollect no other engagement—if\nI had one with Death himself, I almost think I would go,—folly!) But let\nthe parcel be ready (to put into my hand at once) and I will venture at 3\no’clock.\n\nIn truth, all yesterday I was very unwell,—going about sight-seeing with\na friend and his lady-cousins, and afterward dining with them—I came home\ndead with intense boring—I rarely remember to have suffered so much.\nTo-day I am rather better,—much better, indeed. If I can but see you for\na few minutes to-morrow!\n\nMay God bless you, dearest—and show you the truth in me, the one truth\nwhich I dare hope compensates for much that is to be forgiven: when I\ntold you at the beginning I was not worthy, was infinitely lower &c., you\nseemed incredulous! well now, you see! I, that you _would_ persist in\nhoping better things of, held such opinions as those—and so you begin\nsetting me right, and so I am set far on towards right—is not all well,\nlove? And now go on, when I give next occasion, and tell me more, and let\nme alter more, and thank you, if I can, _more_,—but not, not love you\nmore, you, Ba, whom I love wholly,—with all my faculties, all my being.\nMay God bless you, again—it all ends there—!\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, April 13, 1846.]\n\nI will not speak much of the letter, as you desire that I should not.\nAnd because everything you write must be answered in some way and sense,\n... must have some result, there is the less need of words in the\npresent case. Let me say only then, ever dearest, dearest, that I never\nfelt towards you as I felt when I had read that letter ... never loved\nyou so entirely! ... that it went to my heart, and stayed there, and\nseemed to mix with the blood of it ... believe this of me, dear dearest\nbeloved! For the rest, there is no need for me to put aside carefully the\nassumption of being didactic to _you_ ... of being better than _you_, so\nas to teach you! ... ah, you are so fond of dressing me up in pontifical\ngarments (‘for fun,’ as the children say!)—but because they are too large\nfor me, they drop off always of themselves, ... they do not require my\npulling them off: these extravagances get righted of their own accord.\nAfter all, too, you, ... with that præternatural submissiveness of yours,\n... you know your power upon the whole, and understand, in the midst of\nthe obeisances, that you can do very much what you please, with your High\nPriest. Εἴ τις αἴσθησἲς in the ghosts of the tribe of Levi, let them see\nand witness how it is!\n\nAnd now, do _you_ see. It was just natural that when we differed for the\nfirst time I should fall into low spirits. In the night, at dream-time,\nwhen instead of dreams ‘deep thought falleth upon man,’ suddenly I have\nbeen sad even to tears, do you know, to think of _that_: and whenever I\nam not _glad_, the old fears and misgivings come back—no, you _do not\nunderstand_ ... you _cannot_, perhaps! But dear, dearest, never think of\nyourself that you have expressed ‘insufficiently’ your feelings for me.\nInsufficiently! No words but _just your own_, between heaven and earth,\ncould have persuaded me that one such as you could love me! and the\ntongue of angels could not speak better words for that purpose, than just\nyours. Also, I know that you love me.... I do know it, my only dearest,\nand recognize it in the gratitude of my soul:—and it is through my want\nof familiarity with any happiness—through the want of use in carrying\nthese weights of flowers, that I drop them again and again out of weak\nhands. Besides the _truth_ is, that I am _not_ worthy of you—and if you\nwere to see it just as I see it, why there would be an end ... there, ...\nI sometimes think reasonably.\n\nWell—now I shall be good for at least a fortnight. Do I not teaze you and\ngive you trouble? I feel ashamed of myself sometimes. Let me go away from\nmyself to talk of Mr. Kenyon, therefore!\n\nFor he came to-day, and arrived in town on Friday evening—(what an escape\non Saturday!) and said of you, ... with those detestable spectacles—like\nthe Greek burning glasses, turned full on my face ... ‘I suppose now that\nMr. Browning’s book is done and there are no more excuses for coming,\nhe will come _without_ excuses.’ Then, after talk upon other subjects,\nhe began a long wandering sentence, the end of which I could see a mile\noff, about how he ‘ought to know better than I, but wished to enquire of\nme’ ... what, do you suppose? ... why, ‘what Mr. Browning’s objects in\nlife were. Because Mrs. Procter had been saying that it was a pity he\nhad not seven or eight hours a day of occupation,’ &c. &c. It is a good\nthing to be angry, as a refuge from being confounded: I really _could\nsay_ something to _that_. And I did say that you ‘did not _require_ an\noccupation as a means of living ... having simple habits and desires—nor\nas an end of living, since you found one in the exercise of your genius!\nand that if Mr. Procter had looked as simply to his art as an end, he\nwould have done better things.’\n\nWhich made Mr. Kenyon cry out ... ‘Ah now! you are spiteful! and you need\nnot be, for there was nothing unkind in what she said.’ ‘But _absurd_’!\n... I insisted—‘seeing that to put race horses into dray carts, was not\nusually done nor advised.’\n\nYou told me she was a worldly woman; and here is a proof, sent back to\nyou. But what business have worldly women to talk their dust and ashes\nover high altars in that way? I was angry and sinned not—angry for the\nmoment. Then Mr. Kenyon agreed with me, I think, and illustrated the\nsubject by telling me how Wordsworth had given himself to the service\nof the temple from the beginning—‘though,’ observed Mr. Kenyon, ‘he did\nnot escape _so_ from worldliness.’ But William Wordsworth is not Robert\nBrowning. Mr. Kenyon spoke of your family and of yourself with the best\nand most reverent words.\n\nAnd all this reminds me of what I have often and often mused about saying\nto you, and shrank back, and torn the paper now and then.... You know the\nsubject you wanted to discuss, on Saturday. Now whenever the time shall\ncome for discussing that subject, let this be a point agreed upon by both\nof us. The peculiarity of our circumstances will enable us to be free of\nthe world ... of our friends even ... of all observation and examination,\nin certain respects: now let us use the advantage which falls to us\nfrom our misfortune,—and, since we must act for ourselves at last, let\nus resist the curiosity of the whole race of third persons ... even the\naffectionate interest of such friends as dear Mr. Kenyon, ... and put it\ninto the power of nobody to say to himself or to another, ... ‘she had\nso much, and he, so much, in worldly possessions—or she had not so much\nand he had not so much.’ Try to understand what I mean. As it is not of\nthe least importance to either of us, as long as we can live, whether the\nsixpence, we live by, came most from you or from me ... and as it will\nbe as much mine as yours, and yours as mine when we are together ... why\nlet us join in throwing a little dust in all the winking eyes round—oh,\nit is nonsense and weakness, I know—but I would rather, rather, see\nwinking eyes than staring eyes. What has anybody to do with us? Even my\nown family ... why should they _ever_ see the farthest figure of _our_\naffairs, as to mere money? There now—it is said, ... what I have had in\nmy head so long to say. And one other word resumes my meditations on ‘the\nsubject’ which will not be ripe for discussion for ever so many months\n... and that other word is ... that if ever I am to wrong you so much as\nto be yours _so_, it is on the condition of leaving England within the\nfewest possible half hours afterwards. I told you _that_, long ago—so\nbear it in mind. I should not dare breathe in this England. Think!—There\nis my father—and there is yours! Do you imagine that I am _not afraid\nof your family_? and should be still more, if it were not for the great\nagony of fear on the side of my own house. Ah—I must love you unspeakably\n... even to dare think of the possibility of such things. So we will not\ntalk of them now. I write what I write, to throw it off my mind and have\ndone. Bear it in yours, but do not refer to it—_I ask you not to refer to\nit_.\n\nA long straggling letter, this is. I shall have mine to-morrow. And\nyou will tell me if Wednesday or Thursday shall be our day; and above\nall, tell me how you are. Then the book will come. Remember to send one\nto Mrs. Jameson! I write in haste ... in haste—but one may think of\nyou either in haste or at leisure, without blotting the air. Love me,\nbeloved ... do not leave off to see if I deserve it. I am at least (which\nis at most)\n\n Your very own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, April 13, 1846.]\n\nDearest, unspeakably dear Ba,—would I were with you! But my heart stays\nwith you: I write this, tired somewhat and out of spirits—for I have been\nwriting notes this morning; getting rid of the arrears which turn out\nmore considerable than I thought. And the moment I have done, I look to\nthe chair and the picture and desire to be at rest with you; the perfect\nrest and happiness here on earth. But _do_ think, my own Ba, in the\ndirection I indicated yesterday—any obstacle now, would be more than I\ncould bear—I feel I _must_ live with you,—if but for a year, a month—to\nexpress the love which words cannot express, nor these letters, nor aught\nelse.\n\nSee one thing! Through your adorable generosity, my beloved,—at the\nbeginning you pleased to tell me my love was returned,—that I had gained\nyour love; without your assurance, I should never have believed that\npossible, whatever you may think; but _you_, what you _say_, I _believe_;\nwould in other matters believe, rather than my own senses; and _here_ I\nbelieved—in humbleness, God knows; but so it was. —Then, is there not\nthis one poor fruit of that generosity, one reassuring consideration,\nif you will accept it, that, nearly a year ago, I was in possession\nof all I aspired to?—so that if I had been too weak for my accorded\nhappiness—likely to be in due time satiated with it, and less and less\nimpressed by it, and so on, till at last ‘_I changed_,’—would not this\nhave happened inevitably _before now_? I had gained your love; one could\nnot go on gaining it—but some other love might be gained! Indeed, I\ndon’t see how, in certain instances (where there is what is called a\n‘pursuit,’ and all the excitement of suspense, and alternating hope and\nfear, all ending in the marriage day, after the fashion of a Congreve\ncomedy), how with the certainty of that kind of success, all the interest\nof the matter can avoid terminating. But it does seem to me, that the\nlove I have gained is as nothing to the love I trust to gain. I want the\nlove at our lives’ end, the love after trial, the love of _my_ love, when\nmine shall have had time and occasion to prove itself! I have already,\nfrom the beginning indeed, had quite enough magnanimity to avoid wishing\nfor opportunities of doing so at your expense—I pray you may never be in\ndangers from which I rescue you, nor meet sorrow from which I divert you:\nbut in the ordinary chances of life—I shall be there, and ready, and your\nown, heart and soul. Why do I say this to you?\n\nAll words are so weak,—_so_ weak!\n\nHere,—(no, I shall have to send it to-morrow, I believe—well, here in\nthe course of the day)—comes ‘Luria’ and the other—and I lay it at my\ndear Lady’s feet, wishing it were worthier of them, and only comforted,\nthrough all the conviction of the offering’s unworthiness, by knowing\nthat _she_ will know,—the dear, peerless, all precious Ba I adore, will\nknow—that I would give her my life gladlier at a word. See what I have\nwritten on the outside—‘to Miss Barrett’!—because I thought even leaving\nout the name might look suspiciously! But where no eye can see; save your\ndear eye ... _there_ is written a dedication.\n\nKiss me, dear Ba. May God bless you. Care for everything—if you should\nhave taken cold last night, for instance! Talk of a sword suspended by a\nhair!—what is the feeling of one whose priceless jewel hangs over a gulf\nby a hair? Tell me all—I love you wholly and am wholly yours.\n\nSee the strangely dirty paper—it comes from my desk where, every now and\nthen, a candle gets over-set; or the snuffers remain open, aghast at what\nI write!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, April 14, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest I have your two letters; and because there are only two\n‘great lights’ to rule the day and the night, I am not likely to hear\nfrom you again before to-morrow. Then you want Mrs. Jameson’s direction\n... (it is just _Mrs. Jameson, Ealing_!) and here is the last ‘Bell and\nPomegranate’—and, for all these reasons, I must write without waiting; I\nwill not wait for the night. Thank you for the book, thank you! I turn\nover the leaves ever so proudly. Tell me how I can be proud of _you_,\nwhen I cannot be proud of your loving me:—I am certainly proud of _you_.\nOne of my first searches was for the note explanatory of the title—and\nI looked, and looked, and looked, at the end, at the beginning, at the\nend again. At last I made up my mind that you had persisted in not\nexplaining, or that the printer had dropped the manuscript. Why, what\ncould make you thrust that note on all but the titlepage of the ‘Soul’s\nTragedy’? Oh—I comprehend. Having submitted to explain, quite at the\npoint of the bayonet, you determined at least to do it where nobody\ncould see it done. Be frank and tell me that it was just _so_. Also the\npoor ‘Soul’s Tragedy,’ you have repudiated _so_ from the ‘Bells and\nPomegranates’ ... pushing it gently aside. Well—you must allow it to\nbe a curious dislocation—only it is not important—and I like the note,\nall except the sentence about ‘Faith and Works,’ which does not apply,\nI think, ... that instance. ‘Bells and Pomegranates’ is a symbolic\nphrase—which the other is not at all, however much difficult and doubtful\ntheological argument may have arisen from it as a collective phrase.\nSo I am the first critic, you see, notwithstanding that Mr. Forster\nwaylaid the first copy. Ah no! I shall have my gladness out of the book\npresently, beyond the imagination of any possible critic. Who in the\nworld shall measure gladnesses with me?\n\nTell me—I was going to write _that_ ‘Tell me’ in my yesterday’s letter,\nbut at last I was hurried, and could not ... did you come into London on\nSunday? did you walk past this house on the other side of the street,\nabout two o’clock? Because just then I and Flush went down-stairs. The\ndrawing-room had nobody in it, and the window being wide open, I walked\nstraight to it to shut it. And there, across the street, walked somebody\n... I am so near sighted that I could only see a shadow in a dimness ...\nbut the shadow had, or seemed to have, a sign of you, a trace of you ...\nand instead of shutting the window I looked after it till it vanished.\nNo, it was not _you_. I feel now that it was not you; and indeed\nyesterday I felt it was not you. But, for the moment, it made my heart\nstop beating, ... that insolent shadow, ... which pretended to be you and\nwasn’t. Some one, I dare say, who ‘has an occupation eight or nine hours\na day’ and never does anything! I may speak against him, for deceiving\nme—it’s a pure justice.\n\nTo go back to the book ... you are perfectly right about ‘gadge,’ and\nin the view you take of the effect of such words. You misunderstood me\nif you fancied that I objected to the word—it was simply my ignorance\nwhich led me to doubt whether you had written ‘gag.’ Of course, the\nhorror of those specialities is heightened by the very want of distinct\nunderstanding they meet with in us:—it is the rack in the shadow of the\nvault. Oh—I fully agree.\n\nAnd now ... dearest dearest ... do not bring _reason_ to me to prove ...\nwhat, to prove? I never get anything by reason on this subject, be very\nsure!—and I like better to _feel_ that unreasonably you love me—to _feel_\nthat you love me as, last year, you did. Which I could not feel, last\nyear, a whole day or even half a day together. _Now_ the black intervals\nare rarer ... which is of your goodness, beloved, and not of mine. For\nme, you read me indeed a famous lesson about faith, ... and set me\nan example of how _you_ ‘believed’! ... but it does not apply, this\nlesson, ... it does not resemble, this example!—inasmuch as what _you_\nhad to believe ... viz. that roses blow in June ... was not quite as\ndifficult as what _I_ am called to believe, ... viz. that St. Cecilia’s\nangel-visitant had a crown of roses on, which eternally were budding and\nblowing. But I believe ... believe ... and want no ‘proof’ of the love,\nbut just itself to prove it,—for nothing else is worthy. On the other\nside, I have the audacity to believe, as I think I have told you, that no\nwoman in the world _could_ feel for you exactly what ... but, here, too,\nI had better shun the reasons, ... the ‘bonnes raisons’ which ‘le roy\nnotre sire’ cannot abide.—What foolishness I am writing really! And is\nit to be for a ‘year,’ or a ‘month’—or a _week_,—better still? or we may\nend by a compromise for the two hours on Wednesdays, ... if it goes on\nso,—more sensibly.\n\nI have heard to-day from Miss Martineau and from Mrs. Jameson, both—one\ntalking Mesmer and the other Homer. I sent her (Mrs. J.) two versions\nof the daughters of Pandarus, the first in the metre you know, and the\nsecond in blank verse; ... and she does not decide which she likes best,\nshe says graciously, whereas I could not guess which I liked worse, when\nI sent them on Saturday. Do let her have ‘Luria’ at once. She will take\nthe right gladness in it, even as she appreciates you with the right\nwords and thoughts. But surely you use too many stamps? Have you a pair\nof scales like Zeus and me? ... only mine are broken, or I would send you\nan authority on this important subject, as well as an opinion.\n\nHow did you _not_ get my letter, pray, by the first post on Monday?\nYou ought to have had it! it was not my fault. And thinking of ‘causas\nrerum,’ ... I was to ‘catch cold,’ I suppose, on Saturday, because you\nwent away?—there was no stronger motive. I did not however catch cold—ah,\nhow you make me giddy with such words, as if I did really ‘hang over a\ngulph’!—not with _fear_ though! Is it possible, I say to myself, that I\ncan be so much to him? to _him_! May God bless him! There was no harm\nmeant by the black seal, I think? Tell me too of the headache, and\nwhether the dinner is for Wednesday, and whether, in that case, _it_ is\nstill to be preferred, with all its close clipping, to Thursday. Meantime\nthe letter grows as if there was no such thing as shears!\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, April 14, 1846.]\n\nI waited till this second letter should arrive—feeling that it would be\neasier to address the answer to _this_.\n\nAbout the other,—that part which you bid me not refer to. You are\nobeyed now—my time will come in its turn, and I will try and speak.\nWith respect to the immediate leaving England, you will let me say, I\nthink, that _all_ my own projects depend on that,—there will not be one\nleast objection made to it by my father or mother, I know beforehand.\nYou perhaps misconceived something I said last Saturday. I meant the\nobvious fact however—that while there would be a _best_ way of finding\nmyself with you, still, from the _worst_ way (probably, of taking a house\nopposite Mrs. Procter’s)—from that even, to the _best_ way of any other\nlife I can imagine,—what a descent! From the worst of roses to the most\nflourishing of—dandelions. But we breathe together, understand together,\nknow, feel, live together ... I feel every day less and less need of\ntrying to assure you _I_ feel thus and thus—I seem to know that _you_\nmust _know_!\n\nMrs. Procter is very exactly the Mrs. Procter I knew long ago. What she\nsays is of course purely foolish. The world does seem incurably stupid on\nthis, as other points. I understand Mr. Kenyon’s implied kindness—that\nis,—understand he may think he sees my true good in this life with older\nand better instructed eyes than my own—so benevolent people beg me ‘not\nto go out in the open air—without something about my neck,’ and would\ngird on a triple worsted ‘comforter’ there, entirely for my good, if I\nwould let them. ‘Why, Mr. Procter wears one!’ Ah, but without it, what a\ncold he would catch!\n\nThe explanatory note fills up an unseemly blank page—and does not come\nat the end of the ‘Soul’s Tragedy’—prose after prose—still it does look\nawkwardly—but then I don’t consider that it excludes this last from the\n‘Bells’—rather it says this _is_ the last, (_no, nine_ if you like,—as\nthe title says ‘eight _and_ last’—from whence will be this advantage,\nthat, in the case of another edition, all the lyrics &c. may go together\nunder one common head of Lyrics and Romances—and the ‘Soul’s Tragedy,’\nprofiting by the general move-up of the rest of the numbers, after the\nfashion of hackney coaches on a stand when one is called off, step into\nthe place and take the style of No. 8—and the public not find themselves\ndefrauded of the proper quantity!)\n\nAnd shall I indeed see you to-morrow, Ba? I will tell you many things, it\nseems to me now, but when I am with you they always float out of mind.\nThe feelings must remain unwritten—unsung too, I fear. I very often fancy\nthat if I had never before resorted to _that_ mode of expression, to\nsinging,—poetry—_now_ I should resort to it, discover it! Whereas now—my\nvery use and experience of it deters me—if one phrase of mine should seem\n‘poetical’ in Mrs. Procter’s sense—a conscious exaggeration,—put in for\neffect! only _seem_, I say! So I dare not try yet—but one day!\n\nBa, I kept your letter yesterday, _about_ me—it lay by my head at\nnight—that its good might not go from me,—such perfect good! How strange\nto hear what you say of my letters,—of such and such a letter—some seem\nkind, and kinder and kindest—and how should I guess why? My life and love\nflow steadily under all those bubbles, or many or less—it is through the\nunder current that, whatever you see, _does_ appear, no doubt—but also\nwhere nothing appears,—all is one depth!\n\nBless you, all dearest beloved.\n\nTo-morrow, Wednesday!\n\n Ever your very own,", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, April 16, 1846.]\n\nThis morning, you would never guess what I have been doing.—Buying a\nbonnet! That looks like a serious purpose of going out, walking out,\ndriving out ... now doesn’t it? And having chosen one a little like a\nQuaker’s, as I thought to myself, I am immediately assured by the learned\nthat ‘nothing can be more fashionable’ ... which is a most satisfactory\nproof of blind instinct, ... feeling towards the Bude lights of the\nworld, and which Mrs. Procter would highly esteem me for, if she did but\nknow it.\n\nIn the meanwhile assure yourself that I understand perfectly your\nfeeling about the subject of yesterday. Flies are flies, and yet they\nare vexatious with their buzzing, _as_ flies. Only Mrs. Jameson told\nme the other day that a remedy against the mosquitos ... _polvere di\nmorchia_ ... had been discovered lately in Italy, so that the world\nmight sleep there in peace—as _you_ may here ... let us talk no more\nof it. I think I should not have told you if I had not needed it for a\ntalking-ladder to something else. For the rest, it is amusing to me,\nquite amusing, to observe how people cannot conceive of _work_ except\nunder certain familiar forms. Men who dig in ditches have an idea that\nthe man who leads the plough rather rests than works: and all men of\nout-door labour distrust the industry of the manufacturers in-doors—while\nboth manufacturers and out-door labourers consider the holders of offices\nand clerkships as idle men ... gentlemen at ease. Then between all these\nclasses and the intellectual worker, the difference is wider, and the\nwant of perception more complete. The work of creation, nobody will admit\n... though everybody has by heart, without laying it to heart, that God\nrested on the seventh day. Looking up to the stars at nights, they might\nas well take all to be motionless—though if there were no motion there\nwould be no morning ... and they look for a morning after all. Why who\ncould mind such obtuse stupidity? It is the stupidity of mankind, par\nexcellence of foolishness! The hedger and ditcher they see working, but\nGod they do not see working. If one built a palace without noise and\nconfusion and the stroke of hammers, one would scarcely get credit for\nit in this world ... so full of virtue and admiration it is, to make a\nnoise! Even I, you see, who said just now ‘Talk no more of it,’ talk\nmore and more, and make more noise than is necessary. Here is an end\nthough—we leave Mrs. Procter here. And do not think that the least word\nof disrespect was said of you—indeed it was not! neither disrespect nor\nreproach. So you and I will forgive everybody henceforward, for wishing\nyou to be rich. And if Miss Procter would ‘commit suicide’ rather than\nlive as you like to live, _I_ will not, as long as you are not tired\nof me—and _that, just now_ and as things are, is of a little more\nconsequence perhaps....\n\nScarcely had you gone, dearest, yesterday, when I had two letters with\nthe very prose of life in them, dropping its black blotchy oil upon all\nthe bright colours of our poetry! I groaned in the spirit to read, and to\nhave to answer them. First was a Miss Georgiana Bennet—did you ever hear\nof her?—_I_ never did before, but that was my base ignorance; for she is\na most voluminous writer it appears ... and sent me five or six ‘_works_’\n(observe), ... published under the ‘high sanction’ (and reiterated\nsubscription) of ever so many Royal Highnesses and Right Reverends ...\nwritten in prose and verse, upon female education and the portrait of\nHarrison Ainsworth (‘I gaze upon that noble face, and bright expressive\neyes!’), miscellaneous subjects of that sort!—also, there is a poem of\nsome length, called ‘The Poetess,’ which sets forth in detail how Miss\nGeorgiana Bennet has found the laurel on her brow a mere nightshade,\nand the glories of fame no comfort in the world. Well—all these books\nwere sent to me, with a note hortative—giving indeed a very encouraging\nopinion of my poems generally, but desiring me to consider, that poets\nwrite both for the learned and the unlearned, and that in fact I am in\nthe habit of using a great many hard words, much to the confusion of\nthe latter large class of readers. She has heard (Georgiana has) that\nI am a classical scholar which of course (of course) accounts for this\npeculiarity ... but it is the duty of one’s friends to tell one of\none’s faults, which is the principle she goes upon. In return for which\nbenevolence, I am requested to send back a copy of my poems directly,\nand to ‘think of her, as she thinks of me.’ There an end. The next\nletter is from a Mrs. Milner, who used to edit the ‘Christian Mother’s\nMagazine’; the most idiotic tract-literature, that magazine was, but\nsupported by the Queen dowager and a whole train of Duchesses proper—very\nproper indeed! She used to edit the ‘Christian Mother,’ but now she has\n‘generalised’ it, she says, to the ‘Englishwoman’s Magazine’ and wants me\nto write for it and says....\n\nOh—I cannot have patience to go on to tell you. Besides you will take me\nto be too bitter, when I ought to be grateful perhaps! But if you knew\nhow hard it is for me to have to read and write sometimes, as if you were\nnot in the world with me ... as if.... Is it wrong to laugh a little, to\nput it off,—only to _you_, though? And do you know, I feel ill at ease\nin my conscience, on account of what I said (even to _you_) about Mrs.\nPaine, who came to see me, you remember; and because she has written me\na letter which quite affected me, I shall send it for you to read, to\nundo any false impression. Then you will not dislike reading it on other\ngrounds. She is very different from the Georgiana Bennets, and I am\ninterested in her, and touched aright by what she says.\n\nYou will write. You think of me? I am better to-day, much—and it is\nstrange to be so, when you are not here. Ever dearest, let your thoughts\nbe with me—\n\n I am your own....", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, April 16, 1846.]\n\nHow are you now, dearest? If the worse for my visit.... No, there is no\naffectation in what I would say—you might be worse, you know, through\n_excitement_, whether pleasurable or the reverse. One comfort is,\nthe walking, going down-stairs, &c. have not occasioned it. I expect\neverything from your going out of doors, that is to be—what a joy to\nwrite it, think of it, expect it! Oh, why are you not here—where I sit\nwriting; whence, in a moment, I could get to know why the lambs are\nbleating so, in the field behind—I do not see it from either window in\nthis room—but I see a beautiful sunshine (2½ p.m.) and a chestnut tree\nleafy all over, in a faint trembling chilly way, to be sure—and a holly\nhedge I see, and shrubs, and blossomed trees over the garden wall,—were\nyou but here, dearest, dearest—how we would go out, with Flush on before,\nfor with a key I have, I lock out the world, and then look down on it;\nfor there is a vast view from our greatest hill—did I ever tell you that\nWordsworth was shown that hill or its neighbour; someone saying ‘R.B.\nlives over _there_ by that HILL’—‘Hill’? interposed Wordsworth—‘_we_ call\nthat, such as that, a _rise_’! I must have told you, I think. (While I\nwrite, the sun gets ever brighter—you must be down-stairs, I feel sure—)\n\nI fully meant to go out this morning—but there is a pressing note from my\nold young friend, Frank Talfourd, to get me to witness—only another play\nand farce!—and what is to be done?\n\nHere shall be my ending ‘for reasons, for reasons.’ To-morrow I will\nwrite more; my Monday—to have to wait so long! And when I _do_ see you, I\nbegin to pour out profusions of confusions of speech about Mrs. Procter\nand her vain notions—to what earthly good? ... as it is very easy to ask\n_now_! now that I am here again, alone again.\n\nDear, dearest Ba, I cannot serve you, nor even talk to you ... but love\nyou,—oh, that I must dare say I _can_ do, as none other could—as you have\nyet to know!\n\nBless you my very dearest, sweetest Ba—I am your own, heart and soul—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 17, 1846.]\n\nAh, the chestnut tree: do you think that I never saw the chestnut tree\nbefore? Long ago, I did ... a full year ago or more—more! A voice talked\nto me of the ‘west wind’ which ‘set dancing the baby cones of my chestnut\ntree’—nearly I remember the words. Do _you_, the time? It was early in\nthe morning—‘before seven,’ said the voice!—too early in the morning\nfor my dream to be—because a dream, says Lord Brougham when he tries at\nphilosophy, a dream, if ever so long a dream, is all contained in the\nlast moment of sleep, at the turn towards waking—so, late and not early!\n\nNo—you did not tell me of Wordsworth—not at least, after _that_ reading.\nPerhaps if Hatcham should not be swept away in the Railway ‘scirocco,’\nI may see the ‘hill’ or the ‘rise’ at some distant day. Shall I, do you\nthink? I would rather see it than Wordsworth’s mountains—‘for reasons,\nfor reasons’ as you say. And talking of reasons, and reasonable people in\ngeneral, I thought, ... after you went away on Wednesday, and I began to\nremember how you had commended your own common sense and mine,—I thought\nthat it might be very well for you to do it, inasmuch as nobody else\nwould, for you——! ὑπέρ σου as the theological critics intensify ὑπέρ to\nthe genitive, ‘for reasons, for reasons.’\n\nHow ‘Luria’ takes possession of me more and more! _Such_ a noble work!—of\na fulness, a moral grandeur!—and the language everywhere worthy. Tell\nme what you hear the people say—I shall be anxious, which you will\nnot be—but, to _me_, you will forgive it. ‘The Soul’s Tragedy’ is\nwonderful—it suggests the idea of more various power than was necessary\nto the completion of ‘Luria’ ... though in itself not a comparable work.\nBut you never wrote more vivid dramatic dialogue than that first part—it\nis exquisite art, it appears to me. Tell me what the people say!—and tell\nme what the gods say ... Landor, for instance!\n\nMr. Kenyon has not been here—and I dare not, even in a letter, be the\nfirst to talk to anyone of you. It is foolish of me perhaps—but if I\nwhisper your name I expect to be directly answered by all the thunders\nof Heaven and cannons of earth. When I was writing to Miss Martineau the\nother day, for full ten minutes I held the pen ready charged with ink\nover a little white place, just to say ‘have you read,’ ... or ‘have\nyou heard’ ... and at last I couldn’t write one word of those words ...\nI believe I said something about landed proprietors and agrarian laws\ninstead.\n\nSo you ‘_felt_’ that I was down-stairs to-day! See how wrong feeling may\nbe, when it has to do with such as I. For, dearest, notwithstanding your\nbright sunshine I did not go down-stairs ... only opened the window and\nlet in the air. I have not been quite as well, as far as just sensation\ngoes, as usual, these few days—but it is nothing, a passing common\nheadache, as I told you, ... and your visit did good rather than harm,\nand to-morrow you may think of me as in the drawing-room. Oh, I _might_\nhave been there to-day, or yesterday, or the day before! but it was\npleasanter to sit in the chair and be idle, so I sate! But you did not\nsee me in my gondola chair—not _you_! you were thinking of the lambs\ninstead, and looking over the wall to the ‘blossomed trees’ ... (what\ntrees? cherry-trees? apple-trees? pear-trees?) and so, altogether, you\nlost your second sight of me and made mistakes. Ever dearest, is your\nhead better? You will not say. You are _afraid_ to say, perhaps, that you\nwere ill, through writing too many notes and not going out to take the\nright exercise. Ah, _do_ remember me for _that_ good! I heard yesterday\nthat ‘Mr. Browning looked very pale as he came up-stairs.’ Which comes of\nMr. Browning’s writing when he should be walking!—now doesn’t it?\n\nDo you go to Mr. Serjeant Talfourd’s on _Monday_? and would it be better\ntherefore if you came here on Tuesday? You could come on the next\nSaturday all the same—consider! Nobody shall leap into lions’ dens for\n_me_! so let us measure the convenience of things, as Miss Mitford would\nin marriages. ‘Convenance,’ though, she would say—which is more foolish\nthan ‘convenience’ as I write it. She asserts that _every marriage in her\nexperience_, beginning by any sort of _love_, has ended miserably—thus\nrun her statistics in matrimony. Add, that she thinks—she told me last\nautumn—that all men without exception are essentially tyrants,—and that\npoets are a worse species of men, seeing that, all human feelings, they\nput into their verses, and leave them there ... add this, and this, and\nthen calculate how, if I consulted her on our prospects (shall I?), she\nwould see for me an infinite succession of indefinite thumbscrews and\n_gadges_!! Well—I am not afraid—except for _you_ sometimes! for myself I\naccept my chances for life under the _peine forte et dure_. And I won’t\nspeak to Miss Mitford, if _you_ don’t to Mr. Kenyon ... and I beseech you\nto avoid by every legitimate means the doing _that_ ... oh, _DO NOT ever\nspeak THAT to him_!\n\nMay God bless you my beloved!—Walk for my sake, and be well, try to be\nwell! For me, I am so without trying, ... just as I am\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, April 17, 1846.]\n\nNo, my own dearest, I did not see you sit in your chair, nor in mine,\nyesterday—did I write nothing about your walking with me by the garden\nwall, and on the hill, and looking down on London? And afterwards you\nwent with me, indeed, to Talfourd’s (last night was that purgatorial\nbusiness,—how could I make you think it related to Monday?) If I have to\nput the least thing into words, _so_ I put it always! Being just like\nthe family of somebody—‘who were one and all so stupid’ said he—‘that if\nyou bade them spell A B they answered _B A_——’ Nay, I spell Happiness,\nand Blessing, and all other good words if ever so many letters by that\nsame Ba! But I want to go on and say you kept me from such an undiluted\nevening of misery (because I saw you through it all)—oh, such an\nevening!—it shall be the last, I think—and the going out is so near,—_the\nbonnet_ is bought! And you pretend not to know I would walk barefoot till\nI dropped, if so I might attain to the sight of you, _and it_. Do let\nme say, for gratitude’s sake—it is like the sign of spring in Shelley’s\n‘Prometheus’—\n\n When ‘mild winds shake the elder-brake,\n And the wandering herdsmen know\n That the white thorn soon _will blow_’:\n\n—that the flower of my life will blow! Now let me try and\nanswer everything in Ba’s darling letters and so not be ‘vexed’\nafterward,—recollecting how she asked _this_, or bade me be sure to reply\nto _that_, and how I answered, spelling A B _for_ B A! First, there\nis a famous contrivance against fly tormentors, a genuine _canopy_,\ngnat-repelling enclosure of muslin which covers your bed wholly, and into\nwhich once introduce yourself dexterously (because the plagues try to\nfollow slily) and lo, you are in a syren’s isle within the isle, a world\ncut off from the outer one by that fine hazy cloudish gauze—a delight it\nis! Only, if you let one persisting critic of a buzzer lie perdue, he\nwill have you at a glorious advantage—(not that one _ever_ bit ME, in\nEngland or elsewhere). And now—your letters,—Miss Bennet’s letter _that_\nyou received ‘just after I had gone’—will you be edified if I tell you\nwhat _I_ received the moment I got home? (once, beforehand—my experience\nor yours, which would you rather _not_ have?) My sister pointed with\nimmense solemnity to a packet,—_then_ delivered a message, and _then_—but\nhear the message—a ‘Mrs. George Sharp’ (unless I mistake the name)\nlives next door to Dickens and awfully respects him—she asks one aunt\nof mine, to ask another, to ask my sister, to ask me ... who have never\nseen or heard of this Mrs. George,—_me_, who am, she has understood, a\nfriend of Dickens,—to get inserted in the _Daily News_ some paragraph\nof a reasonable length in recommendation of the accompanying packet of\n_cough-drops_, (lozenges, or pills—for I was not rightly instructed\n_which_)—_my fee_, I suppose, being the said packet of pills! All comment\nis beyond me.\n\nWell, but your Mrs. Bennet—what a wretched, disgusting _sfacciataccia_!\nI would not be accessory to keeping those soapy bubbles of stupid vanity\nfrom bursting, by sparing a rough finger, certainly not. _How_ ‘ought you\nto be grateful, perhaps?’ For _what_ on earth?\n\nDearest, dearest Ba,—a ‘passing’ headache of ‘these few days,’ what can\nI say, or do? May God bless you, and care for all. Still the comfort\ncontinues, it is not that you have made an effort, and so grown worse.\n\nI am pretty well,—I half determine to go out and see Carlyle to-night,—so\nto forget a hasty resolution against all company (‘other’ company I\nhad written ... as if to honour it—Ba’s is one company, and those\npeople’s!—‘another’!)—I think I will go.\n\nI spoke about Mr. Kenyon,—because I never would in my life take a step\nfor _myself_ (if that could be), apart from your good, without being\nguided by you where possible—much more, therefore, in a matter directly\nconcerning you rather than me, did I want your opinion as to the course\nmost proper, _in the event_ of &c. I do not think it likely he will\nspeak, or I shall have to answer ... but if that _did_ happen, and you\nwere not at hand, my own dearest,—how I should be grieved if, answering\nwrongly, I gave you annoyance! Here I seem to understand your wish.\n\nMy Ba, my only, utterly dear love, may God reward you for your\nblessing to me—my whole heart turns to you—and in your own. I kiss\nyou, dearest—this morning a very ordinary motivetto in the overture to\n‘Rabuco’ seemed to tell you more than _I_ ever _shall_—I sit and speak to\nyou by _that_, now!\n\n R.B.\n\nNo letters yet from ‘anybody’—the few received are laudatory however—I\nwill send you one from the old sailor-friend I told you of—but, mark!\nyou must not send it back, to show my eyes and grieve my heart, when the\nbulky letter proves to be only _this_—returned! Landor’s in due time, I\nsuppose! This I send is to make you laugh.... My Ba’s dear laugh can hurt\nnobody, not even my friend here—who _has praised her poems_ more to me,\nthere’s my consolation,—Consuelo—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, April 18, 1846.]\n\nBut, dearest of all, you never said a word about Monday. So I did not\nmisunderstand—I only _misguessed_. Because you did not mention any day,\nI took it into my head that you might perhaps be invited for Monday, and\nmake an effort, which would make a fatigue, and go there and come here.\nI am glad you went to Carlyle’s—and where is Tennyson, and the dinner\nat Forster’s all this while? And how did the Talfourds torment you so?\nwas it that you were _very unwell_? I fear you were unwell. For me, I\nhave recovered from my dreadful illness of the last day or two ... I knew\nI should survive it after all ... and to-day, just that I might tell\nyou, I went down-stairs with Flush, he running before as when _we_ walk\ntogether through the gate. I opened the drawing-room door; when instead\nof advancing he stopped short ... and I heard strange voices—and then he\ndrew back and looked up in my face exactly as if to say, ‘No! This will\nnot do for us!—we had better go home again.’ Surely enough, visitors\nwere in the room ... and he and I returned upon our steps. But think\nof his sense! Flush beats us both in ‘common sense,’ dearest, we must\nacknowledge, let us praise each other for it ever so. Next to Flush we\nmay be something, but Flush takes the _pas_, as when he runs down-stairs.\n\nTo-day Mr. Kenyon came, spectacles and all. He sleeps in those spectacles\nnow, I think. Well, and the first question was ... ‘Have you seen Mr.\nBrowning? And what did he come for again, pray?’ ‘Why I suppose,’ I said,\n‘for the bad reason my visitors have in general, when they come to see\nme’—Then, very quickly I asked about ‘Luria,’ and if he had read it and\nwhat he thought of it—upon which, the whole pomegranate was pulled out of\nhis pocket, and he began to talk like the agreeable man he can be when he\ndoesn’t ask questions and look discerningly through spectacles. ‘Luria’\nwas properly praised indeed. A very noble creation, he thought it, and\nheroically pathetic ... and much struck he seemed to be with the power\nyou had thrown out on the secondary characters, lifting them all to the\nheight of humanity, justifying them by their own lights Oh—he saw the\ngoodness, and the greatness, the art and the moral glory; we had a great\ndeal of talk. And when he tried to find out a few darknesses, I proved\nto him that they were clear noonday blazes instead, and that his eyes\nwere just dazzled. Then the ‘Soul’s Tragedy’ made the right impression—a\nwonderful work it is for suggestions, and the conception of it as good\na test of the writer’s genius, as any we can refer to. We talked and\ntalked. And then he put the book into his pocket to carry it away to\nsome friend of his, unnamed: and we had some conversation about poets\nin general and their way of living, of Wordsworth and Coleridge. I like\nto hear Mr. Kenyon talk of the gods and how he used to sit within the\nthunder-peal. Presently, leaning up against the chimney-piece,—he said\nquietly ... ‘Do you not think—oh, I am sure I need not ask you—in fact I\nknow your thoughts of it ... but how strikingly upright and loyal in all\nhis ways and acts, Mr. Browning is!—how impeccable as a gentleman’ &c.\n&c. and so on and on ... I do not tell you any more, because I should be\ntired perhaps ... (do you understand?) and this is not the first time,\nnor second, nor third time that he has spoken of you personally, _so_\n... and as no man could use more reverent language of another. And all\nthis time, what has become of Walter Savage Landor? I shall be vexed in\nanother day. He may be from home perhaps—there must be a reason.\n\nVive Pritchard! and thank you for letting me see what he wrote.\n\nOh—and you _shall_ see what I did not send yesterday—I shall make you\nread this one sheet of Mrs. Paine’s letter, because it really touched me,\nand because I am bound to undo the effects of my light speaking. As for\nthe overpraise of _myself_, the overkindness in every respect, ... why we\nknow how ‘sermons are found in stones’ ... yet no praise to the stones on\nthat account! But you shall read what I send, both for her sake and mine,\n... because I like you to read it.\n\nMy own dearest, do you mind what I say, and take exercise? You are vexing\nyourself with those notes, as I see from here. Now take care—follow my\nexample, and be well—if not, there will be no use in wellness to me!\nMay God bless you! Do you remember when you wrote first to me ‘_May God\nbless you and me_ in _that_!’ It was before we met. Can you guess what\nI thought? I have the whole effect in my memory distinctly. I felt with\na bitter feeling, that it was quite a pity to throw away such beautiful\nwords out of the window into the dark. ‘Bitterly’ does not mean anything\nwrong or harsh, you know. But there was something painful ... as if the\nwords were too near, for the speaker to be so far. Well—I am glad in\nlooking back ... yes, glad ... glad to be certain at my heart, that I did\nnot assume anything ... stretch out my hand for anything ... _dearest_!...\n\nIt is always when one is asleep that the dream-angels come. Watchers see\nnothing but ghosts.\n\nYet I shall see you on Monday, and shall watch and wait as those who\nwait for the morning ... that is, the Monday-morning! Till when and ever\nafter, I am\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, April 18, 1846.]\n\nSo my dear, own Ba _has_ good sense, best sense—whatever Flush’s may be!\nDo you think ... (to take the extreme horn of a certain dilemma I see)\n... that—\n\nNow, dearest, somehow I can’t write the great proof down—I will tell you\non Monday—as to _my_ good sense. I was wrong to give such a praise to\nmyself in the particular case you were alluding to at the time—the good\nsense of the bird which finds out its mate amid a forest-full of birds\nof another kind! Why the poorest brown butterfly will seek out a brown\nstone in a gravel walk, or brown leaf in a flower bed, to settle on and\nbe happy——(And I suppose even dear Carlyle is no longer my brown leaf;\nat least, I could not go last night. I will, however, try again on\nMonday—after leaving you—with that elixir in my veins).\n\nMrs. Paine’s note is charming. I thank you, dearest, for sending it—(How\nI like being reminded of thanks, due from me to you, which I may\nsomehow come near the expression of! I am silent about an infinity of\nblessings—but I do say how grateful I am for this kindness!). Now, there\nis the legitimate process; the proper benefit received, in the first\ninstance, and profited by, and thence grows in proper time the desire of\nbeing admitted to see you—so different from the vulgar ‘Georgianas’ who,\npossibly, hearing of the privilege extended to such a person as this we\nspeak of, would say, with the triumphant chuckle of low cunning, ‘ah,—I\nwill get as far, by one stroke of the pen—by one bold desire “to be\nthought of as I think of her.”’ She could but ask and be refused! Whereas\nMrs. Paine was already in possession of much more dear, dear Ba, than\ncould be taken away even by a refusal—besides, her reverence would have\nmade her understand and acquiesce even in that. Therefore, I am glad,\nsympathisingly glad she is rewarded, that good, gentle Mrs. Paine! I will\nbring her note with me.\n\nBecause, here is Mr. Kenyon’s, and Landor’s (which had been sent to\n_Moxon’s_ some days ago, whence the delay)—and Mrs. Jameson’s. All kind\nand indulgent and flattering in their various ways ... but, my Ba,\nmy dear, dear Ba, other praises disregarding, I but harken those of\nyours—only saying—Ah, it is wrong to take the sacrificial vessel and\nsay,—‘See, it holds my draught of wine, too’!—I will not do so, not\nparody your verses again. And I like to be praised now, in a sense,\nmuch, much more than ever—but, darling, oh how easily, if need were, I\ncould know the world was abusing at its loudest outside; if you were\n_inside_ ... though but the thinnest of gauze canopies kept us from the\nbuzzing! This is only said _on_ this subject, struck out by it, not\n_of_ it,—for the praise is good true praise and from the worthies of\nour time—_but_—_you_, I love,—and there is the world-wide difference.\nAnd what ought I to say to Mr. Kenyon’s report of me? Stand quietly,\nassentingly? You will agree to _this_ at least, that he cannot _know_\nwhat he says—only be disposed to hope and believe it is _so_: still,\nto speak so to _you_—what would I not do to repay him, if that could\nbe! What a divinely merciful thought of God for our sake ... that we\ncannot _know_ each other—infallibly know—as we know other things, in\ntheir qualities! For instance, I bid you know my love for you (which\nwould be knowing _me_)—I complain that you do not, _cannot_—yet,—if you\n_could_ ... my Ba, would you have been ever quite my Ba? If you said,\ncalmly as when judging of material objects, ‘there is affection, so\nmuch, and sincerity, and admiration &c., yes, _that_ I see, of course,\nfor it is _there_, plainly’—So I should lose the delight crowning the\ndelight,—first of the fact, as _I_ know it; and then of _this_; that you\n_desired_ to know it, chose to lean forward, and take my poor testimony\n_for_ a fact, believing through desire, or at least will to believe—so\nthat I do, in the exercise of common sense, adore you, more and more, as\nI live to see more, and feel more. So let me kiss you, my pearl of woman.\nDo I ‘remember’ praying God to bless me _through_ the blessing on you?\nShall I ever forget to pray so, rather! My dear—dearest, I pray now, with\nall my heart; may He bless you—and what else can now bless your own R?—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, April 20, 1846.]\n\nJust now I read again your last note for a particular purpose of\nthinking about the end of it ... where you say, as you have said so many\ntimes, ‘that your hand was not stretched out to the good—it came to you\nsleeping’—etc. I wanted to try and find out and be able to explain to\nmyself, and perhaps to you, why the _wrongness_ in you should be so\nexquisitely dear to me, dear as the rightness, or dearer, inasmuch as it\nis the topmost grace of all, seen latest on leaving the contemplation of\nthe others, and first on returning to them——because, Ba, that adorable\nspirit in all these phrases, what I should adore without their embodiment\nin these phrases which fall into my heart and stay there, that strange\nunconsciousness of how the love-account really stands between us, _who_\nwas giver altogether and _who_ taker, and, by consequence, what is the\nbefitting virtue for each of us, a generous disposition to forgetfulness\non the giver’s part, as of everlasting remembrance and gratitude on the\nother—this unconsciousness _is wrong_, my heart’s darling, strangely\nwrong by the contrast with your marvellous apprehension on other points,\nevery other point I am capable of following you to. I solemnly assure\nyou I cannot imagine any point of view wherein I ought to appear to any\nrational creature the benefitting party and you the benefitted—nor any\nmatter in which I can be supposed to be even magnanimous, (so that it\nmight be said, ‘_there_, is a sacrifice’—‘_that_, is to be borne with’\n&c.)—none where such a supposition is not degrading to me, dishonouring\nand affronting. I know you, my Ba, not because you are _my_ Ba, but\nthrough the best exercise of whatever power in me you too often praise,\nI _know_—that you are immeasurably my superior, while you talk most\neloquently and affectingly to me, I _know_ and could prove you are\nas much my Poet as my Mistress; if I suspected it before I knew you,\npersonally, how is it with me _now_? I feel it every day; I tell myself\nevery day it is so. Yet you do not feel nor know it—for you write thus\nto me. Well,—and this is what I meant to say from the beginning of the\nletter, I love your inability to feel it in spite of right and justice\nand rationality. I would,—I _will_, at a moment’s notice, give you\nback your golden words, and lie under your mind supremacy as I take\nunutterable delight in doing under your eye, your hand. So Shakespeare\nchose to ‘envy this man’s art and that man’s scope’ in the Sonnets. But I\ndid not mean to try and explain what is unexplainable after all—(though\nI wisely said I _would_ try and explain!) You seem to me altogether ...\n(if you think my words sounded like flattery, _here_ shall come at the\nend—anything but that!) you do seem, my precious Ba, _too_ entirely\n_mine_ this minute,—my heart’s, my senses’, my soul’s precise τὸ καλόν\nto _last_! Too perfect for that! The true power with the ignorance of\nit, the real hold of my heart, as you can hold this letter,—yet the fear\nwith it that you may ‘vex me’ by a word,—makes me angry. Well,—if one\nmust see an end of all perfection—still, to know one _was_ privileged to\nsee it—Nay, it is safe now—for this present, all my future would not pay,\nwhatever your own future turned to!\n\nYet if I had to say, ‘I shall see her in a month or two—_perhaps_’—as\nthis time last year I was saying in a kind of contented feeling!\n\nThank God I shall see her to-morrow—my dearest, best, only Ba cannot\nchange by to-morrow!—What nonsense! The words break down, yet I _will_ be\ntrying to use them!\n\nGod bless my dearest, ever bless her.\n\nI shall be with you soon after this reaches you, I trust—now, I kiss you,\nhowever, and now, my Ba!\n\n * * * * *\n\nLetters! since you bid me send them,—do you not?—see what the longer says\nof the improved diction, freedom from difficulty &c. Who is to praise for\nthat, my Ba? Oh, your R.B. wholly and solely to be sure!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [April 21, 1846.]\n\nI would not say to you yesterday, perhaps could not, that you wrote\never so much foolishness to me in the morning, dearest, and that I\nknew it ever so well. There is no use, no help, in discussing certain\nquestions,—some sorts of extravagance grow by talking of,—shake this\nelixir, and you have more and more bubbles on the surface of it. So\nI would not speak—nor will I write much. Only I _protest_, from my\nunderstanding, from my heart—and besides I do assert the truth—clear\nof any ‘affectation,’ this time,—and it is that you always make me\nmelancholy by using such words. It seems to me as if you were in the dark\naltogether, and held my hand for another’s: let the shutter be opened\nsuddenly; and the hand ... is dropped perhaps ... must I not think such\nthoughts, when you speak such words? I ask you if it is not reasonable.\nNo, I do not ask you. We will not argue whether eagles creep, or worms\nfly. And see if it is distrust on my part! _Love_, I have learnt to\nbelieve in. I see the new light which Reichenbach shows pouring forth\nvisibly from these chrystals tossed out. But when you say that the blue,\nI see, is red, and that the little chrystals are the fixed stars of the\nHeavens, how am I to think of you but that you are deluded, mistaken?—and\nin _what_? in love itself? Ah,—if you could know—if you could but\nknow for a full moment of conviction, how you depress and alarm me by\nsaying such things, you never would say them afterwards, _I_ know. So\ntrust to me, even as I trust to you, and do not say them ever again,\n... _you_, who ‘never flatter’. Is it not enough that you love me? Is\nthere anything greater? And will you run the risk of ruining that great\nwonder by bringing it to the test of an ‘argumentum ad absurdum’ such\nas I might draw from your letter? Have pity on me, my own dearest, and\nconsider how I must feel to see myself idealized away, little by little,\nlike Ossian’s spirits into the mist ... till ... ‘Gone is the daughter\nof Morven’! And what if it is mist or moon-glory, if I stretch out my\nhands to you in vain, and must still fade away farther? Now _you will not\nany more_. When the world comes to judge between us two, or rather over\nus both, the world will say (even the purblind world, as I myself with\nwide-open eyes!) that I have not been generous with my gifts—no; you are\nin a position to choose ... and you might have chosen better— ... that\nis my immoveable conviction. It has been only your love for me,—which\nI believe in perfectly as love—and which, being love, does not come by\npure logic, as the world itself may guess ... it has been only, wholly\nand purely your love for me which has made a level for us two to meet\nand stand together. There is my fact against your fiction! Now let us\ntalk no more. We cannot agree, because we stand in different positions\n... ‘I hear a voice you cannot hear’! ... I am on the black side of the\nknight’s shield. Presently you will hear perhaps, and see. Shall you love\nme _then_? When the ideal breaks off, when the light is gone, ... will\nyou love me then for the love which I shall bear you then as now, ... the\nonly real thing?\n\nIn the meantime I did but jest about the letters—I _know_ you care for\nmine ... because I care for yours so infinitely: ... it is a lesson\nlearnt by heart. To-night I shall write again!—\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, April 21, 1846.]\n\nMy dearest Ba, my sweetest, only love must sit, if she please, in the\ngondola chair and let me talk to-day, not write to her—for my head\naches,—from pure perversity,—and a little from my morning spent over a\nnovel of Balzac’s—_that_ is it, not any real illness, I know—however,\nthe effect is the same. Beside I got tired with the long walk from\nCarlyle’s last night—for I went and saw him to heart’s content—and he\ntalked characteristically and well, and _constringingly_, _bracingly_. He\nhas been in the country a little,—that is, has gone down to see his wife\noccasionally who was on a visit at Croydon, whence she only returned on\nSaturday. He told me he had read my last number; and that he had ‘been\nread to’—some good reader had recited ‘The Duchess’ to him. Altogether\nhe said wonderfully kind things and was pleased to prophesy in the same\nspirit; God bless him! We talked for three or four hours—he asked me to\ncome again soon, and I will.\n\nHere are two letters—Chorley’s, one—and the other from quite another kind\nof man, an old friend who ‘docks’ ships or something like it; a great\nlover of ‘intelligibility in writing,’ and heretofore a sufferer from my\npoetry.\n\nMy love, I lend you such things with exactly as much vanity as ... no\ncomparison will serve! it is the French vulgarism—comme ... n’importe\nquoi! Celui me pousse à la vanité comme—n’importe quoi!\n\nWill you have a significative ‘comme’ of another kind? ‘je me trouve bête\nce matin comme ... trente-six oies!’—(I assure you this is no flower\nculled from Balzac this morning—but a little ‘_souvenir_’ of an old play.)\n\nNow, if I were to say to myself something is dear as ‘thirty-six Bas’—I\nshould be scared, as when looking into a mirror cut into façettes one\nis met on every side by the same face, twenty times repeated. Nothing\ncan add to my conception of the one Ba—my one, only—ever dear, dearest\nBa—‘what perfect nonsense’ says Ba—and nonsensical I will be— —all she\npleases so long as let live and die her very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 22, 1846.]\n\n‘Vanity’! I never saw in you, my very dearest, even the short morning\nshadow of ‘vanity.’ ‘Vanity’ is not of you! You work as the cedars grow,\nupward, and without noise, and without turning to look on the darkness\nyou cause upon the ground. It is only because you are best and dearest\nthat you let me see the letters ... yes, and besides, because I have a\nlittle a right to have them sent to me,—since they concern me more than\nyou,—and are, after a fashion, _my_ letters. _My_ letters? what am I\nsaying? _My_ letters, _my true_ letters, are different indeed—and one of\nthem came to-night to prove so!\n\nBut Mr. Chorley’s and the illegible man’s whose name begins with a D (or\ndoesn’t) both gave me pleasure. If Mr. Chorley did not read ‘Luria’ at\nonce, he speaks of you in the right words—and the naval illegible man,\nwith his downright earnest way of being impressed, makes a better critic\nthan need be sought for in the _Athenæum_ synod. And what a triumph\n(after all!) and what a privilege, and what a good deed, is this carrying\nof the light down into the mines among the workmen, this bringing down of\nthe angels of the Ideal into the very depth of the Real, where the hammer\nrings on the rough stone. The mission of Art, like that of Religion, is\nto the unlearned ... to the poor and to the blind—to make the rugged\npaths straight, and the wilderness to blossom as the rose—at least it\nseems so to me. And now, pray, why am I not to hear what Carlyle said?\nwill you tell me? won’t you tell me? how shall I persuade you? If I can\nor not, I will say God bless him too ... since he spoke the right word,\nto do you good. For the manifest advance in clearness and directness of\nexpression ... I quite forgot to take notice of what you said to me—and\nyou, who never flatter!—about being the cause of it—I! Now do observe\nthat the ‘Soul’s Tragedy,’ which is as light as day, I never touched\nwith my finger, except in one place, I think ... to say ... ‘Just here\nthere is a little shade.’ The fact is, that your obscurities, ... as far\nas they concern the _medium_, ... you have been throwing off gradually\nand surely this long while—you have a calmer mastery over imagery and\nlanguage, and it was to be expected that you should. For me, I am the fly\non the chariot, ... ‘How we drive!’ Shall I ever, ever, ever, be of any\nuse or good to you? See what a thought you have thrown me into, from that\nheight! Shall I ever, ever, be of any use, any good—and not, rather, the\ncontrary to these? Love is something: and it is something to love you\nbetter than a better woman could: but ... but....\n\nThere is no use nor good in writing so, and you with a headache too!\nWhy, how could you get that headache? First with not walking; then with\nwalking—!! and reading Balzac. But you had been writing notes perhaps? or\nCarlyle had talked _too_ ‘bracingly?’ or you fasted too long, being too\nlate for his tea-kettle? The headache _came_ at any rate. Did it _go_?\ntell me, dearest beloved! say how you are. And let me hear if your mother\ncontinues to be better. How happy that change must make you all! and\nshall I not thank God that it makes _you_ happy?\n\nMr. Kenyon has not been here, and I have nothing, nothing, to tell you.\nThe east wind has kept guard at the door, so that I should not go out,\n... and nothing has happened. I seem not to have drawn breath scarcely,\nsince we parted. ‘Parted’—what a word! As if we could!—in the full sense!\n\nI have written to Miss Bayley to ask her to come on any day except\nSaturday.\n\nShall the thirty-six Bas love you all together in that one Ba who is your\nown?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, April 22, 1846.]\n\nI never thought I should convince you, dearest—and I was foolish to write\n_so_, since it makes you reply so. At all events, I do not habitually\noffend in this kind—forty-nine days out of fifty I hear my own praises\nfrom your lips, and yet keep silence—on the fiftieth I protest gently—is\nthat too much? Then I will be quiet altogether, my Ba, and get a comfort\nout of the consciousness of obedience there at least. But I should like\nsome talking-bird to tell you the struggle there is and what I _could_\nsay. Shall I idealize you into mere mist, Ba, and see the fine, fine,\nlast of you? Well, I cannot even play with the fancy of _that_—so, one\nday, when so much is to be cleared up between us, look for a word or\ntwo on this matter also. Some savage speech about the ‘hand I was to\nhave dropped’—the whole ending with the Promethean—Οὕτως ὑβρίζειν τοὺς\nὑβρίζοντας χρέων. Meantime my revenge on the hand must be to kiss it—I\nkiss it.\n\nYesterday’s letters both arrived this morning by the 11½ post—was that\nright? I add my mite of savageness to the general treasury of wrath:\nevery body is complaining. Still, so long as I _do_ get my letters,—such\nletters!\n\nThe cold wind continues—you will have kept the room to-day no doubt—what\ncolourless weather; not the moist fresh bright true April of old years!\nI shall go out presently—but with such an effort, such unwillingness! I\nam better however—and my mother still continues _well_—goes out every\nmorning—so there is hope for everybody. I ought to tell you that I went\nto my doctor last evening—(remembering _to whom_ I promised I would\ndo so, if need were, or good seemed likely to follow)—and he speaks\nencouragingly and I have engaged to be obedient; perhaps, because he\nordains no very intolerable laws. He says I am better than when he saw\nme last—and, as he wanted _then_ to begin and prescribe, ... there is\nclearly a gain of about two months’ comfort!\n\nHere strikes fatal four-o’clock! To-morrow for more writing; and _now_,\nfor the never-ending love, and thought of my dearest dearest. May God\nbless you, Ba.\n\n Your own——", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 23, 1846.]\n\nThen seriously you are not well, since you went for the medical advice\nafter all! _that_ is the thought which is uppermost as the effect of your\nletter, though I ought to be grateful to you (and am!) for remembering\nto keep your promise, made two months ago. But how can I help thinking\nthat you are ill ... help _knowing_ that you felt very ill before you\ncame to consider that promise? You _did_ feel very ill ... now did you\nnot? And I see in this letter that you _are not_ well—I see plainly,\nplainly! Have you been using the shower-bath? tell me:—and tell me how\nyou are—do not keep back anything. For the rest, you will submit to\nthe advice, you say, and you _mean_ to submit, I think, my own very\ndearest—remember that all my light comes, not only _through_ you, but\n_from_ you, let it be April light or November light. I say that for\n_you_. As for myself, when I am anxious about you, it is not, I hope,\nfor such a reason as that my light comes from you. Before I had any\nlight, ... before I knew you _so_ ... do I not remember how Mr. Kenyon\nwith that suggestive shake of the head and grave dropping of the voice,\nwhen he came and told me with other news, of your being _ill_, ... made\nme wonderfully unhappy and restless till I could not help writing for a\ndirecter account? Oh, those strange days to look back upon, ... which had\nno miraculous light, yet were strange days, with their ‘darkness which\nmight be felt’ and was felt!\n\nYou will be careful, ... will you not? ... in these? I am not happy about\nyou, to-night. I feel as if you are worse perhaps than you say. And it\ndoes you so much good to keep talking about this misgiving and that\nmisgiving!—the ‘trente-six oies’ are nothing at all to me, really.\n\nFor those two letters, it was far from any intention of mine that you\nshould have them both together,—and the first-written went to the post\nat two on the day before. Too bad it is! I observe that you never get a\nletter on the day it is posted, unless the posting is very early, ... say\nbefore eight, or, at latest, before nine. Which is abominable, when the\ndistance is considered.\n\nAnd you make a piteous case out for yourself against me, indeed, ... and\nit seems very hard to have to endure so much, ‘forty-nine days out of\nfifty’ ... I did not think it was so bad with you! And when you protest\ngently on the fiftieth day ... so gently ... so gently!! Well, the fact\nis that you forget perhaps what sort of a gentle protestation it was, you\nwrote to me on Sunday, you who protest so gently, and never flatter! And\nas for having your own ‘praises blown in your eyes’ for forty-nine days\ntogether, I cannot confess to the iniquity of it, ... you mistake, you\nmistake, as well as forget—only that I will not vex you and convict you\ntoo much now that you are not well. So we shall have peace, shall we not?\non each side. _I_ never write extravagances—ah, but we will not write\n_of_ them, even. Any more letters about ‘Luria?’\n\nYes—All day to-day in the gondola chair! There was no leaving this room\nfor the cold wind, and it made me feel so tired without my taking a step\nscarcely, that after dinner ... guess what I did, and save me the shame\nof relating? after dinner, my dinner at one oclock, I positively fell\nfast asleep with this pen in my hand, and went to see you in a dream I\ndare say, though, this time, I do not remember. Then I half expected\nMiss Bayley, and she did not come, and instead of talking to her I wrote\nletters to ‘all the peoples’ ... I hate writing letters, how I hate it\nnow, except to you only. And to-day I thought only of you, let me write\never so away from you. Which is why you saw me in the gondola chair.\n\nBut you are not well—the ‘refrain’ comes round constantly—call it a\n_burden_! May God bless you, dearest beloved! Do you say harm of this\nApril, when it is the best April I ever saw, let it be proved to want the\nvulgar sun and blue sky as much as you please! Yet you are not well! say\nhow you are! I come clear out of the mist to call myself\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, April 23, 1846.]\n\nDear, dear Ba, I was never very ill, and now am very much better, quite\nwell, indeed. I mean to co-operate with your wishes, and my doctor’s\ndoings, which are luckily gentle enough,—and so, how should I fail of\nbringing into subjection this restive, ill-conditioned head of mine?\n\nThis morning I have walked to town and back—leaving myself barely time\nto write—but just before going out, I got your letter, for which I was\nwaiting; and the joy of it, the entire delight, carried me lightly out\nand in again. Ah, my own Ba,—of the two ‘extravagances which you never\nwrite nor speak,’—after all, if I must, I concede the _praises_ and\neagle-soaring and, and—because, if I please, I can say, if you do persist\nin making me, ‘why, it _may_ be so,—how should I know, or Ba _not_ know?’\nAnd as a man may suppose himself poor and yet be rightful owner to a\nwonderful estate somewhere (in novels &c.)—so, I, the intellectually poor\n&c. &c.—But, dearest, if you say ‘My letters _tire_ you’——say _that_\nagain—and then _what_ unknown _gadge_ ought to stop the darling mouth?\nHow does honey dew bind up the rose from opening? Moreover it is one\npeculiarity of my mind that it loses no pleasure,—must not forego the\nformer for the latter pleasure. How shall I explain? I believe that, when\nI should have been your husband for years,—years—if I were separated from\nyou for a day and a letter came—I think my heart would move to it _just\nas it now does_—because now, when I see you, know what that blessing\nis—still the very oldest first flutter of delight at ‘Miss Barrett’s’\nwriting it is all here, _all_!\n\nShall my heart flutter, then, to-morrow, my dear dear heart’s heart? And\nit shall be _not_ April when I read it your letter—but June and May—if it\ntells _you_ are well, _as I am well_,—now, if I say _that_, can you doubt\nwhat I consider my present state? But be _better_, dear Ba, and make me\nbetter—I should like to breathe and move and live by your allowance and\npleasure—being your very very own\n\n R.B.\n\nI see this morning a characteristic piece of news in the paper. President\nPolk, with an eye to business, gets his brother, a tall gaunt hungry man,\nappointed Ambassador to Naples—why not? So he arrives a year ago,—finds\nthe Neapolitans speak Italian, or else French, or else German—that is,\nthe Diplomatic Body at Naples don’t speak English—on which discovery,\nPolk secundus sees he may as well amuse himself, so goes to Paris for\nhalf a year,—then to Rome where he is now, seeing sights—who could\ntell the Italians were not able to talk English? Is not that American\nentirely? Carlyle told me of an American who was commissioned by some\nlearned body of his countrymen to ask two questions ... ‘What C.’s\nopinion was as to a future state?’—and next ‘what relation Goethe was to\nGoethe’s mother’s husband?’—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 24, 1846.]\n\nYes, you are better, I think. I thank God for _that_, first of all. And,\ndo you know, your note only just comes, and it is past ten o’clock, and I\nhad rung the bell to have the letter-box investigated ... and then came\nthe knock and the letter! Such a sinning post, it is, more and more. But\nto come at last, is something—I am contented indeed. And for being well,\nI am well too, if that is all. The wind is a little hard on me; but I\nkeep in the room and think of you and am thought of by you, and no wind,\nunder such circumstances, can do much harm perhaps:—it does not to _me_,\nanywise. So keep well, and believe that I am so:—‘well as you are well’\n... which sounds very well.\n\nWhat nonsense one comes to write when one is glad! I observe _that_\nin myself constantly. All my wisdom seems to depend on being pricked\nwith pins ... or rather with something sharper. And besides your being\nbetter, I am glad through what you say here about your ‘peculiarity’!\nAh—how you have words in your coffers, of all sorts, ... crowns to suit\nall heads ... and this, which I try on last, suits mine better than the\nother glittering ones. Those exaggerations, idealizations, with burning\ncarbuncles in the front of them, which made me sigh under the weight,\n... those are different—! But when you say now that you do not part with\nfeelings,—that it is your peculiarity not to wear them out, and that you\nare likely to care for the sight of my handwriting as much after years\nas at first, why you make me happy when you say such things, and (see\nwhat faith I have!) _I believe them_, since you say them, speaking of\nyourself. They are not after the fashion of men, or women either—but,\ntrue of _you_, they may be, ... and I take upon trust that they are: I\naccept such words from you as means of gladness. The worst is—I mean,\nthe worst reasonableness that goes out to oppose them, is, ... the fear\nlest, when your judgments have been corrected by experience, the feelings\nmay correct themselves. But it is ungrateful to talk reason in the face\nof so much love. I take up the gladness rather, and thank you and bless\nyou seven times over, to completion. You are the best, I know, of all\nin the world. Did I tell you once that my love was ‘_something_’? Yet\nit is nothing: because there is no woman, let her heart be ever so made\nof stone and steel, who could _help_ loving you, ... I answer for all\nwomen!—so this is no merit of mine, though it is the best thing I ever\ndid in my life.\n\nDearest beloved, when I used to tell you to give me up, and imagined\nto myself how I should feel if you did it, ... and thought it would\nnot be much worse than it was before I knew you ... (a little better\nindeed, inasmuch as I had the memory for ever ...) the chief _pang_ was\nthe idea of another woman——! From _that_, I have turned back again and\nagain, recoiling like a horse set against too high a wall. Therefore if\nI talk of what all women _would_ do, I do not mean that they _should_.\n‘Thirty-six Bas,’ we shall not have,—shall we? or I shall be like Flush,\nwho, before he learnt to be a philosopher, used to shiver with rage at\nsight of the Flush in the looking-glass, and gnash his teeth impotently,\nand quite howl. Now,—we shall not, dearest, have the thirty-six Bas ...\nnow, shall we? Besides, _one_ will be more than enough, she fears to\nherself, for your comfort and patience.\n\nNo more letters about ‘Luria’? Did you see Moxon when you were in town?\n\nMiss Bayley has not been here yet. To-morrow, perhaps. When she comes,\nI shall not dare name you, but _she_ will, I think ... I seem sure of\nhearing her mind about ‘Luria’ and the ‘Tragedy.’ George thinks the\nformer ‘very fine.’ Mr. Kenyon does not come,—and to-morrow (Friday) he\ngoes ... from London.\n\nYou will care for me always the same? But _that_ is like promising a\ncharmed life, or an impossible immortality to somebody—and nobody has\neither, except Louis Philippe. May God bless you,—say how you are when\nyou write to-morrow.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nOh—your learned Americans! was it literal of Carlyle, do you think, or a\njest?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, April 24, 1846.]\n\nHow I sympathize with poor Cloten when he complains that ‘he is in\nthe habit of saying daily many things fully as witty as those of\nPosthumus, men praise so—_if men would but note them_’!—I feel jealous\nof the success and ‘praise’ of my Ba,—falling as they do on the mere\n_asides_ and interjectional fits and starts of the play,—when its earnest\nsoliloquy, the very soul and substance of it all, never reaches her ear,\nnor calls down her dear, dear words.\n\nYet do I say that I feel jealous? Rather, I acquiesce gladly in the\nignorance ... because when the words, the golden words, are brought in to\nme by the inferior agents, and honestly transferred by _them_ to the real\nmoving powers ... they, even, find the reward too much, too much, till\nthey—till they resolve (on the other side of a sheet) to keep silence and\nbe grateful till death help them to speak.\n\nWell, my dear, own dearest ... the week has got to its weary end, and\nto-morrow I shall trust to be with you. I continue to feel better,—and\nthis morning’s rain, in the opinion of the learned, will be succeeded by\nwarm weather. May is just here, beside.\n\nLet me say how a word of praise from your brother gratifies me. I feel\nhis kindness in other respects—feel it deeply—as I do that of the rest\nof your family. Because ... after these extravagant flatteries of mine\nyou find such just fault with,—wherein I go the length of attributing to\nyou the authorship of the ‘Drama of Exile,’ and ‘Geraldine’ and ‘Bertha,’\nand many more poems which I used to suppose my Ba’s,—after that undue\nglorification, you will bear to be told, by way of ‘set-off’—that I\ncannot help thinking, you, of all your family, are the most ignorant of\nyour own value—very ignorant you are, my sweet Ba,—but they cannot be,\nand their kindness to me becomes centupled ‘for reasons, for reasons.’\n\nNow let me kiss you—which kiss, as I am to really kiss you to-morrow,\nmy sweetest, I shall dare tell the truth of to myself, and say ‘The\nreal will be better.’ At other times, with a longer perspective of\ndays, and days after them, until ... why, _then_ I make the best of\npity and say ‘_Can_ the real be better—what can be better than the\nbest’? Still—remember my ‘peculiarity’—with the greater I keep the less,\nyou let me say and praise me for saying—so, with all the dear hope of\nto-morrow,—_now_, my Ba—and now, I kiss you. May God bless you, best and\ndearest.\n\nNo letters that are letters—here is one however from Arnould[1] just\narrived—an Oxford Prize Poet, and an admirable dear good fellow, for all\nhis praise—which is better.\n\n[1] [Afterwards Sir Joseph Arnould.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, April 27, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest you might have stayed ten minutes more. George did not come\nin till half past six after all—but there is the consciousness of being\nwise in one’s generation, which consoles so many for their eternity as\nchildren of light, ... yet doesn’t console _me_ for my ten minutes, ...\nso it is as well to say no more on this head!\n\nI have glanced over the paper in the _Athenæum_ and am of an increased\ncertainty that Mr. Chorley is the writer. It is his _way_ from beginning\nto end—and that is the way, observe, in which little critics get to tread\non the heels of great writers who are too great to kick backwards. Think\nof bringing George Sand to the level of the same sentence with such a\nwoman as Mrs. Ellis! And then, the infinite trash about the three eras in\nthe Frenchwoman’s career, ... which never would have been dragged into\napplication there, if the critic had heard of her last two volumes ...\npublished since the ‘Meunier d’Angibault,’ ‘Teverino’ and ‘Isidora.’ One\nmay be angry and sin not, over such inapplicable commonplace. The motive\nof it, the low expediency, is worse to me than the offence. Why mention\nher at all ... why name in any fashion any of these French writers, for\nthe reception of whom the English mind is certainly not prepared, unless\nthey are to be named worthily, recognised righteously? It is just the\nprinciple of the advice about the De Kocks; whom people are to go and see\nand deny their acquaintance afterwards. Why not say boldly ‘These writers\nhave high faculty, and imagination such as none of our romance-writers\ncan pretend to—but they have besides a devil—and we do not recommend\nthem as fit reading for English families!’ Now wouldn’t it answer every\npurpose? Or silence would!—silence, at least. But this digging and\nnagging at great reputations, ... it is to me quite insufferable: and not\ncompensated for by the motive, which is a truckling to conventions rather\nthan to morals. As if earnestness of aim was not, from the beginning,\nfrom ‘Rose et Blanche’ and ‘Indiana,’ a characteristic of George Sand!\nReally it is pitiful.\n\nThe ‘Mysteries of the Heaths,’ I suppose to be a translation of ‘Sept\nJours au Château,’ a very clever story from the monstrous Hydra-headed\nimagination of Frédéric Soulié. Dumas is inferior to them all of\ncourse, yet a right good storyteller when he is in the mind for\nstorytelling;—telling, telling, telling, and never having done. You know\nI like listening to stories—I agree with the great Sultan and would\nforego ever so much cutting off of heads for the sake of a story—it is a\ntaste quite apart from a taste for literature: a story-teller, I like,\napart from the sweet voice. Now that book of Dumas’s on the League wars,\nwhich distressed me so the other day, by having the cruelty ... the\n‘villainie’ ... of hanging its hero in the fourth volume ... (regularly\nhanging him on a pair of gallows—wasn’t it too bad?) that book is amusing\nenough, more than amusing enough, to take with one’s coffee ... which is\nmy fashion, ... because you are not here and I have nobody to talk to me.\nThe hero who was hanged, deserved it a little, I think, though the author\nmeant it for a pure misfortune and though no good romance-reader in the\nworld, such as I am, could bear to part with the hero of four volumes\nin _that_ manner, without pain; but the hero did deserve it a little\nwhen one came to consider. In the first place, he was a traitor once or\ntwice in war and politics, and was quite ready to be so a third or fourth\ntime, ... _only_ ... as he said to the lady he loved ... ‘je perdrais\nvotre estime.’ ‘Is that your only objection’ she enquired. ‘_The only\none_’ he answered! (_How_ frightfully true, that those brilliant French\nwriters have no moral sense at all! do not, for the most part, know\nright from wrong! here, an instance!) Then, from the beginning to the\nend of the four volumes, he loves two women together ... a ‘phénomène’\nby no means uncommon, says the historian musingly, ... and, except for\nthe hanging, there might have been a difficulty perhaps in the final\narrangement. Yet oh ... to see one’s hero, the hero of four volumes, and\nnot a bad hero either in some respects, hung up before one’s eyes! ...\nit wrongs the natural affections to think of it! it made me unhappy for\na full hour! There should be a society for the prevention of cruelty to\nromance-readers, against the recurrence of such things!\n\nPure nonsense I write to you, it seems to me.\n\nWhat beautiful flowers you brought me!—and the sweet-brier is unfolding\nits leaves to-day, as if you did them, so, no wrong. And I have been\nconsidering; and there are not, if you please, _five_ but _four_ days,\nbetween Saturday and Thursday. In the meanwhile say how you are, dearest\ndearest! My thoughts are with you constantly ... indeed. I could almost\nsay, too much, ... because sometimes they grow weak and tired ... not of\n_you_, who are best and beloved, but of themselves, having been so long\nused to be sad, May God bless you, ... bless you! His best blessing for\n_me_ (after _that_!) were to make me worthy of you—but it would take too\nmany miracles.\n\n Your\n\n BA.\n\nRemember the letters, if they come.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, April 27, 1846.]\n\nSee what a brain I have,—which means, _you_ have! The book I ought to\nput in my pocket,—and fancy I leave on the table,—is picked up in our\nlane and presented to me on my return; so my reason, which told you I had\nforgotten it, the book, was wrong, and my instinct which told me, all\nthe time, that I could not forget even so poor a matter if it tended to\nyou,—_that_ was right, as usual? (Don’t think that I forgot the said book\non the former occasions ... I wanted to look through it first, so as to\nbe able to correct any possible mistakings, in case you should ask, or\nshould not ask, my siren! I read the book during the voyage.)\n\nWill you tell me what number of the _League_ contains the notice of you?\nI can get it directly. I did not ask you yesterday, being just as much\nmaster of myself as I commonly am when with you—but after-wisdom comes\nduly for a consolation, and mine was apparent in a remark I made last\nnight—‘Here is truly an illusion broken’ I said—‘for not very long ago I\nused to feel impatient at listening to other people’s commendations of\nher, and as if they were usurping my especial office,—they _could_ not\nsee what I see, not utter what I could utter: and now, at the beginning\nof my utterance, the hand closes my mouth, while its dear fellow shuts\nmy eyes,—I may not see what everybody sees, nor say what the whole world\nsays,—I, that was to excel them all in either function! So now I will\nchange my policy and bid them praise, praise, praise, praise, since I\nmay not. Will you let me hear them, my Ba? You know Chesterfield forbids\nhis son to play on the instrument himself—‘for you can pay musicians’\nhe says—‘and hear them play.’ Where may I hear this discourser of most\nexcellent music?\n\nIn your last letter you spoke of ‘other women,’ and said they might\n‘love’ me—just see! They might love me because of something in me,\nlovingness in me, which they never could have evoked ... so the effect\nproduces the cause, my dear ‘inverter’! If there had been a vague aimless\nfeeling in me, turning hither and thither for some object to attach\nitself to and spend itself on, and you had chanced to be that object, I\nshould understand you were very little flattered and how a poplar does as\nwell for a vine-prop as a palm tree—but whatever love of mine clings to\nyou was created by you, dearest,—they were not in me, I believed—those\nfeelings,—till you came. So that, mournful and degrading as it sounds,\nstill it would, I think, be more rational to confess the possibility\nof their living on, though you withdrew,—finding some other—oh no, it\nis,—that is as great an impossibility as the other,—they came from you,\nthey go to you, what is the whole world to them!\n\nMay God bless you, repay you—He can—\n\nWell Ba, do you see the _Examiner_? That is very kind, very generous\nof Forster. There are real difficulties in the way of this prompt,\nefficient, serviceable notice—for he has a tribe of friends, dramatists,\nactors ‘conflicting interests’ &c. &c. to keep the peace among,—and\nhe quite understands his trade—how compensation is to be made, and an\nequilibrium kept in the praises so as to offend nobody,—yet see how he\nwrites, and with a heap of other business on his shoulders! I thank him\nvery sincerely, I am sure.\n\nTell me how you are, beloved—all-beloved! I am quite well to-day,—have\nbeen out.\n\nDo you remember our friend Bennett of Blackheath? (Don’t ejaculate ‘le\nBenêt’!) He sent me letters lately—and I returned a copy of ‘Luria’ to\nsave compliments and words—here is his answer ... (I will at once confess\nI could not read it, but Ba bids me send, and what am I but Ba’s own,\nvery very own?)", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, April 27, 1846.]\n\nOh yes; that paper is by Chorley, no doubt—I read it, and quite\nwonder at him. I suppose he follows somebody’s ‘lead’—writes as he\nis directed—because I well remember what he said on lending me ‘Le\nCompagnon.’ There, there is that other silly expenditure of pen and ink\non the English poets, or whatever they are. And in such work may a man\nspend his youth and not a few available energies—sad work altogether!\n\nMy love, _I_ have done a fair day’s work this Monday,—whoever may be\nidle—I thought I would call on Forster this morning—he was out, and I\ncrossed over to Moxon’s, not seeing him, neither, and thence walked\nhome—so that to tell you I am _well_ is superfluous enough, is it not?\nBut while the sun shone brightest, (and it shines now) I said ‘The\ncold wind is felt through it all,—_she keeps the room_!’ The wind is\nunremitting,—savage. Do you bear it, dearest, or suffer, as I fear?\n(Speaking of Forster ... you see the _Examiner_, I believe? Or I will\nsend it directly of course). I entirely agree with you in your estimate\nof the comparative value of French and English Romance-writers. I bade\nthe completest adieu to the latter on my first introduction to Balzac,\nwhom I greatly admire for his faculty, whatever he may choose to do with\nit. Do you know a little sketch ‘La Messe de l’Athée,’—most affecting\nto me. And for _you_, with your love of a ‘story,’ what an unceasing\ndelight must be that very ingenious way of his, by which he connects the\nnew novel with its predecessors—keeps telling you more and more news yet\nof the people you have got interested in, but seemed to have done with.\nRastignac, Mme. d’Espard, Desplein &c.—they keep alive, moving—it is not\ningenious? Frédéric Soulié I know a little of (I let this reading drop\nsome ten years ago) and only George Sand’s early works: by the way,\nthe worst thing of all in that blessed article we have been referring\nto, is the spiteful and quite uncalled for introduction of the names of\nA. de Musset and De Lamennais—what have the English families to do with\n_that_? Did you notice a stanza quoted from some lachrymose rhymester to\nbe laughed at (in the Article on Poetry)—in which the writer complains\nof the ill-treatment of false friends, for, says he, ‘I have felt their\n_bangs_.’ The notion of one’s friend ‘banging’ one is exhilarating when\none reflects that he might get a little pin, and prick, prick after this\nfashion. No, it is probably a manner of writing,—meant for the week’s\nlife and the dozen readers. Here is a note from his sister, by the way.\n\nNow, dearest-dearest, good bye till to-morrow. I think of you all day,\nand, if I dream, dream of you—and the end of the thinking and of the\ndreaming is still new love, new love of you, my sweetest, only beloved!\nso I kiss you and bless you from my heart of heart.\n\n Ever your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, April 28, 1846.]\n\nVery good _Examiner_!—I am pleased with it and with Mr. Forster for the\nnonce, though he talks a little nonsense here and there, in order to be a\ntrue critic, and though he doesn’t talk at all, scarcely, of the ‘Soul’s\nTragedy’ ... how is one to bear it? That ‘Tragedy’ has wonderful things\nin it—thoughts, suggestions, ... and more and more I feel, that you never\ndid better dialogue than in the first part. Every pulse of it is alive\nand individual—dramatic dialogue of the best. Nobody in the world could\nwrite such dialogue—now, you know, you must be patient and ‘meke as\nmaid,’ being in the course of the forty-nine days of enduring praises.\nPraises, instead of ‘bangs’!!—consider that it might be worse!—_dicit\nipsissima Ba_.\n\nThink of my not hearing a word about the article in the _Examiner_,\nuntil I had your note this morning. And the _Examiner_ was in the house\nsince Saturday night, and nobody to tell me! I was in high vexation,\nreproaching them all, to-day—till Stormie had the impertinence to turn\nround and tell me that only Papa had read the paper, and that ‘he had of\ncourse put it away to keep me from the impropriety of thinking too much\nabout ... about’ ... yes, really Stormie _was_ so impertinent. For the\nrest, when Papa came up-stairs at one o’clock, he had it in his hand.\n\nAt two, Miss Bayley came, and sate here two hours, and thought me looking\nso well, with such improved looks from last autumn, that I don’t mean to\ngroan at all to you to-day about the wind—it is a savage wind, as you\nsay, and I wish it were gone, and I am afraid of stirring from the room\nwhile it lasts, but there’s an end ... and not of _me_, says Miss Bayley.\nShe doffed her bonnet and talked and talked, and was agreeable and\naffectionate, and means to come constantly to see me ... (‘only not on\nThursday,’ I desired:) and do you know, you need not think any more of my\ngoing with you to Italy, for she has made up her mind to take me herself\n... there is no escape for me that I can see—it’s fixed ... certain!\nwith a thousand generous benignities she stifled my ‘no’s’ ... and all I\nhad breath to say at last, was, that ‘there was time enough for plans of\nthat kind.’ Seriously, I was quite embarrassed to know how to adjourn the\ndebate. And she is capable of ‘arranging everything’—of persisting, of\ninsisting—who knows what? And so, ... when I am ‘withdrawn’ ... carried\naway ... then, shall all my ‘feelings,’ which are in you, be given to\nsomebody else? is _that_ the way—?\n\nNow I shall not make jests upon _that_ ... I shall not: first, I shall\nnot, because it is ungrateful—and next and principally, because my\nheart stands still only to think of it...! Why did you say _that_ to\nme? I could be as jealous (did I not tell you once?) as any one of\nyour melodramatic gitana heroines, who carries a poignard between the\nwhite-satin sash and the spangles? I perfectly understand, at this\ndistance, what _jealousy_ is, would be, ought to be, must be—though I\nnever guessed at all what _love_ was, at _that_ distance, and startled I\nam often and confounded, to see the impotency of my imagination.\n\nForgive the blottings out—I have not blotted out lately ... _have_ I now?\nand it is pardonable once in a hundred years or days.\n\nThe rest for to-morrow. Your correspondent of the first letter you sent\nme really does write like a Bennet, though he praises you. I could not\nhelp laughing very gently, though he praises you. Good-night my only\nbeloved ... dearest! As _my_ Bennet says (Georgiana) when she catches\nvehemently at the laurel ... ‘_I will not be forgot_’....\n\n‘I must die ... but I WILL NOT BE FORGOT’ (in _large capitals_!) But what\n_she_ applies to the Delphic groves, turns for _me_ to something more\nambitious. ‘I will not be forgot’ ... will I? shall I? not till Thursday\nat least ... being ever and ever\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, April 28, 1846.]\n\nNow bless you, my dearest, best Ba, for this letter that comes at the\neleventh hour,—which means, at 3 o’clock. Was not I frightened! I\nmade sure you would write. Why, our Post emulates the Italian glory\n... nay, that is _too_ savage a saying—for in Venice or Rome I should\nhave to go for this to the office, and only get it at last through the\nforbearing honesty of every other applicant for letters during the day,\nor week—since to every man and woman who thrusts his or her head in at\nthe window at Venice, the clerk hands coolly over the whole odd hundred,\nand turns to his rest again till as many are taken as may be thought\nnecessary. But, Ba, dear dearest Ba, do you really mean to tell me I\n_said ‘that’_ ... of ‘transferring feelings’ etc? I hope I did,—though\nI cannot imagine how I ever could—say so—for so the greater fault will\nbe Ba’s—who drives me from one Scylla (see my critic’s account) into a\nworse Charybdis through pure fear and aversion,—and then cries ‘See where\nyou are _now_!’ I was retreating as far as possible from that imaginary\n‘woman who called out those feelings,’—might have called them out,—just\nas this April sun of ours makes date-palms grow and bear—and because I\nsaid, of the two hypotheses, the one which taught you the palms _might_\nbe transplanted and _live on_ here,—_that_ was the more rational ... you\nturn and ask ‘So your garden will rear palms.’ Now, I tell Ba,—no, I will\nkiss Ba and so tell her.\n\nHow happy Miss Bayley’s testimony makes me! One never can be too sure of\nsuch a happiness. She has no motive for thus confirming it. You ‘look so\nwell’—and she not merely sees it, but _acts_ upon it,—is for deriving a\npractical benefit from it, and forthwith. Then, Miss Bayley, let me try\nand ‘transfer’ ... ah, the palm is too firmly rooted in my very heart,—I\ncan but sprinkle you over with yellow dust!\n\nOh, Ba; not to tell me of the _League_; the _number_!—will you please\ntell me? One letter more I get, do I not? Then comes Thursday—my Thursday.\n\nWhat you style ‘impertinence’ in your Brother, is very kind and\ngood-natured to my thinking. Well, now—see the way a newspaper criticism\naffects one, nearly the only way! If this had been an attack—how it would\naffect you and me matters nothing—it might affect others disagreeably—and\nthrough them, us. So I feel very much obliged to Forster in this instance.\n\nI kiss you with perfect love, my sweetest best Ba. May God bless you.\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, April 29, 1846.]\n\nDearest, you are not to blame the post, nor even me. The reason you did\nnot get the letter was simply that Henrietta slept over the hour, and let\nit lie on the table till past eight. Still, you should have had it before\n_three_ perhaps. Only the wrong was less a wrong than you fancied.\n\nFor _my_ wrongs, dearest beloved, they are mine I confess, and not yours\n... ah, you are ‘evilly persecuted, and entreated’ of me, I must allow.\nYet as, with all my calumnious imputations, I think softly to myself\nseven times seven times a day that no living man is worthy to stand in\nyour footsteps, ... why you must try to forgive and (_not_) forget me. Do\nI teaze you past enduring, sometimes? Yes, yes. And wasn’t it my fault\nabout the ‘imaginary woman;’ that heiress, in an hypothesis, of the\n‘love’ I ‘made’? Yes, yes, yes—it was, of course. Unless indeed she came\nout of that famous mist, which you fined me away into, ... the day you\nslew and idealized me, remember!—and, now I begin to consider, I think\nshe did! So we will share the fault between us, you and I. The odium of\nit, I was going to say—but _odium_ is by no means the right word, perhaps.\n\nThe truth of all is, that you are too much in the excess of goodness,\n... that you spoil me! There it is! Did I not tell you, warn you, that\nI never was used to the purple and fine linen of such an infinite\ntenderness? If you give me back my sackcloth, I shall know my right hand\nfrom my left again, perhaps, ... guess where I stand ... what I am ...\nrecover my common sense. Will you? no—do not.\n\nAnd for the _League_ newspaper, you mistook me, and I forgot to say so\nin my letter yesterday. I told you only that the _League_ paper had\nmentioned me—not noticed me. It was just ... I just shall _tell_ you,\nthat you may not spend another thought on such a deep subject ... it was\na mere quotation from the ‘cornships in the offing,’ with a prefatory\n_as that exquisite poet Miss B ... says_! Now you are done with the\nwinter of your discontent? You are with the snowdrops at any rate. But\nlast year there was a regular criticism on my poems in that _League_\npaper, and I had every reason to thank the critic. I have heard too that\nCobden is a very gracious reader of mine ... and that his Leeds (liege)\nsubjects generally do me the honours of popularity, more than any other\npeople in England. There’s glory for you, talking of palm-trees.\n\nAh—talking of palm-trees, you do not know what a curious coincidence your\nthought is with a thought of mine, which I shall not tell you now ... but\nsome day perhaps. There’s a mystery! talking of Venice!\n\nFor Balzac, I have had my full or overfull pleasure from that habit of\nhis you speak of, ... and which seems to prove his own good faith in the\nlife and reality of his creations, in such a striking manner. He is a\nwriter of most wonderful faculty—with an overflow of life everywhere—with\nthe vision and the utterance of a great seer. His French is another\nlanguage—he throws new metals into it ... malleable metals, which fuse\nwith the heat of his genius. There is no writer in France, to my mind, at\nall comparable to Balzac—none—but where is the reader in England to make\nthe admission?—_none_, again ... is almost to be said.\n\nBut, dearest, you do not say how you are; and _that_ silence is not\nlawful, and _is_ too significant. For me, when the wind changed for a\nfew hours to-day, I went down-stairs with Flush, and had my walk in the\ndrawing-room. Mrs. Jameson has written to proclaim her coming to-morrow\nat four,—so I shall hear of ‘Luria,’ I think. Remember to bring my\nverses, if you please, on your Thursday. And if dreaming of me should be\ngood for making you love me, let me be dreamt of ... go on to dream of\nme: and love me, my beloved, ever so much, without grudging,—because the\nlove returns to you, all of it, ... as the wave to the sea; and with an\naddition of sundry grains of soiling sand, to make you properly grateful.\nTake care of yourself—may God take care of you for your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, April 29, 1846.]\n\nOh, post, post, how I am plagued by what uses to delight me! No\nletter,—and I cannot but think you have written one, my Ba! It will come\nperhaps at 3 o’clock. Shame and again, shame!\n\nMeantime I will tell you what a dear, merciful Ba you are, in only\nthreatening me with daggers,—when you play at threatening,—instead of\ndeclaring you will _frown_ at me.... Oh, but here ‘Fear recoils, he knows\nwell why, even at the sound himself has made—’\n\nThe best of it is, that this was the second fright, and by no means the\nmost formidable. When I read that paragraph beginning ‘you need not think\nany more of going with me to Italy’—shall I only say I _was_ alarmed?\nWithout a particle of affectation, I tell Ba, I _am_, cannot help being,\nalarmed even now—we have been discussing possibilities—and it is rather\nmore possible than probable that Miss Bayley may ‘carry off’ my Ba, and\nher Flush, and, say, an odd volume of the Cyclic Poets, all in her pocket\n... she being, if I remember, of the race of the Anakim—than that I shall\never find in the wide world a flesh and blood woman able to bear the\nweight of the ‘feelings,’ I rest now upon the B and the A which spell\nBa’s name,—only her name!\n\nForster sent a note last evening urging me to go and dine with him and\nLeigh Hunt to-day,—there was no refusing. There is sunshine—you may have\nbeen down-stairs—but the wind continues.\n\nI shall know to-morrow—but surely a letter _is_ to come presently—let me\nwait a little.\n\nNothing! Pray write if anything have happened, my own Ba!\n\nNo time—Ever your", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 1, 1846.]\n\nI am delighted with the verses and quite surprised by Mr. Arnould’s,\nhaving expected to find nothing but love and law in them, and really\nthere is a great deal besides. Hard to believe, it was, that a university\nprize poet (who was not Tennyson) could write such good verses: but he\nwrote them of _you_, and _that_ was enough inspiration for _him_, I\nsuppose, as it would be for others, my own dearest. How I delight in\nhearing you praised!—it is such a delightful assent to the word which is\nin me, in the deepest of me. You know that mysterious pleasure we have,\nin listening to echoes!—we hear nothing new, nothing we have not said\nourselves—yet we stand on the side of the hill and listen ... listen ...\nas if to the oracles of Delphi. The very pleasure of it all is in the\nrepetition ... the reverberation.\n\nWhen you had gone yesterday and I had taken my coffee, holding my book\n... ‘La Gorgone’ a sea-romance by _Landelle_, (those little duodecimo\nbooks are the only possible books to hold in one’s hand at coffee-times\n... and the people at Rolandi’s library sent me this, which is not worth\nmuch, I think, but quite new and very marine) ... holding my book at one\npage, as if fixed ... transfixed, ... by a sudden eternity, ... well,\nafter all _that_ was done with, coffee and all, ... in came George, and\ntold me that the day before he had seen Tennyson at Mr. Venables’ house,\nor chambers rather. Mr. Venables was unwell, and George went to see him,\nand while he was there, came the poet. He had left London for a few days,\nhe said, and meant to stay here for a time ... ‘hating it perfectly’\nlike your Donne ... ‘seeming to detest London,’ said George ... ‘abusing\neverything in unmeasured words.’ Then he had been dining at Dickens’s,\nand meeting various celebrities, and Dickens had asked him to go with\nhim (Dickens) to Switzerland, where he [is] going, to write his new\nwork: ‘but,’ laughed Tennyson, ‘if I went, I should be entreating him to\ndismiss his sentimentality, and so we should quarrel and part, and never\nsee one another any more. It was better to decline—and I have declined.’\nWhen George had told his story, I enquired if Tennyson was what was\ncalled an agreeable man—happy in conversation. And the reply was ...\n‘yes—but quite inferior to Browning! He neither talks so well,’ observed\nGeorge with a grave consideration and balancing of the sentences, ...\n‘nor has so frank and open a manner. The advantages are all on Browning’s\nside, _I should say_.’ Now dear George is a little criticised you must\nknow in this house for his official gravity and dignity—my sisters murmur\nat him very much sometimes ... poor dear George!—but he is good and kind,\nand high and right minded, as we all know, and I, for my part, never\nthought of criticising him yesterday when he said those words rather ...\nperhaps ... barristerially, ... had they been other words.\n\n_My_ other words must go by my next letter—I am to write to you again\npresently, you are to be pleased to remember ... and that letter may\nreach you, for aught I can guess, at the same moment with this. In the\nmeantime, ever beloved,\n\n I am your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 1, 1846.]\n\nI go to you, my Ba, with heart _full_ of love, so it seems,—yet I come\naway always with a greater capacity of holding love,—for there is more\nand still more,—_that_ seems too! At the beginning, I used to say (most\ntruly) that words were all inadequate to express my feelings,—now,\nthose very feelings seem, as I see them from this present moment, just\nas inadequate in their time to represent what I am conscious of now.\nI _do_ feel more, widelier, strangelier ... how can I tell you? You\nmust believe,—my only, only beloved! I daresay I have said this before,\nbecause it has struck me repeatedly,—and, judging by past experience, I\nshall need to say it again—and often again. Am I really destined to pass\nmy life sitting by you? And you speak of _your_ hesitation at trusting\nin miracles! Oh, my Ba, my heart’s—well, Ba, I am so far guiltless of\npresumption, let come what will, that I never for the moment cease to\nbe ... tremblingly anxious I will say,—and conscious that the good is\ntoo great for me in this world. You do not like one to write so, I know,\nbut there is a safety in it—the presumptuous walk blindfold among pits,\nto a proverb—and no one shall record that of me. And if I have cares\nand scruples of this kind at times, or at all times, I have none where\nmost other people would have very many. I never ask myself, as perhaps I\nshould,—‘Will _she_ be happy too?’—All that seems removed from me, far\nabove my concernment—she—you, my Ba ... will make _me_ so entirely happy,\nthat it seems enough to know ... my palm-trees grow well enough without\nknowing the cause of the sun’s heat. Then I think again, that your nature\nis to make happy and to bless, and itself to be satisfied with that.—So\ninstead of fruitless speculations how to give you back your own gift,\nI will rather resolve to lie quietly and let your dear will have its\nunrestricted way. All which I take up the paper determining _not_ to\nwrite,—for it is foolish, poor endeavour at best, but,—just this time it\nis written. May God bless you—\n\n R.B.\n\nI called on Moxon, who is better, and reports cheeringly. Then I went to\nmy friend’s, and thence home, not much tired. I have to go out (to-day)\nwith my sister but only next door. To-morrow I hear from you, love, and\non Monday—(unless a pressing engagement &c.—ah!)\n\nWhat do you say to this little familiar passage in the daily life of\nfriend Howitt,—for which I am indebted to Moxon. Howitt is book-making\nabout Poets, it seems—where they were born, how they live, ‘what relation\ntheir mothers’ sons are to their fathers’—etc. In the prosecution of\nthis laudable object he finds his way to Ambleside, calls on Wordsworth\n‘quite promiscuously’ as Mrs. Malaprop says, meaning nothing at all. And\nso after a little ordinary complimenting and _play_-talk, our man of\nbusiness takes to good earnest, but dexterous questioning ... all for\npure interest in poetry and Mr. W. ‘So, sir, after that school ... if I\nunderstand—you went to ... to ...?’—and so on. Mr. Wordsworth the younger\nhaving quicker eyes than his father detected a certain shuffling movement\nbetween the visitor’s right hand and some mysterious region between\nthe chair’s back and his coat-pocket ... glimpses of a pocket case and\npaper note book were obtained. He thought it (the son) high time to go\nand tell Mrs. Wordsworth,—who came in and found the good old man in the\nfull outpouring of all those delightful reminiscences hitherto supposed\nthe exclusive property of Miss Fenner no doubt! Mrs. W—‘desired to speak\nwith William for a moment’ (the old William)—and then came the amazement,\nhorror &c. &c., and last of all came Mr. Howitt’s bow and ‘so no more at\npresent from your loving &c.’—Seriously, in my instinct—instinct—instinct\nthrice I write it and thank my stars! Moxon said, Howitt is ‘just gone to\ncall on Tennyson for information—having left his card for that purpose.’\n‘And one day will call on you’ quoth Moxon, who is but a sinister\nprophet, as _you_ may have heard—Dii meliora piis! It is fair enough in\nTennyson’s case, for he is apprised by Howitt’s self of the purpose of\nhis visit, but to try and inveigle Wordsworth into doing what he would\nhate most ... to his credit be it said—why, it is abominable—abominable!\n\nThen I heard another story—his wife, Mary, finds out,—at all events,\ntranslates Miss Bremer. Another publisher gets translated other works—or\nmay be the same,—as who shall say him nay? Howitt writes him a letter\n(which is shown my informant), wherein ‘rogue,’ ‘thief,’ ‘rascal’ and\nsimilar elegancies dance pleasantly through period after period.\n\n‘Come out from among them my soul, neither be thou a partaker of their\nhabitations!’\n\nFrom all which I infer—I may kiss you, may I not, love Ba? It is done,\nmay I or may I not—\n\n Ever your own", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 2, 1846.]\n\nHow you write to me! Is there any word to answer to these words ...\nwhich, when I have read, I shut my eyes as one bewildered, and think\nblindly ... or do not think—some feelings are deeper than the thoughts\ntouch. My only beloved, it is thus with me ... I stand by a miracle in\nyour love, and because I stand in it and it covers me, just for _that_,\nyou cannot see me! May God grant that you _never see me_—for then we\ntwo shall be ‘happy’ as you say, and I, in the only possible manner, be\nvery sure. Meanwhile, you do quite well not to speculate about making me\nhappy ... your instinct knows, if _you_ do not know, that it is _implied_\nin your own happiness ... or rather (not to assume a magnanimity) in my\nsense of your being happy, not apart from me. As God sees me, and as I\nknow at all the motions of my own soul, I may assert to you that from the\nfirst moment of our being to each other anything, I never conceived of\nhappiness otherwise ... never thought of being happy through you or by\nyou or in you, even—your good was all my idea of good, and _is_. I hear\nwomen say sometimes of men whom they love ... ‘such a one will make me\nhappy, I am sure,’ or ‘I shall be happy with _him_, I think’—or again\n... ‘He is so good and affectionate that nobody need be afraid for my\nhappiness.’ Now, whether you like or dislike it, I will tell you that I\nnever had such thoughts of _you_, nor ever, for a moment, gave you that\nsort of praise. I do not know why ... or perhaps I do ... but I could not\nso think of you ... I have not time nor breath ... I could as soon play\non the guitar when it is thundering. So be happy, my own dearest ... and\nif it should be worth a thought that you _cannot_ be _alone_, _so_, you\nmay think _that_ too. You have so deep and intense a nature, that it were\nimpossible for you to love after the fashion of other men, weakly and\nimperfectly, and your love, which comes out like your genius, may glorify\nenough to make you happy, perhaps. Which is my dream, my calculation\nrather, when I am happiest now. May God bless you. Suppose I should\never read in your eyes that you were not happy with me?—can I help, do\nyou fancy, such thoughts? Could _you_ help being not happy? The very\nword ‘_unhappiness_’ implies that you cannot help it. Now forgive me my\nnaughtiness, because I love you, and never loved but you, ... and because\nI promise not to go with Miss Bayley to Italy ... I promise. Ah—If you\ncould pretend to be afraid of _that, indeed_, _I_ have a right to be\nafraid, without pretence at all ... _I_ who am a woman and frightened of\nlightning. And see the absurdity. If I did not go to Italy with _you_,\nthe reason would be that you did not choose—and if _you_ did not choose,\nI should not choose ... I would not see Italy without your eyes—_could_\nI, do you think? So if Miss Bayley takes me to Italy with a volume of the\nCyclic poets, it will be as a dead Ba clasped up between the leaves of\nit. You talked of a ‘Flora,’ you remember, in the first letter I had from\nyou.\n\nHow bad of William Howitt! How right you are, always! Yet not quite\nalways, dear dearest beloved, happily for your own\n\n BA.\n\nSay how you are I beseech you, and honestly! I was down-stairs to-day,\nsince the wind changed, and am the better for it. What writing for a\npostman!—or for _you_ even!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, May 2, 1846.]\n\nNo, my Ba, your letter came as it ought last night,—and the promise\nit contained of another made me restless all the morning—to no\npurpose,—nothing more comes—_yet_—for there is a ‘peradventure’ yet\nunwithdrawn. When I do not hear from you, as now, I always fancy there\nwas some signal reason why I ought to have heard ... that ‘to-morrow,’ I\ncould better bear the not hearing ... though never, never do yesterday’s\nletters slip by a hair’s breadth from the place in my affection they\nonce take,—_they_ could not have been dispensed with,—but the imaginary\nletter of to-morrow _could_, by contrast with to-day’s exigencies ...\ntill to-morrow really comes and is found preferring such claims of its\nown—such claims.\n\n_This_ letter I have got, and will try and love enough for two ... I can\ndo no harm by trying ... _this_ I do not mean to say that I expected. May\nI say ‘in heart-playing,’ ... now, Ba, it will be a fancy, which you can\npounce on and poke your humming-bird bill through, like a needle, in a\nvery ‘twinkling,’ and so shall my flower’s eye be ruined for ever, and\nwhen it turns black and shrivels up as dead flowers do, you can triumph\nand ask ‘are these your best flowers, best feelings for me?’. But now,\nafter this deprecation, you will be generous and only hover above, using\nthe diamond eye rather than the needle-bill,—and I will go on and dare\nsay that I should like, for one half second, _not to love you_, and then\nfeel all the love lit up in a flame to the topmost height, at the falling\nof such a letter on my heart. Don’t you know that foolish boys sometimes\nplay at hanging themselves—suspend themselves by the neck actually for\nsuch a half second as this of my fancying—that they may taste the luxury\nof catching back at existence, and being cut down again? There is a\nnotable exemplification, a worthy simile! It all comes, I suppose, from\nthe joy of being rid handsomely of my dinners and in a fair way for\nMonday ... nothing between but letters,—I shall continue to hope! At sea\nit always sounds pleasantly to hear ... after passing Cape This and Isle\nthe other, ‘now, _next_ land we make is—Italy, or England, or Greece.’\n\nMoxon told me Tennyson was still in Town. Switzerland? He is a fortnight\ngoing to wherever a Train takes him—‘for,’ says Moxon, ‘he has to pack\nup, and is too late, and next day’ ... I dare say he unaffectedly\nhates London where this poco-curanteism would entail all manner of\ndisagreeabilities. If I caught rightly ... that is, now apply rightly,\na word or two I heard ... one striking celebrity at Dickens’ Dinner\nwas—Lord Chesterfield—literary, inasmuch as a great ‘maker _up_ of\nbooks’—for the Derby. Macready may have been another personage—they,\nTennyson and he, may ‘fadge,’ in Shakespearian phrase, if the\nwriter of the ‘Two Voices’ &c. considers Home’s ‘Douglas’ exquisite\npoetry,—otherwise,—it is a chance!\n\nBut with respect to your Brother ... first of all—nay, and last of all,\nfor it all is attributable to _that_—I feel his kindness, in its way,\nas I feel yours; as truly, according to its degree and claim: but—‘now\nthink what I would speak!’—When he really _does_ see me one day—no longer\nembarrassed as under the circumstances I could not but have been on these\ntwo or three occasions when we met—he will find something better than\nconversational powers to which I never pretended—and what he will accept\nin preference,—a true, faithful desire of repaying his goodness—he will\nfind it, that is, because it must be _there_, and I have confidence in\nsuch feelings making sooner or later their way.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSo now, at 2½ p.m., I must (—_here is the Post_ ... from you? _Yes_—the\nletter is here at last—I was waiting:—now to read; no, kissing it comes\nfirst).\n\n * * * * *\n\nAnd now ... I will not say a word, my love of loves, my dearest, dearest\nBa,—not one word—but I will go out and walk where I can be alone, and\nthink out all my thought of you, and bless you and love you with nothing\nto intercept the blessing and the love. I will look in the direction\nof London and send my heart there.... Dear, dear love, I kiss you and\ncommend you to God. Your very own—\n\nI am very well—quite well, dearest.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, May 4, 1846.]\n\nWhen I said one more letter might come before to-morrow, I forgot. How\nused I to manage in the early ‘day of small things’—comparatively—when\nletters came once a week at most, and yet I felt myself so rich, dearest!\n\nI want you to remember, Ba, what I shall be nearly sure to forget when\ncloser to you than now; tell me to-morrow. If I chance to see Mrs.\nJameson in the course of the week what am I to say,—that is, what have\nyou decided on saying? Does she know that you write to me? Because there\nis a point of simple good taste to be preserved ... I must not listen\nwith indifference if I am told that ‘her friend Miss B.’ thought well\nof the last number. But she must know we write, I think,—never make any\nsecret of that, when the subject is brought forward.\n\nHere is warm May weather, my Ba; I do not shiver by sympathy as I fancy\nyou going down-stairs. I shall hope to see the sweet face look its ...\nnow, what? ‘Best’ would be altogether an impertinence,—unless you help my\nmeaning, which is ‘best,’ too.\n\nI received two days ago a number of the _People’s Journal_—from our\nillustrious contemporary, Bennett! Bennett figures where Barrett might\nhave fronted the world. Fact! I will cut you out his very original\nlyric[2]—observe the felicitous emendation in the author’s own blue ink\n... that supplemental trochee makes a musical line of it! Mary Howitt\nfollows with a pretty, washy, very meritorious Lyric of Life. There is ‘a\nguilty one’—‘Name her not!’ ‘Virtue turns aside for shame’\n\n She was born of guilty kin—\n Her life’s course hath guilty been—\n Unto school she never went—\n And whate’er she learned was sin,—\n LET HER DIE!\n\nAnd so on—what pure nonsense! Who cries ‘let her die’ in the whole world\nnow? thank God, nobody. The sin of the world (of the lookers-on, not the\ncausers of the wrong) consists, in these days, in looking on and asking\n‘How can we help her dying—or factory children’s dying—or evicted Irish\npeasantry’s dying?’ What ails these Howitts of a sudden, that they purvey\nthis kind of cat-lap,—they that once did better? William Howitt grinds\nhere an article on May day; past human power of reading of course, but I\njust noticed that not a venerablest commonplace was excused on account of\nits age—the quotations from Chaucer, Spenser, Herrick got once more into\nrank and file with the affecting alacrity shown the other day at a review\nof the Chelsea invalids! Oh, William, ‘Let them die!’\n\nSo goodbye till to-morrow, my dearest. I love you and bless you ever, and\nam your\n\n R.B.\n\n[2] [‘Cry of the Spring Flower-seller,’ by W. C. Bennett.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 5, 1846.]\n\nYes, you were right, my Ba—our meeting was on the 20th of last May: the\nnext letter I received was the 14th and _that_ ran in my head, no doubt,\nyesterday. You must have many such mistakes to forgive in me when I\nundertake to talk and ‘stare’ at the same time ... well for me if they\nare no more serious mistakes!\n\nI referred to my letters—and found much beside the date to reflect on.\nI will tell you. Would it not be perilous in some cases,—many cases—to\ncontrast the present with the very early Past: the first time, even when\nthere is abundant fruit, with the dewy springing and blossoming? One\nwould confess to a regret at the vanishing of that charm, at least, if\nit were felt to be somehow vanished out of the present. And, looking\nupon our experience as if it were another’s,—undoubtedly the peril\nseems doubled—with that five months’ previous correspondence ... only\n_then_,—after all the curiosity, and hope and fear,—the first visit to\ncome! And after,—shortly after,—you know—the heightened excitement that\nfollowed ... I should not believe in the case of another,—or should not\n_have_ believed,—that the strange delight could last ... no more than I\nshould think it reasonable to wonder, or even grieve, that it did not\nlast—so long as other delights came in due succession. Now, hear the\ntruth! I never, God knows, felt the joy of being with you as I felt it\nYESTERDAY—the fruit of my happiness has grown under the blossom, lifting\nit and keeping it as a coronet—not one feeling is lost, and the new\nfeelings are infinite. Ah, my Ba, can you wonder if I seem less inclined\nto see the adorable kindness in those provisions, and suppositions, and\nallowances for escape, change of mind &c., you furnish me with,—than to\nbe struck at the strange fancy which, as I said, insists on my being\nfree to leave off breathing vital air the moment it shall so please me?\n\nAnd when I spoke of ‘dishonouring suppositions’ I had not the faintest\napproximation to an idea of standing in your eyes for a magnanimous\nkeeper of promises, vow-observer, and the rest. All _that_ is profoundly\npitiable! But to change none of my views of the good of this life and\nthe next, and yet to give up my love on the view (for instance) which\nsees that good in money, or worldly advancement,—what is that if not\ndishonouring?\n\nAll the while, I know your thought, your purpose in it all,—I believe and\nam sure—and I bless you from my heart—you will soon know, what _you_ have\nto know—_I_ believe, beforehand, I repeat.\n\nI am rather out of spirits to-day—_thus_ I feel toward you when at all\nmelancholy ... you would undo me in withdrawing from me your help, _undo_\nme, I feel! When, as ordinarily, I am cheerful, I have precisely the same\nconviction. Does that prove nothing, my Ba?\n\nWell, I give up proving, or trying to prove anything—from the beginning I\nabjured mere words—and now, much more!\n\nLet me kiss you, ever best and dearest! My life is in the hand you call\n‘mine,’—if that hand would ‘shake’ less from letting it fall, I earnestly\npray God may relieve you of it nor ever let you be even aware of what\nfollowed your relief! For what _should_ one live or die in this world?\n\n I am wholly yours—\n\nDid I not meet two of your brothers yesterday in the Hall? Pray take care\nof this cold wind—be satisfied with the good deeds of the last few days.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 6, 1846.]\n\nDearest, it has just come into my head that I should like to carry this\nletter to the post myself—but no, I shall not be able. Probably the\npost is far out of reach, and even if it were within reach, my grand\nscheme of walking in the street is scarcely a possible thing to-day,\nfor I must keep watch in the house from two till five for Lady Margaret\nCocks, an old friend of mine, who was kind to me when I was a child,\nin the country, and has not forgotten me since, when, two months in\nthe year, she has been in the habit of going to London. A good, worthy\nperson, with a certain cultivation as to languages and literature, but\nquite manquée on the side of the imagination ... talking of the poets,\nas a blind woman of colours, calling ‘Pippa Passes’ ‘_pretty and odd_,’\nand writing herself ‘poems’ in heaps of copy books which every now and\nthen she brings to show me ... ‘odes’ to Hope and Patience and all the\ncardinal virtues, with formulas of ‘Begin my muse’ in the fashion ended\nlast century. She has helped to applaud and scold me since I could walk\nand write verses; and when I was so wicked as to go to dissenting chapels\nbesides, she reproached me with tears in her eyes; but they were tears of\nearnest partizanship, and not of affection for me, ... she does not love\nme after all, nor guess at my heart, and _I_ do not love her, I feel.\nWoe to us! for there are good and unlovable people in the world, and we\ncannot help it for our lives.\n\nIn the midst of writing which, comes the Leeds Miss Heaton, who used to\nsend me those long confidential letters _à faire frémir_, and beg me\nto call her ‘Ellen,’ and as this is the second time that she has sent\nup her card, in an accidental visit to London, I thought I would be\ngood-natured for once, and see her. An intelligent woman, with large\nblack eyes and a pleasant voice, and young ... manners provincial enough,\nfor the rest, and talking as if the world were equally divided between\nthe ‘Congregationalists’ and the ‘Churchpeople.’ She assured me that ‘Dr.\nVaughan was very much annoyed’ at the article on my poems which ‘crept’\ninto his review, and that it was fully intended to recant at length on\nthe first convenient opportunity. ‘And really,’ she said, ‘it seems to\nme that you have as many admirers among churchmen as among dissenters.’!\nThere’s glory!—and I kept my countenance. _Lost_ it though, five minutes\nafterwards, when she observed pathetically, that a ‘friend of hers who\nhad known Mr. Browning _quite intimately_, had told her he was an infidel\n... more’s the pity, when he has such a genius.’ I desired the particular\ninformation of your intimate friend, a little more warmly perhaps than\nwas necessary, ... but what could be expected of me, I wonder?\n\nI shall write again to you to-night, you know, and this is enough for two\no’clock. Now will you get my letter on this Tuesday? Do you think of me\n... love me? And are you well to-day? The flowers look beautiful though\nyou put their heads into the water instead of their feet.\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 6, 1846.]\n\nBut my own only beloved, I surely did not speak too ‘insistingly’\nyesterday. I shrank from your question as you put it, because you put it\nwrong. If you had asked me instead, whether I meant to keep my promise\nto you, I would have answered ‘yes’ without hesitation: but the form you\nchose, referred to _you_ more than to _me_, and was indeed and indeed a\nfoolish form of a question, my own dearest! For the rest ... ah, you do\nnot see my innermost nature, ... _you_!—you are happily too high, and\ncannot see into it ... cannot perceive how the once elastic spring is\nbroken with the long weights! ... you wonder that it should drop, when\nyou, who lifted it up, do not hold it up! you cannot understand! ... you\nwonder! And _I_ wonder too ... on the other side! _I_ wonder how I can\nfeel happy and alive ... as I can, _through you_! how I can turn my face\ntoward life again ... as I can, _for you_! ... and chiefly of all, how I\ncan ever imagine ... as I do, sometimes ... that such a one as you, may\nbe happy perhaps with such a one as _I_! ... happy!\n\nDo not judge me severely, you, to whom I have given _both_ hands, for\nyour own uses and ends!—you, who are more to me than I can be to you,\neven by your own statement—better to me than life ... or than death even,\nas death seemed to me before I knew you.\n\nCertainly I love you enough, and trust you enough, if you knew what God\nknows. Yet, ... ‘now hear me.’ I shall not be able to please you, I\nthink, by a firm continued belief of this engagement’s being justifiable,\nuntil the event wholly _has_ justified it ... I mean, ... until I shall\nsee you not less happy for having lived near me for six months or a\nyear—should God’s mercy permit such justification. Do not blame me. I\ncannot help it ... I would, if I could, help it. Every time you say, as\nin this dearest letter, ever dearest, that you have been happy on such a\nday through being with me, I have a new astonishment—it runs through me\nfrom head to feet ... I open my eyes astonished, whenever my sun rises\nin the morning, as if I saw an angel in the sun. And I _do_ see him, in\na sense. Ah—if you make a crime to me of my _astonishments_, it is all\nover indeed! can I help it, indeed? So forgive me! let it not be too\ngreat a wrong to be covered by a pardon. Think that we are different,\nyou and I—and do not think that I would send you to ‘money and worldly\nadvancement’ ... do not think so meanly of my ambition for you.\n\nDearest dearest!—do you ever think that I could fail to you? Do you doubt\nfor a moment, ever ... ever, ... that my hand might peradventure ‘shake\nless’ in being loosed from yours? Why, it might—and would! _Dead_ hands\ndo not shake at all,—and only _so_, could my hand be loosed from yours\nthrough a failing on my part. It is your hand, while you hold it: while\nyou choose to hold it, and while it is a living hand.\n\nDo you know what you are to me, ... _you_? We talk of the mild weather\ndoing me good ... of the sun doing me good ... of going into the air as\na means of good! Have you done me no good, do you fancy, in loving me\nand lifting me up? Has the unaccustomed divine love and tenderness been\nnothing to me? Think! Mrs. Jameson says earnestly ... said to _me_ the\nother day ... that ‘love was only magnetism.’ And I say in my heart,\nthat, magnet or no magnet, I have been drawn back into life by your means\nand for you ... that I see the dancing mystical lights which are seen\nthrough the eyelids ... and I think of you with an unspeakable gratitude\nalways—always! No other could have done this for me—it was not possible,\nexcept by you.\n\nBut, no—do not, beloved, wish the first days here again. You saw your\nway better in them than I did. I had too bitter feelings sometimes: they\nlooked to me like an epigram of destiny! as if ‘He who sitteth on high\nshould laugh her to scorn—should hold her in derision’—as why not? My\nbest hope was that you should be my friend after all. We will not have\nthem back again ... those days! And in these, you do not love me less but\nmore? Would it be strange to thank you? I feel as if I _ought_ to thank\nyou!\n\nI have written, written, and have more to write, yet must end here now.\nThe letter I wrote this morning and gave to my sister to leave in the\npost, she was so naughty as to forget, and has been well scolded as a\nconsequence; but the scolding did not avail, I fear, to take the letter\nto you to-night; there is no chance! Mrs. Jameson came to-day when I was\nengaged with Lady Margaret Cocks and I could not see her—and Mr. Kenyon\ncame, when I could see him and was glad. I am tired with my multitude of\nvisitors—oh, so tired!\n\nWhy are you melancholy, dear, dearest? Was it my fault? could _that_ be?\nno—you were unwell, I think ... I fear. Say how you are; and believe that\nyou may answer your own questions, for that I never can fail to you. If\ntwo persons have one will on a matter of that sort, they need not be\nthwarted here in London—so answer your own questions.\n\n Wholly and ever yours I am.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, May 6, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba let me [be] silent, as on other occasions, over what you\npromise: one reads of ‘a contest in generosity,’ and now this party was\nas determined to give, as that party not to accept—far from anything so\ngraceful, I am compelled to clutch at the offering, I take all, because,\nbecause—because I _must_, now! May God requite you, my best beloved!\n\nI met Mrs. Jameson last evening and she began just as I prophesied ...\n‘but’ said she ‘I will tell you all when you come and breakfast with\nme on Thursday—which a note of mine now on its way to you, desires may\nhappen!’\n\nA large party at Chorley’s, and admirable music—not without a pleasant\nperson or two. I wish you could hear that marvellous Pischek, with his\nRhine songs, and Bohemian melodies. Then a Herr Kellerman told a kind of\ncrying story on the violoncello, full of quiet pathos, and Godefroi—if\nthey so spell him—harped like a God harping, immortal victorious music\nindeed! Altogether a notable evening ... oh, the black ingratitude of\nman ... these few words are the poor ‘set-off’ to this morning’s weary\nyawning, and stupefaction. To-night having to follow beside! So near you\nI shall be! Mrs. J. is to [be] at the Procters’ to-night too. Oh, by the\nway, and in the straight way to make Ba laugh ... Mrs. J.’s _first_ word\nwas ‘What? Are you _married_?’ She having caught a bit of Miss Chorley’s\nenquiry after ‘Mrs. Browning’s health’ i.e. my mother’s. Probably\nMiss Heaton’s friend, who is my intimate, heard me profess complete\ninfidelity as to—homœopathy ... _que sais-je_? But of all accusations\nin the world ... what do you say to my having been asked if I was not\nthe Author of ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ and ‘Othello’? A man actually asked me\nthat, as I sate in Covent Garden Pit to see the second representation\nof ‘Strafford’—I supposed he had been _set on_ by somebody, but the\nsimple face looked too quiet for that impertinence—I was muffled up in\na cloak, too; so I said ‘No—so far as I am aware.’ (His question was,\n‘_is not THIS Mr. Browning_ the author of &c. &c.’) After the play, all\nwas made clear by somebody in Macready’s dressing room—two burlesques on\nShakespeare _were_ in the course of performance at some minor theatre by\na Mr. Brown, or Brownley, or something Brown-like—and to these my friend\nhad alluded.\n\nSo is begot, so nourished ‘_il mondan rumore_’—_I_, author of\n‘Othello’!—when I can be, and am, and may tell Ba I am, her own, own\n\n R.\n\nThe news about the post—the walk there which might have been,—_that_ is\npure delight! But take care, my all-precious love—_festina lente_. All\nthe same, what a vision I have of the _Bonnet_!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 7, 1846.]\n\nNow, dearest, you are close by and I am writing to you as if you were\never so far off. People are not always the better, you see, for being\nnear one another. There’s a moral to put on with your gloves—and if you\nwere not quite sufficiently frightened by Mrs. Jameson’s salutation, it\nmay be of some use to you perhaps—who knows?\n\nShe left word yesterday that she should come to-day or to-morrow, and as\nto-day she didn’t, I shall hear of you from her to-morrow ... that is,\nif you go to her breakfast, which you will do I dare say, supposing that\nyou are not perfectly ill and exhausted by what came before. Ah—you do\nnot say how you are—and I know what _that_ means. Even the music was half\nlost in the fatigue ... _that_ is what you express by ‘stupefaction.’ And\nthen to have to dine at Mr. Procter’s without music ... say how you are\n... do not omit it this time.\n\nNor think that I shall forget how to-morrow is the seventh of May ...\nyour month as you call it somewhere ... in Sordello, I believe ... so\nthat I knew before, you had a birthday there—and I shall remember it\nto-morrow and send you the thoughts which are yours, and pray for you\nthat you may be saved from March-winds ... ever dearest!\n\nI am glad you heard the music after all: it was something to hear, as you\ndescribe it.\n\nTo-day I had a book sent to me from America by the poetess Mrs. Osgood.\nDid you ever hear of a poetess Mrs. Osgood? ... and her note was of the\nvery most affectionate, and her book is of the most gorgeous, all purple\nand gold—and she tells me ... oh, she tells me ... that I ought to go to\nNew York, only ‘to see Mr. Poe’s wild eyes flash through tears’ when he\nreads my verses. It is overcoming to think of, even ... isn’t it? Talking\nof poetesses, such as Mrs. Osgood and me, Miss Heaton, ... the friend of\nyour intimate friend, ... told me yesterday that the poetess proper of\nthe city of Leeds was ‘_Mrs. A._’ ... ‘Mrs. A.?’ said I with an enquiring\ninnocence. ‘Oh,’ she went on, (divining sarcasms in every breath I drew)\n... ‘oh! I dare say, _you_ wouldn’t admit her to be a real poetess. But\nas she lives in Leeds and writes verses, we call her our poetess! and\nthen, really, Mrs. A. is a charming woman. She was a Miss Roberts ...\nand her ‘Spirit of the Woods,’ and of the ‘Flowers’ has been admired, I\nassure you.’ Well, in a moment I seemed to remember something,—because\nonly a few months since, surely I had a letter from somebody who once was\na spirit of the Woods or ghost of the Flowers. Still, I could not make\nout _Mrs. A._ ...! ‘Certainly’ I confessed modestly, ‘I never did hear\nof a Mrs. A. ... and yet, and yet’.... A most glorious confusion I was\nin ... when suddenly my visitor thought of spelling the name ... ‘_H e\ny_’ said she. Now conceive that! The Mrs. Hey who came by solution, had\nboth written to me and sent me a book on the Lakes quite lately ... ‘by\nthe author of the Spirit of the Woods’.... _There_ was the explanation!\nAnd my Leeds visitor will go back and say that I denied all knowledge of\nthe charming Mrs. A. the Leeds poetess, and that it was with the greatest\ndifficulty I could be brought to recognise her existence. Oh, the\narrogance and ingratitude of me! And Mrs. A. ... being ‘a churchwoman’\n... will expose me of course to the churchwardens! May you never fall\ninto such ill luck! You could not expect me to walk to the post office\nafterwards—now could you?\n\nWhat nonsense and foolishness I take it into my head to send you\nsometimes.\n\nI was down-stairs to-day but not out of the house. Now you are talking,\nnow you are laughing—I think that almost I can hear you when I _listen\nhard_ ... at Mr. Procter’s!\n\nDo _you_, on the other side, hear _me_? ... and how I am calling myself\nyour very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 7, 1846.]\n\nNo, dearest,—I get Mrs. Jameson’s leave to put the breakfast off till\nto-morrow—and this morning, instead of resting as I had intended, I\nwisely went to town, to get a call on Forster off my mind—I have walked\nthere and back again ... see the weakness you pity! I _cheat_ you, my Ba,\nof all that pity ... yet when I have got it, however unjustly, I lay it\nto my heart.\n\nAnd I was at Mrs. Procter’s last night—Kinglake and Chorley, with a\nlittle of Milnes and Coventry Patmore—but no Howitts: because they have a\nsick child,—dying, I am afraid. On my return I found a note from Horne,\nwho is in London of a sudden for a week.\n\nOh,—_The Daily News_ passes into the redoubtable hands of Mr. Dilke,—and\nthe price is to be reduced to 2½d, in emulation of the system recently\nadopted by the French Journals. Forster continues to write, on the new\nEditor’s particular entreaty. I rather think the scheme will succeed,\nDilke having the experience the present régime wants—he will buy his\nprivileges cheaply too. So that Chorley may possibly be employed. Here\nends my patronage of it, at all events—not another number do I groan over!\n\nPatmore told me in his quiet way that his criticisms—his book on which\nhe had been expending a world of pains, is altogether superseded by the\nappearance of ‘Ulrici on Shakespeare’—‘the very words of many of his more\nimportant paragraphs are the same.’ _That_ astounds one a little, does it\nnot?\n\nAnd what, _what_ do you suppose Tennyson’s business to have been at\nDickens’—what caused all the dining and repining? He has been sponsor\nto Dickens’ child _in company with Count D’Orsay_, and accordingly the\n_novus homo_ glories in the prænomina, Alfred D’Orsay Tennyson Dickens!\nAh, Charlie, if this don’t prove to posterity that you might have been a\nTennyson and were a D’Orsay—why excellent labour will have been lost! You\nobserve, ‘Alfred’ is common to both the godfather and the—devil-father,\nas I take the Count to be: so Milnes has been goodnaturedly circulating\nthe report that in good truth it is _the_ Alfred of neither personage,\nbut of—Mr. Alfred Bunn. When you remember what the form of sponsorship\nis, to what it pledges you in the ritual of the Church of England— —and\n_then_ remember that Mr. Dickens is an enlightened Unitarian,—you will\nget a curious notion of the man, I fancy.\n\nHave you not forgotten that birthday? Do, my Ba, forget it—my day, as I\ntold you, is the 20th—my true, happiest day! But I thank you all I can,\ndearest—All good to me comes through you, or for you—every wish and hope\nends in you. May God bless you, ever dear Ba.—\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "May 7th, 1846.\n\nBeloved, my thoughts go to you this morning, loving and blessing you! May\nGod bless you for both His worlds—not for this alone. For me, if I can\never do or be anything to you, it will be my uttermost blessing of all I\never knew, or could know, as He knows. A year ago, I thought, with a sort\nof mournful exultation, that I was _pure of wishes_. Now, they recoil\nback on me in a spring-tide ... flow back, wave upon wave, ... till I\nshould lose breath to speak them! and it is nothing, to say that they\nconcern another ... for they are so much the more intensely mine, and of\nme. May God bless you, very dear! dearest.\n\nSo I am to forget to-day, I am told in the letter. Ah! But I shall forget\nand remember what I please. In the meanwhile I was surprised while\nwriting thus to you this morning ... as a good deed to begin with ... by\nMiss Bayley’s coming. Remembering the seventh of May I forgot _Thursday_,\nwhich she had named for her visit, and altogether she took me by\nsurprise. I thought it was Wednesday! She came and then, Mr. Kenyon came,\n... and as they both went down-stairs together, Mrs. Jameson came up.\nMiss Bayley is what is called _strong-minded_, and with all her feeling\nfor art and Beauty, talks of utility like a Utilitarian of the highest,\nand professes to receive nothing without _proof_, like a reasoner of the\nlowest. She told me with a frankness for which I did not like her less,\nthat she was a materialist of the strictest order, and believed in no\nsoul and no future state. In the face of those conclusions, she said,\nshe was calm and resigned. It is more than _I_ could be, as I confessed.\nMy whole nature would cry aloud against that most pitiful result of the\nstruggle here—a wrestling only for the dust, and not for the crown. What\na resistless melancholy would fall upon me if I had such thoughts!—and\nwhat a dreadful indifference. All grief, to have itself to end in!—all\njoy, to be based upon nothingness!—all love, to feel eternal separation\nunder and over it! Dreary and ghastly, it would be! I should not have\nstrength to love you, I think, if I had such a miserable creed. And for\nlife itself, ... would it be worth holding on such terms,—with our blind\nIdeals making mocks and mows at us wherever we turned? A game to throw\nup, this life would be, as not worth playing to an end!\n\nThere’s a fit letter for the seventh of May!—but why was _Thursday_\nthe seventh, and not Wednesday rather, which would have let me escape\nvisitors? I thank God that I can look over the grave with you, _past_ the\ngrave, ... and hope to be worthier of you _there_ at least.\n\nMrs. Jameson did not say much, being hoarse and weak with a cold, but\nshe told me of having met you at dinner, and found you ‘very agreeable.’\nAlso, beginning by a word about Professor Longfellow, who has married,\nit appears, and is a tolerably merciful husband for a poet ... (‘solving\nthe problem of the _possibility_ of such a thing,’ said she!) ...\nbeginning so, she dropped into the subject of marriage generally, and\nwas inclined to repropose Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s septennial act\n... which might be a reform perhaps! ... what do you think? Have I not,\naltogether, been listening to improving and memorable discourse on this\nseventh of May? The _ninth’s_ will be more after my heart.\n\nI like Mrs. Jameson, mind!—and I like her views on many\nsubjects—_ex_clusive of the septennial marriage act, though.\n\nHow you amuse me by your account of the sponsorship! the illustrious\nD’Orsay with his _paletot_ reputation, in a cleft stick of Alfred ...\nTennyson! Bunn in the distance! A curious combination it makes really ...\nand you read it like a vates that you are!—\n\nSo, good night—dearest!—I think of you behind all these passing clouds of\nsubjects, my poet of the Lyre and Crown! Look down on your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 8, 1846.]\n\n‘_Look down on you_’—my Ba? I would die for you, with triumphant\nhappiness, God knows, at a signal from your hand! But that,—look\n_down_,—never, though you bade me again and again, and in such words! I\nlook _up_,—always up,—my Ba. When I indulge in my deepest luxury, I make\nyou _stand_ ... do you not know that? I sit, and my Ba chooses to let me\nsit, and stands by,—understanding all the same how the relation really\n_is_ between us,—how I would, and do, kiss her feet,—my queen’s feet!\n\nDo you feel for me so, my love? I seldom dare to try and speak to you of\n_your love for me_ ... my love I am allowed to profess ... I could not\nsteadily (I have tried, whether you noticed it or no, and could not,)\nsay aloud ‘and you love _me_’! Because it is altogether a blessing of\nyour gift,—irrespective of my love to you—however it may go to increase\nit. Here are the words however. Human conviction is weak enough, no\ndoubt,—but, when I forget these words, and this answer of my heart to\nthem,—I cannot say it—\n\nMay God bless you, dearest dearest,—my Ba! I was at Mrs. Jameson’s\nthis morning—she spoke of you so as to make my heart tremble with\nvery delight—I never liked her so much ... I may say, never liked her\nbefore—by comparison. She read me your three translations,—clearly\nfeeling their rare beauty; and now,—let me clap hands, my Ba, and ask\nyou who knows best? She means to print BOTH versions—the blank verse\nand the _latter_ rhymed one. Of course, of course! But she said so many\nthings—I must tell you to-morrow,—if you _remind_ me. She felt such\ngratifications, too, at your thinking her etching of St. Cecilia worthy\nto hang by your chair, in your sight. Do you know, Ba, at the end,—_à\npropos of her breakfast_, I fairly took her by both hands, and shook\nthem with a cordiality which I just reflect, tardily, may subject the\nLiterary Character to a possible misconstruction. ‘He must have wanted a\nbreakfast,’ she will say!\n\nI am going to the Museum on Monday with her, to see Italian prints. I\nlike her very much. And after breakfast, Mr. Kenyon came in, and Mr.\nBezzi—and Mr. K. means to make me go and see him next Monday also, I\nbelieve.\n\nBut my seeing, and hearing, and enjoying—Saturday is my day for all that?\nTo-morrow—by this time!—too great happiness it is, I know.\n\nAnd I, too, look long over the grave, to follow you, my own heart’s love.\nLet Mrs. Jameson repeal those acts,—limit the seven years to seven days\nor less,—what matters? If the seven days have to be endured because of a\nlaw,—then I see the weariness of course—but in our case, if a benevolent\nLegislature should inform me, now, that if I choose, I may decline\nvisiting you to-morrow—\n\n... Ah, nefandum,—kiss me, my own Ba, and let the world legislate and\ndecree and relieve and be otherwise notable—so they let me be your own\nfor ever\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, May 11, 1846.]\n\nDearest when you use such words as ‘eligible ...’ (_investment_ ... was\nit?) and I do not protest seriously and at length, it is through the\nvery absurdity and unnaturalness ... as if you were to say that the last\ncomet was made of macaroni, and Arago stood by, he would not think it\nworth while to confute you. Talking the worldly idiom, as you will tell\nme you just meant to do in those words, and considering the worldly\nconsiderations, why still the advantage is with you—I can do nothing\nthat I can see, but stand in your sunshine. I solemnly assure you that\nonly the apparent fact of your _loving me_, has overcome the scruple,\nwhich, on this ground, made me recoil from.... Well! there is no use now\nin talking. But for _you_ to talk of what is eligible and ineligible for\n_me_, is too absurd—indeed it is. You might be richer, to be sure—but _I_\nlike it better as it is, a hundred times—I should _choose_ it to be so,\nif it were left to my choice. In every other respect, using the world’s\nmeasures, ... or the measure of the angel who measured the heavenly\nJerusalem, ... you are beyond me ... above me—and nothing but your love\nfor me could have brought us to a level. My love for you could not have\n_tried_, even! Now, if I teaze you with saying such things over and over,\nit is the right punishment for what _you_ said yesterday about ‘eligible\nmarriages’—now, isn’t it?\n\nBut your conclusion then was right. For if you were twice yourself,\nwith a duchy of the moon to boot, it would avail nothing. We should have\nto carry all this underground work on precisely the same. Miserable it\nis, nevertheless—only, I keep my eyes from _that side_, as far as I\ncan. I keep my eyes on your face. Yesterday Henrietta told me that Lady\nCarmichael, a cousin of ours, met her at the Royal Academy and took her\naside to ‘speak seriously to her’ ... to observe that she looked thin and\n_worried_, and to urge her to act for herself ... to say too, that Mrs.\nBayford, an old hereditary friend of ours, respected by us all for her\nserene, clear-headed views of most things,—and ‘of the strictest sect,’\ntoo, for all domestic duties,—‘did not like, as a mother, to give direct\nadvice, but was of opinion that the case admitted certainly and plainly\nof the daughter’s acting for herself.’ In fact, it was a message, sent\nunder cover of a supposed irresponsibility. Which is one of a hundred\nproofs to show how this case is considered exceptional among our family\nfriends, and that no very hard judgment will be passed at the latest.\nOnly, on other grounds, _I_ shall be blamed ... and perhaps by another\nclass of speakers. As for telling Mr. Kenyon, it is most unadvisable,\nboth for his sake and ours. Did you never hear him talk of his organ of\ncaution? We should involve him in ever so many fears for us, and force\nhim to have his share of the odium at last. Papa would not speak to him\nagain while he lived. And people might say, ‘Mr. Kenyon did it all.’\nNo—if we are to be selfwilled, let us be selfwilled ... at least, let\n_me_! for you, of course, are free to follow your judgment in respect\nto your own friends. And then, it is rather a matter of feeling with me\nafter all, that as I _cannot_ give my confidence to my father, I should\nrefuse it to others. I feel _that_ a little.\n\nHenrietta will do nothing, I think, this year—there are considerations\nof convenience to prevent it; and it is better for us that it should be\nso, and will not be worse for _her_ in the end. I wish that man were a\nlittle nobler, higher ... more of a man! He is amiable, good-natured,\neasy-tempered, of good intentions in the main: but he eats and drinks and\nsleeps, and _shows_ it all when he talks. Very popular in his regiment,\nvery fond of his mother—there is good in him of course—and for the\nrest....\n\nDearest ... to compare others with you, would be too hard upon them.\nBesides, each is after his kind. Yet ... as far as love goes ... and\nalthough this man sincerely loves my sister, I do believe, ... I admit\nto myself, again and again, that if you were to adopt such a bearing\ntowards _me_, as he does to her, I should break with you at once. And\nwhy? Not because I am spoilt, though you knit your brows and think so\n... nor because I am exacting and offensible, though you may fancy that\ntoo. Nor because I hold loosely by you ... dearest beloved ... ready at a\ncaprice to fall away. But because _then_ I should know you did _not_ love\nme enough to let you be happy hereafter with me ... you, who must love\naccording to what you _are_! greatly, as you write ‘Lurias’!\n\nTo-morrow, shall you be at Mr. Kenyon’s? To-morrow I shall hear. Nothing\nhas happened since I saw you. May God bless you.\n\n Your own, I am.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, May 11, 1846.]\n\nI am always telling you, because always feeling, that I can express\nnothing of what goes from my heart to you, my Ba; but there is a certain\nchoice I have all along exercised, of subjects on which I would _try_ and\nexpress somewhat—while others might be let alone with less disadvantage.\nWhen we first met, it was in your thought that I loved you only for your\npoetry ... I think you thought that. And because one _might_ be imagined\nto love that and not you,—because everybody must love it, indeed,\nthat is worthy, and yet needs not of necessity love you,—yet _might_\nmistake or determine to love you through loving _it_ ... for all these\nreasons, there was not the immediate demand on me for a full expression\nof my admiration for your intellectuality,—do you see? Rather, it was\nproper to insist as little as possible on it, and speak to the woman,\nBa, simply—and so I have tried to speak,—partly, in truth, because\nI love _her_ best, and love her mind by the light and warmth of her\nheart—reading her verses, saying ‘and these are Ba’s,’—not kissing her\nless because they spoke the verses. But it does not follow that I have\nlost the sense of any delight that has its source in you, my dearest,\ndearest—however I may choose to live habitually with certain others in\npreference. I would shut myself up with you, and die to the world, and\nlive out fifty long, long lives in bliss through your sole presence—but\nit is no less true that it will also be an ineffable pride,—something too\nsweet for the name of pride,—to avow myself, before anyone whose good\nopinion I am soliciting to retain, as _so_ distinguished by you—it is\n_too_ sweet, indeed,—so I guard against it,—for frequent allusion to it,\nmight,—(as I stammer, and make plain things unintelligible) ... might\ncause you to misconceive me, which would be dreadful ... for after all,\nBa’s head has given the crown its worth,—though a wondrous crown it is,\ntoo! All this means ... the avowal we were speaking of, will be a heart’s\npride above every other pride whenever you decide on making such an\navowal. You will understand as you do ever your own R.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn getting home I found letters and letters—the best being a summons\nto meet Tennyson at Moxon’s on Tuesday,—and the frightfullest ...\nnay, I will send it. Now, Ba, hold my hand from the distant room,\ntighter than ever, at about 8 o’clock on Wednesday ... for I must go, I\nfear—‘Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking’ &c. &c. ‘ἔα, ἔα, ἄπεχε,\nφεῦ.’ Then Mr. Kenyon writes that his friend Commodore Jones is returned\nto England in bad health and that he must away to Portsmouth and see\nhim—so I do not go on Monday. While I was away Chorley’s brother (John\nChorley) called,—having been put to the trouble of a journey hither for\nnothing.\n\nI have been out this morning—to church with my sister—and the sun shone\nalmost oppressively,—but now all is black and threatening. How I send\nmy heart after your possible movements, my own all-beloved! Care for\nyourself, and for me. But a few months more,—if God shall please. May He\nbless you—\n\n Ever your own\n\nHail and rain—at a quarter to four o’clock!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday 4 o’clock.\n [Post-mark, May 11, 1846.]\n\nSweetest, I have this moment come from Town and Mrs. Jameson—the\nMarc-Antonio Prints kept us all the morning—and at last I said ‘There is\na letter for me at home which I _must_ go and answer.’ And now I cannot\nanswer it—but I can love you and say so. God bless you, ever dearest.\nI have read your letter ... but only once. Now I shall begin my proper\nnumber of times—\n\n Ever your very own", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, May 12, 1846.]\n\nIt is too bad, or too good, or something. Almost I could reproach you,\nand quite would thank you! yet do not let it be so again. You are\nsupernaturally kind ... kindestest, bestestest ... and, so, dearestest\nby the merest justice; only, to think of your hastening home, as if you\nwere under an obligation to write to me in the face of the seven worlds,\n... _that_ is too much, and shall not be again—now see that it shall not.\nI seem to hear the rattling of the chain all this distance. And do, for\nthe future, let it be otherwise. When you are kept in London, or in any\nway hindered, or unwell, ... in any case of the sort, let the vow be kept\nby _one line_, which, too late for the day’s post, may reach me the next\nday,—and I shall not be uneasy at eight o’clock, but wait ‘as those who\nwait for the morning.’ In the meanwhile how I thank you! The second dear\nletter comes close in the footsteps of the first, as your goodnesses are\nso apt to do.\n\nWell!—and whatever you may think about Wednesday, _I_ am pleased, and\nfeel every inclination to ‘return thanks’ myself in reply to the bishop\nof Lincoln. I send the letter back lest you should want it. The worst\nis that you are likely to have a very bad headache with the noise and\nconfusion—and the bishop’s blessing on the dramatists of England, will\nnot prevent it, I fear.\n\nLook what is inside of this letter—look! I gathered it for you to-day\nwhen I was walking in the Regent’s Park. Are you surprised? Arabel and\nFlush and I were in the carriage—and the sun was shining with that green\nlight through the trees, as if he carried down with him the very essence\nof the leaves, to the ground, ... and I wished so much to walk through\na half open gate along a shaded path, that we stopped the carriage and\ngot out and walked, and I put both my feet on the grass, ... which was\nthe strangest feeling! ... and gathered this laburnum for you. It hung\nquite high up on the tree, the little blossom did, and Arabel said that\ncertainly I could not reach it—but you see! It is a too generous return\nfor all your flowers: or, to speak seriously, a proof that I thought of\nyou and wished for you—which it was natural to do, for I never enjoyed\nany of my excursions as I did to-day’s—the standing under the trees and\non the grass, was so delightful. It was like a bit of that Dreamland\nwhich is your especial dominion,—and I felt joyful enough for the moment,\nto look round for you, as for the cause. It seemed _illogical_, not to\nsee you close by. And you were not far after all, if thoughts count as\nbringers near. Dearest, we shall walk together under the trees some day!\n\nAnd all those strange people moving about like phantoms of life. How\nwonderful it looked to me!—and only you, ... the idea of you ... and\nmyself seemed to be real there! And Flush a little, too!—\n\nAh—what ... _next_ to nonsense, ... in the first letter, this morning! So\nyou think that I meant to complain when we first met, of your ‘_loving\nme only for my poetry_’! Which I did not, simply because I did not\nbelieve that _you loved me!—for any reason_. For the rest, I am not\nover-particular, I fancy, about what I may be loved for. There is no good\nreason for loving me, certainly, and my earnest desire (as I have said\nagain and again) is, that there should be by profession no reason at\nall. But if there is to be any sort of reason, why one is as welcome as\nanother ... you may love me for my shoes, if you like it ... except that\nthey wear out. I thought you did not love me at all—you loved out into\nthe air, I thought—a love _a priori_, as the philosophers might say, and\nnot _by induction_, any wise! Your only knowledge of me was by the poems\n(or most of it)—and what knowledge could _that_ be, when I feel myself so\nfar below my own aspirations, morally, spiritually? So I thought you did\nnot love me at all—I did not believe in miracles _then_, nor in ‘Divine\nLegations’—but _my_ miracle is as good as Constantine’s, you may tell\nyour bishop on Wednesday when he has delivered his charge.\n\nIs it _eight_ o’clock, or _three_? You write a [figure] which looks like\nboth, or at least either.\n\nLove me, my only beloved; since you _can_. May God bless you!\n\n I am ever and wholly your\n\n BA.\n\n_Say how you are._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 12, 1846.]\n\nMy Ba, your flower is the one flower I have seen, or see or shall\nsee—when it fades ‘I will bless it till it shine,’ and when I can bless\nyou no longer it shall fade with me and my letters and ... perhaps ...\nmy ring. Ba, if ... I was going to say, _if_ you meant to make me most\nexquisitely happy ... and you _did_ surely mean it ... well, you succeed,\nas you know! And I see you on the grass, and am with you as you properly\nacknowledge. And by this letter’s presence and testimony, I may judge\nyou to be not much the worse,—not fatigued ... is it so? Oh, it was a\ngood inspiration that led you through the half-opened gate and under the\nlaburnum, and, better still, that made you see us ‘one day walking by\nthe trees together’—when all I shall say is,—I hope, in spite of that\nfelicity to remember and feel _this_, as vividly as now.\n\n‘For the chain you hear rattle’ ... _there_ comes the earthly mood again\nand the inspiration goes away altogether! So you being Miss Barrett\nand not my Ba for the moment, I will give you none of my, and Ba’s,\nsyren-island illustrations, but ask you, what a fine lady would say if\nyou caught at her diamond necklace and cried—‘You shall wear no such\nchains,—indeed you shall not!’ Why even Flush is proud of his corals and\nblue beads, you tell me! As for me,—being used to bear sundry heavier\nchains than this of writing to you—owning the degradation of being, for\ninstance, forced to respire so many times a minute in order to live—to\ngo out into the open air so as to continue well—with many similarly\naffronting impositions on a free spirit ... on the whole, I can very\npatiently submit to write a letter which is duly read, and forgiven for\nits imperfections, and interpreted into a rationality (sometimes) not\nits own, and then answered by the sweetest hand that ever ministered to\nthe dearest, dearest Ba that ever was imagined, or can be! Ba,—there are\nthree Syren’s Isles, you know: I shall infallibly get into the farthest\nof them, a full thirty yards from you and the tower,—so as to need being\nwritten to—for the _cicale_ make such a noise that you will not be able\nto call to me—which is as well, for you may ... that is, _I_ might—break\nmy neck by a sudden leap on the needles of rocks ... as I remember the\nboatman told me.\n\nAs for what you wish yesterday ... the _mode_ of my expressing my love\n... I never think of it,—I _have_ none—no system, nor attempt at such a\nthing—I begin and end by saying _I love you—whatever comes of it_. There\nis one obvious remark to make however ... that unless I _had_ loved you\nand felt that every instant of my life depended on you for its support\nand comfort,—I should never have dreamed of what has been proposed and\naccepted ... Your own goodness at the very beginning would have rendered\nthat superfluous; for I was put in possession of your friendship,—might\nwrite to you, and receive letters—might even hope to see you as often as\nanybody—would not this have sufficed a reasonable friendship? May not Mr.\nKenyon be your satisfied friend?... But all was different—and so——\n\nSo I am blessed now—and can only bless you. But goodbye, dearest, till\nto-morrow—and next day, which is ours. At 8—eight I conjecture my\nmartyrdom may take place ... oh, think of me and help me! I shall feel\nyou,—as ever. You forgot the letter after all ... can you send it? It may\nbe convenient to produce, as I know nobody of them all—terrible it is\naltogether! ‘At six’ the dinner begins— —I shall get behind my brother\nDramatists ... and say very little about them, even.\n\nKiss me, in any case, of failure, or success,—and the one will be\nforgotten, and the other doubled, centupled—to your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 13, 1846.]\n\nWhen you began to speak of the islands, the three islands, I thought you\nwere going to propose that you should live in one, and Flush in one, and\nI in the third: and almost it was so, ... only that you took, besides,\nthe ‘_farthest_’ for yourself! Observe!—always I write nonsense, when you\nsend me a letter which moves me like this, ... dearest, ... my own!\n\nTo-day Mrs. Jameson has been here, and having left with me a proof about\nTitian, she comes again to-morrow to take it. I think her quite a lovable\nperson now—I like her more and more. How she talked of you to-day, and\ncalled you the most charming companion in the world, setting you too\non your right throne as ‘poet of the age.’ Wouldn’t it have been an\n‘_effect_’ in the midst of all, if I had burst out crying? And what with\nbeing flurried, frightened, and a little nervous from not sleeping well\nlast night, I assure you it was quite possible—but happily, on every\naccount, I escaped that ‘dramatic situation.’ I wish ... no, I can’t\nwish that she wouldn’t talk of you as she does whenever she comes here.\nAnd then, to make it better, she told me how you had recited ‘in a voice\nand manner as good as singing,’ my ‘Catarina.’ How are such things to be\nborne, do you think, when people are not made of marble? But I took a\nlong breath, and held my mask on with both hands.\n\nYou will tell me of the Marc Antonio prints,—will you not? Remember\nthem on Thursday. Raffael’s—are they not? I shall expect ever so much\nteaching, and showing, and explaining ... I, who have seen and heard\nnothing of pictures and music, from you who know everything ... so the\ncicale must not be too loud for _that_. Did ever anyone say to you\nthat you were like Raffael’s portrait—not in the eyes, which are quite\ndifferent, but in the lower part of the face, the mouth, and also the\nbrow? It has struck me sometimes—and I had it on my lips to-day as a\nquestion to Mrs. Jameson. I think I was mad to-day altogether. But she\ndid not see it—(I mean my madness ... not your likeness!) [and] went away\nunconsciously.\n\nHere, at last, is the letter! Careless that I was yesterday!—\n\nAnd you take me to be too generous if you fancy that I proposed giving up\nthe daily letter which is my daily bread. I meant only that you should\nnot, for the sake of a particular post, tire yourself, hurry yourself,\n... do what you did yesterday. As for the daily letter, I am Ba—not Miss\nBarrett. Now, am I Miss Barrett? am I not Ba rather, and your Ba? I\nshould like to hear what will be heard to-morrow. Oh—I should like to be\nunder the table, or in a pasty, after the fashion of the queen’s dwarf\nwhen Elizabeth was queen and Shakespeare poet. Shall you be nervous, as\n_I_ was with Mrs. Jameson? Oh no,—why should you be nervous? You will do\nit all well and gracefully—I am not afraid for you. It is simply out of\nvain-glory that I wish to be there! Only ... the dramatists of England\n... where in the world are they just now? Or will somebody prove _ten_ of\nthem,—because _nought_ after _one_, makes exactly ten? Mr. Horne indeed.\nBut I wish the toast had been ‘the poets of England,’ rather. May God\nbless you, any way! ‘_I love you whatever comes of it._’ Yes, unless\nsorrow of yours should come of it, _that_ is what I like to hear. Better\nit is, than a thousand praises of this thing and that thing, which never\nwere mine ... alas!—Also, loving me _so_, you can be made happy with\nlaburnum-leaves!—Dearest—most dear! Dare I speak, do you think?\n\nExactly at eight to-morrow, and exactly at three the next day, I shall be\nwith you—being at any hour\n\n Your very own.\n\nThe walk did me no harm. But you say nothing of yourself!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, May 13, 1846.]\n\nDearest, dearest, I shall be with you to-morrow and be comforted—and will\ntell you all about everything. I am a little tired (but _very_ well,\naltogether well, singularly so)—and I _do_ feel a little about to-night’s\naffair, though you may not. _You_, indeed, to judge me by yourself! But,\nafter all I do not greatly care ... I can but get up and stammer and\nsay ‘thank you’ and sit down again, like my betters,—and—as I say and\nsay,—_you_ are at the end of everything ... so long as I find _you_!\nI hoped that Tennyson was to have been Poet-respondent—but Moxon says\n‘no’ ... and, moreover, that the Committee had meant (and he supposed\nhad acted upon their meaning) to offer me the choice of taking either\nqualification, of Poetry or the Drama, as mine ... but they have altered\ntheir mind. As it _is_ ... observe—(you will find a list of Stewards in\nlast _Athenæum_)—observe that they are all Bishops or Deans or Doctors\n... and that all will be grave and heavy enough, I dare say. So I shall\ntry and speak for about five minutes on the advantages of the Press over\nthe Stage as a medium of communication of the Drama ... and so get done,\nif Heaven please!\n\nI saw Tennyson last night—and ... oh, let me tell you to-morrow. Also,\nSevern, I saw ... Keats’ Severn, who bought his own posthumous picture\nof Keats, and talked pleasantly about him and Shelley (Tennyson asked\nme ‘what I thought of Shelley’—in so many words). Moxon’s care of\nhim,—Tennyson, not Severn,—is the charmingest thing imaginable, and he\nseems to need it all—being in truth but a LONG, hazy kind of a man, at\nleast just after dinner ... yet there is something ‘naif’ about him,\ntoo,—the genius you see, too.\n\nMay God bless you, my dearest dearest,—to-morrow repays for all—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 15, 1846.]\n\nThe treader on your footsteps was Miss Bayley, who left a card and\n‘would come another day.’ She must have seen you.... One of these days,\n‘scirocco’ will be ‘loose’—we may as well be prepared for it. To keep it\noff as long as possible is all that can be. But when it comes it will not\nuproot my palm-trees, I think, though it should throw flat the olives.\n\nPapa brought me some flowers yesterday when he came home ... and they\nwent a little to my heart as I took them. I put them into glasses near\nyours, and they look faded this morning nevertheless, while your roses,\nfor all your cruelty to them, are luxuriant in beauty as if they had\njust finished steeping themselves in garden-dew. I look gravely from\none set of flowers to the other—I cannot draw a glad omen—I wish he had\nnot given me these. Dearest, there seems little kindness in teazing you\nwith such thoughts ... but they come and I write them: and let them come\never so sadly, I do not for a moment doubt ... hesitate. One may falter,\nwhere one does not fail. And for the rest, ... it is my fault, and not my\nsorrow rather, that we act so? It is by choice that we act so? If he had\nlet me I should have loved him out of a heart altogether open to him. It\nis not my fault that he would not let me. Now it is too late—I am not his\nnor my own, any more.\n\nThis morning I have had American letters of the kindest ... from\nMassachusetts—and a review on my poems, quite extravagant indeed, in the\n_Methodist Quarterly_. One of these letters is so like another, that\nI need only tell you of them ... written too by people ... Lydias and\nRichards ... never heard of before by either of us. The review repeats\nthe fabulous story in the ‘Spirit of the Age,’ about unknown tongues\nand a seven years’ eclipse in total darkness—but I say to myself ...\nafter all, the real myth is scarcely less wonderful. If I have not all\nthis knowledge ... I have _you_ ... which is greater, better! ‘Not less\nwonderful’ did I say? when it is the miracle....\n\nOh, these people!—I am seized and bound. More to-night! from\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\n_Say how you are._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 15, 1846.]\n\nThe sun is warm, and the day, I suppose, is fine,—but my Ba will have\nbeen kept at home by the vile wind—most vile—even I feel it! So the\nspring passes away without the true spring feeling—all the blossoms are\nfast going already—and one’s spirits are affected, I dare say. Did you\nnot think me intolerable yesterday with my yawning and other signs of\nfatigue you noticed? Well now—I _do_ think a little is _said_ by all\nthat: might one not _like_ or even _love_ ... just short of _true_ love,\nso long as the spirits were buoyant and the mind cheerful,—and when the\ncontrary befell, some change might appear, surely!\n\nThe more I need you the more I love you, Ba—and I need you _always_—in\njoy, to make the joy seem what it is—and in any melancholy that I can\nimagine, _more_ still, infinitely more, I need you—though _melancholy_,\nI certainly was not—only tired a little ... all I mean to say is, that\nat times when I could, I think, shut up Shelley, and turn aside from\nBeethoven, and look away from my noble Polidoro,—my Ba’s ring—not to say\nthe hand—ah, you know, Ba, what they are to me!\n\nI have to go out to-day, to my sorrow—to the Garrick Club, and a friend\nthere. (My sister tells me we have to go to the Flower-show next\nWednesday unless the day be rainy. I shall hear from Mr. Kenyon, I\nexpect.)\n\nLet me end the chapter we began yesterday, about speech-making and adepts\nin it of various kinds, by telling you what my father made me laugh\nby an account of, the other day ... only it should be really _told_,\nand not written. He had a curiosity to know how would-be Parliamentary\nmembers _canvassed_ ... and as the Chamberlain of the City, Sir James\nShaw, came into the Bank for that purpose (there being Livery men there,\nor whatever they are called, with votes) my father followed to hear how\nhe would address people. Sir James, a gigantic man, went about as his\nfriends directed ... or rather pushed and shoved him ... and whenever\nthey reached an Elector the whole cortège stopped, Sir James made his\nspeech, the friends, book and pencil in hand, recorded the promise the\nmoment it was made, and forthwith wheeled round their candidate to the\nnext man ... no word of speechification being to be wasted once its\nobject accomplished, since time pressed—so now fancy. _Friends_ (to Sir\nJ) ‘Mr. Snooks, Sir James!’ Sir J. (_with his eyes shut, and head two\nfeet above Snooks_) ‘When Charles Fox came into Parliament, he came into\nParliament with a profusion of promises, of which I’ll defy Charles Fox’s\nbest friends to say that he ever kept a single one’—(Friends twitch\nhim)—‘Thankee Sir,’—‘Mr. Smith.’ ‘When Charles Fox came into Parliament\n... thankee, Sir’—‘Mr. Thompson’—‘When Charles Fox ... thankee!’ &c. &c.\nAnd so on from man to man, never getting beyond this instructive piece of\nanecdotical history—till at the very last a little Elector, reaching to\nthe great man’s elbow, let him go to the full length of the sentence’s\ntether from admiration of such an orator ... did not say briefly ‘yes’\nor ‘no’ as the others had done. So Sir James arrived duly at ... ‘kept a\nsingle one. Thus—if ... as it were ... eh? oh!’ Here he opened his eyes\nwith a start, missing the pushing and driving from his friends in the\nrear—and finding it was only this little man; he abruptly stopped ...\nwas not going to spend more eloquence on _him_! There, Ba; _you tell_ me\nyou write nonsense ... _I do_ the thing, the precise thing! But no more\nnonsense because I am going to kiss you, which is wise, and love you with\nmy whole heart and soul forever, which is wiser, and pray you to love me,\ndear, dear Ba, which is the wisest! Sweetest, may God bless you,—\n\n Your very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 16, 1846.]\n\nNot even do you yawn in vain then, O you! And this, then, is what Cicero\ncalled ‘oscitans sapientia?’ The _argument of the yawn_ ought in fact, to\nbe conclusive!\n\nBut, dearest, if it was ‘intolerable’ to see you yawn yesterday, still\nless supportable was it to-day when I had all the yawning to myself, and\nproved nothing by it. Tired I am beyond your conceiving of ... tired!\nYou saw how I broke off in my letter to you this morning. Well—that\nwas Miss Heaton, who came yesterday and left the packet you saw, and\ncame again to-day and sate here exactly three hours. Now imagine that!\nThree hours of incessant restless talking. At the end I was _blanched_,\nas everybody could see, and Mrs. Jameson who came afterwards for five\nminutes and was too unwell herself to stay, seriously exhorted me not to\nexert myself too much lest I should pay the penalty. And I had not been\ndown-stairs even—only been ground down in the talking-mill. Arabel told\nher too, before she came up-stairs, that I was expecting a friend—‘Oh’\n... said she to me, ‘I shall go away directly anyone comes.’ And again\npresently ... ‘Pray tell me when I ought to go away’! (As if I could\nsay _Go_. She deserved it, but I _couldn’t_!) And then ... ‘How good\nof you to let me sit here and talk!’ So good of me, when I was wishing\nher ... only at Leeds in the High Street, between a dissenter and a\nchurchman—anywhere but opposite to my eyes! Yet _she_ has very bright\nones, and cheeks redder than your roses; and she is kind and cordial ...\nas I thought in the anguish of my soul, when I tried to be grateful to\nher. Certainly I should have been more so, if she had stayed a little\nless, talked a little less—it is awful to think how some women can talk!\nHappily she leaves London to-morrow morning, and will not be here again\ntill next year, if then. She talked biography too ... ah, I did not mean\nto tell you—but it is better to tell you at once and have done ... only\nshe desired me not to mention it ... only she little knew what she was\ndoing! You will not mention it. She told me that ‘her informant about Mr.\nBrowning, ... was a lady _to whom he had been engaged_ ... that there\nhad been a very strong attachment on both sides, but that everything\nwas broken off by _her_ on the ground of religious differences—that it\nhappened years ago and that the lady was married.’ At first I exclaimed\nimprudently enough (but how could it be otherwise?) that it was not\ntrue—but I caught at the bridle in a minute or two and let her have it\nher own way. Do not answer this—it is nonsense, I know—but it helped to\ntire me with the rest. Wasn’t it a delightful day for me? At the end of\nthe three hours, she threw her arms round me and kissed me some half\ndozen times and wished me ‘goodbye’ till next year. Wilson found me\nstanding in the middle of the room, looking as she said, ‘like a ghost.’\nAnd no wonder! The ‘vile wind’ out of doors was nothing to it.\n\nDearest, you are well? Your letter says nothing. Only one more letter,\nand then Monday. Ah—it is the sweetest of flattery to say that you ‘need’\nme—but isn’t it difficult to understand? Yet while you even fancy that\nyou have such a need, you may be sure (let Charles Fox break his promises\never so!) of your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, May 16, 1846.]\n\nThen, dearest-dearest, _do_ take Mrs. Jameson’s advice—_do_ take care of\nthe results of this fatigue—why should you see any woman that pleases to\nask to come? I am certain that some of the men you have refused to admit,\nwould be more considerate—and Miss Heaton must be a kind of fool into the\nbargain with her inconsiderateness ... though _that_ is the folly’s very\nself. As for her ‘Yorkshire Tragedy,’ I hold myself rather aggrieved by\nit—they used to get up better stories of Lord Byron,—and even _I told_\nyou, anticipatingly, that I caused that first wife of mine to drown and\nhang herself ... whereas, now, it turns out she did neither, but bade me\ndo both ... nay, was not my wife after all! I hope she told Miss Heaton\nthe story in the presence of the husband who had no irreligious scruples.\nBut enough of this pure nonsense—I had, by this post that brings me\nyour last letter, one from Horne—he leaves to-day for Ireland, and says\nkind things about my plays—and unkind things of Mr. Powell ‘a dog he\nrepudiates for ever.’ So our ‘clique’ is deprived of yet another member!\n\nFor me, love,—I am pretty well—but _rather_ out of spirits,—for no\nearthly cause. I shall take a walk and get better presently—your dear\nletters have their due effect, all that effect!\n\nSo, dear,—all my world, my life, all I look to or live for, my own Ba—I\nwill bless you and bid you goodbye for to-day—to-morrow I will write\nmore—and on Monday—return, my Ba, this kiss ... my dearest above all\ndearness!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 16, 1846.]\n\nYou shall hear from me on this Sunday, though it cannot be as an answer,\ndearest, to your letter of to-night. But I being so wretchedly tired last\nnight, and ‘yawning’ being, to your mind, so ‘intolerable,’ it is as well\nto leave a better impression with you than _that_ ... though there is\nnothing to say, and the east wind blows on virulently.\n\nThe _Athenæum_ has put me out of humour for the day ... besides. Not a\nword of ‘Luria’—not a word of the Literary Fund dinner, and a great,\ndrawling carrying out of the ‘Poetry for the Million’ article ... as\nif all this trash could not die of itself!—as if it were not _dead_ of\nitself!—That the critics of a country should set themselves to such\nwork ... is as if the Premier of England took his official seat in the\nwindow to kill flies, ... talking, with his first finger out, of ‘my\nadministration.’ Only flies are flies and have fly-life in them: they are\nnobler game than those.\n\nMrs. Jameson, while she was here the five minutes yesterday, talked,\nin an under-breath to my under-breath opposition, her opinion about\nthe present age. ‘That the present age did not, could not, ought not,\nto express itself by Art, ... though the next age would.’ She is\nsurprisingly wrong, it appears to me. There is no predominant character\nin the age, she says, to be so expressed! there is no unity, to bear\nexpression.\n\nBut art surely, if art is anything, is the expression, not of the\ncharacteristics of an age except accidentally, ... essentially it is the\nexpression of Humanity in the individual being—and unless we are men no\nlonger, I cannot conceive how such an argument as hers can be upheld for\na moment. Also it is exasperating to hear such things.\n\nThen I do not believe, for one, that genius in the arts is a\nmere reflection of the character of the times. Genius precedes\nsurely,—initiates. It is genius which gives an Age its character and\nimposes its own colour.... But I shall not write any more. Her paper on\n‘Titian’s House at Venice,’ which she let me read in proof, and which is\none of the essays she is printing now, is full of beauty and truth, and\nI admired it heartily. Then there is a quotation about the ‘calm, cold,\nbeautiful regard,’ of ‘Virgin child and saint’ ... which you may remember\nperhaps. I know you will like the essay and feel it to be Venetian.\n\nThat you were feeling the east wind, beloved, meant that you were not\nwell, though you have quite left off telling me a word of yourself\nlately. And why? It shall not be so next week,—now shall it? May\nGod bless you. I am afraid of going down-stairs, because of the\ndouble-knocks. It will be great gain to have the loudest noises from the\ncicale. Except when somebody else is noisy,—which is a noise I am always\nforgetting, just as if it were impossible.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n (Day before to-morrow!)\n [Post-mark, May 18, 1846.]\n\nHow kind to write to me and help me through the gloomy day with a light!\nI could certainly feel my way in the dark and reach to-morrow without\nvery important stumbling, but now I go cheerfully on, spite of a little\nheadache and weariness. Need you? I should hate life apart from you.\nKnowing what I say, I should hate it—the life of my soul as seen apart\nfrom that of the mere body ... to which, to the necessities of which, no\nhuman being ever ministered before, and which, now that I have known you,\nI myself cannot provide for,—or could not were you removed,—even after\nthe imperfect fashion of former times. If you ask Mrs. Jameson she will\ntell you, if she has thought it worth remembering, that I once, two or\nthree years ago, _explained_ to her that I could not believe in ‘love’\nnor understand it,—nor be subject to it consequently. I said—‘all you\ndescribe as characteristics of the passion—I should expect to find in\n_men_ more easily and completely—’ now I know better, and my year’s life\nspent in this knowledge makes all before it look pale and all _after_, if\nan after could come, look black.\n\nWhy do I write so? I am rather dull, this horrible day, and cling to you\nthe closelier.\n\nAll you write about Art is most true. Carlyle has turned and forged,\nreforged on his anvil that fact ‘that no age ever appeared heroic to\nitself’ ... and so, worthy of reproduction in Art by itself ... I thought\nafter Carlyle’s endeavours nobody could be ignorant of that,—nobody who\nwas obliged to seek the proof of it out of his own experience. The cant\nis, that ‘an age of transition’ is the melancholy thing to contemplate\nand delineate—whereas the worst things of all to look back on are times\nof comparative standing still, rounded in their important completeness.\nSo the young England imbeciles hold that ‘belief’ is the admirable\npoint—_in what_, they judge comparatively immaterial! The other day I\ntook up a book two centuries old in which ‘glory’, ‘soldiering’, ‘rushing\nto conquer’ and the rest, were most thoroughly ‘believed in’—and if by\nsome miracle the writer had conceived and described some unbeliever,\nunable to ‘rush to conquer the Parthians’ &c., it would have been as\nthough you found a green bough inside a truss of straw.\n\nBut you know—\n\nAnd I know one thing, one—but one—I love you, _shall_ love you ever,\nliving and dying your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 19, 1846.]\n\nMy own ever dearest, when I try to thank you for such a letter as\nyesterday’s, ... for any proof, in fact, of your affection, ... I cannot\nspeak: but you know, of this and all things, that I understand, feel—you\nmust know it very well. There is only one thing I can do as I ought, and\nit is to love you; and the more I live, not ‘_the less_’ but the _more_\nI am able to love you—believe it of me. And for _the less_, ... we never\nwill return to that foolish subject, ... but for the ‘less you spoke of\nwhen you said ‘you do not love me less?’ ... why I thought at the moment\nand feel now, that it would be too late, as I am, ever, upon any possible\nground, to love you less. If you loved _me_ less ... even!—or (to leave\nthat) if you were to come to me and say that you had murdered a man—why\nI may imagine such things, you know—but I cannot imagine the possibility\nof my loving you less, as a consequence of your failing so! I am yours\nin the deepest of my affections:—not unreasonably, certainly, as I see\nyou and know you—but if it _were_ to turn unreasonable ... I mean, if you\ntook away the appearance of reasonableness ... still I should be yours in\nthe deepest of my affections ... it is too late for a difference _there_.\n\nMrs. Jameson has just now sent me a proof with the ‘Daughters of\nPandarus,’ which she is to call for presently and therefore I must come\nto an end with this note. How I shall think of you to-morrow! And if it\nshould be fine, I may perhaps drive in the park near the gardens ... take\nmy sisters to the gate of the gardens, and feel that you are inside! That\nwill be something, if it is feasible. And if it is fine or not, and if I\ngo or not, I shall remember our first day, the only day of my life which\nGod blessed visibly to me, the only day undimmed with a cloud ... my\ngreat compensation-day, which it was worth while being born for!\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.\n\nOh—you will _not see me_ to-morrow, remember! I tell you only out of\ncunning ... to win a thought!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 19, 1846].\n\nWith this day expires the first year since you have been yourself\nto me—putting aside the anticipations, and prognostications, and\neven assurances from all reasons short of absolute sight and\nhearing,—excluding the five or six months of these, there remains a year\nof this intimacy. You accuse me of talking extravagantly sometimes. I\nwill be quiet here,—is the tone _too_ subdued if I say, such a life—made\nup of such years—I would deliberately take rather than any other\nimaginable one in which fame and worldly prosperity and the love of the\nwhole human race should combine, excluding ‘that of yours—to which I\nhearken’—only wishing the rest were there for a moment that you might\nsee and know that I did turn from them to you. My dearest, inexpressibly\ndearest. How can I thank you? I feel sure you _need_ not have been so\nkind to me, so perfectly kind and good,—I should have remained your own,\ngratefully, entirely your own, through the bare permission to love you,\nor even without it—seeing that I never dreamed of stipulating at the\nbeginning for ‘a return,’ and ‘reward,’—but I also believe, joyfully,\nthat no course but the course you have taken would have raised me above\nmy very self, as I feel on looking back. I began by loving you in\ncomparison with all the world,—now, I love you, my Ba, in the face of\nyour past self, as I remember it.\n\nAll words are foolish—but I kiss your feet and offer you my heart and\nsoul, dearest, dearest Ba.\n\nI left you last evening without the usual privilege—you did not rise, Ba!\nBut,—I don’t know why,—I got nervous of a sudden, it seemed late and I\nremembered the Drawing-room and its occupants.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, May 20, 1846.]\n\nDo you remember how, when poor Abou Hassan, in the Arabian story, awakens\nfrom sleep in the Sultan’s chamber, to the sound of instruments of music,\nhe is presently complimented by the grand vizier on the royal wisdom\ndisplayed throughout his reign ... do you remember? Because just as he\nlistened, do _I_ listen, when you talk to me about ‘the course I have\ntaken’.... _I_, who have just had the wit to sit still in my chair with\nmy eyes half shut, and dream ... dream!—Ah, whether I am asleep or awake,\nwhat do I know ... even now? As to the ‘course I have taken,’ it has been\nsomewhere among the stars ... or under the trees of the Hesperides, at\nlowest....\n\nWhy how can I write to you such foolishness? Rather I should be serious,\ngrave, and keep away from myths and images, and speak the truth plainly.\nAnd speaking the truth plainly, I, when I look back, dearest beloved, see\nthat you have done for me everything, instead of my doing anything for\nyou—that you have lifted me.... Can I speak? Heavens!—how I had different\nthoughts of you and of myself and of the world and of life, last year\nat this hour! The spirits who look backward over the grave, cannot feel\nmuch otherwise from my feeling as I look back. As to _your_ thanking\n_me_, _that_ is monstrous, it seems to me. It is the action of your own\nheart alone, which has appeared to do you any good. For myself, if I do\nnot spoil your life, it is the nearest to deserving thanks that I can\ncome. Think what I was when you saw me first ... laid there on the sofa\nas an object of the merest compassion! and of a sadder spirit than even\nthe face showed! and then think of all your generosity and persistence\nin goodness. Think of it!—shall I ever cease? Not while the heart beats,\nwhich beats for you.\n\nAnd now as the year has rounded itself to ‘the perfect round,’ I will\nspeak of that first letter, about which so many words were, ... just to\nsay, this time, that I am glad now, yes, glad, ... as we were to have a\nmiracle, ... to have it _so_, a born-miracle from the beginning. I feel\nglad, now, that nothing was _between_ the knowing and the loving ... and\nthat the beloved eyes were never cold discerners and analyzers of me at\nany time. I am glad and grateful to you, my own altogether dearest! Yet\nthe letter was read in pain and agitation, and you have scarcely guessed\nhow much. I could not sleep night after night,—could not,—and my fear was\nat nights, lest the feverishness should make me talk deliriously and tell\nthe secret aloud. Judge if the deeps of my heart were not shaken. From\nthe first you had that power over me, notwithstanding those convictions\nwhich I also had and which you know.\n\nFor it was not the character of the letter apart from you, which shook\nme,—I could prove that to you—I received and answered very calmly, with\nmost absolute calmness, a letter of the kind last summer ... knowing\nin respect to the writer of it, (just as I thought of _you_), that a\nmoment’s enthusiasm had carried him a good way past his discretion. I am\nsure that he was perfectly satisfied with my way of answering his letter\n... as I was myself. But _you_ ... _you_ ... I could not escape so from\n_you_. You were stronger than I, from the beginning, and I felt the\nmastery in you by the first word and first look.\n\nDearest and most generous. No man was ever like you, I know! May God\nkeep me from laying a blot on one day of yours!—on one hour! and rather\nblot out mine!\n\nFor my life, it is yours, as this year has been yours. But how can it\nmake you happy, such a thing as my life? _There_, I wonder still. It\nnever made me happy, without you!—\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.\n\nMrs. Jameson was here to-day and brought a message from Mr. Kenyon, who\ncomes to-morrow _at one_. The sun does not promise to come besides—does\nhe?\n\nMrs. Jameson goes to Brighton on Thursday, and returns in a day or two to\nspend another month or six weeks in town, changing her lodgings.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, May 20, 1846.]\n\nMy Ba, I can just kneel down to you and be kissed,—I cannot do more, nor\nspeak, nor thank you—and I seem to have no more chance of getting new\nlove to give you,—all is given,—so I have said before, and must keep\nsaying now—all of me is your very own.\n\nMy sister (whose engagement, and not mine, this was) decides to act\naccording to the letter of Mr. Kenyon’s kind instructions, and keeps at\nhome on account of the rain. She is very subject to colds and sore-throat\nwhich the least dampness underfoot is sure to produce in her. So I am\nnot near you! You would not go, however,—I think, would not go,—to the\nPark gate as you conditionally promised—I do not, therefore, miss _my_\nflower-show, my ‘rose tree that beareth seven times seven.’ But the\nother chance which your last letter apprises me of,—the visit of Mr.\nKenyon,—which, by going in time to him, I might perhaps make my own\ntoo—_that_, on a second thought, I determine to forego ... because\nit jeopardizes my Saturday, which will be worth so many, many such\nvisits,—does it not? There is no precedent in our golden year for three\nvisits taking place in a single week—not even in that end of October when\nall the doubt was about the voyage—how I remember!\n\nI shall be more with you than if in the presence of people before whom\nI may not say ‘Miss Barrett’ with impunity while professing to talk of\nMiss—I forget who! But ‘_more_ with you’ I who am always with you!\n\nAlways with you in the spirit, always yearning to be with you in the\nbody,—always, when with you, praying, as for the happiest of fortunes,\nthat I may remain with you for ever. So may it be, prays your\n\n own, own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday, May 20.\n\nWas it very wrong of me that never did I once think of the possibility of\nyour coming here with Mr. Kenyon? Never once had I the thought of it. If\nI had, I should have put it away by saying aloud ‘Don’t come’; because\nas you say, it would have prevented Saturday’s coming, the coming to-day\nwould, ... and also, as you do not say, it would have been infinitely\nhard for me to meet you and Mr. Kenyon in one battalion. Oh no, no! The\ngods forefend that you should come in that way! It was bad enough as it\nwas, to-day, when while he sate here his ten minutes, (first showing me a\nsonnet from America, which began ‘Daughter of Græcian Genius!’) he turned\nthose horrible spectacles full on me and asked, ‘Does Mrs. Jameson know\nthat Mr. Browning comes here?’ ‘No,’ said I,—suddenly abashed, though\nI had borne the sonnet like a hero. ‘Well, then! I advise you to give\ndirections to the servants that when she or anyone else asks for you,\nthey should not say _Mr. Browning is with you_,—as they said the other\nday to Miss Bayley who told me of it.’ Now, wasn’t _that_ pleasant to\nhear? I thanked him for his advice, and felt as uncomfortable as was well\npossible—and am, at this moment, a little in doubt how he was thinking\nwhile he spoke. Perhaps after the fashion of my sisters, when they cry\nout ‘Such a state of things never was heard of before!’ Not that they\nhave uttered one word of opposition ... not, from the first they knew,\n... understand!—but that they are frightened at what may be said by\npeople who take for granted that we are strangers, you and I, to one\nanother. Ah!—a little more, a little less ... of what consequence is it?\n\nSuch a day, to-day!—it was finer last year I remember! and Tuesday,\ninstead of Wednesday! Your sister was right, very right—though mine\nwent—but the distance was less, with us. A party of _twelve_ went from\nthis house—‘among us but not of us.’ For my part, I have not stirred\nfrom my room of course—the carriage was out of the question. And, if you\nplease, I never ‘_promised_’ to be at the park gate—oh indeed, I never\nmeditated seeing you even from afar—I thought only that I should hear\na little distant music and remember that, where it sounded, you were,\n_that_ was all, ... and too much, the stars made out, and so drove down\nthe clouds.\n\nPoor Mr. Kenyon was grave—depressed about his friend, who is in a\ndesperate state—dying in fact. He returns to Portsmouth to-morrow to be\nwith him till the change comes.\n\nDearest, how are you? Never now will you condescend to say how you\nare. Which is not to be allowed in this second year of our reign. I am\nvery well. Yesterday I heard some delightful matrimonial details of an\n‘establishment’ in Regent’s Park, quite like an old pastoral in the\nquickness of the repartee. ‘I hate you’—‘I abhor you’—‘I never liked\nyou’—‘I always detested you.’ A cup and saucer thrown bodily, here, by\nthe lady! On which the gentleman upsets her, ... chair and all, ...\nflat on the floor. The witness, who is a friend of mine, gets frightened\nand begins to cry. She was invited to the house to be godmother to their\nchild, and now she is pressed to stay longer to witness the articles of\nseparation.\n\nOh, I suppose such things are common enough!—But what is remarkable\n_here_, is the fact that neither party is a _poet_, by the remotest\ncourtesy.\n\nGoodnight, dear dearest—\n\n I am your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 21, 1846.]\n\nJust as I write, the weather is a little more proper for this ‘the\nblest ascension-day of the cheerful month of May’: may you not go out\ntherefore, my Ba? Or down-stairs, at all events. We were sorry, Sarianna\nand I, to see the bright afternoon yesterday ... we ought to have\ngone, perhaps—but Mr. Kenyon is good and will understand; spite of the\nspectacles. But what sonnet is that, you perverse Ba, of which you give\nme the two or three words,—in print,—how, where? And if I do not request\nand request I shall be sure to hear nothing of that American review\nagain,—so, I do request, Ba!\n\nLast night brought Dickens’ ‘Pictures from Italy’—which I read this\nmorning. He seems to have expended his power on the least interesting\nplaces,—and then gone on hurriedly, seeing or describing less and less,\ntill at last the mere names of places do duty for pictures of them, and\nat Naples he fairly gives it up ... the Vesuvius’ journey excepted. But\nthe book is readable and clever—shall I bring it?—(or next week when\neverybody here has done with it).\n\nI know, dearest, you did not _promise_ me that beatific vision by the\ngate—but was not enough said to justify me in waiting for you there?\nIndeed, yes—only the rain and wind seemed to forbid you; as they did.\nWere your sisters pleased? I am not sure I should have been glad to\nmeet them _so_—I could not have left my sister (whom nobody would have\nknown)—and then, with that unspoken secret between us. Also I please\nmyself by hoping that Mr. Kenyon was only relieved of a great trouble and\nannoyance in the present state of his anxieties by our keeping away. Poor\nCaptain Jones—really a fine, manly, noble fellow—I am heartily sorry. As\nfor me, since Ba asks, I am pretty well,—much better in some points, and\nno worse in the rest—all is right but the little sound in the head which\n_will_ be intrusive—but I must walk it away presently, or _think_ it away\nat worst.\n\nFor, dearest, dearest Ba, I _can_ cure all pains at once with you to\nthink of, and to love, and to bless. So, bless you!\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 22, 1846.]\n\nDearest, when your letter came I was cutting open the leaves of Dickens’\n‘Letters from Italy’ which Papa had brought in—so I am glad to have\nyour thoughts of the book to begin with. Before your letter came I had\nsent you the review, as you will find. What changes, what changes! And\nthe sonnet was purely manuscript, and for the good of the world should\nremain so. Oh—you cannot care for all this trash—such trash! Why I\nhad a manuscript sonnet sent to me last autumn by ‘person or persons\nunknown,’ ... ‘To EBB on her departure from England _to Pisa_.’ Can\nyou fancy that melodious piece of gossipping? Then a lady of the city,\nfamous, I believe, for haberdashery, used to address _all_ her poems to\nme—which really was original ... for she would write five or six ‘poems’\non an evening, and sweep them up and send them to me once a fortnight,\nupon faith, hope and charity, seaweed and moonshine, cornlaws and the\nimmortality of the soul, and take me for her standing muse, properly\n_thou_’d and _thee_’d all through. What a good vengeance it would be\nupon your unjust charges, if I set you to read a volume or two of those\n‘poems’ ... which all went into the fire—so you need not be frightened.\n\nAnd to-day I had a rose-tree sent to me by somebody who has laid close\nsiege to me this long while, and whom I have escaped hitherto ... but who\nhas encamped, she says, ‘till July’ in _16_ Wimpole Street. She writes\ntoo on her card ... ‘When are you going to Italy?’\n\nAh! you, who blame me (half blame me) for ‘seeing women,’ do not know\nhow difficult it is to help it sometimes, without being in appearance\nungrateful and almost brutal. Just because I am unwell, they teaze me\nmore, I believe. Now that Miss Heaton ... oh, I need not go back, but it\nwas not of my choice, be sure. You being a man are different,—and perhaps\nyou make people afraid and keep them off. They do not thrust their hands\nthrough the bars where the lion is, as they do with the giraffe. Once I\nhad this proposition—‘If we mayn’t come in, _will you stand up at the\nwindow that we may see_?’ Now!—And there’s the essence of at least ten\nMS. sonnets!——so don’t complain any more.\n\nAs for Mr. Kenyon, he had his ‘collation,’ I understand—and he said\nthat he was expecting Mrs. Jameson and _sundries_—but he referred to\nsome ‘friends from the country who would not be so mad as to come,’ and\nwhom I knew to be yourselves. You were quite, quite right not to come.\nTo-day you are right too ... in thinking that I—was out. I was in the\npark nearly an hour, Arabel and Flush and I: and perhaps if to-morrow\nshould be fine, I may walk in the street; so think of me and help me.\nThis is my last letter before I see you again, dear dearest. Oh—but I\nheard yesterday ... and it was not a tradition of the elders this time\n... it was ‘vivid in the pages of contemporary history’ ... in fact one\nof my brothers heard it at the Flower Show and brought it home as the\nnewest news, ... that ‘Mr. Browning is to be married immediately to Miss\nCampbell.’ The tellers of the news were ‘intimate friends’ of yours, they\nsaid, and knew it from the highest authority—\n\nLaugh!—Why should not they talk, being women? My brother did not tell\n_me_, but he told it down-stairs—and Arabel was amused, she said, at some\nof the faces round. At that turn of the road they lost the track of the\nhare. Not an observation was made by anybody.\n\nMay God bless you—Think of me. I am ever and ever\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n\nThis is not to be called a letter, please to understand, because to write\na letter to you once a day is enough in all reason. But I want to send\nyou the review you asked for at the same time with the drawings which I\nkept too long I thought months ago,—but I have looked over them again and\nagain. Then there is the book on Junius—and lastly, the song which I want\nyou to have ... the ‘Toll Slowly’—_that_ is my gift to you, for as much\nas it is worth, and not to be sent back to me if you please. As for the\nNotes on Naples, I shall keep them for the present, having need to study\nabout Amalfi.\n\nNow I am going out in the carriage, and shall drive round the park\nperhaps. You will not think much of the music—but it being the first\nmusic I had heard for years and years, and in itself so overwhelmingly\nmelancholy, it affected me so that I should scarcely hear it to the\nend. I went down-stairs on purpose to hear it and be able to thank the\ncomposer rightly. But she has done better things, I am sure.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nObserve—I disobey in nothing by sending this parcel. There is too much\nfor you to carry. Don’t forget to bring me my _Statesmen_ which is a\nlawful burden.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 22, 1846.]\n\nI have a great mind to retract ... I _do_ retract altogether whatever\nI said the other day in explanation of Miss Heaton’s story. I make no\ndoubt, now, it was a pure dream to which my over-scrupulousness of\nconscience gave a local habitation and name both, through the favourable\ndimness and illusion of ‘a good many years ago’—because this last charge\nabout ‘Miss Campbell’—briefly—I never in my life saw, to my knowledge,\na woman of that name—nor can there be any woman of any other name from\nmy acquaintance with whom the merest misunderstanding in the world could\npossibly arise to a third person ... I mean, that it must be a simple\nfalsehood and not gossip or distortion of fact, as I supposed in the\nother case. I told you of the one instance where such distortion _might_\ntake place,—(Miss Haworth, to avoid mistake). This charge after the other\n... I will tell you of what it reminds me—in my early boyhood I had a\nhabit of calling people ‘fools,’ with as little reverence as could be,\n... and it used to be solemnly represented to me after such offences that\n‘whoso calleth his brother “fool,” is in danger &c. for he hath committed\nmurder in his heart already’ &c. in short,—there was no help for it,—I\nstood there a convicted _murderer_ ... to which I was forced penitently\nto agree.... Here is Miss Heaton’s charge and my confession. Now, let\na policeman come here presently to ask what I know about the ‘Deptford\nMurder’ or the ‘Marshalsea Massacre’—and you will have my ‘intimate\nfriend’s’ charge. By the way, did your brother overhear this, or was it\nspoken to someone in his company, or is my friend his acquaintance also?\nBecause in either of the latter cases I can interfere easily. (There is\na _Mr. Browning_—Henry I think—living in, or near the Regent’s Park.) At\nall events, please say that I know no such person, nor ever knew,—that\nthe whole is a pure falsehood—(and I only use so mild a word because\nI write to _you_, and because on reading the letter again I see the\nspeakers were women).\n\nIt is a _fact_ that I have made myself almost ridiculous by a kind of\nmale prudery with respect to ‘young ladies’ ... that I have seemed to\nimply—‘If I gave you the least encouragement something would be sure to\nfollow.’ In fact never seeing any attractiveness in the class, I was very\nlittle inclined to get involved in troubles and troubles for nothing at\nall. And as for marrying ... that is a point on which I have certainly\nnot chosen to dilate before _you_, nor shall I now dilate on it.\n\nWell, I shall see you to-morrow, that remedies everything. And that is\nyour way of letting me see the Review,—you send it! Not that it has\narrived yet. Dear Ba, how ever good you are!\n\nAll about the lady enthusiasts makes me laugh—don’t think I fail of\nthe proper respect to them, however—it is only once in a week that one\nsees a real painted Emperor settle on a flower, and then perhaps for a\nfew minutes—while at all times, if you look, you will find a good half\ndozen of earnest yet sleepy drones _living_ there, working away at the\nsweet,—after all, these get the most out of the flower.\n\nDid you really go out yesterday? I was not sure, for the wind was\nEasterly—but it appears to have done you no harm,—you may ‘go into the\nstreet’ to-day—I am most happy,—most happy—and always entirely happy in\nyou,—in thinking of you, and hoping,—my life is in you now—\n\n Bless you, dearest—I am your own.\n\n2 o’clock, the parcel arrives ... thank you, best of Ba’s! I will read\nand tell you—(only what on earth do you mean by sending back those\nsketches?)", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 25, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba is entreated to observe, that when she sends me reviews\nabout herself, and songs by herself, and a make-weight book about\n‘Junius’ happens to be sent also ... I do not ordinarily plunge into\nthe Junius-discussion at once—perhaps from having made up my mind that\nthe Author is Miss Campbell:—at all events, while the review was read\nand re-read and the music done justice and injustice to, the Junius was\nopened for the first time this morning, at eight of the clock, and Ba’s\nletter which lay between pages 16 and 17, ‘came to hand’—was brought\nto me by my mother, from my father! but for whose lucky inspiration of\ncuriosity the said note had perhaps lain shut in till the book’s secret\nwas found out ... certainly _I_ should never have touched the book before\nthen! And from this note, duly studied, I learn that yesterday I must\nhave appeared to Ba touched by a general mental paralysis—inasmuch as I\nwas surprised, over and above the joyfulness, to hear that she was in the\nPark on Thursday, as well as Friday ... (oh, I know the letter I _did_\nreceive mentioned it, but it seems as if _one_ of the two excursions were\nunrecorded)—and seeing that I enquired whether Ba had heard with her own\nears the song ... and altogether omitted thanking her for the gift of it:\nand lastly, brought no _Statesmen_, even on Ba’s request! Of all which\nmatters I _ought_ to have been made acquainted by the note: what must you\nthink of me, you Ba; dearest-dearest, that expect me to know the face\nthrough the bonnet, and the letter through the book covers—(Ba sitting\nin the Bookseller’s shop was a type, I see!). What did you think of me\nyesterday, I want to know?\n\nWell, and now my letter does come I thank you—(for all the trouble this\nprecedent will give me—next time a parcel comes—of poking into all\nimpossible places to see and to see!). You are the dearest, dearest,\nimpossibly dear Ba that heart ever adored,\n\n ‘And the roses which thou strowest,\n All the cheerful way thou goest,\n Would direct to follow thee,’\n\nas Shirley sings—and every now and then the full sense of the sweetness\n_collects_ itself and overcomes me entirely, as now, on the occasion of\nthis note that I find; I am blessed by you in the hundred unspeakable\nways—but were it only for _this_ and similar pure kindness, I find it in\nmy heart to give you my life could it profit you! Here ought I, by every\nlaw and right and propriety ... ask Miss Campbell! ... to be ministering\nto you, caring for you; and ... oh, Ba, do please, please, throw a coffee\ncup at me!—(giving some _grounds_ for complaint!)—and after it the\n_soucoupe_ (‘glaring with _saucer_ eyes’)—and see what you shall see, and\nhear what you shall hear! You ‘strongest woman that has written yet’!\nHave _they_ found that out? _I_ know it, I think, by this! So I will go\nand think over it in the garden, and tell you more in the afternoon.\n\n_12 o’clock!_—What strange weather!—but pleasant, I think—you have been\nout, or will go out, perhaps. Tell me all, dearest, and how you feel\nafter it. To-morrow I will send you the Review and some of the other\nbooks you have spoken of from time to time—but, I almost dare to keep\nthe _Statesmen_, spite of your positive request. Why, dear, want to see\nwhat I desire to forget altogether? So my other poems, ‘Sordello’ &c.—I\nmost unaffectedly shudder at the notion of your reading them, as I said\nyesterday. _My_ poetry is far from the ‘completest expression of my\nbeing’—I hate to refer to it, or I could tell you why, wherefore, ...\n_prove_ how imperfect (for a mild word), how unsatisfactory it must of\nnecessity be. Still, I should not so much object, if, such as it is, it\nwere the best, the flower of my life ... but that is all to come, and\nthrough you, mainly, or more certainly. So will it not be better to let\nme write one last poem this summer,—quite easily, stringing every day’s\nthoughts instead of letting them fall,—and laying them at the dear feet\nat the summer’s end for a memorial? I have been almost determining to\ndo this, or try to do it, as I walked in the garden just now. A poem to\npublish or not to publish; but a proper introduction to the afterwork.\nWhat do you think, my Ba, my dearest siren, and muse, and Mistress, and\n... something beyond all, above all and better ... shall I do this?\nAnd what are you studying about Amalfi, my Ba? Will you please keep\nthat Naples’ Note-book till I ask for it—at Amalfi. Till holy church\nincorporate two in one; and I take the degree of my aspiration. Rᵗ. Bᵍ.\n_B.A._—in earnest of which, kiss me dear, ‘earnest, most earnest of\npoets,’ and let me kiss you as I do ... loving you as I love you. Bless\nyou, best and dearest.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, May 25, 1846.]\n\nWhen you came yesterday I had scarcely done my grumbling over the\n_Athenæum_, which really seems to me to select its subjects from the\nthings least likely to interest and elevate. It goes on its own level\nperhaps—but to call itself a Journal of Art and Literature afterwards,\nis too much to bear patiently when one turns it over and considers. Lady\nHester Stanhope’s physician, antiquities of the mayors of London, stories\nre-collected from the magazines by Signor Marcotti—and this is literature\n... art! Without thinking of ‘Luria,’ it is natural and righteous to\nbe angry even after the sun has gone down. These are your teachers,\nO Israel! Mr. Dilke may well fly to the _Daily News_ for congenial\noccupation and leave literature behind him, and nobody hang on the wheels\nof his chariot, crying, ‘Come back, Mr. Dilke.’\n\nTalking of chariots, George met you, he said, yesterday, wheeling down\nOxford Street, ... (this he told me when he came in ...) going as fast as\nan express train, and far too fast, of course, either to recognize or be\nrecognized.\n\nOh—I forgot to tell you one thing about the review in the _Methodist\nQuarterly_. You observe there some very absurd remarks about\nTennyson—but, just _there_, is an extract from the ‘Spirit of the Age,’\nabout his ‘coming out of himself as the nightingale from under the\nleaves,’ ... you see _that_? Well ... it is curious that precisely what\nis quoted _there_, is some of my writing, when I contributed to Mr.\nHorne’s book. It amused me to recognize it, (as you did not George) ...\nbut I was vexed too at the foolish deduction, because....\n\nIn the midst I had to hold my Sunday-levee, when for the only day in the\nweek and for one half hour I have to see all my brothers and sisters at\nonce: on the week days, one being in one place and one in another, and\nthe visits to me only coming by twos and threes. Well, and Alfred, who\nnever had said a word to me before, gave me the opportunity of saying\n‘_no, no, it is not true_’—followed hard by a remark from somebody else,\nthat ‘of course Ba must know, as she and Mr. Browning are such _very_\nintimate friends,’ and a good deal of laughter on all sides: on which,\nwithout any transition and with an exceeding impertinence, Alfred threw\nhimself down on the sofa and declared that he felt inclined to be very\nill, ... for that then perhaps (such things being heard of) some young\nlady might come to visit _him_, to talk sympathetically on the broad\nand narrow gauge! Altogether, I shall leave you for the future to ...\ncontradict yourself! I did not mean to do it this time, only that Alfred\nforced me into it. But he said ... ‘How the Miss Cokers praised him!...\n“It was delightful,” they cried, “to see a man of such a great genius\ncondescend to little people like them.”’ So they are better than the\n_Athenæum_, and I shall not have them spoken of ungently, mind, even if\nthey do romance a little wildly, and marry _me_, next time, to the man in\nthe moon.\n\nIn the meantime, dearest, it is no moonshine that I was out walking\nto-day again, and that I walked up all these stairs with my own feet on\nreturning. I sate down on the stairs two or three times, but I could\nnot rest in the drawing-room because somebody was there, and I was not\ncarried, as usual—see how vain-glorious I am. And what a summer-sense in\nthe air—and how lovely the strips of sky between the houses! And yet I\nmay tell you truly, that, constantly, through these vivid impressions,\nI am thinking and feeling that mournful and bitter would be to me this\nreturn into life, apart from you, apart from the consideration of you.\nHow could ever I have borne it, I keep feeling constantly. But you are\n_there_, in the place of memory. Ah—you said yesterday that you were\nnot ungrateful! _I_ cannot say so. I blame myself often. And yet again\nI think that the wrong may be pardoned to me, for that those affections\nhad worked out on me their uttermost pang—nearly unto death I had felt\nthem—and now if I am to live, it must be by other means—or I should\ndie still, and not live. Also I owe _you_ gratitude——do I not owe you\ngratitude? Then, _I cannot help it_ ... right or wrong, I cannot help it\n... you are all to me, and, beloved—whichever way I look, I only can see\n_you_. If wrong, it is not for _you_ to be severe on me—\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday. 12 o’clock.\n\nI get nothing by the post this morning:—perhaps at next delivery! Well,\nI had the unexpected largess yesterday, you know. At this time last\nyear the letters came once a week! Now the manna falls as manna should\nomitting only the seventh day.\n\nDo you know, my Ba,—the Campbell mystery is all but solved, to my\nthinking, by supposing, as one may, that, those foolish ladies confound\ntheir cousin’s friend _Brown_, an indubitable Scot and Lord Jeffrey’s\nnephew,—(and their intimate for aught I know)—with _me_. He is in town\nnow; _did_ dine with them just before I saw him a fortnight ago; and\n_may_ meditate happiness with Miss Campbell, and be provided with a\nparagon of a ‘sister’ besides. Those ladies have been to Scotland—may\neasily know him there and see ‘sights’ with him here. Is not all this\nlikely? It is not worth writing about to White, nor a visit to him at\nDoctors’ Commons, but when I next chance on his company, I will enquire.\n\nHere is the review,—which I like very much—the introductory, abstract\nremarks might be better, but so it always is when a man, having really\nsomething to say about one precise thing (your poems), thinks he had\nbetter preface it by a little graceful _generality_. All he _wanted_ to\nwrite, I agree in, thoroughly agree,—though I cannot but fancy my own\nselection,—that _might_ be,—of passages and single poems!\n\nAnd, dearest, I venture to keep back the _Statesmen_, as I asked leave to\ndo yesterday, for the reasons then given—may I keep it back?\n\nAlso I return those sketches,—now they have been in your hand, they\ncannot lie about here—(I keep brown paper with your writing on it, and\nstring, and the wrappage of this pen of mine—to be sure) so I shall get\nyou to bear with them again, two or three being added, just as I find\nthem. There is, too, the ode which was presented to me on my departure\nfrom Rome by an enthusiastic Roman; red ribbon and all! And last of all\nyou have my play as altered by Macready: greater excisions had been\ndetermined on, but on the appearance of the printed copy had the effect\nit intended ... it would have been too ludicrous to leave out the whole\nof the first scene, for instance (as was in contemplation), and then to\ntell the public ‘my play’ had been acted. I refer to this silly business\nonly to show you what success or non-success on the stage means and is\nworth. It is all behind me now—so far behind!\n\nNow I will wait and see what next post may bring me from dearest Ba—Ba,\nthe dear, and the beloved, e sopra tutto, the tall! Does she not ‘stand\nhigh in the affection’—of her very own\n\n R.B.?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, May 25, 1846.]\n\nDear, dear love, your letter comes at half past _three_ by a new\nPostman,—(very bewildered). You will perhaps have received my parcel and\nnote—if not, such things are on the road. All in _your_ note delights\nme entirely. As for my walking fast, _that_ is exactly my use and wont\n... I am famous for it,—as my father is for driving old lady-friends\ninto illnesses, and then saying innocently, ‘I took care to walk _very_\nslowly.’ When I have anything to occupy my mind, I all but run—but the\npen can’t run, for this letter must go, and nothing said.\n\nSo, Ba, my Ba, Goodbye till to-morrow from\n\n Your own, own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 26, 1846.]\n\nMy beloved I scarcely know what to say about the poem. It is almost\nprofane and a sin to keep you from writing it when your mind goes that\nway,—yet I am afraid that you cannot begin without doing too much and\nwithout suffering as a consequence in your head. Now if you make yourself\nill, what will be the end? So you see my fears! Let it be however as it\nmust be! Only you will promise to keep from all excesses, and to write\nvery very gently. Ah—can you keep such a promise, if it is made ever so?\nThere are the fears again.\n\nYou are very strange in what you say about my reading your poetry—as if\nit were not my peculiar gladness and glory!—my own, which no man can\ntake from me. And not _you_, indeed! Yet I am not likely to mistake\nyour poetry for the flower of your nature, knowing what that flower is,\nknowing something of what that flower is without a name, and feeling\nsomething of the mystical perfume of it. When I said, or when others\nsaid for me, that my poetry was the flower of me, was it praise, did you\nthink, or blame? might it not stand for a sarcasm? It might,—if it were\nnot true, miserably true after a fashion.\n\nYet something of the sort is true, of course, with all poets who write\ndirectly from their personal experience and emotions—their ideal rises to\nthe surface and floats like the bell of the waterlily. The roots and the\nmuddy water are _subaudita_, you know—as surely there, as the flower.\n\nBut _you_ ... you have the superabundant mental life and individuality\nwhich admits of shifting a personality and speaking the truth still.\n_That_ is the highest faculty, the strongest and rarest, which exercises\nitself in Art,—we are all agreed there is none so great faculty as the\ndramatic. Several times you have hinted to me that I made you careless\nfor the drama, and it has puzzled me to fancy how it could be, when\nI understand myself so clearly both the difficulty and the glory of\ndramatic art. Yet I am conscious of wishing you to take the other crown\nbesides—and after having made your own creatures speak in clear human\nvoices, to speak yourself out of that personality which God made, and\nwith the voice which He tuned into such power and sweetness of speech. I\ndo not think that, with all that music in you, only your own personality\nshould be dumb, nor that having thought so much and deeply on life and\nits ends, you should not teach what you have learnt, in the directest and\nmost impressive way, the mask thrown off however moist with the breath.\nAnd it is not, I believe, by the dramatic medium, that poets teach most\nimpressively—I have seemed to observe _that_! ... it is too difficult\nfor the common reader to analyse, and to discern between the vivid and\nthe earnest. Also he is apt to understand better always, when he sees\nthe lips move. Now, here is yourself, with your wonderful faculty!—it is\nwondered at and recognised on all sides where there are eyes to see—it is\ncalled wonderful and admirable! Yet, with an inferior power, you might\nhave taken yourself closer to the hearts and lives of men, and made\nyourself dearer, though being less great. Therefore I do want you to do\nthis with your surpassing power—it will be so easy to you to speak, and\nso noble, when spoken.\n\nNot that I usen’t to fancy I could see you and know you, in a reflex\nimage, in your creations! I used, you remember. How these broken lights\nand forms look strange and unlike now to me, when I stand by the complete\nidea. Yes, _now_ I feel that no one can know you worthily by those poems.\nOnly ... I guessed a little. _Now_ let us have your own voice speaking of\nyourself—if the voice may not hurt the speaker—which is my fear.\n\n_Evening._—Thank you, dearest dearest! I have your parcel—I have your\nletters ... three letters to-day, it is certainly feast day with me.\nThank you my own dearest. The drawings I had just fixed in my mind,\ncourageously to ask for, because as you _meant_ me to keep them I did not\nsee why I should throw away a fortune—and they return to me with interest\n... I observe these new vivid sketches! Some day I shall put them into\na book, as _you_ should have done. Then for the Roman ode, and all the\nrest, thank you, thank you. _I_ looked here and looked there, though,\nfor a letter—I could not find it at first, and was just saying to myself\nquite articulately ‘What wickedness’! ... meaning that it was wickedness\nin you to send me a parcel without a word, ... when I came upon the\nfolded paper. For _I_ looked inside the books, be sure. _I_ did not toss\nthem away....\n\nThere’s the gratitude of the world, you see! and of womankind in\nparticular! there’s the malign spirit of the _genus coffee-cup-throw-arum_!\nTalking of which coffee-cups, you dare me to it. Which is imprudent,\nto say the least of it. I heard once of her most gracious Majesty’s\nthrowing a tea-cup,—whereupon Albertus Magnus, who is no conjurer, could\nfind nothing better to do than to walk out of the room in solemn silence.\nIf I had been he, I should have tied the royal hands, I think; for when\nwomen get to be warlike after that demonstrative fashion, it seems to me\nto be allowable to teach them that they are not the strongest. I say it,\nnever thinking of my ‘licence to’ throw coffee-cups—which you granted,\nknowing very well what I know intimately, ... that ... that....\n\nI have a theory about you. Was ever anybody in the world, ... a woman\nat least, ... _angry with you_? If anyone ever tried, did she not fail\nin the first breath of the trying?—go out to curse like the prophet,\nand bless instead? Tell me if anyone was ever angry with you? It is\nimpossible, I know perfectly. Therefore, as to the coffee-cup license,\n... the divine Achilles, invulnerable all but the heel, might as well\nhave said to his dearest foe ‘Draw out your sword, O Diomede, and strike\nme across the head, prick me in the forehead, slash me over the ears,\n...’ and _that_ stand for a proof of courage!\n\nWhat stuff I do write, to be sure. I was out to-day walking, with Arabel\nand Flush, and rested at the bookseller’s; but as I went farther than the\nother day, I let Stormie carry me up-stairs, ... it is such a long way!\nSay how you are, dearest—you do not! Shall you walk so fast when you walk\nwith me under the trees? I shall not let you—I shall hang back, as Flush\ndoes, when he won’t go with a string. Ah—little (altogether) you know\nperhaps what a hard Degree that B:A: is, to take— —the BA which is not a\nBachelor’s.\n\nNo, no, for the rest. It was not any Brown on earth, but the only\nBrowning of the great genius, who was shown up as intimate friend to the\nMiss Cokers and elect husband of that cloud, Miss Campbell the ‘great\nheiress’—all in proportion, observe! But I do entreat you not to say a\nword to Dr. White or another. Why should you? It is mere nonsense,—so\ndo let it evaporate quietly. Why, with all my doubts for which you have\nblamed me, ... at the thickest and saddest of the doubting, it never\nwas what people could _say of you_ that could move me. And this is so\nfoolish, and unbelieved even by the very persons who say it, perhaps! Let\nit pass away with other dust, in the wind. It is not worth the watering.\n\nMay God bless you! This is my last letter ... already! I had another\ncriticism to-day from America, in a book called ‘Thoughts on the Poets,’\nwhich is written by a Mr. Tuckermann, and selects its poets on the most\nsingular principle ... or rather on none at all ... beginning with\nPetrarch, ending with Bryant, receiving Tennyson, Procter, Hunt, and your\nBa ... and not a word of you! Stupid book—Petrarch and Alfieri are the\nonly foreign poets admitted—criticisms, swept back to the desk from the\nmagazines, I dare say. Very kind to me—you shall see if you like.\n\nAnd now ... good-night at last! it must come. Have I not written you one\nletter as long as the three? Only not worth a third as much—_that_ I know.\n\n Wholly and ever your\n\n BA.\n\nOh I must speak, though I meant to be silent! though first, I meant\nto keep the great subject of the _Statesmen_ for an explosion on\nWednesday. I gave up the early poems because I felt contented to read\nthem afterwards—but listen ... my _Statesmen_, I _will not give up_. Now\nlisten—I expect nothing at all from them—they were written for another\nperson, and under peculiar circumstances ... they are probably as bad as\nanything written by you, can be. Will _that_ do, to say? And _may_ I see\nthem? Now I ask ever so humbly ... _Dearest_!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "3½ P.M. Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, May 26, 1846.]\n\nDearest, your dearest of notes only arrived at 2 o’clock—and Carlyle has\njust been with me,—come on horseback for the express purpose of strolling\nabout—so that I was forced, forced ... you see! He is gone again—and\nthere is only time to tell you why no more is told—but to-morrow will\nsupply all deficiency. Bless you, my dearest best Ba. How I love you!\n\n Your own—\n\nPoor Capt. Jones is dead,—you may see in the papers.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, May 28, 1846.]\n\nDearest it is my fancy to write quickly this morning and take my\nletter to the post myself. Oh, I shall do it this time—there will be\nno obstacle. The office is just below Hodgson’s, the bookseller’s. And\nso with this letter, please to understand that I go to you twice and\nwholly, once in the spirit, and again in the body.\n\nBut there is nothing to tell you, except that I think of you with the\nthought which never can change essentially, while it deepens always. What\nI meant to say yesterday was simply, that I, _knowing that_, should be\n‘bad’ if I could fail practically to myself and you. I have known from\nthe beginning the whole painful side of what is before me, also ... I\nshould have no excuse therefore for any weakness in any fear. Should I\nnot be ‘bad’ then, and more unworthy of you than even according to my own\naccount, if the obstacle came from _me_? _It never can._ Remember to be\nsure of it.\n\nA change of feeling indeed would be a different thing, and we think\nexactly alike on the fit consequences of it. Which change is however\nabsolutely impossible in my position and to _me_, ‘for reasons ... for\nreasons’ ... you guess at some of them, some are spoken, and others\ncannot be.\n\nIn one word for all, life seems to come to me only through you.\n\n I am your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 28, 1846.]\n\nThere is a long four days more of waiting—I feel more and more and ever\nmore how, wanting you, my life wants all it can have. Dear Ba, never\nwonder that I fancy at times such an event’s occurrence as you tell me I\nneed not fear. I shall always fear,—never _can_ I hold you sufficiently\nfast, I shall think. So, if my jewel must be taken from me, let some\neagle stoop down for it suddenly, baffling all human precaution, as I\nlook on my treasure on a tower’s top miles and miles inland,—don’t let\nme have to remember, though but in a minute of life afterwards, that\nI let it drop into the sea through foolishly balancing it in my open\nhand over the water. There is one of Ba’s ‘myths,’ excepting all Ba’s\nfelicitousness of application and glory of invention,—but then it has all\nmy own love and worship of Ba’s self, all I care to be distinguished by.\n\nI hope you go out this fine morning—the wind is cold, to be sure, but\nLondon is much warmer than this place, and the wind kept off by the\nhouses. I have got two of Mr. Kenyon’s kind notes, to confirm the\nappointment for Wednesday (when Mrs. Jameson is to be of the party), and\nto invite me to meet Landor on Tuesday—so that for three days running I\nshall be in Ba’s very neighbourhood ... for if the wind can’t get through\nhouses and walls, Ba can and does, as my heart knows. Might I not see\nyou for a moment on the Wednesday? Ah, there will be time to contrive,\nto concert—but the worst is that when I see you I contrive nothing,\nnor do you help me, you Ba! Else, out of these walks,—who is to object\nto my going to see the Thames Tunnel or the Tower, by way of Wimpole\nStreet,—wanting the organ of locality as I am said to? Whereas I am all\none consciousness of the influence of one locality, turning as my whole\nheart and soul turn to Ba,—my dearest, dearest, whom may God bless and\nrequite. I can only kiss you, as I do, and be your very own, my Ba, as I\nam and shall be ever.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, May 29, 1846.]\n\nDearest dearest, I thought I had lost my letter to-night, for not a sound\ncame like a postman’s knock ... I thought I had lost my letter, talking\nof losing jewels. I waited and waited, and at last broke silence to\nArabel with, ‘when _will_ the post come?’ ‘Not to-night,’ said she—‘it is\nnearly ten.’ On which I exclaimed so pitifully and with such a desperate\nsense of loss, ‘You mean to say that I shall have no letter to-night,’?\n... that after she had laughed a very little, she went down-stairs to\nsearch the letterbox and brought me what I wanted.\n\nAnd you think it possible that I should give up my letters and their\ngolden fountain?—_I!_ ... while I live and have understanding! I can’t\nfancy what manner of eagles you believe in. If in real live eagles, ...\nwhy it is as probable as any other thing of the sort, that I (or you)\nshould be snatched away by an eagle ... the eagle who used to live, for\ninstance, at the Coliseum of Regent’s Park. And when I ride away upon an\neagle, I may take a wrong counsel perhaps that hour from other birds of\nthe air: ... but _till then_, I am yours to have and to hold, ... unless,\nas you say, you open your hand wide and cry with a distinct voice, ‘Go.’\nIt shall be your doing and not mine, if we two are to part—or God’s\nown doing, through illness and death. And the way to avert danger is\nto avoid observation and discussion, as much as we can—and we have not\nbeen frightened much yet, ... now have we? As for Wednesday, there is\ntime to think. But how can you leave your sister? you cannot. So unless\nyou derange your ‘myth’ altogether, and find a trysting place for us,\n... each mounted on an eagle, ... in Nephelococcygia, we had better be\nsatisfied, it seems to me, with Monday and Saturday.\n\nI was out to-day as you saw by my letter, which with my own hand I\ndropped into the post. I liked to do it beyond what you discern. And how\nthe sun shone,—and the little breath of wind could do nobody harm, I\nfelt. Also there was the ‘Autography’ in the shop-window to see, before I\nsate down in the shop. So you were thought of by necessity, besides the\nfreewill.\n\nDo you not see that I am bound to you hand and foot? Why do you not see\nwhat God sees?\n\nBut it is late, and the rest must be for to-morrow. The sender of the\nrose-tree sent to-day a great heliotrope—so, presently, you will have to\nseek me in a wood.\n\n Everywhere your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 29, 1846.]\n\nMy own darling, your little note was a great delight to me last night,\nwhen I expected nothing; and though I do not hear to-day, I will believe\nyou are well after the walk—the walk, what a ‘divine fancy’; not\nmentioned by Quarles!\n\nAnd then the words that follow the good news of the walk ... those\nassurances ... oh, my best, dearest Ba,—it is all right that I\ncannot speak here,—if I _could_, by some miracle, speak, it would be\nfoolish:—but my life lies before you to take and direct, and keep or give\naway,—I am altogether your own.\n\nI come in rather tired from Town—having spent the morning at the\nExhibition, and made calls beside. (Etty’s picture of the _sirens_ is\nabominable; though it looks admirable beside another picture of his: did\nI not tell you he had chosen the sirens for a subject?)\n\nOh, dearest beyond all dearness, _now_, at this moment only, your last\nand _pro tempore best_ letter comes to me! One can’t scold and kiss at\nthe same time ... so let the wretched Post arrangements be unmentioned\nfor the moment; there is enough to get up a revolution about, I do\nthink! But you, you spoil me and undo me almost,—_ought_ to do so, at\nleast,—they were _too_ delicious to bear, the things you say to me! Why\nwill you not say rather what I feel,—for you can, perhaps, being what you\nare, and let me subscribe it! It is a real pain to me to feel as I feel,\nand speak no more than I speak.\n\nAnd again the time urges ... just when I want most to go on writing—but\nto-morrow I will do nothing else. Take this now, sweet, sweet Ba, with my\nwhole heart that loves, loves you!\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, May 30, 1846.]\n\nI have your letter ... you who cannot write! The contrariety is a part of\nthe ‘miracle.’ After all it seems to me that you can write for yourself\npretty well—rather too well I used to think from the beginning. But if\nyou persist in the proposition about my doing it for you, leaving room\nfor your signature ... shall it be this way?\n\n_Show me how to get rid of you._\n\n (signed) _R.B._\n\nNow isn’t it _I_ who am ... not ‘balancing my jewel’ over the gulph ...\nbut actually tossing it up in the air out of sheer levity of joyousness?\nOnly it is not perhaps such dangerous play as it looks: there may be\na little string perhaps, tying it to my finger. Which, if it is not\nimprudence in act, is imprudence in fact, you see!\n\nDearest, I committed a felony for your sake to-day—so never doubt that\nI love you. We went to the Botanical Gardens, where it is unlawful\nto gather flowers, and I was determined to gather this for you, and\nthe gardeners were here and there ... they seemed everywhere ... but\nI stooped down and gathered it. Is it felony, or burglary on green\nleaves—or what is the name of the crime? would the people give me up to\nthe police, I wonder? _Transie de peur_, I was, ... listening to Arabel’s\ndeclaration that all gathering of flowers in these gardens is highly\nimproper,—and I made her finish her discourse, standing between me and\nthe gardeners—to prove that I was the better for it.\n\nHow pretty those gardens are, by the way! We went to the summer-house and\nsate there, and then on, to the empty seats where the band sit on your\nhigh days. What I enjoy most to see, is the green under the green ...\nwhere the grass stretches under trees. _That_ is something unspeakable\nto me, in the beauty of it. And to stand under a tree and feel the green\nshadow of the tree! I never knew before the difference of the _sensation_\nof a green shadow and a brown one. I seemed to feel that green shadow\nthrough and through me, till it went out at the soles of my feet and\nmixed with the other green below. Is it nonsense, or not? Remember that\nby too much use we lose the knowledge and apprehension of things, and\nthat I may feel therefore what you do not feel.\n\nBut in everything I felt _you_—and always, dearest beloved, you were\nnearer to me than the best.\n\nWell; to go on with my story. Coming home and submitting to be carried\nup-stairs because I was tired, the news was that Miss Bayley had waited\nto see me three quarters of an hour. Then she sate with me an hour—and\noh, such kind, insisting, persisting plans about Italy! I did not know\nwhat to say, so I was _niaise_ and grateful, and said ‘thank you, thank\nyou’ as I could. Did Mrs. Jameson tell you of her scheme of going to\nFlorence for two years and to Venice for one, taking her niece with\nher in order to an ‘artistical education’? And Mr. Bezzi, who is the\n‘most accurate of men,’ furnishes the details of necessary expenses,\nand assures her in his programme that she may ‘walk in silk attire’ and\ndrive her carriage like an English aristocrat, for three hundred a year,\nat Florence—but the place is English-ridden ... filled and polluted.\nSorrento is better or even Pisa. We will keep our Siren-isles to\nourselves ... will we not?\n\nAnd now tell me. Was there not a picture of Sirens by Etty, exhibited\nyears ago ... which was also ‘abominable,’ as I thought when I saw it?\nIs it the same picture returning like a disquieted ghoule ... much more\n_that_, than like a Siren at all, if it is the same, ... I remember it\nwas scarcely to be looked at for hideousness ... though I heard some\ncarnivorous connoisseurs praising the ‘colouring’!! Foreigners might\nrefer such artistical successes to our national ‘beef’ ... ‘le bifteak’\nideal. The materialism of Art.\n\nCan you love me _so_? _do_ you? ... will you always? And is any of that\nlove ‘lost,’ do you think, ... as the saying is? Indeed it is not. I put\ngolden basins all round (the reverse shape of lachrymatories) to catch\nevery drop as it falls, ... so that when we two shall meet together in\nthe new world, I may look in your face (as I cannot at this moment) and\nsay ‘None of the love was lost, though all of it was undeserved.’ May God\nbless you, dearest, best! My heart is _in_ you, I think. You would laugh\nto see the books I take up ... first, ‘Strafford’ ... then Suetonius to\nsee about your Cæsar ... then the Naples book. Oh, but I find you out in\nthe _Statesmen_ ... for all the dim light.\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, May 30, 1846.]\n\nOh, yes, do ‘show me how to get rid of you,’ my best Ba,—for so I shall\nhave the virtuous delight of deciding to keep you, instead of being\nwholly kept by you,—it is all out of my head, now, how I used to live\nwhen I was my own: and if you can, by one more witchery, give me back\nthat feeling for once ... Ba, I have no heart to write more nonsense,\nwhen I can take your dearest self into my arms; yet I shall never quite\nlie quiet and happy, I do think ... I shall be always wishing you would\nbe angry and cruel and unjust, for a moment,—for my love overflows the\nbounds, needs to prove itself—all which is foolish, I know. To-day, for\nsome unknown reason, is a day of hope with me ... all bright things seem\npossible; I was feeling them so, when your note came—as I sate in the\ngarden—and when I saw the flower (Paracelsus’ _own_ ... they usually\nornament his pictures with it,—I said something on the subject in the\npoem, too, and gave a note about ‘Flammula citrinula—herba Paracelso\nmultum familiaris’—) when I saw that, and read on and on,—every now and\nthen laying the letter down to feel the entire joy,—and when the end\ncame,—Ba, dearest Ba, it was with me then as now, as always after steady\nthinking of _what_ you are to me ... I cannot tell you—but for the past,\nutterly irrespective of the future,—for what you _have_ been, this love\ncannot cease though you were transformed into all you are not nor could\never be. I mean, that after the blow struck, the natural vibration must\nfollow and continue its proper period—and that my love for what I have\nreceived from you already _must_ last to my life’s end—cannot end sooner!\n‘Shall I continue to love you!’\n\nYou said in Thursday’s letter—‘We have not been frightened much yet,’\nour meetings have been uninterrupted hitherto, and these letters: yes,\n_that_ I am most thankful for—whatever should happen, our real relation\none to the other is wholly known—that fact has been established beyond\npossibility of doubt at least. I don’t make myself understood here, I\nknow,—but, think,—if at the very beginning any accident had separated\nus....\n\nBut I will believe in the end now and henceforth—I will believe you _are_\nmy very own Ba,—my best dream’s realization, my life’s fulfilment and\nconsummation—and having discovered you, I shall live and die with you. So\nmay God dispose.\n\nI will write the rest,—(nothing is here) a longer letter to-morrow—but\nnow my mind is too full of you—the poor hand gets despised for lagging\nafter! All my thoughts are with you, dearest. May God bless you and make\nme less unworthy—\n\n being your own, own R.\n\nOne more day—one, and Monday!\n\n(See what kindness of Mr. Kenyon! I do not accept, having no need to\ntrouble him as he desires—but see how kind.)", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, May 30, 1846.]\n\nYou shall have a visit from me on the seventh day as on the others, I\nthink, because I remember you every day equally, and because, without\nwaiting for your Saturday’s letter, I have always with me enough of you,\nto thank you. This morning, Henrietta and I went as usual to Hodgson’s\nand took possession of the chair in waiting, as Flush did of the whole\nterritory, setting himself, with all the airs of a landed proprietor, to\nsnap at the shop boy. Nota bene—Flush is likely to injure my popularity\nif I take him about with me much. He has been used, you see, to be\n‘_Cæsar_ in his own house,’ and the transition to being Cæsar everywhere\nis the easiest thing in the world. Yet as to leaving him at home, it is\nimpossible, ... not to mention other objections! His delight in going out\nin the carriage is scarcely a natural thing—but I have told you of it.\nYesterday I was in the back drawing-room waiting to go out, and just said\nto him, ‘Flush! go and see if the carriage is come’—instantly he ran to\nthe front windows, standing on his hind legs and looking up the street\nand down. Now Mr. Kenyon would declare that _that_ was my invention. Yet\nit is the literal truth of history.\n\nComing back from Hodgson’s, we passed our door and walked to 57 and home,\nwhich is an improvement in the distance. Then I walked up-stairs to the\ndrawing-room, and was carried the rest of the way. May I be tired a\nlittle, after it all? Just a little, perhaps.\n\nHenrietta dined at Mr. Lough’s yesterday, and met Miss Camilla Toulmin\nwho was gracious ... and Professor Forbes, who can do nothing without\nthe polka, ... and sundries. There was a splendid dinner, and wine of\nall vintages—one is in a strait in such cases to know how to praise at\nonce the hospitable intentions and to blame the bad taste—surely it\n_is_ bad taste in a man like Mr. Lough who lives by his genius, to give\nambitious dinners like a man who lives by his dinners. The true dignity\nof simplicity in these things were worth such a man’s holding, one might\nthink. But he is kind and liberal, and a good artist, ... and sent me a\nvery gracious invitation to go and see his works.\n\nThe Hedleys are likely to be in England this summer again— —more’s the\npity. I am fond of them, but would rather, rather, not see them just\nnow, and not be seen by them—for eyes have they, and can see. My uncle\nHedley comes next week, ... comes to London for several weeks ... that\nis certain—and my aunt after settling the younger part of her family at\nBaréges for the summer, _ponders_ coming, ... as I behold from afar off,\n... with her daughter Arabella, who is to be married immediately to the\nyounger brother of the great Brewery partner, Barclay and Bevan, a Mr.\nBevan. But they will not be in this house, and we must manage as we can,\ndearest! One leap over Sunday, and Monday comes bringing you! Then, I\nshall have you near on Tuesday besides, and Wednesday, afterwards! how\nthe cup overflows! May God bless you my beloved! It is not exaggeration\nto say that I feel you in the air and the sun.\n\n Ever and ever your own I am!\n\n _Ba_.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 1, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, do you want to turn my head with good fortune and get at my\nsecrets, that you give me two letters in one day? For there was too much\nlife and warmth, I do think, in these last, to be kept in the Postman’s\npouch as before—he delivered them punctually as he was obliged, not\nbefore his cold newspapers and railway-prospectuses felt astonished, you\nmay be sure; so, as I say, do you want to try my temper and bring out\ninfirmities of mind that may be latent, as kings used to put robes and\ncrowns on their favourites to see what they would do then?\n\nI will try and say as soberly as I can,—if you did not write to me for\na week, I would remember and love you the same—you are not bound to any\nkindness, much less to this extravagance—which yet so blesses me that—\n\nLet me leave what I can never say, and make the few remarks I ought to\nhave made before. Mrs. Jameson did tell me something about her intended\njourney to Italy—but not in detail as to you. Miss Bayley seems worthy\nto be your friend, dearest,—and it is satisfactory, very satisfactory to\nfind her opinion thus confirming yours, of the good you will derive from\ntravelling. You know I look on you with absolute awe, in a sense,—I don’t\nunderstand how such a creature lives and breathes and moves and does\n_not_ move into fine air altogether and leave us of the Etty-manufacture!\nI have solemnly set down in the tablets of my brain that Ba prefers\nmorphine to pork, but can eat so much of a chicken as Flush refuses—a\nchapter in my natural history quite as important as one in Pliny’s (and\nÆlian’s too)—‘When the Lion is sick, nothing can cure him but to eat an\nApe!’—though not so important as my great, greatest record of all—‘A cup\nof coffee will generally cure Ba’s headaches—’\n\nAs for Pisa or Florence, or Sorrento, or New Orleans,—_ubi_ Ba, _ibi_\nR.B.! Florence, however, you describe exactly ... the English there are\nintolerable,—even from a distance you see _that_. Indeed, I have heard\nhere in England of a regular system of tactics by which _parvenus_ manage\nto get among the privileged classes which at home would keep them off\ninexorably. Such go to Florence, make acquaintance as ‘travellers,’\nkeeping the native connexions in the farthest of back grounds, and after\na year or two’s expatriation, come back and go boldly to rejoice the\nfriends they ‘passed those amusing days with’ &c.\n\nWhat you say of Lough is right and true in one point of view—but I\nexcuse him, knowing the way of life in London—what alternative has he?\nEven when you ask people by ones and twos, and think to be rational,\nwhat do you get for your pains? Not long ago somebody invited himself\nto dine with me—and got of course the plainest fare, and just hock and\nclaret, because I like them better than heavier wines myself, and suppose\nothers may. I had to dine in the same manner with my friend a week after,\nand he judiciously began by iced champagne, forced vegetables &c. What\nwas that but telling me _such_ was his notion of the duty of the giver\nof ‘just a chop’ according to stipulation? It is all detestable—a mere\npretext! there is simply a ‘_fait accompli_’ in every such dinner,—it\nis an eternal record (to the seasons’ end) that you witnessed (because\nyou may let it alone for aught anybody cares, so long as you have eyes\nand can see)—_such_ a succession of turbot, and spring-soup and—_basta!_\nI shall go and take tea with Carlyle before very long. Lough has asked\nme more than once, but I never went. I like him when he is not on the\nsubject of himself or other artists. Of one particular in his liberality\nI can bear testimony, he promises at a great rate. Some three years ago\nhe most preposterously signified his intention of giving me a cast of one\nof his busts—me who had neither claim on him, the slightest, nor much\ndesire for the bust; but on this intimation I was bound to express as\nmany thanks as if the bust had arrived in very plaster,—which it has not\ndone to this day; so that I was too prodigal, you see, and instead of\nthanks ought to have contented myself with making over to him the whole\nprofits of ‘Luria’—value received. But, jokes apart, he is a good, kind\nman I believe, so don’t mention this absurdity to your sister—which I\nam sorry for having mentioned now that mentioned it is! So sorrow shall\nbe turned into joy, for I will only think that the evening is come, and\nnight will follow, and morning end ... 3 o’clock with all of dearest,\ndearest Ba,—with the walkings and drivings to evidence in her face? _My_\nface, thank God, I am let say to my unutterable joy and pride and love,\nabove all other feelings.\n\n Ever your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 2, 1846.]\n\nYou understand, dearest beloved, all I _could_ mean about your sister’s\ncoming here. Both I was afraid of not being liked enough ... which\nwas one reason, and none the less reasonable because of your being\n‘infatuated’ ... (oh, _that_ is precisely the word to use, and indeed\nI never falter to myself in the applying of it!) and I felt it to be\nimpossible for me to receive so near a relative of yours, your own only\nsister, as I should another and a stranger. There would be the need in\nme of being affectionate to your sister! how could I not? and yet, _how\ncould I?_ Everything is at once too near and too far—it is enough to make\nme tremble to think of it—it _did_, when Mr. Kenyon made his proposition.\nI would rather, ten times over, receive Queen Victoria and all her\ncourt——do you understand? can you misunderstand? can you pretend to\nfancy, as you talked yesterday, that the reluctance came from my having\n‘too many visitors,’ or from any of those common causes. Why, she is your\nsister—and _that_ was the cause of the reluctance. You will not _dare_ to\nturn it into a wrong against yourself.\n\nNow I am going to ask you a question, dearest of mine, and you will\nconsider it carefully and examine your own wishes in respect to it,\nbefore I have any answer. In fact it is not necessary to treat of the\nsubject of it at all at this moment—we have a great deal of time before\nus. Still, I want to know whether, upon reflection, you see it to be wise\nand better for me to go to Italy with Miss Bayley, or with any other\nperson who may be willing to take me, (supposing I should find such a\nplan possible) and that you should follow with Mr. Chorley or alone, ...\nleaving other thoughts for another year. Or if I find this scheme, as\nfar as I am concerned, impossible, shall we gain anything, do you think,\non any side of the question that you can see, by remaining quietly as we\nare, you at New Cross, and I here, until next year’s summer or autumn?\nShall we be wiser, more prudent, for any reason, or in any degree, by\nsuch a delay?\n\nIt is the question I ask you—it is no proposal of mine, understand—nor\nshall I tell you my own impression about it. I have told you that I would\ndo as you should decide, and I will do that and no other. Only on that\nvery account it is the more necessary that you should decide well, and\naccording to the best lights of your own judgment and reason.\n\nI forgot to talk to you yesterday of your _Statesmen_ which I read with\na peculiar sort of pleasure, coming and going as I see you and miss you.\nThere is no mistaking your footsteps along the sands.\n\nMay God bless you, dear dearest! Say how your head is, and love me _so_\nmuch more than Machiavelli, as to spare it from farther injury. It is\nnot hard to think of you to-day in this chair, where you were sitting\nyesterday—do you think it _is_?\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 2, 1846.]\n\nYou are the most entirely lovable creature I ever dreamed perhaps\nmight be in a better world—altogether made up of affectionateness\nand generosity. I do not much fear, now, I shall ever offend\nyou—in the miserable way of giving you direct offence which mortal\nwill and endeavour could avert (although I speak—by design, on\nprofession—doubtfully about the happiness of the future in some\nrespects, yet I dare be quite bold here, and feel sure, as of my life at\nthis moment, that I shall never do _that_, ...)—but at present I almost\nlove even the apprehension that I may be found out too useless, too\nunworthy in the end; let it be said so, since I feel it so, my own Ba! I\nlove this, because your dear love seems fit to cover any imperfection of\nmine: I dare say you do _not_ see them, as you say—but you will perhaps,\nand then I trust to the love wholly. I want forms, ways, of expressing my\ndevotion to you—but such as I am, all is yours.\n\nI will write more to-morrow—the stupid head will not be quiet to-day—my\nmother’s is sadly affected too—it is partly my fault for reading ... a\nstate to be proud of! Don’t let my frankness do me wrong, however,—the\ninconvenience is very little, but I was desired to tell you, was I not? I\nshall go out presently and get well.\n\nAre _you_ out to-day, beloved? It is very warm; be careful like the\ndearest Ba you are! And kiss me as I kiss you ... all except the\nadoration which is mine indefeasibly.\n\nMay God bless you ever for your very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Night.\n [Post-mark, June 3, 1846.]\n\nMy own dearest who are never to offend me!—And, true, _that_ is—because I\nhave _tried_, before now, to be offended, and could not, ... being under\na charm. So it is not my fault but yours, that never you see me angry.\n\nBut your head, _my_ head ... is it better, dearest, by this time, or\nis it ringing and aching even, under the crashing throat-peals of Mr.\nLandor’s laughter? he laughs, I remember like an ogre—he laughs as if\nlaughter could kill, and he knew it, thinking of an enemy. May it do his\nfriends no harm to-night! How I think of you, and, in every thought,\nlove you! Yes, surely I can love you as if I were worthier! and better\nperhaps than if _I_ were better, ... though that may sound like a riddle.\nAnd dear dearest, why do you talk of your faults _so_? It is not at all\ngracious of you indeed. You are on a high hill above me where I cannot\nreach your hand—(in the myths, be it understood) and you sigh and say\nquerulously ... ‘By and bye I may have to take a step down lower.’ Now\nis that gracious of you, or worthy of your usual chivalry? You ought to\nbe _glad_, on the contrary, to be so much nearer _me_—! in the myths, be\nit understood! For _out_ of the myths we are near enough, as near as two\nhearts can be, ... I believe ... I trust!\n\nYou will not mistake what I said to you this morning my own beloved—you\nwill not? My promise to you was to place the decision in your hands—and\nmy desire is simply that you should decide according to your judgment and\nunderstanding ... I do not say, your affections, this time. Now it has\nstruck me that you have a sort of _instinct_....\n\nBut no—I shall not write on that subject to-night. Rather I will tell you\nwhat I have been doing to-day to be so very, very tired. To-day I paid\nmy first visit—not to Mr. Kenyon but to an older friend than even he—to\nMiss _Trepsack_ ... learn that name by heart ... whom we all of us have\ncalled ‘Treppy’ ever since we could speak. Moreover she has nursed ...\ntossed up ... held on her knee—Papa when he was an infant; the dearest\nfriend of his mother and her equal, I believe, in age—so you may suppose\nthat she is old now. Yet she can outwalk my sisters, and except for\ndeafness, which, dear thing, she carefully explains as ‘a mere nervous\naffection,’—is as young as ever. But she calls us all ‘her children’ ...\nand I, you are to understand, am ‘her child,’ _par excellence_ ... her\nacknowledged darling and favourite,—perhaps because tenderly she thinks\nit right to carry on the love of her beloved friend, whom she lived with\nto the last. Once she saw you in the drawing-room—and you perhaps saw\nher. She dines here every Sunday, and on the other days of course often,\nand has the privilege of scolding everybody in the house when she is out\nof humour, and of being ‘coaxed’ by slow degrees back into graciousness.\nSo, she had full right to have me on my first visit—had she not? and\nthe goodness and kindness and funniness of the reception were enough to\nlaugh and cry over. First ... half way up-stairs, I found a chair, to\nsit and rest on. Then the windows were all shut up, because I liked it\nso in my room. And then, for occulter reasons, a feast was spread for\nArabel and Flush and me, which made me groan in the spirit, and Flush\nwag his tail, to look upon ... ice cream and cakes, which I was to taste\nand taste in despite of all memories of dinner an hour before ... and\n_cherrybrandy_!!! which I had to taste too, ... just then saved alive by\nan oath, on Arabel’s part, that I was ‘better without it.’ Think of dear\nTreppy!—of all the kindness, and fondness! Almost she kissed me to pieces\nas the ‘darlingest of children.’ So I am glad I went—and so is Flush,\nwho highly approves of that class of hospitable attentions, and wishes\nit were the way of the world every day. But I am tired! so tired! The\nvisiting is a new thing.\n\nIt is an old one that I should write such long letters. If I am tired,\nyou might retort with the _Ed io anche_!—Yet you will not, because you\nare supernaturally good; and as it was in the beginning, ever shall be,\nyou say!\n\nBut will you explain to me some day why you are sorry for Italy having\nbeen mentioned between us, and why you would rather prefer Nova Zembla?\n_So as to kill me the faster, is it?_\n\nYour Ælian says that the oldest painters used to write under a tree, when\nthey painted one, ‘This is a tree.’ So _I_ must do, I suddenly remember,\nunder my jests ... I being, it would appear, as bad an artist in jesting,\nas they were in painting. Therefore ... see the last line of the last\nparagraph ... ‘_This is a jest._’\n\nAnd _this_ is the earnest thing of all ... that I love you as I can\nlove—and am for ever ... living and dying....\n\n Your own—\n\nTake care of the head, _I entreat_! and say how you are! and how your\nmother is! I am grieved to hear of that relapse!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 3, 1846.]\n\nI will tell you, dearest: your good is my good, and your will mine; if\nyou were convinced _that_ good would be promoted by our remaining as we\nare for twenty years instead of one, I should endeavour to submit in the\nend ... after the natural attempts to find out and remove the imagined\nobstacle. If, as you seem to do here, you turn and ask about _my_\ngood—yours being supposed to be uninfluenced by what I answer ... then,\nhere is my TRUTH on that subject, in that view,—my good for myself. Every\nday that passes before _that day_ is one the more of hardly endurable\nanxiety and irritation, to say the least; and the thought of another\nyear’s intervention of hope deferred—altogether intolerable! Is there\nanything I can do in that year—or that you can do—to forward our object?\nAnything impossible to be done sooner? If not—\n\nYou may misunderstand me now at first, dear, dearest Ba: at first I sate\nquietly, you thought; do I live quietly now, do you think? Ought I to\nshow the evidence of the unselfishness I _strive_, at least, to associate\nwith my love, by coolly informing you ‘what would please me.’\n\nBut I will not say more, you must know ... and _I_ seem to know that this\nquestion was one of Ba’s old questions ... a branch-licence, perhaps, of\nthe original inestimable one, that charter of my liberties, by which I am\nempowered to ‘hold myself unengaged, unbound’ &c. &c.\n\nGood Heaven; I would not,—even to save the being asked such\nquestions,—have played the horseleech that cries ‘give, give,’ in\nSolomon’s phrase—‘Do you let me see you once a week? Give me a sight once\na day!—May I dare kiss you? Let me marry you to-morrow!’\n\nBut to the end, the very end, I am yours: God knows I would not do you\nharm for worlds—worlds! I may easily mistake what _is_ harm or not. I\nwill ask your leave to speak—at your foot, my Ba: I would not have dared\nto take the blessing of kissing your hand, much less your lip, but that\nit seemed as if I was leading you into a mistake—as did happen—and that\nyou might fancy I only felt a dreamy, abstract passion for a phantom of\nmy own creating out of your books and letters, and which only took your\nname.... _That_ once understood, the rest you shall give me. In every\nevent, I am your own.\n\n_12 o’clock._—I thought another letter might arrive. This must go as we\nshall set off presently to Mr. Kenyon’s.\n\nI _did_ understand the question about my sister. I mean, that you felt\nsomewhat so, incredible as it seems—only I believe _all_ you say, all—to\nthe letter, the iota. Think of _that_, whenever I _might_ ask and do\nnot—or speak, and am silent ... but I am getting back to the question\ndiscussed above, which I ought not to do—understand me, dearest dearest!\nSee me, open the eyes, the dear eyes, and see the love of your\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday—5 p.m.\n [Post-mark, June 4, 1846].\n\nThen let it be as we meant it should be. And do you forgive me, my own,\nif I have teazed you ... vexed you. Do I not always tell you that you are\ntoo good for me?\n\nYet the last of my intentions was, this time, to doubt of your attachment\nfor me. Believe _that_. I will write to-night more fully—but never can\nbe more than at this moment\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 4, 1846.]\n\nNothing at all had it to do with your Magna Charta, beloved, that\nquestion of mine. After you were gone the other day and I began turning\nyour words over and over, ... (_so_, I make hay of them to feed the\nhorses of the sun!) it struck me that you had perhaps an instinct of\ncommon sense, which, with a hand I did not see and a voice I could not\nhear, drew you perhaps. So I thought I would ask. For after all, this is\nrather a serious matter we are upon, and if you think that you are not\nto have your share of responsibility ... that you are not to consider\nand arrange and decide, and perform your own part, ... you are as much\nmistaken as ever _I_ was. ‘Judge what I say.’ For my part, I have done,\nit seems to me, nearly as much as I can do. I do not, at least, seem\nto myself to have any power to _doubt_ even, of the path to choose for\nthe future. If for any reason you had seen wisdom in delay, it would\nhave been a different thing—and the seeing was a _possible_ thing, you\nwill admit. I did not ask you if you _desired_ a delay, but if you saw\na reason for it. In the meantime I was absolutely yours, I remembered\nthoroughly, ... and the question went simply to enquire what you thought\nit best to do with your own.\n\nFor me I agree with your view—I never once thought of proposing a delay\non my own account. We are standing on hot scythes, and because we do\nnot burn in the feet, by a miracle, we have no right to count on the\nmiracle’s prolongation. Then nothing is to be gained—and everything\nmay be lost—and the sense of mask-wearing for another year would be\nsuffocating. This for _me_. And for yourself, I shall not be much younger\nor better otherwise, I suppose, next year. I make no motion, then, for a\ndelay, further than we have talked of, ... to the summer’s end.\n\nMy good ... happiness! Have I any that did not come from you, that is not\n_in_ you, that you should talk of my good apart from yours? I shudder to\nlook back to the days when you were not for me. Was ever life so like\ndeath before? My face was so close against the tombstones, that there\nseemed no room even for the tears. And it is unexampled generosity of\nyours, that, having done all for me, you should write as you always do,\nabout _my giving_ ... giving! Among the sons of men there is none like\nyou as I believe and know, ... and every now and then declare to my\nsisters.\n\n * * * * *\n\nDearest, if I vexed you, teazed you, by that question which proved\nunnecessary ... forgive me! Had you uncomfortable thoughts in the gardens\nto-day? Perhaps! And I could not smooth them away, though I drew as near\nas I dared ... though I was in a carriage at seven o’clock, running a\nmystical circle round your tents and music. Did you feel me, any more\nthan if I were a ‘quick spider,’ I wonder.\n\nHenrietta and Arabel were going to spend the evening with cousins of\nours, and as the carriage waited for the plaiting of Henrietta’s hair,\nor the twisting of the ringlets, Arabel said to me ‘Will you go for a\nquarter of an hour?’ And in a minute, we were off ... she and Flush\nand Lizzie and I. Never did I expect again to see so many people—but I\nthought of _one_ so much that my head was kept from turning round—and\nwe drove once round the ‘inner circle,’ so called, and looked up to Mr.\nKenyon’s windows—and _there_, or _there_, you were, certainly!—and either\n_there_, or _there_, you were being disquieted in your thoughts by me,\nas certainly! Ah forgive me. After all, ... listen ... I love you with\nthe fulness of my nature. Nothing of all this unspeakable goodness and\ntenderness is lost on me ... I catch on my face and hands every drop of\nall this dew.\n\nSo now ... you are not teazed? we are at one again, and may talk of\noutside things again?\n\nBut first, I must hear how the head is. _How_ is it, best and dearest?\nAnd you had my letter at last, had you not? Because I wrote it as usual,\nof course. May God bless you—and _me_ as I am altogether your own.\n\n_Twice_ (observe) I have been out to-day—the first time, walking. Also,\ntwice have I written to you.\n\nSay how your mother is—and _yourself_!—\n\nGeorge and Henrietta were asked to meet you at Mr. Kenyon’s—but only\nto-day, and too late to forestall other engagements. Did you enjoy any of\nit? Tell me.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, June 4, 1846.]\n\n‘Vex me,’ or ‘teaze me,’ my own Ba, you cannot. I look on it indeed,\nafter a moment, as the only natural effect of your strange disbelief\nin yourself, and ignorance of our true relation one to the other by\nevery right and reason. Only, Ba, you _are_ wrong—doubly,—that is, you\nwould be wrong if your own estimate of your power over me were the true\none—for,—though it is difficult for me to fancy these abstractions and\nfantastic metamorphoses (as how one could feel without one’s head,—or how\nI could live without the love of you now I have once got it)—yet, since\nyou make me, I will fancy I love my head and love you no longer ... and\nthen (which is _now_) _now_, do you think I am so poor a creature as to\ngo on adding to my faults, and letting you gently down, as the phrase is,\nwith cowardly excuses, ‘postponing’ this, and ‘consenting to delay’ the\nother,—and perhaps managing to get you to do the whole business for me\nin the end? I hope and think I should say at once—Oh, no more of this!\nBut see how right I was—‘_an instinct_, you seem to see.’ So, I have been\nthinking,—there are but few topics of our conversation from which any\nsuch impressions could arise—was it that I have asked more than once, if\nyou could really bear another winter in London, (in all probability a\nsevere one)—and again, if you could get to Italy by any ordinary means\nwithout the same opposition you will have to encounter for my sake?...\nMy Ba, as God knows, _all that_ was so much pure trembling attempting\nto justify myself for the over-greatness of the fortune, the excess of\nthe joy,—if I could but feel that there was a little of your own good\nin it too—that you would gain that much advantage at least by my own\ninestimable advantage! If you knew how,—spite of all endeavours,—how\nhappy I have been—which is a shame to confess—but how very happy to hear\nthat you could not without a degree of danger stay here—could no more\neasily leave England with Miss Bayley than with me! It seemed to justify\nme, as I say. And so of ‘the wishing I had not mentioned Italy’—I wish\nyour will to be mine, to originate mine, your pleasure to be only mine.\nExpressed first—it _will be_ my pleasure ... but all is wrong if you\ntake the effect, seek to know it, before the cause. What does it matter\nthat I should prefer Italy to Nova Zembla? So, you _ought to have begun\nby saying_ ‘we will go there,’ and then my pleasure in obedience had\nbeen naturally expressed. Did I not ask you whether you had not, after\nall, thought of going to Italy first—to Pisa, or Malta,—from the very\nbeginning? _Always to justify myself!_ Always!\n\nBut—this too is misunderstood. Let me say humbly, I _should_ prefer to go\nwith you to Italy or any place where we can live alone for some little\ntime, till you can _know_ me, be as sure of me as of yourself. Nor am I\nso selfish, I hope, as that (because my uttermost pride and privilege\nand glory above all glories would be to live in your sick-room and\nserve you,)—as that, on that account, I would not rather see you in a\ncondition to need none of my service ... the next thing to serving you,\nis to be—what shall I say?—served by you ... loved by you, made happy by\nyou—it is the being an angel, though there might be _arch_angels—\n\nAnd if _now_ you do not understand,—well, I kneel to you, my Ba, and pray\nyou to give yourself to me in deed as in word, the body as the heart and\nmind,—and _now_!—at any time,—you know what I cannot say, I cannot, I\nthink,—if I know myself—love you more than I do ... but I shall always\nlove you _thus_—and _thus_, in any case, happen what God may ordain—\n\n Your R.\n\nI know this is taking the simple experimental question too seriously to\nheart ... but such experiments touch at the very quick and core of the\nheart ... I cannot treat them otherwise—_ought_ I?\n\nYou will see Miss Bayley to-day—Mr. Kenyon asked if I were going to call\nto-day ... ‘if not, Miss B. would.’\n\nI have your letter ... the short note, not the promised one ... for all\nthis writing about the question ... but I could not merely say—‘Oh no,\nyou mistake ... I had rather, upon the whole, not wait.’\n\nEven now the feeling, in its subsiding, hinders me from speaking of the\ndelightful account of ‘Treppy’ ... whom I remember now, perfectly—and\nwhat comfort is in _thy_ dear note!\n\nBless you, _my_ ‘darlingest creature,’—my Ba!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, June 5, 1846.]\n\nYou are too perfect, too overcomingly good and tender—dearest you are,\nand I have no words with which to answer you. There is little wonder\nindeed that _I_, being used so long to the dark, should stumble and\nmistake, and see men like trees walking—and yet I must tell you that I\ndid _not_ mistake to the extent you have set down for me ... and that\nnever was I so dull, so idiotic and ungrateful, as to fancy you into one\n‘wishing to let me down gently with cowardly excuses.’ Since I first\nlooked you in the face, and before that day, I have been incapable of\ndefiling the idea of you with such an unworthy imputation. And surely\nwhat I _did_, fancy, was consistent with the fullest faith in you and\nin the completest verity of your affection for myself. You might have\nhad reasons, surely, which I did not see, without aggrieving me in any\nfashion. So do not make me out _too_ stupid—it is bad enough actually.\nYes—those questions you refer to, turned me down that path—and do tell me\nhow I could be expected to guess at the real drift of them, after having\nbeen accustomed to walk rather with men than with angels! Ah—and now\neven, that I _see_, it makes me smile and sigh together. To say that I am\nnot worthy, all at once grows too little to say. _No one_ could be worthy\nof such words from _you_. You are best, best!! How much more do you want\nme to owe to you, when I _begin_ by owing to your all things, ... the\nonly happiness of my life?\n\nAs to Italy, I thought of it first, so I am in no danger of thinking\nthat you engage me as female courier and companion ... the feminine of\nwhat Mr. Bezzi wants to be, Miss Bayley told me to-day. So if it is the\nsame thing to you, we will put off Nova Zembla a little. But how is it\npossible to jest, with this letter close by? Dearest of all, believe that\nI am grateful to you as I ought to be ... penetrated ... touched to the\nbottom of my heart with the sense of what you have been to me and are;\ndearest beloved!\n\nSo do not reproach me with my dull questions, on Saturday. I won’t ask\nthem any more, ... and I did not mean by them the wickedness you thought\n... so now let us be tranquil and happy till the fine weather ends.\nBrightly it begins, does it not? So hot it is to-day—so very hot in this\nroom! Miss Bayley came just as I had been out walking and was tired; but\nshe talked and interested me, and I found out from her that you were not\nin the gardens when we drove round them, but in the house when I looked\nup at the windows. Very happy and agreeable you all were, she said, at\nMr. Kenyon’s—though Mrs. Jameson missed the flower-show.\n\nI forgot to tell you that Treppy is a Creole—she would say so as if she\nsaid she was a Roman. She lived, as an adopted favourite, in the house\nof my great grandfather in Jamaica for years, and talks to the delight\nof my brothers, of that ‘dear man’ who, with fifty thousand a year, wore\npatches at his knees and elbows, upon principle. Then there are infinite\ntraditions of the great great grandfather, who flogged his slaves like\na divinity: and upon the beatitude of the slaves as slaves, let no one\npresume to doubt, before Treppy. If ever she sighs over the slaves, it is\nto think of their emancipation. Poor creatures, to be emancipated!\n\nMay God bless you, dear dearest! Shall I ever be better, I wonder, than\nthe torment of your life? It is _I_ who want to be ‘_justified_,’ and not\n_you_ my beloved,—except as to your good sense for having made such a\nchoice.\n\nSuch as I am however, I am\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, June 5, 1846.]\n\nNor did _I_ mean so bad, dearest dearest, as that you _were_ suspecting\nme of _that_ ... Oh no, since ‘Scorn of me (_that_ “me”) would recoil on\nyou’ ... you would have no right to bear with such a person for a moment:\nbut I put the broadest case possible to declare upon broadly. As I would\ndo _so_ if I felt _so_ ... felt no love longer ... so, in due degree, I\nwould tell you frankly a fear or a doubt if I felt either. I thought you\nsuspected me, perhaps, of being deficient in this last point of courage:\nbut it was not altogether so,—or if it was, you shall doubt no more,\nbut believe the more strongly for the future ... let us kiss on that\nconvention, dearest! You see, I knew it _could not but be that_ ... for\nif anything had struck _you_ as really to be gained by delay, you must\nfeel whether I should listen to that or no—last year, for instance, when\nyou said ‘let us wait.’\n\nAh, Ba, my own, many things _are_ that ought not to be ... and I hide\nnothing ... cannot hide from you some feelings ... as that—after all,\nafter all—talk, and indeed think, as one may—it is, let us say, a\n_pleasant_ thing, at least, to be able to prove one’s words,—even one’s\nlighter words. The proof may justify _some_ words, I mean, and the rest,\nthat admit of no proof, get believed on the score of _them_,—the first\nwords and proofs. I should like to prove a very, very little ... if\nI could but do so in turning fifty-thousand a year, or less, to some\naccount and building Flush a house ‘fair to see’—after which I could go\non talking about the longings never to be satisfied here....\n\nNow this is foolish,—so the causeless blame, if you please, shall be\ntransferred here ... as naughty children punished by mistake are promised\na remission of next offence.\n\nOh to-morrow kisses all right ... all so right again, dearest! I have\nso much to say. Make me remember, love, to tell you something I have\njust learned about Mr. Kenyon which makes one—no, all is proper,—he\n_should_ have the money, and I the admiration and love of his divine use\nof it: something to love him for, and he happy that God will reward it.\nRemember—for even _that_ I should forget by you!\n\nAnd all has been charming at Mr. Kenyon’s—Landor’s dinner, and our\nflower-show feast,—I will tell you to-morrow—and last night I went to\nMrs. Procter’s in downright spirits ‘_pour cause_’ (with my first letter\n... not my second, which only arrived this morning)—and I danced, to put\nit on record there that I was altogether happy, and saw Mrs. Jameson,\nand the Countess Hahn-Hahn, and Milnes and the Howitts and others in a\nmultitude,—and I got to this house door at 4 o’clock, with the birds\nsinging loud and the day bright and broad—and my head is _quite well_,—as\nmy mother’s is better, I hope—quite well, I am at this minute. For\nthe rest, the news of your two exits and entrances in one day ... oh,\nthank you, thank the golden heart of my own, own Ba! whom I shall see\nto-morrow, but can ... _how_ I can kiss her now—being her own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 6, 1846.]\n\nThis is the first word I have written out of my room, these five years, I\nthink ... if I dare count anything beyond two ... for I do know that one\ncomes after two ... (now just see what I have written!) that two comes\nafter one, I meant to say, ... as well as a mathematician. I am writing\nnow in the back drawing-room, half out of the window for air, driven out\nof my own territory by the angel of the sun this morning. Oh—it is so\nhot—and the darkness does not help when the lack is just of _air_. There\nis a thick mist lacquered over with light—it is cauldron-heat, rather\nthan fire-heat. So different in the country it must be! Well, everybody\nbeing at church or chapel, I knew I could have this room to myself,\nwithout fear even of the dreadful knocker ... more awful to me than\nthe famous knocks which used to visit the Wesley family—so here I curl\nup my feet ‘_more meo_’ on the settee, and help to keep the sabbath by\n_resting_ upon you. Would Miss Goldsmid call it as ‘profane’ as anything\nin your poems? But it will not be more profane for _that_—as I could\nprove if we wanted proofs—only we do not.\n\nSuch flowers as you brought me yesterday—such roses! The roses are best,\nas coming from your garden! When I began to arrange them, I thought I\nnever saw such splendid roses anywhere—they are more beautiful than what\nyou brought last year surely! It seems so to me. Dearest, how did you\nget home, and how are you? and how is your mother? Remember to answer my\nquestions, if you please.\n\nAfter you were gone I received from Mr. Lough a very gracious intimation\nthat if I would go to see his studio, his statue of the Queen and other\nworks, he would take care that no creature should be present, he would\nuncover all the works and provide a clear solitude for me—he ‘would\nnot do it for a Duchess,’ he said, but he ‘would for _me_’! Now what\nam I to say. My sisters tell me that I can go quite easily. The place\nis very near, and there are no stairs. Well, I think I must go. It is\nvery kind and considerate, and there would be a pleasure, of course.\nDo you know that statues have more power over me than all the pictures\nand all the colours thereof which the world can show? Mr. Kenyon told\nme once that it was a pure affectation of mine to say so—and for my own\npart I could not see for a long while what was the _reason_ of a most\nunaffected preference. I think I see it now. Painting flatters the senses\nand makes the Ideal credible in a vulgar way. But with sculpture it is\ndifferent—and there is a grand audacity in the power of an Ideal which,\nappealing directly to the Senses, and to the coarsest of them, the Touch,\nas well as the Sight, yet forces them to receive Beauty through the door\nof an Abstraction which is a means abhorrent to them. Have I written\nwhat I mean, I wonder, or do you understand it, without? Then there is\na great deal, of course, in that grand white repose! Like the Ideas of\nthe Platonic system, these great sculptures seem—when looked at from a\ndistance.\n\nWhen you were gone yesterday, and I had had my coffee and put on my\nbonnet, I went, with the intention of walking out, as far as the\ndrawing-room, and there, failed: not even with your recommendation\nin my ears, beloved, could I get any further. Notwithstanding all\nmy flatteries (meaning the flatteries of me!) I was not at best and\nstrongest, yesterday, nor am even to-day, though it is nothing to mind\nor to mention—only I think I shall not try to walk out in this heat even\nto-day, and yesterday it seemed impossible. So I came back and lay on\nmy own sofa, and presently began to read ‘Le Comte de Monte Cristo,’\nthe new book by Dumas, (observe how I waste my time—while you learn how\n_not_ to fortify cities, out of Machiavelli!) and really he amuses me\nwith his ‘Monte Cristo’ ... six volumes I am glad to see—he is the male\nScheherazade certainly. Now that the hero is safe in a dungeon (of the\nChâteau d’If) it will be delightful to see how he will get out—somebody\nknocks at the wall already. Only the narrative is not always very clear\nto me, inasmuch as, when I read, I unconsciously interleave it with such\nthoughts of you as make very curious cross readings ... j’avais cru\nremarquer quelques infidelités ... he really seems to love me—l’homme\nn’est jamais qu’un homme ... never was any man like him—ses traits\nétaient bouleversés ... the calmest eyes I ever saw.... So, Dumas or\nMachiavelli, it is of the less consequence what I read, I suppose, while\nI apply so undestractedly.\n\nMay God bless you, ever beloved! I think of you, I love you—I forgot\nagain your ‘Strafford’—Mr. Forster’s ‘Strafford,’ I beg his pardon for\nnot attributing to him other men’s works. Not that I mean to be cross—not\nto him even.\n\n I am your own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 8, 1846.]\n\nOne thing you said yesterday which I want to notice and protest against,\nmy Ba—you charged me with speaking depreciatingly of myself because you\nhad set the example—‘I should not have thought of it but that you began.’\nNow I am tired, just at this moment, and submissive altogether, and\n_hopeful_ besides, on the whole,—so I will let you off with a simple but\nfirmest of protests,—I did NOT think of imitating you, but spoke as I\nfelt and knew,—and feel and know still. The world, generally, will inform\nyou of this in its own good time and way, so ... _taceo_! (The last\nopinion of the world’s on the respective value of people and people, is\nunhappily too decisive. ‘And, after all, Mr. Langton is quite as good as\nthe Duke’s daughter ... for he will have full twenty thousand a year!’)\nI suspect I was going to turn a pretty phrase and tell you I have only\na heart, as the play-books prescribe,—when the said heart pricks me as\nif I reserved something—so I will confess to owning a ‘forehead and an\neye’—one advantage over Pope, to whom folks used to remark ‘Sir, you have\nan eye’—and no more—whereas yesterday evening after leaving Ba, while I\nsettled myself in the corner of our omnibus to think of her, a spruce\ngentleman stretched over, and amid the rumbling begged my pardon for\nbeing forced to remark that my forehead and eye interested him deeply,\nphrenologist as he was; and he was sure I must needs be _somebody_ ...\nbesides a passenger to Greenwich! So if Ba will trust in phrenology!—I\nwill at least not be unkind to her as to the learned man—who left the\nvehicle in due time, lamenting that in return for his own confidence and\npink bill (‘Mr. Hamilton, phrenologist and lecturer’ &c. &c.) I would not\nbreak my obstinate reserve and augustly pronounce ‘Am I a Beefeater now?’\n\n_Assez de sottises_: Ba, my Ba, I am happy in you beyond hope of\nexpression—you know how happy.... And have not I some shade of a right,—I\nwho loved the dear, dear pale cheek and the thin hand,—a right to be\nblessed in the wonders I see ... so long as I continue to be thankful to\nGod whose direct doing I know it to be: how can I ever doubt the rest ...\nthe so easy matters remaining—I will not doubt more, I think.\n\nTell me, write of yourself, love: remember the fierce heat ... and\n_never_ go up the long stairs—or, at least, _rest_ at proper intervals.\nI think of the Homeric stone heaved nearly to the hill-top and\n_then_!... An accident now would be horrible,—think, and take every\nprecaution—because it is _my_ life, (if that will influence you) my whole\nhappiness you are carrying safely or letting slip. May God over-watch all\nand care for us!\n\nGood bye, best beloved,—I fear I ought to go to Mrs. Jameson’s to-night:\nthere is a breakfast engagement for Wednesday, to meet this and the\nother notable; and a simple ‘at home’ promised to anybody calling this\nevening—and my pride won’t let me accept _one_, nor my liking to Mrs.\nJ. suffer me to refuse both.... Yet the fatigue! I have been at church\nto-day, seeing people faint.\n\n Your own, your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, June 8, 1846.]\n\nMy ‘recommendation’ to dearest Ba was properly interpreted by her when\nshe regarded the spirit and not the letter of it.\n\nThe day was hot—even _I_ thought who thrive in heat—and yesterday you\ndid well to keep the house—but last night’s rain, and this comfort of\ncloudiness may allow you to resume the exercise,—only with _all_ ease,\ndarling! Mrs. Jameson told me she called the other day on Miss Barrett,\nand was informed that lady was ‘walking before her door’—for I went last\nnight, and deserved to be amused, perhaps, for the effort, ... and so I\nwas, I never liked our friend as I now like her, I more than like the\ngood nature and good feeling and versatility of ready intelligence and\nquick general sympathy. She is to see you to-day. She told this to a Miss\nKindersley who had been reading the ‘Drama of Exile’ to her complete\ndelight—but in listening silently,—and after, when Mrs. J. obligingly\nturned and said ‘How I should like to introduce _you_ to Miss Barrett\n... did you ever see her?’ ... to which I answered in the old way, ‘that\nnobody, as she knew, saw you.’ At all these times did not I feel the\n‘mask’ you speak of! I am, fortunately, out of the way of enquiries ...\nbut if the thing were of constant occurrence, it would be intolerable.\nShall it indeed end soon? May I count by months, by weeks? It is not\nsafe—beginning to write on this subject—I can do nothing moreover.\n\nWell, Lough has some good works, and you will be pleased I daresay:\nbut of all things, hold him to his bond of maintaining the strictest\nprivacy—for Mr. Powell or his kith and kin go there, and _his_ impudence\nand brazen insensibility are dreadful to encounter beyond all belief.\nHe would book-make about ‘the meeting,’ and in his ordinary talk,\nbe supplied with a subject to tell lies about for the next year or\ntwo,—unless he got a lesson earlier. But Lough will understand and keep\nhis promise, no doubt, if you exact it strictly.\n\nMy mother is decidedly better, ... I am quite well—considering Thursday\nis so far off!—considering the end of summer is so far off. Would it be\nprofane to think of that lament ... ‘the Summer is ended and we are not\nsaved’?\n\nI am obliged to leave off here—I love you ever my best\n\n dearest, own Ba!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday _Morning_.\n [Post-mark, June 9, 1846.]\n\nThe stars threaten you with a long letter to-day, it seems, for I stretch\nout my hand and take blindly the largest sheet. Dearest, I have been\ndriving out before your letter came ... and to _Hampstead_! think of\n_that_. And see the proof of it—this grew in the hedges when the sun rose\nto-day. We had a great branch gathered, and ‘this was of it,’ starred\nover with dog-roses. I did in the morning long for air, through the\nsuffocation yesterday, and the walking being better for another day, my\nsisters persuaded me into the carriage. Only I wanted to wait for your\nletter, my letter, and could not—it did not come by the usual early post,\nand the carriage was here before it ... so I had to go, thinking of it\nall the way, and having it on my return ready to gladden me. How you\nmake me laugh with your phrenologist! ‘For the interests of science’ you\nshould have given your name. Then, would have come the whole history in\nthe next lecture, ... how ‘Once in an omnibus he met an individual with\na forehead and eyes of mark, and knew him at a glance for the first poet\nof the age.’ It would have made a feature in the lecture, and highly\ndeveloped, I dare say, ... to suit the features in the omnibus. Just at\nthe moment of this observation _I_ too was thinking of eyes—‘calm eyes’\ndid I say? Yes, calm, serene ... which was what struck me first of all,\nin the look of them—was it ever observed before, I wonder? The most\nserene spiritual eyes, I ever saw—I thought _that_ the first day I saw\n_you_. They may be called by other names beside, but they shall not lose\nthe name I then gave them. Now to bear with the horrible portrait in\nthe matter of the eyes, is a hard thing—Mr. Howitt must have _his_ shut\nnearly, I think. The hair is like—and nothing else. The mouth, the form\nof the cheek, one is as unlike as the other. And the character of the\nwhole is _most_ unlike of the whole—it is a vulgarized caricature—and\nI only wonder how I could have fastened it inside of my ‘Paracelsus’\nfrontispiece-fashion. When it was hung up and framed, I did not know you\nface to face, remember. Mr. Kenyon told me it was ‘rather like.’ But\nalways and uninstructed I seemed to know that it was not like you in some\nthings....\n\n_Monday Evening._—Observe how the sentence breaks off! While I was\nwriting it, came a ‘tapping, tapping at the chamber door,’ as sings my\ndedicator Edgar Poe. Flush barked vociferously; I threw down the pen\nand shut up the writing case, ... and lo, Mrs. Jameson! I suppose she\ndid not guess that I was writing to you. She brought me the engravings\nof Xanthian marbles, and also her new essays ... and was very kind as\nusual, and proposed to come some day next week with a carriage to take\nme out,—and all this time, how we treat her! Will she not have a right\nto complain of being denied the degree of confidence we gave ( ... Mr.\nKenyon gave for me ...) to Miss Bayley? Will she not think hereafter\n‘There was no need of their deceiving _me_?’ And yet I doubt how to\nretreat now. Could I possibly say to her the next time she speaks of you\n... or could I not? it would set her on suspecting perhaps. She talked\na little to-day of Italy, and plainly asked me what thoughts I had of\nit,—to which I could answer truthfully ‘No thoughts, but dreams.’ Then\nshe insisted, ‘But whenever you have thoughts, you will let me know them?\nYou will not be in Italy when I am there, without my knowing it? And\nwhere will you go—? to Pisa? ... to Sienna? to Naples?’ And she advised\n... ‘Don’t go where the English are, in any case.’ And encouraged like an\noracle, ... ‘Remember that where there’s a will there’s a way’—knowing no\nmore what she spoke, than a Pythian on the serpent’s skin.\n\nBeloved, you are right in your fear about Mr. Lough. I have decided not\nto go there. Oh, it is best certainly; and, quietly considered, I shall\nbe happier as well as safer in not going. We must walk softly on the\nsnowdrifts of the world, now that we have got to them.\n\nFor the rest, ... that is for the chief thing ... you wrote foolishly\nin your first letter to-day, my beloved,—you _can_ write foolishly on\noccasion, let me grant to the critics. I have just so much logic as to be\nable to see (though I am a woman) that for _me_ to be too good for _you_,\nand for _you_ to be too good for _me_, cannot be true at once, both ways.\nNow I could discern and prove, from the beginning of the beginning, that\n_you_ were too good for _me_—it is too late therefore to take up the\nother argument—the handle of it was broken last year.\n\nAlso, I do not go to the world to ask it to appraise you—I would fain\nleave to Robins the things of Robins. I hope you have repented all day\nto-day having written so foolishly yesterday. Even Robins would not\njustify you.\n\nDearest, the avalanches are on us! Uncle and aunts coming down in a great\ncrash! My uncle Hedley comes next week!—on the second or third of July,\nthe eldest of my aunts, ... from Paris, ... who proposes to reside in\nthis house for a week—it may be longer! and, still in July, the rest\nof the Hedleys, I think!—everybody coming, coming! Their welcome will\nbe somewhat of a ghastly smile from _me_—for indeed I cannot be quite\ndelighted, after the fashion of a thoroughly dutiful niece.\n\nAh, never mind them! Nobody can change anything, if you do not change\nyourself. You have ‘a right’ ... not the ‘shadow’ of one, but the very\nright ... to all I am, and to all the life I live. Did you not see\nbefore, what I have felt so long, that indeed you have a right to me and\nover me?\n\n I am your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 9, 1846.]\n\n_Is_ your letter ‘long,’ my own Ba? I seem to get to the end, each time I\nread it, just as sorrowfully soon as usual—so much for thankfulness! But\nif Ba is not to be ‘tall,’ depend on it, her letter shall not describe\nitself as ‘long’—though in a sense nothing ever written, ever read by\nme, drew such a trail of light after it as her letters—your letters, my\nown, own love! While I write this, my lips rest on the eglantine ...\nwell, it shall be ‘_dog_-rose’ for Flushie’s sake! You say truly about\nthe folly—it is very foolish,—when I fancy you proposing to give _me_ a\ngolden Papal rose and gift for a King, instead of this! And if _I_ feel\nthis, why should not you, and more vividly even? A rose from Hampstead!\nAnd you bore the journey well? You should tell me, precisely, detailedly.\n\nAs for Lough’s statues ... now, I have said more than I meant if it\ndeters you from going to see them! If he will abide strictly by his\npromise, there is much to reward the trouble of going.\n\nAlways remember, my Ba, that the secret is _your_ secret and not mine ...\nthat I keep it while you bid me, but that you may communicate it to whom\nyou please, _when_ you please, without waiting to apprize me. I should,\nI think, have preferred telling Mrs. Jameson from the beginning about\nthe mere visits ... or, I don’t know ... by one such piece of frankness\nyou only expose yourself to fifty new—whatever they are! For there would\nbe so much the more talk about you,—and either the quick woman’s wit and\ndiscernment are to be eluded, or they are not,—foiled or not—and how\nmanage without ... without those _particular_ evasions which seem to\ndegrade most of all? Miss Mitford’s promises began the embarrassment.\nIn short I think the best way in such a case is to tell _all_ or none.\nI believe you might tell all to Mrs. Jameson with perfect safety, but,\nfor _her_ sake, I doubt the propriety ... for it would be to introduce\nher forthwith to exactly our own annoyances with respect to Mr. Kenyon,\nChorley &c. Once knowing, she cannot _un_-know. In any case, I promise my\nconscience to give her,—and anybody else that may have a right to it,—a\nfull explanation at the earliest safe moment.. may _that_ be at no great\ndistance! My own feeling is for telling Mr. Kenyon ... though you would\nconsiderably startle me if you answered ‘well, _do_!’ But, of the whole\nworld, I seem only to care for _his_ not feeling aggrieved: oh, he will\nunderstand!—and _can_, because he knows the circumstances at your house.\nCome what will, I am sure of you; ‘if you live, and are well’—even this\nlast clause I might exclude; it has often been in my thought to tell\nyou ... only, dearest, there is always, when I plan never so dreamily\nand vaguely, always an understood submission the most absolute to your\nown desire ... but I fancied, that, in the case of any _real_ obstacle\narising so as to necessitate the ‘postponement,’ &c., I should have\n_stipulated_ ... in the right yourself have given me ... I should have\nsaid—‘we will postpone it, if you will marry me _now_ ... merely as to\nthe form ... but so as to enable me, if difficulties should thicken, to\nbe by your bed-_side_ at least.’ You see, what you want ‘to relieve’ me\nof, is just what my life should be thrice paid down for and cheaply. How\ncould you ever be so truly mine as _so_? Even the poor service does not\n‘part us’ before ‘death’——‘till _sickness_ do us part!’\n\nBut there will be no sickness and all happiness, I trust in God! Dear,\ndear Ba, I love you wholly and for ever—true as I kiss your rose, and\nwill keep it for ever. Bless you.\n\nMy first letter ‘did not reach you by the first post on Monday\nmorning’—No! How should it ... when I carried it to town on Sunday night\nand went half a mile out of my way to put it in the general post office\nat the corner of Oxford Street!\n\nYou know I am to breakfast with Mrs. Jameson to-morrow—and perhaps I may\nmake some calls after: if anything keeps me in Town so as to hinder the\nletter by the 8 o’clock post, you will know the reason ... and expect the\nletter the next morning; but I will endeavour to get back in time.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 10, 1846.]\n\nBest, dearest beloved, ... would it not be strange if you were not so to\nme? How do you think I feel, hearing you say such things ... finding such\nthoughts in your mind? If it is not worthy of you to have a burden set\non your shoulders and to be forced into the shadow of disquietudes not\nyour own, yet this divine tenderness is worthy of you ... worthy of your\nnature; as I know and recognise! May God help me to thank you, for I have\nnot a word.\n\nPractically however, see how your proposal would work. It could not work\n_at all_, unless circumstances were known—and if they were known, at the\nvery moment of their being known you would be saved, dearest, all the\ntrouble of coming up-stairs to me, by my being thrown out of the window\nto you ... upon which, you might certainly pick up the pieces of me and\nput them into a bag and set off for Nova Zembla. _That_ would be the\nevent of the working of your proposition. Yet remember that I will accede\nto whatever you shall choose—so _think for us both_. You know more of\nthe world and have more practical sense than I—and if you did not, had\nnot, you may _do what you like with your own_, as surely as the Duke of\nNewcastle might.\n\nFor Mrs. Jameson, I never should think of telling her ‘_all_’—I should\nnot, could not, would not! and the gods forefend that you should think\nof telling Mr. Kenyon any more. Now, listen. Perfectly I understand your\nreasons, your scruples ... what are they to be called? But I promise\nto take the blame of it. I will tell dear Mr. Kenyon hereafter that\nyou would have spoken, but that I _would not let you_—won’t _that_ do?\nwon’t it stop the pricking of the conscience? Because, you see, I know\nMr. Kenyon, ... and I know perfectly that either he would be unhappy\nhimself, or he would make us so. He never could bear the sense of\nresponsibility. Then, as he told me to-day, and as long ago I knew, ...\nhe is ‘irresolute,’ timid in deciding. Then he shrinks before the dæmon\nof the world—and ‘what may be said’ is louder to him than thunder. And\nthen again, and worst of all, he sees afar off casualty within casualty,\nand a marriage without lawyers would be an abomination in his sight.\nMoreover, to discover ourselves to him, and _not submit to his counsels_,\nwould be a real offence ... would it not? As it is, it may seem natural\nand excusable that we two of ourselves should poetically rush into a\nfoolishness—but if we heard counsel, and rejected it!! Do you see?...\n\nHe came here to-day, dear Mr. Kenyon, and is to come with Miss Bayley on\nFriday, and take me in the carriage to drive, and to see his house. I\nmust go, but dread it ... shrink from it—yes, indeed. As for Mr. Lough,\nhow could I have ‘bound him with Styx nine times round him?’ It is easier\nto bind Mrs. Jameson. Oh no! You were right, and I was wrong in my first\ninclination about Mr. Lough.\n\nAnd yesterday I was not tired to signify. I shall not be ill, my\nbeloved,—I think I shall not. I am as perfectly well now in all respects\n(except that I have not strength for much exercise and noise and\nconfusion, ...) as it is possible to be. So do not be anxious about\nme—rather spend your dear thoughts of me in loving me, ... dear, dearest!\n\nYou breakfast with Mrs. Jameson, and I shall remember not to long too\nmuch for the eight o’clock letter at night. Remember _you_, not to be\nhurried as to the writing of it.\n\nOh! I had a letter from my particular Bennet this morning, ... and my\nGeorgiana desires me instantly to say why I presumed not to write to her\nbefore. I am commanded out of all further delays. ‘_Did_ I receive her\nletter,’ she wonders!!!! Georgiana is imperative.\n\n May God bless you, you who bless me!\n\n I am wholly your own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 12, 1846.]\n\nI must write very little to-day, dearest, because Mr. Kenyon, as a\nnote from him just tells me, comes at half past two for me, and in\nthe meantime I am expecting a visit from my uncle Hedley, who arrived\nyesterday while we were together. Scarcely could Henrietta keep him, she\nsays, from coming up-stairs ‘to see Ba!’ We just escaped, therefore. I\nhave been thinking that having the barbarians down on us may be at least\na means of preserving us from going into the wilderness ourselves ...\n_my_self ... if I were taken away, as I told you, to Tunbridge, Dover, or\nother provinces of Siberia. How should I bear, do you think, to be taken\naway from you? Very badly!—though you will not hear of my being able to\nlove you as I ought——when _that_ is precisely the only thing I can do, it\nseems to me, at all worthily of you.\n\n_Ora pro me_ in Mr. Kenyon’s carriage to-day—I am getting so nervous and\nfrightened! I shall feel all the while as if set on a vane on the top of\nSt. Paul’s ... can you fancy the feeling? I do wish I were safe at home\nagain, reading your letter ... which _will_ come to-night—_will_ ...\n_shall_ ... _must_ ... according to the letter and spirit of the Law.\n\nYou made the proposal to me about New Cross, yesterday, out of\nconsideration and kindness to _me_! I understand it so, thanking you.\nFor the rest, I need not, I am certain, assure you that it would be the\ngreatest pain to me at any time, to be wanting in even the forms of\nrespect and affection towards your family—and that I would not, from a\nmere motive of shyness, hazard a fault against _them_—you will believe\nthis of me. But the usual worldly form (if the world is to give the\nmeasure) would be _against_ my paying such a visit—and under ordinary\ncircumstances it never is paid—not _so_. Therefore the not paying it\nis not an omission of an ordinary form of attention—_that_ is what I\nmean to say. And to keep all dear to you quite safe and away from all\nsplashing of the mud which we cannot ourselves hope to escape, is the\ngreat object,—it does seem to me. Your father and mother would be blamed\n(in this house, I know, if not in others) for not apprizing my father of\nwhat they knew. As it is, there is evil enough—though there is a way of\nescaping _that_ evil.\n\nAs it is.—Now I do beseech you to consider well whether you will not have\ntoo much pain in finding that they suffer it (after every precaution\ntaken) ... to render all this which we are about, wise and advisable.\nThey will suffer, to hear you spoken of as we both shall be spoken of ...\nbe perfectly sure! They will suffer, to have to part with you _so_— —and\nthe circumstances, perhaps, will not help to give them confidence in the\nstranger, who presumes _so_ to enter their family. I _ask you_ not to\nanswer this!—only, to think of it in time, lest you should come to think\nof it too late. Put it between the leaves of Machiavel,—that at need you\nmay confute yourself as well as M. Thiers.\n\nBeloved, say how you are—and how your mother is. Here I must end—to be\nready for dear Mr. Kenyon, and casualties of uncles &c. Think of me, love\nme—my heart is full of you.\n\n I am your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, June 12, 1846.]\n\nWhen I am close to you, in your very room, I see through your eyes\nand feel what you feel—but after, the sight widens with the circle of\noutside things—I cannot fear for a moment what seemed redoubtable enough\nyesterday—nor do I believe that there will be two opinions anywhere\nin the world as to your perfect right to do as you please under the\npresent circumstances. People are not quite so tolerant to other people’s\npreposterousness, and that which yourself tell me exceeds anything I\never heard of or imagined—but, dearest, on twice thinking, one surely\nought not to countenance it as you propose—why should not my father and\nmother know? What possible harm can follow from their knowing? Why should\nI wound them to the very soul and for ever, by as gratuitous a piece of\nunkindness as if,—no,—there is no comparison will do! Because, since I\nwas a child I never looked for the least or greatest thing within the\ncompass of their means to give, but given it was,—nor for liberty but it\nwas conceded, nor confidence but it was bestowed. I dare say they would\nbreak their hearts at such an end of all. For in any case they will take\nmy feeling for their own with implicit trust—and if I brought them a\nbeggar, or a famous actress even, they would believe in her because of\nme,—if a Duchess or Miss Hudson, or Lady Selina Huntingdon rediviva ...\nthey would do just the same, sorrow to say! As to any harm or blame that\ncan attach itself to _them_,—it is too absurd to think of! What earthly\ncontrol can they have over me? They live here,—I go my own way, being of\nage and capability. How can they interfere?\n\nAnd then, blame for _what_, in either God’s or the devil’s name? I\nbelieve you to be the one woman in the world I am able to marry because\nable to love. I wish, on some accounts, I had foreseen the contingency\nof such an one’s crossing my path in this life—but I did not, and on\nall ordinary grounds preferred being free and poor, accordingly. All\nis altered now. Does anybody doubt that I can by application in proper\nquarters obtain quite enough to support us both in return for no\nextraordinary expenditure of such faculties as I have? If it _is_ to\nbe doubted, I have been greatly misinformed, that is all. Or, setting\nall friends and their proposals and the rest of the hatefulness aside—I\nshould say that so simple a procedure as writing to anybody ... Lord\nMonteagle, for instance, who reads and likes my works, as he said at\nMoxon’s two days ago on calling there for a copy to give away ... surely\nto write to him, ‘When you are minister next month, as is expected, will\nyou give me for my utmost services about as much as you give Tennyson\nfor nothing?’—_this_ would be rational and as easy as all rationality.\n_Let me do so, and at once, my own_ Ba! And do you, like the unutterably\nnoble creature I know you, transfer your own advantages to your brothers\nor sisters ... making if you please a proper reservation in the case of\nmy own exertions failing, as failure comes everywhere. So shall the one\npossible occasion of calumny be removed and all other charges go for the\nsimple absurdities they will be. I am entirely in earnest about this, and\nindeed had thought for a moment of putting my own share of the project\ninto immediate execution—but on consideration,—no! _So_ I will live and\nso die with you. I will not be poorly endeavouring to startle you with\nunforeseen generosities, catch you in pretty pitfalls of magnanimities,\nbe always surprising you, or trying to do it. No, I resolve to do my\nbest, _through_ you—by your counsel, with your help, under your eye ...\nthe most strenuous endeavour will only approximate to an achievement\nof _that_,—and to suppose a superfluousness of devotion to you (as all\nthese surprises do) would be miserably foolish. So, dear, dear Ba,\nunderstand and advise me. I took up the paper with ordinary feelings ...\nbut the absurdity and tyranny suddenly flashed upon me ... it must not\nbe borne—indeed its only safety in this instance is in its impotency. I\nam not without fear of some things in this world—but the ‘wrath of men,’\nall the men living put together, I fear as I fear the fly I have just put\nout of the window; but I fear _God_—and am ready, he knows, to die this\nmoment in taking his part against any piece of injustice and oppression,\n_so_ I aspire to die!\n\nSee this long letter, and all about a tiny one, a plain palpable\ncommonplace matter about which you agree with me, you the dear quiet\nBa of my heart, with me that make all this unnecessary fuss! See what\nis behind all the ‘bated breath and whispered humbleness?’—but it is\n_right_, after all, to revolt against such monstrous tyranny. And I ought\nnot, I feel, to have forgotten the feelings of my father and mother as I\ndid—because I know as certainly as I know anything that if I could bring\nmyself to ask them to give up everything in the world; they would do it\nand cheerfully.\n\nSo see, and forgive your own\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, June 13, 1846.]\n\nBut dearest, dearest, ... _when_ did I try to dissuade you from telling\nall to your father and mother? Surely I did not and could not. That you\nshould ‘wound them to the very soul and for ever’ ... I am so far from\ncounselling it, that I would rather, I think, as was intimated in my\nletter of this morning, have all at an end at once—_rather_! Certainly\n_rather_, ... when the alternative would be your certain unhappiness and\nremorse. _A right_, they have, to your entire confidence;—for _me_ to say\na word against your giving it—may God forbid! Even that you should submit\nyour wishes to theirs in this matter, would be no excess of duty—I said\nso, I think, in my letter of this morning.\n\nAt the same time, I _am_ of opinion, ... which was what I meant to put\ninto words, ... that, _in the case_ of their approving in the sufficient\ndegree ... and of your resolving finally on carrying out our engagement\n... you should avoid committing them further than is necessary, and so\nexposing them to unpleasant remarks and reproaches from _my family_\n... to go no farther. You think that nothing can be said—I wish _I_\ncould think so. You are not to be restrained perhaps ... but you are\nto be _advised_ ... and it would be a natural step for your father, to\ngo straight to his friend Mr. Kenyon. Do you see what might be done\nthough you are ‘of age’—and for not doing which, your father might be\nreproached? And more there would be to do, besides. Therefore I thought\nthat you should avoid, as far as possible, committing him openly ...\nmaking him a party in the eyes of the world (as would be done by my visit\nto New Cross for instance)—yet I may be wrong here, ... and you, in any\ncase, are the master, to act as you see best.\n\nAnd, looking steadily at the subject, do you not see, ... now that we\nlook closely besides, ... how mortifying to the just pride of your\nfamily, as well as to your own self-respect, is every possible egress\nfrom these unhappy circumstances? Ah—I told you—I told you long ago! I\nsaw that at the beginning. Giving the largest confidence to your family,\nyou still must pain them—still.\n\nFor the rest ... you are generous and noble as always—but, no, ... I\nshall refuse steadily for reasons which are plain, to put away from me\nGod’s gifts ... given perhaps in order to this very end ... and apart\nfrom which, I should not have seen myself justified, ... even as far as\nnow I vaguely, dimly seem ... to cast the burden of me upon you. _No._ I\ncare as little for money as you do—but this thing I will not agree to,\nbecause I ought not. At the same time, you shall be at liberty to arrange\nthat after the deaths of us two, the money should return to my family ...\nthis, if you choose—for it shall be by your own act hereafter, that they\nmay know you for what you are. In the meanwhile, I should laugh to scorn\nall _that_ sort of calumny ... even if I could believe it to be possible.\nSupposing that you sought _money_, you would not be quite so stupid, the\nworld may judge for itself, as to take hundreds instead of thousands,\nand pence instead of guineas. To do the world justice, it is not likely\nto make a blunder on such a point as this.\n\nI wish, if you can wish so, that you were the richer. I could be content\nto have just nothing, if we could live easily so. But as I have a little\nwithout seeking it, you must, on the other hand, try to be content, and\nnot be too proud.\n\nAs to Lord Monteagle, ... dearest ... you will do what you like of\ncourse, though I do not understand exactly what your object is. A pension\non literary grounds is the more difficult to obtain, that the fund set\napart for that end is insufficient, I believe. Then if you are to do\ndiplomacy for it, ... how do you know that you may not be sent to Russia,\nor somewhere impossible for me to winter in? If you were fixed even in\nLondon, ... what then? You know best what your own views are, and wishes\nare—I would not cross them, if you should be happier so, or so.\n\nAnd do you think that because this may be done, or not done ... and\nbecause _that_ ought _not_ to be borne ... we can make any change ... act\nany more openly ... face to face, perhaps—voice to voice? Alas, no!—You\nsaid once that women were as strong as men, ... unless in the concurrence\nof physical force. Which is a mistake. I would rather be kicked with\na foot, ... (I, for one woman!...) than be overcome by a loud voice\nspeaking cruel words. I would not yield before such words—I would not\ngive you up if they were said ... but, being a woman and a very weak one\n(in more senses than the bodily), they would act on me as a dagger would,\n... I could not help _dropping_, dying before them. I say it that you may\nunderstand. Tyranny? Perhaps. Yet in that strange, stern nature, there\nis a capacity to love—and I love him—and I shall suffer, in causing him\nto suffer. May God bless you. You will scarcely make out these hurried\nstraggling words—and scarcely do they carry out my meaning. I am for ever\nyour\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, June 13, 1846.]\n\nDearest, all dearest beyond my heart’s uttering, will you forgive me\nfor that foolish letter, and the warmth, and—FOR ALL,—more than ever\nI thought to have needed to ask forgiveness for! I love you in every\nimaginable way. All was wrong, absurd, in that letter—do you forgive—now,\nwhile I kiss your feet, my own, own Ba?\n\nFor see why it was wrong ... my father and mother will NOT BE PAINED IN\nANY DEGREE: they will believe what I say, exactly what I say. I wrote on\nand on in a heat at the sudden ridiculous fancy of the matter’s taking\nplace some fine morning, without a word of previous intimation,—‘I am\ngoing away, never mind where,—with somebody, never concern yourselves\nwhom,—to stay, if for ever, is it any business of yours to enquire?’\nAll which was ... _what_ was it? a method of confirming you in your\ncomplimentary belief in my ‘calmness’—or that other in my ‘good practical\nsense’—oh, Ba, Ba, how I deserve you! I will only say, I agree in all you\nwrite—it will be clearly best, and I can obviate every untowardness here\n... show that all is pure kindness and provident caution ... so easy all\nwill be! And for the other matters, I will fear nothing.\n\nBut you do—you do understand what caused the sudden fancy ... how I\nthought ‘not show them my pride of prides, my miraculous, altogether\npeerless and incomparable Ba!’ It was not flying from your counsel,—oh,\nno!\n\nSo, is your hand in mine, or rather mine in yours again, sweetest, best\nlove? All will be well. Follow out your intention, as you spoke of it\nto me, in every point. _Do not for God’s_ sake run the risk, or rather,\nencounter the certainty of hearing words which most likely have not\nanything like the significance to the speaker that they would convey\nto the hearer—and so let us go quietly away. I will care nothing about\ndiplomatism or money-getting extraordinary—why, my own works sell and\nsell and are likely to sell, Moxon says. And I mean to write wondrous\nworks, you may be sure, and sell them too,—and out of it all may easily\ncome some fifty or sixty horrible pounds a year,—on which one lives\nfamously in Ravenna, I dare say: think of Ravenna, Ba!—it seems the place\nof places, with the pines and the sea, and Dante, and _no_ English, and\nall Ba.\n\nMy Ba, I see you on Monday, do I not? You let me come then, do you not?\nI am on fire to see you and know you love me ... _not as_ I love you ...\nthat can never be! I am your own\n\n R.\n\nI resolve, after a long pause and much irresolution, to write down as\nmuch as I shall be able, of an obvious fact.... If the saddest fate I can\nimagine should be reserved for me ... I should wish, _you_ would wish to\nlive the days out worthily,—not end them—nor go mad in them—to prevent\nwhich, I should need distraction, the more violent the better,—and it\nwould have to be _forced_ on me in the only way possible—therefore,\n_after my death_, I return nothing to your family, be assured. You will\nnot recur to _this_!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 15, 1846.]\n\nI wrote last night when my head was still struggling and swimming between\ntwo tides of impressions received from the excitement and fatigue of\nthe day. Mr. Kenyon (dear Mr. Kenyon in his exquisite kindness!) took\nme to see the strange new sight (to _me_!) of the Great Western ... the\ntrain coming in: and we left the carriage and had chairs—and the rush\nof the people and the earth-thunder of the engine almost overcame me\n... not being used to such sights and sounds in this room, remember!!\nand afterwards I read and answered your letter with a whirling head.\nI cannot be sure _how_ I answered it, my head whirled so. I only hope\n... hope ... hope ... that it did not seem unworthy of your goodness\nand generosity—for _that_ would be unworthy of my perception of them\nand reverence for them, besides. You do not, in particular, I do hope,\nmisunderstand my reasons for refusing to improve what you call my\n‘advantages,’ by turning them into disadvantages for _you_. Really it\nstruck me at the moment and strikes me new every time I think of it,\nthat it would be monstrous in me to stop at such an idea long enough\nto examine it. To do such a thing would complete the ‘advantages’ of\nmy alliance—if _that_ is a desire of yours. And if I were to be ill\nafterwards, there would be the crown of the crown. Now ask yourself if _I\nought_—\n\nI cannot conceive of the possibility of a ‘calumny’ on such a\npretext—there seems no room for it. You will however have it in your\npower hereafter, without injury to either of us, to do yourself full\njustice in this particular— —only neither now nor hereafter shall I\nconsent to let in sordid withering cares with your life. God has not made\nit so and it shall not be so by an act of mine.\n\nAnd after all, shall we be so much ... so much too rich? do you fancy\nthat Miss Kilmansegg is made of brass compared to me? It is not so bad,\nbe very sure. If Arabel should not offend Papa, she will be richer\nhereafter than we are ... yet not rich even so. Why are you fanciful in\n_that_ way? People are more likely to say that _I have taken you in_. The\nsign of the Red Dragon! as you suggested once yourself!\n\nI could make you laugh, if it were not too hot to laugh, with telling you\nhow I really do not know what my ‘advantages’ are—specifically—so many,\nand so many. I am not ‘allowed’ to spend what I might—but the motive\nis of course a kind one— —there is no mistaking _that_. Poor Papa! He\nattends just to those pecuniary interests which no one cares for, with a\nscrupulous attention. Nearly two hundred a year of ship shares I never\ntouch. Then there is the interest of six thousand pounds (not _less_\nat any rate) in the funds—and I referred to the principal of _that_,\nwhen I said yesterday, that when we had ceased to need it, it might\nreturn to my family, since it came from them, if you chose. But this is\nall air—and _nothing shall be said of it now_—and whatever may be said\nhereafter, shall come from _you_, and be your word rather than mine. So I\nbeseech you, by your affection for me, to speak no more of this hateful\nsubject, which I have entered for a _moment_ lest you should exaggerate\nto yourself and mistake me for the least in the world of an heiress.\nAs to Lord Monteagle, we can do without him, _I_ think—and unless he\nwould give us a house to keep, or something of that sort, at Sorrento or\nRavenna, I do not exactly see what he can do for us. To make an agreement\nwith a periodical, would be more a possibility perhaps—but it is not\na necessity—there is no sort of need, in fact—and why should you be\ntormented ‘in the multitude of the thoughts within you,’ utterly in vain?\n\nAs to your family ... I understand your natural desire of giving your\nconfidence at the fullest to your father and mother, who deserve and\nclaim it ... I understand that you should speak and listen to them,\nand cross no wish of theirs, and in nothing displease and pain them.\nBut I do not understand the argument by which you involve the question\nwith other questions ... when you say, for instance, that I ‘ought not\nto countenance the preposterousness and tyranny.’ How do I seem to\ncountenance what I revolt from? Do you mean that we ought to do what we\nare about, _openly_? It is the only meaning I can attach to your words.\nWell—If you choose it to be so, knowing what I have told you, _let_ it be\nso. I can however, as I said yesterday, answer only for my will and mind,\nand not for my strength and body—and if the end should be different from\nthe end you looked for, you will not blame me, being just, ... any more\nthan I shall blame myself. May God bless you, ever dearest!—\n\n I am your own as ever.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 15, 1846.]\n\nMay I venture to speak to dearest Ba as if I had seen her or heard from\nher since I wrote yesterday,—and that seeing or that hearing had brought\nthe usual comfort and assurance,—and forgiveness when needed, but delight\nat all times? Do you forgive me indeed, Ba?\n\nI shall know to-morrow—which ‘to-morrow’ is your _to_-day. I am soon to\nbe with you _to-day_. I trust there is [no] occasion to exercise fancy\nand say—‘When we meet on your return from Tunbridge a month hence,’ or\ntwo, or three ... to go on fancying! What should I do,—be able to do? and\nif I understood you rightly the letter-communication would be hindered,\nif not stopped altogether. Thus is one the sport of one’s own wishes.\nFine weather is desired ... fine enough to drive people out of town into\nthe country!\n\nAs it is, I have been sufficiently punished for that foolish letter,\nwhich has lost me the last two or three days of your life and deeds, my\nBa. You went to Mr. Kenyon’s—may have gone elsewhere (and gathered roses\nI did not deserve to receive)—but I do not know, and shall not recover my\nloss—not ever ... because if you tell me _now_, you exclude something new\nyou would say otherwise ... if you write it on Tuesday, what becomes of\nTuesday’s own stock of matter for chronicling?\n\nWell, the proper word in my mouth is—I am sorry to the heart, and will\ntry never to offend so again. How you wrote to me, also! How you rise\nabove yourself while I get no nearer where you were first of all, no\nnearer than ever! But so it should be! so may it ever be!\n\nI believe the fault comes from a too-sweet sense of the freedom of\nbeing _true_ with you, telling you all, hiding nothing. Carlyle was\nsaying in his fine way, he understood why the Romans confined acting to\ntheir slaves ... it was no employment for a free man to amuse people\n... be bound to do that, and if other faculties interposed, tending\nto other results on an audience than amusement, be bidden suppress\nthem accordingly ... and so, he thought, it would be one day with our\n_amusers_, writers of fun, concocters of comic pieces. _I_ feel it\ndelicious to be free when most bound to you, Ba,—to be able to love on\nin all the liberty of the implied subjection ... so I am angry _to_ you,\ndesponding sometimes _to_ you, as well as joyous and hopeful—well, well,\nI _love_, at any rate,—do love you with heart and soul, my Ba,—ever shall\nlove you, dearest above all dearness: God bless you!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 16, 1846.]\n\nAs to ‘practical sense’ I never saw, I confess, much to praise you\nfor—but you began by making a great profession of it, please to\nremember—and, otherwise, you certainly ought to know more of the world\nand the wisdom thereof than I, or you are _dull_, dearest mine, and one\nmight as well call the sun so on this burning dazzling morning, when\neverything is at a white heat. Then for the ‘calmness’ ... I did not call\nyour eyes ‘green’ after all ... nor did I mean what you would force on\nme for a meaning in the other way:—you pretend to misunderstand? Eyes,\nat least, that had the mastery with me from the beginning! and it was so\nlong, so long (as you observed yourself), that I could not lift up mine\nagainst them—they were the mystic crystal walls, so long!\n\nAfter you were gone yesterday and I had done with the roses (exquisite\nroses!) and had my coffee, I saw my uncle Hedley who had been inquiring\nabout me, said my sisters, all the afternoon, ... for it was he who came\nwhen we heard the greetings on the stairs—and he told me that his wife\nand daughter were to be in London early in July ... so that we shall have\nthe whole squadron sooner than we thought—drawn up like a very squadron\n... my other aunt, Miss Clarke, coming at the same time, and my cousin\nwith her, Arlette Butler. But only those two will be in the house here,\nand they will not be for very long, nor will they be much in the way, I\nhope.\n\nShall I tell you? I repented yesterday ... I repented last night ... I\nrepent to-day, having made the promise you asked of me. I could scarcely\nsleep at all last night, through thinking that I ought not to have made\nit. Be generous, and free me from that promise. To be true to you in\nthe real right sense, I need no promises at all—and if an argument were\naddressed to me _in order_ to _separate us_, I should see through the\npiteous ingenuity of it, I think, whatever ground it took, and admit\nno judgment and authority over your life to be higher than your own.\nBut I have misgivings about that promise, because I can conceive of\ncircumstances.... Loose me from my promise, and let me be grateful to\nyou, my beloved, in all things and ways, and hold you to be generous in\nthe least as in the greatest. What _I_ asked of _you_, was as different\nas our positions are—different beyond what you see or can see. No third\nperson can see,—no second person can see ... what my position is and has\nbeen ... I do not enter on it here. But there is just and only _one_ way\nin which I may be injured by you, ... and _that_ is, in being allowed to\n_injure you_—so remember, remember, ... to the last available moment.\n\nThen ... I have lived so in a dream for very long!—and everything, all\nundertakings, all movements, seem easy in dream-life. The sense of\nthis has lately startled me. To waken up suddenly and find that I have\nwronged you—what more misery?—and I feel already that I am bringing you\ninto a position which will by some or many be accounted unworthy of\nyou. Well—we will not talk of it—not now! there is time for the grave\nconsideration which _must be_. Let us both think.\n\nAnd may God bless you, ever dearest! You are the best and most generous\nof all in the world! Whatever my mistake may be, it is not concerning\n_that_. Also I love you, love you. Premature things I say sometimes,\nwhich are foolish always. Tell me how you are ... tell me how your\nmother is— —but speak of your own head ... tam chari ... particularly.\nOvercoming, the heat is—and I do hope that Mrs. Jameson won’t come after\nall.\n\n Your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 16, 1846.]\n\nI have just returned from Town—some twelve miles at least I must have\nwalked in this extreme heat ... so what has become of the headache? And\nnow I sit down to write what Ba will read ... what has become of the heat\nand fatigue? In this sense Ba ‘looks cool at me!’\n\nI shall just write that I love, and love you, and love you again—my own\nBa—just this, lest you learn the comfort of a respite from hearing what\nyou are doomed to hear, with variations, all the days of your life. But\nnot much more than this shall I write, because the love lies still in\nme, and deep, as water does,—cannot run forth in rivulets and sparkle,\nthis hot weather; but then how I love her when I can only say so,—how I\nfeel her ... as in an old opera’s one line that stays in my recollection\nthe tropical sun is described on the ocean—‘fervid on the glittering\nflood’—so she lies on me.\n\nSee the pure nonsense, my own Ba, and laugh at it, but not at what lies\nat bottom of it, because that is true as truth, true as Ba’s self in its\nway.\n\nI called on Forster this morning: he says Landor is in high delight at\nthe congratulatory letters he has received—so you must write, dearest,\nand add the queen-rose to his garland. F— talks about some 500 copies—or\ndid he say 300?—being sold already ... so there is hope for Landor’s\nlovers.\n\nSo I should have written once ... but like Virgil’s shepherd ... ‘know\nI now what love is!’—Do you remember that the first word I ever wrote\nto you was ‘I love you, dear Miss Barrett?’ It was so,—could not but be\nso—and I always loved you, as I shall always.\n\nTell me all you can about your dearest self, my own love. I am so happy\nin you, in your perfect goodness and truth,—in all of you.\n\nBe careful this fatiguing weather ... the evenings and mornings are the\nonly working time of the day, as in the beginning of things. But all day\nlong is rest-time to love you, dear, and kiss you, as now—kisses\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday. 6 o’clock.\n [Post-mark, June 17, 1846.]\n\nBeloved, this weather, which makes Flush cross, perhaps helped to make\nme depressed this morning. I had not slept well, and ought not to have\nwritten to you till the effect of it had gone off. Now I feel more as if\nI had been with you yesterday. Ah well! I don’t, can’t remember what I\nwrote ... and some of it was _wise_ ... for I ought not to have promised\n_that_, ... and you must loose me, that I may be loosed in Heaven, from\nthe bands of it. Only you are not to go to Greenwich (you go to Greenwich\nto-morrow, do you not?) thinking that I wanted to teaze you. There is\njust one meaning to all my words, let them be sad or gay ... and it is,\nthat _your happiness is precious_. For myself, if we were to part now\nand for ever, I should still owe you the only happiness of my life. But\nnobody is talking of parting, you know—I am yours, and cannot be put away\nfrom you except by your own hand. Which is decided! What I ask of you, is\nto spare me the pang of causing you to suffer on my account, ... and you\nmay suffer sometimes, I fear, through all your affection for me, ... and\nindirectly, if not directly.\n\nTwo visitors I have had to-day—dear Mr. Kenyon, and Lady Margaret Cocks.\nShe is going to Italy—(oh, of course!) to Rome. He came to tell me that\nthe books came to me from Landor himself, and that I must write to him to\nthank him properly. Mrs. Jameson I do not see, nor Miss Bayley.\n\nHow hot it will be for you to-morrow! Try to be amused and not too tired,\ndearest beloved, and tell me in your letters how the head is.\n\nWhile the heart beats (mine!) I am your own.\n\nI am going in the carriage presently and shall write again to-night.\nWon’t that be _three times in a day_ according to order?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 17, 1846.]\n\nBest, ... best, you are, to write to me when you were tired, and _so_!\nWhen _I_ am tired and write to _you_, it is too apt to be what may\ntrouble you. With _you_, how different! In nothing do you show your\nstrength more than in your divine patience and tenderness towards me,\ntill ... not being used to it, I grow overwhelmed by it all, and would\ngive you my life at a word. Why did you love _me_, my beloved, when you\nmight have chosen from the most perfect of all women and each would have\nloved you with the perfectest of her nature? That is my riddle in this\nworld. I can understand everything else ... I was never stopped for the\nmeaning of sorrow upon sorrow ... but that you should love me I do not\nunderstand, and I think that I never shall.\n\nDo I remember? Yes indeed, I remember. How I recurred and wondered\nafterwards, though at the moment it seemed very simple and what was to\nbe met with in our philosophy every day. But there, you see, there’s\nthe danger of using _mala verba_! The Fates catch them up and knit them\ninto the web! Then I remember all the more (though I should at any\nrate) through an imprudence of my own (or a piece of ill-luck rather\n... it shall not be called an imprudence) of which I will tell you. I\nwas writing to Miss Mitford and of you—we differed about you often, ...\nbecause she did not appreciate you properly, and was fond of dwelling on\nthe ‘obscurity’ when I talked of the light,—and I just then writing of\nyou, added in my headlong unreflecting way that I had had a real letter\nfrom you which said that you loved me—‘Oh—but,’ I wrote on, ‘you are not\nto mistake this, not to repeat it—for of course, it is simply the purest\nof philanthropies’ ... some words to that effect—and if yours was the\npurest of philanthropies, mine was the purest of innocences, as you may\nwell believe, ... for if I had had the shadow of a foresight, I should\nnot have fallen into the snare. So vexed I was afterwards! Not that she\nthought anything at the time, or has referred to it since, or remembers\na word now. Only I was vexed in my innermost heart ... and _am_ ... do\nyou know? ... that I should have spoken lightly of such an expression of\nyours—though you meant it lightly too. Dearest! It was a disguised angel\nand I should have known it by its wings though they did not fly.\n\nBut I foresaw nothing, ... looked to you for nothing, ... nothing can\nprove better to myself, than my having mentioned the quaint word at all.\nFor I know, and I hope you know, how impossible it always has been to me\nto choose for a subject of conversation and jest, things which never\nshould be spoken to friend or sister. But how was I to foresee? So the\nquaintness passed as quaintness with me. And never from that time (you\ngrew sacred too soon!), never again from that moment, did I mention\nyou to Miss Mitford—oh yes, I did, when she talked of introducing Mr.\nChorley, and when I replied that, being a woman, I would have my wilful\nway, and that my wilful way was to see _you_ instead. But except _then_\n... and when I sent her Mr. Landor’s verses on you ... not a word have\nI spoken ... except in bare response. She thinks perhaps that my old\nfervour about you has sunk into the socket—she suspects nothing—in fact\nshe does not understand what _love_ is ... and I never should think of\nasking her for sympathy. She is one of the Black Stones, which, when I\nclimb up towards my Singing Tree and Golden Water, will howl behind me\nand call names.\n\nYou had my second letter to-day, speaking of Landor, and of Mr. Kenyon’s\nvisit. At half-past six came Miss Bayley, talking exceeding kindnesses of\nItaly, and entreating me to use her ... to let her go with me and take\ncare of me and do me all manner of good. What kindness, really, in a\nwoman whom I have not seen six times in all! I am very grateful to her.\nShe held my hands, and told me to write to her if ever I had need of\nher—she would come at a moment, go for a year!—she would do anything for\nme I desired! And this woman to believe of herself that she has no soul!\nHelp me to thank her in your thoughts of her! She said, by the way, that\nMrs. Jameson had talked to her of wishing to take me, ... but she thought\n(Miss Bayley thought) that she (Mrs. Jameson) had too many objects and\ntoo much vivacity ... it would not do so well, she thought. In reply—I\ncould just thank her, and scarcely could do _that_, ... only I am sure\nshe saw and felt that I was grateful to her aright, let the words come\never so wrong. To-morrow she leaves London for an indefinite time.\n\nShe told me too that a friend of hers, calling on Mrs. Jameson, had\nfound her on the point of coming to me to-day, to drive out ... but she\nsuffered from toothache and was going to Cartwright’s first ... and last,\nI suppose. I dare say he put her to torture, to be classified with ‘the\nthumbscrew and the gadge’ ... some disabling torture, for I have not\nseen her at all. So as at half-past seven Henrietta was going out to\ndinner, Lizzie and I and Flush took our places by her in the carriage,\nand went to Hyde Park ... drove close by the Serpentine, and saw by\nthe ruffling of the water that there was a breath of wind more than we\nfelt. The shadows were gathering in quite fast, shade upon shade; and\nat last the silvery water seemed to hold all the light left, as on the\nflat of a hand. Very much I liked and enjoyed it. And, as we came home,\nthe gas was in the shops ... another strange sight for me—and we all\nliked everything. Flush had his head out of the window the whole way ...\nexcept when he saw a long whip, ... or had a frightful vision at the\nwater of somebody washing a little dog ... which made him draw back into\nthe carriage with dilated eyes and quivering ears, and set about licking\nmy hands, for an ‘Ora pro nobis.’ And Lizzie confided to me, that, when\nshe is ‘grown up,’ she never will go out to dinners like Henrietta, but\ndrive in the park like Ba, instead ... unless she can improve upon both,\nand live in a cottage covered with roses, in the country. I, in the\nmeantime, between my companions, thought of neither of them more than was\nnecessary, but of somebody whom I had been teazing perhaps ... dearest,\nwas it so, indeed? ... but I avenge you by teazing myself back again!\nA long rambling letter, with nothing in it! ‘Passages, that lead to\nnothing’—and staircases, too! May I be loved nevertheless, as usual? and\nforgiven for my ‘secret faults?’ You are the whole world to me—and the\nstars besides!\n\n And I am your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 17, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, I release you from just as much as you would easily dispense\nme from observing in that mutual promise. Indeed, it has become one\nunnecessary for our present relation and knowledge: it was right at the\nbeginning for either to say to the other, using calm words, ‘It is your\ngood I seek, not mine,’ and as if it were demonstrated that I should\nsecure yours at the expense of mine by leaving you I would endeavour to\ndo it—so, you assure me, you would act by me. The one point to ascertain\ntherefore, is—what will amount to a demonstration; and I for my part\napprize you that no other person in the world can by any possibility know\nso much of me as to be entitled to pronounce in the matter—to say ‘it is\nfor good or for evil’—therefore, you will no more be justified in giving\nup to _that_ kind of demonstration what I consent you shall give up to\none clearly furnished by _myself_ the only authentic one—than you would\nbe justified in paying my money, entrusted to you, on the presentation\nof a cheque signed by somebody else ... somebody who loves me better\nthan himself, my best of friends, truest of advisers &c. &c. It skills\nnot, boots not—‘John Smith’ is not R.B., nor B.A. and because R.B. or\nB.A. shall be instantly attended to,—the counterfeit must be refused.’\nJust this, so rational and right, I understood you to bid me promise—and\nso much you have promised me, a proper precaution for the earlier time\nwhen the friend might seem to argue with some plausibility ‘really I\nunderstand my friend’s interests better than you can.’ But now, who dares\nassure me that? I disbelieve it—one only knows better, can ever know\nbetter—yourself; and I will obey yourself. So with me—I know better my\nown good than you do yet, I think. When I tell you that good requires\nsuch a step as you speak of, you shall acquiesce; I will tell you on\nthe instant, as you, in your own case, should tell me on the instant. I\nneeded not ask you to promise, as I foolishly did, that you would not\nact in the saddest of ways—professing to see what could never be, and\nbelieve what must be untrue. At the beginning, at the first day, suppose\nMr. Kenyon had said—you prevent his getting such a place, which brings\nin so much honour and wealth—or marrying such a person who would effect\nthe same—you might have assented then, in your comparative ignorance,\njust as you could not have objected had he said, ‘If you hold Mr. B. to\nhis engagement to come here on the Derby Day you will ruin him assuredly,\nfor his heart and soul are on “the turf” and his betting-book will go to\nwreck.’ To this you could never bring yourself to pretend an assent—it\nwould be no argument if he went on saying—‘Why, A and B and C go to\nraces and bet on them’—_you know_ I _do not_—so you know my estimate of\nhonour and wealth and the rest, apart ... I will not say from the love\nof you,—but from my own life as I had traced it years ago, and as it is\nstill traced for me to its end,—your love coming to help it in every\nsmallest particular, to supply the undreamed-of omissions in the plan of\nit, and remove the obstructions best seen now that they are removed or\nremovable. There is a calmest ‘of calm’ statements of the good of you to\nme.\n\nMy dearest Ba, you say ‘let us both think’—think of this, you! Do not\nfor God’s sake introduce an element of uncertainty and restlessness and\ndissatisfaction into the feeling whereon _my_ life lies. To speak for\nmyself, this matter is concluded, done with,—I am yours, you are mine,\nand not to give use to refinements upon refinements as to what is the\nbeing most of all each other’s, which might end in your loving me best\nwhile I was turned a Turk in the East, or my—you know the inquisition\ndoes all for the pure love of the victim’s soul. Let us have common\nsense—and think, in its most ordinary exercise, what would my life\nbe worth now without you—as I,—putting on your own crown, accepting\nyour own dearest assurance,—dare believe your life would be incomplete\nnow without mine—_so_ you have allowed me to believe. Then our course\nis plain. If you dare make the effort, we will do as we propose,—if\nnot, not: I have nothing to do but take your hand ... there is not one\ndifficulty in my path,—nor in yours on my account,—that is for me. If\nI change my views, and desire hereafter what I altogether turn from\nnow,—in what conceivable respect will your being my wife hinder me? If\nI accept the Embassy which Young England in the person of Milnes has\npromised me—you shall offer no impediment. If I rather aspire to ‘dine\nout’ here in London, you shall stay at home and be good-natured. I shall\nattain to all these delights just as easily with you as without you,\nI suppose; ‘No, I cannot marry some other woman and by her means and\nconnections and connexions’—No—because—first and least of all, I begin by\ndrawing on myself the entire cataract of shame and disgrace in the mouth\nof the world,—direct accusation or rather condemnation, against which\nnot a word can be urged in mitigation, because all would be the pure\nsimple truth—_I_ do this, who have been fretfully wincing under the mere\napprehension of catching a mere spatter or two of gossiping scandal—which\na very few words would get rid of, seeing that, in fact, the falseness of\nthe imputation will be apparent to everybody with eyes to see—for after\nall, here I am, living to my own pleasure and my father and mother’s, and\nat liberty to do so for ever, as mortals say. Well, and _so_ having gone\nunder the whole real cataract instead of the sprinkling impertinence of\nthe half a dozen sprinklings from the mop at the nursery-window which an\nupward look and cry will stop at once,—_so_ having mended the matter, I\ncommit a sin which I turn and ask you, should you be ever at peace with\nGod and yourself if you sate still and suffered me to commit,—not on\naccount of me and my harm to follow in both worlds,—but in mere justice\nto your ‘neighbour,’—on whom you would see inflicted this infamous wrong?\n\nDear, dear, dear Ba, I kiss you, kiss my heart out unto you,—best love,\none love! _I_ see above what I will not think over again, look over\nagain—but what then? Can I be quiet when I hear the least, least motion\nabout my treasure, and my heart that is there, with it? Then _no more_, I\nbeseech you, love, never one word more of all that! Whenever I can hear\nsuch words calmly, I shall be fit for agreeing to them,—let all be now.\nThese two kindest of letters both come in together to my blessing—my\nentire blessing! I was writing the last line when they came—I will just\nsay now, that the Greenwich affair is put off till Friday. Do not I\nunderstand Miss Bayley! And do I understand you, my Ba, when I venture\nthis time——because of the _words_ and the pain I shall not hide that they\n_did_ give me,—to feel that, even beyond my kissing you, you kiss this\none time your own R.B.\n\nMy mother is much better, and out—she is walking with my sister. I am\nvery well—in the joy perhaps ... but really much better—and have been so.\n\n_My two hundredth letter from her!_ I, _poor_?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, June 18, 1846.]\n\nDearest and ever dearest, try to forgive me when I fall so manifestly\nshort of you in all things! It is the very sense of this which throws\nme on despairs sometimes of being other than a bane to your life—and\nthen ... by way of a remedy ... I begin to be a torment to it directly.\n_Forgive me._ Whatever I may say I am as wholly yours as if you held me\nin your hand, and I would do for you any extravagance, as if it were a\ncommon thing, at a word—and what is before us is _only_ a common thing,\nsince I have looked to it from the beginning. Oh—I may talk when I am\nout of spirits—but you know, and _I_ know best of all, that I could not\nwithdraw myself from you, unless you said ‘Go’—could not—I have no\npower. Fine talking, it is of me, to talk of withdrawing myself from you!\nYou know I could not at all do it, let ever so many special pleaders come\nto prove to me that you would be more prosperous and happy without me.\n‘Then’ I would say ... ‘let him put me away. I can’t put myself away,\nbecause I am not mine but his.’ Assuredly I would say just that, and no\nmore. So do you forget that I have teazed you and pained you ... _pained_\nyou!... I will try not to pain you, my own, own dearest, any more. I have\ngrown to love you instead of the whole world; and only one thing ...\n(you understand what _that_ is ...) is dreadful and intolerable to me to\nimagine. But now it is done with; and you shall teach me hereafter to\nmake you happy instead of the contrary. So ... yes—you are kissed this\ntime! upon both eyes, ... that they may not see my faults. And afterwards\nI will tell you a paradox ... that if I loved you a hundred times less,\nI should run into such offences less in exact proportion. And finally\nI will give you a promise ... not to teaze you for a week—which were a\nwonderful feat for _me_! the teazer _par excellence_.\n\nTo-day I deserved to hear of your head being worse—but it is better, I\nthank God—and your mother is better—all such comforting news! But it was\nno news that you did not go to Greenwich to-day,—for Mrs. Jameson came\nfor me to drive at about six, and she and I were in Regent’s Park until\nnearly eight. Then she went somewhere to dinner, and I, who had had tea,\ncame home to supper! I like her very much—more and more, certainly—and\nwe need not be mysterious up to the usual mark of mystery, because I\ntold her ... told her ... what might be told—and she was gracious to\nthe uttermost—not angry at all,—and said that ‘Truth was truth, and\none could breathe in the atmosphere of it, and she was glad I had told\nher.’ Of you, she said, that she admired you more than ever—yes, more\nthan ever—for the ‘manner in which as a man of honour you had kept the\nsecret’—so you were praised, and I, not blamed ... and we shall not\ncomplain, if our end is as good as our beginning. Also we talked of your\npoetry and of you personally, and I was _pleased_, ... which proves a\nlittle what was said—and I heard how you were invited as a ‘celebrity’\nfor the Countess Hahn-Hahn to see you, and how you effaced yourself\nwith ever so much gracefulness; yet not too much, to omit charming the\nwhole room. Mrs. Jameson praises you always, as nobody does better. And\nto-morrow ... will you be surprised to hear that to-morrow at half-past\nfour, I am to go again with her, ... to see Rogers’s pictures? Is it\nwrong? shall I get into a scrape? She promised laughingly that I should\nbe _incognita_ to the only companion she thought of taking ... a Mrs.\nBracebridge, I think ... and Mr. Rogers himself is not to be visible—and\nshe herself will mention it to nobody. It was hard to say ‘_no_’—yet\nperhaps ‘no’ would have been better. Do you think so? Mrs. Bracebridge is\nan artist and lives or lived on _Mount Hymettus_!—and she is not to hear\nmy name even.\n\nNow—good night, very dear!—most dear of all! I will not teaze you for\na fortnight, I think. Ah—if ever I can do that again, you shall not be\n_pained_, ... you shall think that my heart and life are in you, and\nthat, if they seem to flatter, it is that they go deeper. All I _am_ is\nyours—which is different from ... all I _have_. ‘All I _have_,’ is when I\nmay lean my head down on the shoulder—\n\n So let me be your own\n\n BA.\n\nOf those two letters, one was in the post before seven the evening\nbefore. Now, is it not too bad?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, June 18, 1846.]\n\nDid you really kiss me on the two eyes, my Ba? I cannot say ‘perhaps at\nthe very time I was thinking of you,’—more than ‘when I was breathing’—I\nbreathe always, think of you always,—kiss you almost always. You dear,\ndearest Ba! Do _pain_ me so again and again,—if you will _so_ cure me\nevery time! But you should not imagine that I can mistake the motive,—as\nif you loved me less and therefore wrote—oh, no—but there is no getting\nrid of these mistakings before the time: they bear their fruit and die\naway naturally ... the hoe never cuts up all their roots. I shall trust\nto hear you say one day I am past such mistaking—but—at Amalfi?\n\nI am very glad, _love_, you go to Mr. Rogers’ to-day—what harm _can_\nfollow? The evil in the other case was a very precise and especial one.\nThey say his pictures are well worth seeing. Tell me, make me see _you_\nseeing! I am glad, too, Mrs. Jameson knows ... but her graciousness I\nexpected, because the causes you were able to give her would really\noperate just in that manner: indeed they _are_ the sole causes of the\nsecresy we have observed. I cannot help liking Mrs. Jameson more, much\nmore since her acquaintance with you. Hazlitt says somewhere that the\nmisery of consorting with country-people is felt when you try for their\nsympathy as to favourite actors—‘Liston?’ says the provincial, ‘never\nheard of him’—but—whoever knows Miss Barrett ... ‘Ba,’ they are not going\nto be let know ... of such a person _I_ know something more than of any\nother.\n\nTalking of Hahn-Hahn, read this note of Mrs. Carlyle’s—although to my\nmortification I find that the wise man is not so peremptory on the virtue\nof one of Ba’s qualities as I, the ignorant man, must continue to be.\nNever mind,—perhaps ‘in the long run’ I may love you as if you were\nexactly to Mrs. Carlyle’s mind!\n\nI want to tell you a thing not to be forgotten about Florence as a\nresidence for any time. You spoke of the _bad water_ at Ravenna ... which\nif a serious inconvenience anywhere is a very plague in Italy; well, the\nmedical people, according to Valléry, attribute the black hollow cheeks\nand sunk eyes and general ill health of the Florentines to their vile\nwater; impregnated with lead, I think. There is only one good fountain in\nthe city—that opposite Santa Croce; I religiously abstained from drinking\nwater there—and felt the privation the more from having just left Rome,\nwhere the water is the most perfectly delicious and abundant and, they\nsay, wholesome—in the world. That one objection is decisive against\nRavenna—but then, why do the English all live at Florence?\n\nIt makes me happy to hear of your achievements and _not_ of any ill\nresult—_happy_! Is it quite so warm to-day? If it were to rain to-morrow\n(!), IF—our party would be postponed till the next day, Saturday, I\nbelieve ... there was a kind of understanding to that effect—now, in\nthat case, might I go to you to-morrow? In the case of real heavy rain\nonly——the letter to-morrow will tell me perhaps....\n\n Goodbye, dearest dearest; I love you wholly—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 19, 1846.]\n\nBut I have not been to Mr. Rogers’s to-day, after all. I had a note from\nMrs. Jameson, to put off our excursion to Saturday ... if I consented\nto Saturday! but of course I would not consent to Saturday—and as she\nintimated that another day would do as well, we shall have another day\nfixed, I suppose. What a good fruit it would be of the confession I made\nin the park, if she were to ask _you_ to go!!! Oh, I should like _that_—I\nshould like it notwithstanding the drawbacks. It would be a fair gain\nupon the usual times of meeting—only that I could not care quite as much\nfor the pictures—yet, those too, I should like to see with you, rather\nthan apart from you. And _you_ never saw them ... _you_! Is there a hope\nof her asking you when you are at Greenwich together? Now I have got this\ninto my head, it will not go out again—oh, you must try and enchant her\nproperly at Greenwich and lead her into asking you. Yet, with you or\nwithout you in the body, the spirit of you and the influence of you are\nalways close to my spirit when it discerns any beauty or feels any joy;\nif I am happy on any day it is through you wholly, whether you are absent\nor present, dearest, and ever dearest!\n\nAnd so, instead of Mr. Rogers’s pictures, I have been seeing you in my\nthoughts, as I sate here all alone to-day. When everybody was at dinner I\nremembered that I had not been out—it was nearly eight ... there was no\ncompanion for me unless I called one from the dinner-table; and Wilson,\nwhom I thought of, had taken holiday. Therefore I put on my bonnet, as\na knight of old took his sword,—aspiring to the pure heroic,—and called\nFlush, and walked down-stairs and into the street, all alone—_that_ was\nsomething great! And, with just Flush, I walked there, up and down in\nglorious independence. Belgium might have felt so in casting off the\nyoke. As to Flush, he frightened me a little and spoilt my vain-glory—for\nFlush has a very good, stout vain-glory of his own, and, although\nperfectly fond of me, has no idea whatever of being ruled over by me!—(he\nlooks beautiful scorn out of his golden eyes, when I order him to do\nthis or this) ... and _Flush_ chose to walk on the opposite side of the\nstreet,—he _would_,—he insisted on it! and every moment I expected him to\ndisappear into some bag of the dogstealers, as an end to _his_ glory, _à\nlui_. Happily, however, I have no moral with which to point my tale—it’s\na very immoral story, and shows neither Flush nor myself punished for our\nsins. Often, I am not punished for my sins, ... am I? _You_ know _that_\n... dearest, dearest! But then, even _you_ are not punished for your sins\n... when you flatter so! Ah, it is happy for you, and for your reputation\nin good taste and sense, that you cannot very well say such things except\nto me, who cannot believe them. For the rest, the eyes were certainly\nblinded, ... being kissed too hard.\n\nHow I like Mrs. Carlyle’s note! You will go of course. But it will _not_\nrain to-morrow, and you shall _not_ have the advantage of coming through\nit to me, ... for this reason (among others far better), that I have\nengaged to see, at three or four perhaps, a friend of ours from the\ncountry. She is in London for only two days and wrote to beg me to see\nher, and to-day I escaped by half a rudeness, and, if I do to-morrow, it\nwill be by a whole rudeness. So, not to-morrow! And, if Saturday should\nbe taken from us, we must find three days somehow next week—it will be\neasily done.\n\nAs to Florence, the flood of English is the worst water of all in the\nargument. And then Dr. Chambers ‘warned me off’ Florence, as being too\ncold for the winter. It would be as well not to begin by being ill; and\nhalf I am afraid of Ravenna—though Ravenna may _not_ be cold, and though\nShelley may belie it altogether. ‘A miserable place’ he calls it in the\n‘Letters.’ Still I observe that his first impressions are apt to be\ndarker than remain. For instance, he began by hating Pisa, and preferred\nit to most places, afterwards. There is Pisa by the way! Or your Sorrento\n... Salerno ... Amalfi ... you shall consider if you please—find a new\nplace if you like.\n\nIt is my last letter perhaps till I see you. May God bless you, I lift\nup my heart to say. How happy I ought to be, ... and am, ... with your\nthoughts all round me, _so_, as you describe! Let them call me your very\nown\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 19, 1846.]\n\nI shall hardly be able, I am afraid, to get your letter ... if one should\ncome through your dear goodness, my own Ba ... before I go out ... having\nto meet the Procters’ party in Town: so I will just write my joy at its\nbeing little more now than twenty-four hours before I shall see you, I\ntrust. The day is cool and nearer rain than I fancied probable—but, oh\nthe task-work, Egyptian bondage, that _much_ going-out would be to me,\nwho am tired (_unreasonably_) beforehand on this first and most likely\nlast occasion during the year. It is a pity that I am so ignorant about\nHahn-Hahn’s books—one, ‘Faustina,’ I got last night, but have neither\nheart nor time to ‘get it up’ in a couple of hours.\n\nSomething you said on Mrs. Jameson’s authority amused me—the encomium on\nmy grace in sitting still to see the play and not jumping on the stage to\nact too—as if it were not the best privilege one finds in being ‘known’\nnever so little, that it dispenses one from having to make oneself\nknown. When you are shipwrecked among Caribbee Indians you are forced\nto begin professing ‘I can make baskets, and tell fortunes, and foresee\neclipses—so don’t eat me!’ And even there if they threatened nothing of\nthe kind, I should be content to live and die as unhonoured as one of\ntheir own cabbage-trees.\n\nI must go now—the day gets hotter, but then our day draws nearer—All my\nheart is yours, best of dearest loves, my own Ba, as I am your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 22, 1846.]\n\nWhat I told you yesterday is very often in my thoughts, my own Ba—that\nwith respect to the love for you ‘I see what I know and testify what I\nhave seen.’ I know what _is_, and _why_ it is—so far as my faculties of\nperception allow, of course—I rest on you just as I sate on the grass in\nthe garden this morning with the very earth’s immensity beneath: that is\nvery different from trusting to this chair which is firm enough now, but\nmight break down from a thousand causes. How entirely I believe in you,\nBa! When you praise me, I believe that you are in error, yet believe it\nnone——I know I am not so truthful to you—not so invariably, in the least\nas in the greatest matters—in the _greatest_, in the ordinary even, I\nspeak pure truth,—but the old conventional habits cling, as I find out on\nreflection sometimes—but I aspire no less to become altogether open to\nyour sight as you are to me,—I in my degree,—like a smallest of lake’s\nface under the sky’s: and for this also I shall have to bless you, my\nonly Ba,—my only Ba!\n\nI ought never ... I think I will not again ... attempt to write down why\nI love you.... (not, NOT that it is done here, but alluded-to, touched\nupon ...) The elements of the love ... (I say ‘the’ love, _mine_, because\nI _will_ not know, nor hear, nor be taught anything by anybody else about\n‘love,’ the one love everybody knows, it seems, and lives and dies by)—my\nlove’s elements are so many that the attempt to describe them is to bring\nabout this failure ... the first that comes is taken up and treated of\nat length ... as that element of ‘_trust_’ just now ... and then, in the\nfeeling of incompetence which makes the pen sink away and turns the mind\noff, the others are let pass by unnamed, much less described, or at least\nacknowledged for the undeniable elements they are. What were all the\n_trust_ without—and thus I could begin again! Let me say no more now—and\nforgive all the foolishness ... it is not for my wisdom you are to love\nme, Ba! Except that if you agreed too heartily with me on that point, I\nshould very likely be found turning round on you with ‘not wise, when I\nadore you _so_?’ Wise or unwise, I _do_ adore you, my Ba! And more and\nevermore! But see how I need your letters to _train_ mine, to lead them\ninto something more like the true way ... and to-morrow the letter will\ncome—will it not? And mine shall be less about myself and more about\nyou—whom may God bless, prays your own\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 22, 1846.]\n\nI write to you in the drawing-room, and have brought down with me, I\nfind, no smaller paper—but it can’t be filled, can it? though I have to\ntell you the great news about the lilies ... that all, except _two_, are\nin full blow ... and that the two are unfolding ... I can almost see the\nleaves move. I told you how it would be. They will live, ... and last\nlonger than the roses, ... which I shall have to tell you by history as\nwell as prediction, presently. The next news is not so good,—for I have\nhad a note from Mrs. Jameson to the effect that she will come to take me\nto the pictures to-morrow, Monday—so that there will be no time to be\ndiplomatic. My hope was of your meeting her at Mr. Carlyle’s, before she\ncould arrange anything finally,—and really I do feel as disappointed as\nif I had had a reason for the hope. Now, unless we have another miracle,\nthere’s an end, I suppose.\n\nThink of my having left Flush behind me fast asleep. He dashes at the\ndoor in the most peremptory way, and nearly throws me backward when I\nopen it, with his leaping-up-joy ... if it is not rather his reproach.\n\nNow I am here all alone, except Flush—sitting, leaning against the open\nwindow with my feet curled up, and, at them, Flush curled up too; and I\nwriting on my knee _more meo_. Rather cooler it seems, but rather too hot\nstill it is, I think. How did you get home? how are you, dearest? And\nyour mother? tell me of her, and of you! You always, you know (_do_ you\nknow?), leave your presence with me in the flowers; and, as the lilies\nunfold, of course I see more and more of you in each apocalypse. Still,\nthe Saturday’s visit is the worst of all to come to an end, as always I\nfeel. In the first place stands Sunday, like a wall without a door in\nit! no letter! Monday is a good day and makes up a little, but it does\nnot prevent Tuesday and Wednesday following ... more intervening days\nthan between the other meetings—or so it seems. I forgot to tell you\nthat yesterday I went to Mr. Boyd’s house ... not to see him, but as a\npreliminary step to seeing him. Arabel went to his room to tell him of\nmy being there—we are both perhaps rather afraid of meeting after all\nthese years of separation. Quite blind he is—and though scarcely older\nthan Mr. Kenyon (perhaps a year or two or three), so nervous, that he has\nreally made himself infirm, and now he refuses to walk out or even to\ngo down-stairs. A very peculiar life he has led ever since he lost his\nsight, which he did when he was quite a young man—and a very peculiar\nperson he is in all possible ways. His great faculty is ... _memory_ ...\nand his great passion ... Greek—to which of late he has added _Ossian_.\nOtherwise, he talks like a man of slow mind, which he is, ... and with\na child’s way of looking at things, such as would make you smile—oh, he\ntalks in the most wonderfully childish way! Poor Mr. Boyd. He cares for\nme perhaps more than he cares for any one else ... far more than for\nhis own only daughter; but he is not a man of deep sensibility, and,\nif he heard of my death, would merely sleep a little sounder the next\nnight. Once he said to me that whenever he felt sorry about anything,\nhe was inclined to go to sleep. An affectionate and grateful regard ...\ngrateful for many kindnesses ... I bear him, for my part. He says that\nI should wear the crown in poetry, if I would but follow Pope—but that\nthe dreadful system of running lines one into another ruins everything.\nWhen I talk of _memory_, I mean merely the mechanical faculty. The\n_associative_, which makes the other a high power, he wants. So I went\nto his house in St. John’s Wood yesterday, and saw the little garden.\nPoor Mr. Boyd. There, he lives, all alone—and never leaving his chair!\nyet cheerful still, I hear, in all that desolation. As for you and\nTennyson, he never heard of you ... he never guesses at the way of modern\nliterature ... and it is the intense compliment to me when he reads\nverses of mine, ‘notwithstanding my corrupt taste,’ ... to quote his own\nwords.\n\nDearest, do you love me to-day? I think of you, which is quite the same\nthing. Think of _me_ to-morrow at half-past four when Mrs. Jameson comes,\nand I shall have all that exertion to go through without the hope of you.\nOnly that you are always _there_ ... _here_!—and I, your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, June 22, 1846.]\n\nIf I only thought for myself in this instance, I should at once go and\nmount guard before your house so as to see you, at least, for a moment as\nyou leave it.\n\nTo hope for a word would never do ... you might be startled, or simply\nnot like such a measure, and _in simili incontri_ I will not run risks,\nbut I should be able to _see_ you, my Ba ... why do I not go then? People\nat doors and windows are also able, alas, to see _me_ too—so I stay ...\nif this _is_ staying away when I can see the curled-up feet and kiss them\nbeside,—ever-dear feet!\n\nDo _you_ know the days and the times and the long interval,—you, as _I_\nknow? How strange that you should complain, and I become the happier! If\nI could alter it, and make you feel no subject for complaint any longer,\nI _would_,—surely I would, and be happy in that too, I hope ... yet the\nother happiness needs must be given up in that case ... I cannot reason\nit out. I excuse my present selfish happiness by feeling I would not\nexchange the sadness of being away from you for any imaginable delight\nin which you had no part. But I will have this delight, too, my Ba, of\nimagining that you are gratified by what you will see to-day. Tell me\nall, and what is said, and how you are at the end.\n\nThank you meanwhile for the picture of poor Mr. Boyd ... then he\nnever _has_ seen you, since he was blind so long ago! How strange and\nmelancholy—you say he is ‘cheerful,’ however. In that case—think of\nunhappy Countess Faustina with her ‘irresistible longings,’ and give\nher as much of your commiseration as she ought to get. What a horrible\nbook ... how have I brought in what I prescribed to myself ‘silence\nabout.’ Such characters as Faustina produce the very worst possible\neffect on me—I don’t know how they strike other people—but I am at\nonce incited ‘debellare superbos’—to try at least and pull down the\narrogant—_contempt_ would be the most Christian of all the feelings\npossible to be called forth by such a woman. Let me get back to you,\nmy own dearest-dearest,—I _do_ ‘love you to-day,’ if you must ask,—and\nbidding me think of you is all very well—never bid me not think of\nyou!—and so never find out that there could be a bidding I am unable to\nobey. But what is mere ‘_thinking_’? I kiss your hand, and your eyes, and\nnow your lips,—and ask for my heart back again, to give it and be ever\ngiving it. No words can tell how I am your own.\n\nMy mother is much better,—observably so, to-day. Oh, dearest,—I want you\nto read Landor’s Dialogue between Tasso and his Sister, in the second\nvolume,—with the exquisite Sorrentine scenery—do read it. I see your\nTasso with his prominent eyes as if they were ever just brightening out\nof a sorrow that has broken over them.\n\nHow I like (‘love’ is not my word now) but like Landor, more and more!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 23, 1846.]\n\nWell—I did look everywhere for you to-day,—but not more than I always\ndo—always I do, when I go out, look for you in the streets ... round\nthe corners! And Mrs. Jameson came _alone_ and she and I were alone\nat Mr. Rogers’s, and you must help me to thank her some day for her\nunspeakable kindness to me, though she did not leap to the height of the\ninspiration of managing to let us see those pictures together. Ah—if\nshe had, it would have been too much. As it is, she gave me a great\ndeal of pleasure in the kindest of ways ... and I let it _be_ pleasure,\nby mixing it with enough thoughts of you—(otherwise how could it be\npleasure?)—and she showed the pictures, and instructed me, really taking\npains and instructing me ... and telling me how Rubens painted landscapes\n... as how should my ignorance guess? ... and various other unknown\nthings The first word as we reached the door, frightened me—for she\nsaid that perhaps we might see Mr. Rogers ... which was a little beyond\nour covenant—but we did not see him, and I suppose the Antinous on the\nstaircase is not at all like him. Grand it is, in its serene beauty. On\na colossal scale, in white marble. For the pictures, they are full of\nwonder and divinity—each giving the measure of a man’s soul. And think\n... sketches from the hand of Michael Angelo and Raphael! And a statuette\nin clay, alive with the life of Michael Angelo’s finger—the blind eyes\nlooking ... seeing ... as if in scorn of all clay! And the union of\nenergy and meditation in the whole attitude! You have seen the marble of\nthat figure in Florence. Then, a divine Virgin and child, worn and faded\nto a shadow of Raphael’s genius, as Mrs. Jameson explained to me—and the\nfamous ‘Ecce Homo’ of Guido ... and Rubens’ magnificent ‘_version_,’\nas she called it, of Andrea Mantegna’s ‘Triumph of Julius Cæsar.’ So\ntriumphing to this day! And Titian, and Tintoretto ... and what did not\nstrike me the least, ... a portrait of Rembrandt by himself, which if\nhis landscapes, as they say, were ‘dug out of nature,’ looks as if it\nwere dug out of humanity. Such a rugged, dark, deep subterraneous face,\n... yet inspired—! seeming to realize that God took clay and breathed\ninto the nostrils of it. There are both the clay, and the divinity! And\nthink! I saw the agreement between the bookseller and Milton for the\nsale of Paradise Lost! with Milton’s signature and seal! and ‘_Witnessed\nby William Greene, Mr. Milton’s servant._’ How was it possible not to\nfeel giddy with such sights! Almost I could have run my head against the\nwall, I felt, with bewilderment—and Mrs. Jameson must have been edified,\nI have thought since, through my intense stupidity. I saw too the first\nedition of ‘Paradise Lost.’ The rooms are elegant, with no pretension to\nsplendour ... which is good taste, a _part_ of the good taste everywhere.\nOnly, on the chimney-piece of the dining-room, were two small busts,\nbeautiful busts, white with marble, ... and representing—now, whom,\nof gods and men, would you select for your Lares ... to help your\ndigestion and social merriment?... Caligula and Nero in _childhood_! The\n‘_childhood_’ is horribly suggestive to me! On the side-board is Pope’s\nbust, by Roubillac—a too expressive, miserable face—drawn with disease\nand bitter thoughts, and very painful, I felt, to look at. These things\nI liked least, in the selection and arrangement. Everything beside was\nadmirable: and I write and write of it all as if I were not tired—but I\nam ... and most with the excitement and newness. Mrs. Jameson breakfasted\nwith Mr. Rogers yesterday, she said, and met the Countess Hahn-Hahn, who\nwas talking of modern literature when her host suddenly stopped her with\na question ... ‘Did you ever read Addison?’\n\nHow late it is. Must I have done, before I have half done?\n\nWhat I did _not_ tell you yesterday is very much in my thoughts ... do\nyou know? _I_, too, ‘see what I know and testify what I have felt ...\nand, as far as my faculties of perception go!’ I am confident that you\nhad better not look for a single reason for loving me. Which is worst?\nA bad reason, or no reason at all? A bad reason, _I_ think—and accept\nthe alternative. Ah ... my own only beloved. And how you write to me\nto-night! I will read what you tell me in Landor ... but no words of\ninspired lips or pen ... no poet’s word, of the divinest, ... ever\nwent to my heart as yours in these letters! Do I not love you? am I\nnot your own? And while deserving nothing of all of it, I _feel_ it at\nleast—respond to it—my heart is in your hand. May God bless you ... ‘_and\nme in that_,’—because even He could not bless me without _that_. Which He\nknows.\n\n Your own.\n\nBut there is much beauty in Faustina—oh, surely!\n\nThe lilies, all in blow except one ... which is blowing.\n\nAre we going to have a storm to-night? It lightens ... lightens!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning\n [Post-mark, June 23, 1846.]\n\nI was just on the point of answering your dear letter, in all the good\nspirits it might be expected to wake in me, when the sad news of poor\nHaydon’s death stopped all; much I feel it, for the light words of my own\nabout his extravagance, as I had been told of it, but very much more on\nyour account, who were so lately in communication with him. I earnestly\nhope,—I will trust—you have not been rudely apprised of this—I am happy\nto remember that you do not see the newspaper in the morning,—others will\nsee it first; perhaps there may be no notice in the _Chronicle_ at all,\nor on the other hand, a more circumstantial one than this in the _Times_\nwhich barely says—‘that B.R.H. died suddenly at his residence—yesterday\nmorning. He was in his usual health on the previous evening, and it is\nbelieved that his decease was hastened by pecuniary embarrassment’—and\nhe is called ‘the unfortunate gentleman’—which with the rest implies\nthe very worst, I fear. If by any chance _this_ should be the first\nintimation you receive of it ... do not think me stupid nor brutal,—for\nI thought again and again as to the right course to take ... whether it\nwould not be best to be silent altogether and wait and see ... but in\nthat case I should have surprised you more by my cold letter,—such an\none as I could bring myself to write,—for how were it possible to speak\nof pictures and indifferent matters when you perhaps have been shocked,\nmade ill by this news? If I have done wrong, forgive me, my own best,\ndearest Ba—I would give the world to know how you are. The storm, too,\nand lightning may have made you even more than ordinarily unfit to be\nstartled and grieved. God knows and must help you! I am but your devoted—\n\n * * * * *\n\nHow glad I am you told me you had never seen him. And perhaps he may be\nafter all a mere acquaintance ... anything I will fancy that is likely to\nrelieve you of pain! Dearest dearest!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 24, 1846.]\n\nEver tenderest, kindest and most beloved, I thank you from the quick\nof my heart, where the thought of you lives constantly! In this world\nfull of sadness, of which I have had my part ... full of sadness and\nbitterness and wrong ... full of most ghastly contrasts of life and\ndeath, strength and weakness side by side ... it is too much, to have\n_you_ to hold by, as the river rushes on ... too much good, too much\ngrace for such as I, ... as I feel always, and cannot cease to feel!\n\nOh yes—it has shocked me, this dreadful news of poor Mr. Haydon—it\nchilled the blood in my veins when I heard it from Alfred, who, seeing\nthe _Times_ at the Great Western Terminus, wrote out the bare extract and\nsent it to me by the post. He just thought that the _Chronicle_ did not\nmention it, ... and that I had not seen Mr. Haydon ... he did not perhaps\nthink how it would shock me.\n\nFor, _this_ _I_ cannot help thinking. Could anyone—_could my own hand\neven ... have averted what has happened_? My head and heart have ached\nto-day over the inactive hand! But, for the moment, it was out of my\npower, without an application where it would have been useless—and\nthen, I never fancied this case to be more than a piece of a continuous\ncase ... of a habit fixed. Two years ago he sent me boxes and pictures\nprecisely so, and took them back again—poor, poor Haydon!—as he will not\nthis time. And he said last week that Peel had sent him fifty pounds ...\nadding ... ‘I do not however want _charity_, but employment.’ Also, I\nhave been told again and again (oh, never by _you_ my beloved!) that to\ngive money _there_, was to drop it into a hole of the ground.\n\nBut if to have dropped it so, dust to dust, would have saved a living\nman—what then?\n\nYet of the three notes I had from him last week, the first was written\nso lightly, that the second came to desire me not to attribute to him a\n‘want of feeling.’ And who could think ... contemplate ... this calamity?\nMay God have mercy on the strongest of us, for we are weak. Oh, that a\nman so high hearted and highly endowed ... a bold man, who has thrown\ndown gauntlet after gauntlet in the face of the world—that such a man\nshould go mad for a few paltry pounds! For he was _mad_ if he killed\nhimself! of that I am as sure as if I knew it. If he killed himself, he\nwas mad first.\n\nSome day, when I have the heart to look for it, you shall see his last\nnote. I understand now that there are touches in it of a desperate\npathos—but never could he have meditated self-destruction while writing\nthat note. He said he should write six sets of lectures more ... six more\nvolumes. He said he was painting a new background to a picture, which\nmade him ‘feel as if his soul had wings.’ And then he hoped his brain\nwould not turn. And he ‘gloried’ in the naval dangers of his son at sea.\nAnd he repeated an old phrase of his, which I had heard from him often\nbefore, and which now rings hollowly to the ears of my memory ... that he\n_couldn’t and wouldn’t die_. Strange and dreadful!\n\nIt is nearly two years since we had a correspondence of some few\nmonths—from which at last I receded, notwithstanding the individuality\nand spirit of his letters, and my admiration for a certain fervour and\nmagnanimity of genius, no one could deny to him. His very faults partook\nof that nobleness. But for a year and a half or more perhaps, I scarcely\nhave written or heard from him—until last week when he wrote to ask for\na shelter for his boxes and pictures. If you had enquired of me the\nweek before, I might have answered that I did not _wish to renew the\nintercourse_—yet who could help being shocked and saddened? _Would_ it\nhave availed, to have dropped something into that ‘hole in the ground?’\nOh, to imagine _that_! Yet a little would have been but as nothing!—and\nhe did not ask even for a little—and I should have been ashamed to have\noffered but a little. Yet I cannot turn the thought away—_that I did not\noffer_.\n\nHenry went to the house as I begged him. His son came to the door, and to\na general enquiry ‘after the family,’ said that ‘Mr. Haydon was dead and\nthat his family were quite as well as could be expected.’ That horrible\nbanality is all I know more than you know.\n\nYesterday at Rogers’s, Mrs. Jameson led me to his picture of Napoleon at\nSt. Helena. At the moment we looked at it, his hand was scarcely cold,\nperhaps. Surely it was not made of the commonest clay of men—that hand!\n\nI pour out my thoughts to you, dearest dearest, as if it were right\nrather to think of doing myself that good and relief, than of _you_ who\nhave to read all. But you spoil me into an excess of liberty, by your\ntenderness. Best in the world! Oh—you help me to live—I am better and\nlighter since I have drawn near to you even on this paper—already I am\nbetter and lighter. And now I am going to dream of you ... to meet you\non some mystical landing place ... in order to be quite well to-morrow.\nOh—we are so selfish on this earth, that nothing grieves us very long,\nlet it be ever so grievous, unless we are touched in _ourselves_ ... in\nthe apple of our eye ... in the quick of our heart ... in _what_ you are,\nand _where_ you are ... my own dearest beloved! So you need not be afraid\nfor _me_! We all look to our own, as I to _you_; the thunderbolts may\nstrike the tops of the cedars, and, except in the first start, none of\nus be moved. True it is of _me_—not of _you_ perhaps—certainly you are\nbetter than I, in all things. Best in the world, you are!—no one is like\nyou. Can you read what I have written? Do not love me less! Do you think\nthat I cannot _feel_ you love me, through all this distance? If you loved\nme less, I should know, without a word or a sign. Because I live by your\nloving me! I am your\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, June 24, 1846.]\n\nBut, dearest love—I have just come in later than I expected, I am happy\nto say ... for your note only just arrives too, they say ... and I should\nhave been frightened more than I need say. All blessing on you, Ba. I\nhave seen no paper.—but Countess Hahn-Hahn said across Carlyle’s table\nthat poor H. had attempted to shoot himself and then chosen another\nmethod—too successful. Horrible indeed—All to say now is, I shall be with\nyou to-morrow,—my very own, dearest of all dear created things—my life\nand pride and joy—(Bless you).\n\n R.\n\nThere is nothing in to-day’s _Times_ I find—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 26, 1846.]\n\nI drew the table to the fire before I wrote this. Here is cool weather,\ngrateful to those overcome by last week’s heat, I suppose!—much as\none conceives of a day’s starvation being grateful to people who were\noverfeasted some time back. But the coolness (that is, piercing cold as\nthe north wind can make) sets me to ponder on what you said yesterday,—of\nconsidering summer as beginning next Wednesday, or there about, and\nending by consequence with September. Our time is ‘at the Summer’s end’:\nand it does strike me that there may be but too many interpositions\nbeside that of ‘my own will’ ... far too many. If those equinoctial\nwinds disturb the sea, the cold weather adds to the difficulties of the\nland-journey ... then the will may interpose or stand aloof ... I cannot\ntake you and kill you ... really, inevitably kill you! As it is ... or\nrather, as it might be, I should feel during a transit under the most\nfavourable circumstances possible, somewhat as the performer of that\ntrick by which a full glass of water resting in the open hand is made\nto describe a circle from above to below and back without spilling a\ndrop—through some good-natured suspension, in the operator’s interest,\nof just a fundamental law of the universe, no more! Therefore if any\nSeptember weather shall happen in September ... let us understand and\nwait ... another year! and another, and another.\n\nNow, have I ever, with all those askings, asked you once too often, that\nis, unnecessarily—‘if this should be,’—or ‘when this should be?’ What is\nmy ‘will’ to do with it? Can I keep the winds away, alas? My own will has\nall along been annihilated before you,—with respect to you—I should never\nbe able to say ‘she shall dine on fish, or fruit,’ ‘She shall wear silk\ngloves or thread gloves’—even to exercise in fancy that much ‘will _over\nyou_’ is revolting—I _will this_, never to be ‘over you’ if I could!\n\nSo, you decide here as elsewhere—but _do_ decide, Ba, my own only Ba—do\n_think_, to decide. I _can_ know nothing here as to what is gained or\nlost by delay or anticipation—I only refer to the few obvious points\nof the advantage of our ‘flight not being in the winter’—and the\nconsideration that the difficulty in another quarter will never be less\nnor more,—therefore is out of the question.\n\nI will tell you something I meant to speak of yesterday. Mrs. Jameson\nsaid Mr. Kenyon had assured her, with the kindest intentions, that it\nwas quite vain to make those offers of company to Pisa or elsewhere, for\nyour Father would never give his consent, and the very rationality of the\nplan, and probability of the utmost benefit following the adoption of it,\nwould be the harder to forego the more they were entertained—whereupon,\n‘having the passions of his kind he spoke some certain things’—bitter\nand unavoidable. Then Mrs. J. spoke too, as you may imagine; apparently\nfrom better knowledge than even I possess. Now I repeat this to your\n_common-sense_, my Ba—it is not hard to see that _you_ must be silent\nand suffering, where no other can or will be either—so that if a verdict\nneeds must be pronounced on our conduct, it will be ‘the world’s’ and\nnot an individual’s—and for once a fair one. Mrs. Jameson’s very words\nwere ... (writing from what _has been_, observe—what is irrevocably past,\nand not what _may_ be)—‘I feel unhappy when in her presence ... impelled\nto do her some service, and impeded. _Can_ nothing be done to rescue\nher from this? _ought_ it to continue?’ So speaks—not your lover!—who,\nas he told you, _did_ long to answer ‘someone with attempt, at least!’\nBut it was best, for Mrs. Jameson would be blamed afterward, as Mr. K.\nmight be abused, as ourselves will be vituperated, as my family must be\ncalumniated ... by _whom_.\n\nDo you feel me kiss your feet while I write this? I think you must, Ba!\nThere is surely,—I trust, surely no impatience here, in this as in the\nother letter—if there is, I will endeavour to repress it ... but it will\nbe difficult—for I love you, and am not a stock nor a stone.\n\nAnd as we are now,—another year!\n\nWell, kissing the feet answers everything, declares everything—and I kiss\nyours, my own Ba.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 26, 1846.]\n\nArabel insists on my going out in the carriage, but I will not, I say,\nbefore I have written my letter—and while we talk, the rain comes down\nlike a guardian angel, and I _cannot_ go out before I have written my\nletter, as is apparent to all. Dearest, you did me such good yesterday\nwith seeing you and hearing you, that I slept better and am better\naltogether, and after a little change into the air, shall be well—and how\nis your head? Now do not forget to tell me particularly. Say too whether\nyou found your friend and had the right quantity of talk and got home\nwithout being the worse for him ... or _me_!\n\nI have not had the heart to look at the newspapers, but hear that Sir\nRobert Peel has provided liberally for the present necessities of the\npoor Haydons. And do you know, the more I think the more I am inclined\nto conclude that the money-distress was merely an additional irritation,\nand that the despair leading to the revolt against life, had its root\nin disappointed ambition. The world did not recognize his genius, and\nhe punished the world by withdrawing the light. If he had not that\nthought in him, I am wrong. The cartoon business, and his being refused\nemployment in the Houses of Parliament ... _that_ was bitter: and then\ncame his opposition with Tom Thumb and the dwarfs triumph ... he talked\nbitterly of _that_ in a letter to me of last week. He was a man, you\nsee, who carried his whole being and sensibility on the outside of him;\nnay, worse than _so_, since in the thoughts and opinions of the world.\nAll the audacity and bravery and self-exultation which drew on him\nso much ridicule were an agony in disguise—he could not live without\nreputation, and he wrestled for it, struggled for it, _kicked_ for it,\nforgetting grace of attitude in the pang. When all was vain, he went mad\nand died. Poor Haydon! He measures things differently now! and let _us_\nnow be right and just in our admeasurement of what he was—for, with all\nhis weaknesses, he was not certainly _far_ from being a great man.\n\nIt is hope and help, to be able to look away from all such thoughts, to\n_you_, dearest beloved, who do not partake of the faults and feeblenesses\nof these lower geniuses. There is hope and help for the world in you—and\nif for the world, why for me indeed much more. You do not know ... ah,\nyou do not know—how I look up to you and trust perfectly in you. You\nare above all these clouds—your element is otherwise—men are not your\ntaskmasters that you should turn to them for recompense. ‘Shall I always\nthink the same of you,’ you asked yesterday. But I _never_ think the same\nof you; because day by day you look greater and feel dearer. Only there\nis a deep gulph of another question, close beside _that_, which suggests\nitself, and makes me shudder to look down.\n\nAnd now, the rain is over, and I shall dine briefly, and go out in the\ncarriage.\n\nMay God bless you ... très bon!—très cher, pour cause.\n\nToute à toi—pour toujours.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, June 27, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, I send you a bare line to-night, for it is late and I am\nvery tired; having ... while you were sitting by the fire ... been, for\nmy part, driving to Highgate ... now think of _that_! Also it has done\nme good, I think, and I shall sleep for it to-night perhaps, though I am\ntired certainly.\n\nYour letter shall be answered to-morrow—and here is a green answer\nto your leaves![3]—what leaves? whence and how? My green little\nbranch, I gathered myself out of the hedge, snatching at it from the\ncarriage-window. The roses were gone, or nearly gone, and the few left,\nquite out of reach; and the leaves keep behind to assure you that they\ndo not look for snow-storms in _September_. No! it was not _that_, they\nsaid. I am belying what they said.\n\nI gathered them in the hedge of the pretty close green lane which you go\nthrough to Hampstead. Were you ever there, I wonder?\n\nDearest, I will write to-morrow. Never are you ‘impatient,’\ninconsiderate—and as for selfishness, I have been uneasy sometimes,\nprecisely because you are so _little_ selfish. I am not likely to mistake\n... to wrench the wrong way ... any word of yours. As for mine, it was\nnot a _mere_ word, when I said that you should decide everything. Could I\nhold out for November, or October, or for September even, if _you_ choose\nagainst? Indeed I could not. We—you will think—I am yours, and if _you_\nnever repent _that_, _I_ shall not—I am too entirely yours.\n\nAnd so good-night—dearest beloved! Because you have a fire in June, is\nthe snow to fall in September, and earth and ocean to become impassable?\nAh well! we shall see! But you shall not see that I deceive you—\n\n I am your very own\n\n _Ba_.\n\nDear brown leaves! where did they come from, besides from _you_?\n\n_Not_ a north wind. Only a north-west wind, as I could have proved to you\nif you had been with me! Yet it is a detestable climate, this English\nclimate, let us all confess. Say how your head is.\n\n[3] [A sprig from rose-tree enclosed. R.B.’s previous letter contained\nsome leaves.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, June 27, 1846.]\n\nYour dear gentle laugh, as I seem to hear it, makes all well again for\nthe moment undoubtedly. I cannot help trusting you implicitly ... so\nwhenever I seem able to reason a little, and set you reasoning for me,\nought I not to try,—and then give up, and sink my head over you ...\ndearest! In fact, I was a little frightened by what I heard and saw ...\nfor _you_, if you please, began by saying ‘it was too cold to go out’—and\nyou were paler, I thought. The news of Highgate and the green leaves are\nre-assuring indeed—but my brown leaves might be sent to you by myriads\nfor all that, for all the light laugh,—all roses fast going, lilies going\n... autumnal hollyhocks in full blow ... and now to count three months\nover before summer is to end! These rains may do something, or hinder\nsomewhat—and certainly our fire was left alone early yesterday morning.\nWell, I have not been presumptuous except ... ah, the exception!\n\nHow could I presume, for one thing, to hope for last evening’s letter\n... a pure piece of kindness in you, Ba! And all your kindness is pure,\nentire, pearl-like for roundness and completeness ... there is no one\nrough side as when a crystal is broken off and given: do you think it\nno good augury of our after life in what must be called, I suppose,\nanother relation,—that _this_ has been so perfect ... to me ... this last\nyear, let me only say? In this relation there are as many ‘écueils’ as\nin the other,—as many, though of a different nature,—lovers quarrel on\nas various grounds as the wedded—and though with the hue and softness\nof love the most energetic words and deeds may change their character;\nyet one might write savage sentences in Chinese celestial-blue ink,\nwhich after a powdering with gold-dust should look prettier than the\ntruest blessing in ordinary black. But you have been PERFECT to me\nhitherto—perfect! And of course only to _you_ is the praise ... for I\nhave to be entirely confided in by you, seeing that you cannot keep an\neye on me after I leave your room ... whereas,—not I, but a gross, stupid\nfool who conceived of no liberty but that of the body, nor that the soul\nmay be far more unfaithful—such an one might exult in the notion of the\nclosed door and the excluded world of rivals.\n\nBless you, darling—Monday is not very far off now! And I am to hear\nagain. I am much better,—my mother much better too. I saw my French\nfriend and talked and heard him talk. Yesterday, the whole day, (after\nthe fire went out) was given to a cousin of mine, a girl, just married,\nand here from Paris with her husband—these two had to be amused somehow.\nEver your very own—\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, June 27, 1846.]\n\nI said I would answer your letter to-day, my beloved, but how shall I\nsay more than I have said and you know? _Do_ you not know, you who will\nnot will ‘over’ me, that I _cannot_ will against you, and that if you\nset yourself seriously to take September for October, and August for\nSeptember, it is all at an end with me and the calendar? Still, seriously\n... there is time for deciding, is there not? ... even if I grant to\nyou, which I do at once, that the road does not grow smoother for us by\nprolonged delays. The single advantage perhaps of delay is, that in the\nsummer I get stronger every week and fitter to travel—and then, it never\nwas thought of before (that I have heard) to precede September _so_. Last\nyear, was I not ordered to leave England in October, and _permitted_ to\nleave it in November? Yet I agree, November and perhaps October might\nbe late—might be running a risk through lingering ... in our case; and\nyou will believe me when I say I should be loth to run the risk of\nbeing forced to the further delay of a year—the position being scarcely\ntenable. Now for September, it generally passes for a hot month—it\nripens the peaches—it is the figtime in Italy. Well—nobody decides for\nSeptember nevertheless. The end of August is nearer—and at any rate we\ncan consider, and observe the signs of the heavens and earth in the\nmeanwhile—there is so much to think of first; and the end, remember, is\nonly too frightfully easy. Also you shall not have it on your conscience\nto have killed me, let ever so much snow fall in September. If the sea\nshould be frozen over, almost we might go by the land—might we not? and\napart from fabulous ports, there are the rivers—the Seine, the Saône, the\nRhone—which might be cheaper than the sea and the steamers; and _would_,\nI almost should fancy. These are things among the multitude, to think\nof, and you shall think of them, dearest, in your wisdom. Oh—there is\ntime—full time.\n\nNo—there is not, in a sense. I wanted to write so much more, so much—and\nI went out to walk first, and, on returning, met Mr. Kenyon, who came\nup-stairs with me.\n\nNow it is too late to add a word.\n\nMay God bless you. I shall see you on Monday. I am better for Highgate—I\nwalked longer to-day than usual. How strong you make me, you who make me\nhappy!\n\n I am your own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, June 29, 1846.]\n\nMy last letter will have answered this of yours, my dearest,—I agree\nin all you say; and sooner or later comes to the same thing, if to any\npossible increase of difficulty is brought a proportionate increase of\nstrength to undergo it—as let us hope will be the case! So you see you\nhave to ‘understand’ and understand me,—I keep your faculty in constant\nexercise, now with seeming to wish for postponement, and now, for\nanticipation! And all the time do I really ‘grow greater’ in your eyes? I\nmight grow less woefully,—‘for reasons—for reasons’—\n\nThe sea will not be frozen, beside ... which makes me think to tell you\nthat Carlyle is wanting to visit only one foreign country—_Iceland_.\nThe true cradle of the Northmen and their virtues ... all that is worth\na Northman’s caring to see is there, he thinks, and nowise in Italy.\nPerhaps! Indeed, so I _reason_ and say—Did I not once turn on myself and\nspeak against the Southern spirit, and even Dante, just because of that\nconviction?—(or _imperfect_ conviction, whence the uneasy exaggeration).\nCarlyle thinks modern Italy’s abasement a direct judgment from God. ‘Here\nis a nation in whose breast arise men who _could_ doubt, examine the\nnew problems of the reformation &c.—trim the balance at intervals, and\nthrow overboard the accumulation of falsehood—all other nations around,\nless favoured, are doing it laboriously for themselves ... now is the\ntime for the acumen of the Bembos, the Bentivoglios and so forth ...\nand these and their like, one and all, turn round, decline the trouble,\nsay ‘these things _may_ be true, or they may not, meantime let us go on\nverse-making, painting, music-scoring’—to which all the nation accedes\nas if relieved of a trouble—upon which God bids the Germans go in and\npossess them; pluck their fruits and feel their sun after their own hard\nwork.’ Carlyle said the _sense_ of this, between two huge pipe-whiffs,\nthe other afternoon.\n\n‘Pluck their fruits’—some four years ago I planted ... or held straight\nwhile my mother planted, a fig-tree,—for love of Italy! This year it\nbears its first fruit ... a single one! what does that bode?\n\nSince I wrote the last paragraph, the wind took my thoughts away, as it\nalways does, and I saw you again as I used to see, _before_ I knew you,\nso very substanceless, faint, unreal—when I was struck by the reality\nagain,—by this paper,—by to-morrow’s visit I shall pay ... it was as if\nsomeone had said ‘but that star is your own.’\n\nI fancied you just what I find you—I knew you from the beginning.\n\nLet me kiss you dearest dearest—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, June 30, 1846.]\n\nThe gods and men call you by your name, but I never do—never dare. In\ncase of invocation, tell me how you should be called by such as I? not to\nbe always the ‘inexpressive _He_’ which I make of you. In case of courage\nfor invocation!—\n\nDearest ... (which is a name too) read on the paper inside what I have\nbeen studying about Salerno since we parted yesterday. Forsyth is too\nsevere in his deductions, perhaps, from the apothecaries, but your Naples\nbook will not help me to contradict him, saying neither the one thing nor\nthe other. The word we could not read in the letter yesterday, was _La\nCava_—and La Cava is a town on the way between Naples and Salerno, which\nMrs. Stark describes as ‘a large town with porticoes on each side of the\nHigh Street, like those at Bologna.’ To which the letter adds, remember\n‘enchantingly beautiful, very good air and no English. Then there is\nVietri, mentioned by Forsyth, between La Cava and Salerno, and _on the\nbay_. It is as well to think of all three. Were you ever at either?\nAmalfi itself appears to be very habitable. Oh—and your Naples book says\nof Salerno, that it is illuminated by fireflies, and that the chanting\nof frogs covers the noises of the city. You will like the frogs, if you\ndon’t the apothecaries, and I shall like the fireflies if I don’t the\nfrogs—but I _do_ like frogs, you know, and it was quite a mistake of\nyours when you once thought otherwise.\n\nNow I am going out in the carriage, to call on Mr. Kenyon, and perhaps to\nsee Mr. Boyd. Your flowers are more beautiful than they were yesterday,\nif possible: and the fresh coolness helps them to live, so, that I hope\nyou may see some of them on Saturday when you come. On Saturday! What a\ntime to wait! if not for _them_, yet for _me_. Of the two, it is easier\nfor them, certainly. _They_ only miss a little dew and air.\n\nI shall write again to-night,—but I cannot be more then than now, nor\nless _ever_ than now\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nHere is a coincidence. Hardly had you left me, when, passing near the\ntable at the end of the room, I saw a parcel there. Remember your\nquestion about the ‘_Year of the World_’ Precisely that! With a note, the\ncounterpart of yours—desiring an opinion!\n\nMay God bless you, dear, _dear_!—Did I ever think I should live to thank\nGod that I did not die five years ago?—Not that I quite, quite dare to do\nit yet. I must be sure first of something.\n\nWhich is not your _love_, my beloved—it is a something still dearer and\nof more consequence.\n\n SALERNO.\n\n ‘Though placed between the beauties of sea and land, of\n cultivated and rude nature, the city is _so unhealthy_ that its\n richer inhabitants remove to Vietri during the hot months. In\n proof of its bad air, I remark here a number of apothecaries!’\n\n FORSYTH.\n\n ‘Its white houses curving round the haven at the water’s brink,\n the mountains crowding close behind the city, the ruins of\n its Gothic castle on the olive-covered hill above, together\n mirrored on the waveless water, itself alternate shine and\n shadow—’tis a noble sight.\n\n ‘The view from Salerno is one of the loveliest pictures in\n Italy. A clear-complexioned, open-eyed, and bright-faced city\n is modern Salerno,—and its streets and piazza were all astir.’\n\n _Letters from Naples._\n\n ‘This town, the approach to which is enchanting, boasts a\n tolerably good _inn_!!’\n\n MRS. STARKE.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, June 30, 1846.]\n\nI have looked in the map for ‘L——,’ the place praised in the letter, and\nconclude it must be either Ceva, (La Ceva, between Nocera and Salerno,\nabout four miles from the latter, and on the mountain-side, I suppose ...\nsee a map, my Ba!)—or else _Lucera_, (which looks very like the word ...\nand which lies at about sixty miles to the N.E. of Naples, in a straight\nline over the mountains and roadless country, but perhaps twice as far\nby the mainway through _Avellino_, _Ariano_, _Bovino_, and Savia—exactly\n120 Italian miles now that I count the posts). So that there would be\nsomewhat of a formidable journey to undertake after the sea voyage. I\ndaresay at Ceva there is abundance of quietness, as the few who visit\nSalerno do not go four miles inland,—can you enquire into this?\n\nHow inexpressibly charming it is to me to have a pretext for writing thus\n... about such approaches to the real event—these business-like words,\nand names of places! If at the end you should bring yourself to say ‘But\nyou never seriously believed this would take place’—what should I answer,\nI wonder?\n\nLet me think on what is real, indisputable, however ... the improvement\nin the health as I read it on the dear, dear cheeks yesterday. This\nmorning is favourable again ... you will go out, will you not?\n\nMr. Kenyon sends me one of his kindest letters to ask me to dine with him\nnext week—on Wednesday. I feel _his_ kindness, just as you feel in the\nother case, and in its lesser degree, I feel it,—and then I know,—dare\nthink I know whether he will be so sorry in the end,—loving you as he\ndoes. I will send his letter that you may understand here as elsewhere.\n\nI think my head is dizzy with reading the debates this morning—Peel’s\nspeech and farewell. How exquisitely absurd, it just strikes me, would\nbe any measure after Miss Martineau’s own heart, which should introduce\nwomen to Parliament as we understand its functions at present—how\nessentially retrograde a measure! Parliament seems no place for\noriginating, creative minds—but for second-rate minds influenced by\nand bent on working out the results of these—and the most efficient\nqualities for such a purpose are confessedly found oftener with men than\nwith women—physical power having a great deal to do with it beside. So\nwhy shuffle the heaps together which, however arbitrarily divided at\nfirst, happen luckily to lie pretty much as one would desire,—here the\ngreat flint stones, here the pebbles—and diamonds too. The men of genius\nknew all this, said more than all this, in their way and proper place\non the outside, where Miss M. is still saying something of the kind—to\nbe taken up in its time by some other Mr. Cobden and talked about,\nand beleaguered. But such people cannot or will not see where their\noffice begins and advantageously ends; and that there is such a thing\nas influencing the influencers, playing the Bentham to the Cobden, the\nBarry to a Commission for Public Works, the Lough to the three or four\nindustrious men with square paper caps who get rules and plummets and dot\nthe blocks of marble all over as his drawings indicate. So you and I\nwill go to Salerno or L—— (not to the L—akes, Heaven forefend!) and if we\n‘let sail winged words, freighted with truth from the throne of God’—we\nmay be sure——\n\nAh, presumption all of it! Then, you shall fill the words with their\nfreight, and I will look on and love you,—is that too much? _Yes_—for any\nother—_No_—for one you [know] is _yours_—\n\n Your very own.\n\nFor the quick departing yesterday our day was not spoken of ... it is\nSaturday, is it not?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 1, 1846.]\n\nThank you for letting me see dear Mr. Kenyon’s letter. He loves you,\nadmires you, trusts you. When what is done cannot be undone, then he will\nforgive you besides—that is, he will forgive both of us, and set himself\nto see all manner of good where now he would see evil if we asked him to\nlook. So we will not, if you please, ask him to look on the encouragement\nof ever so many more kind notes, pleasant as they are to read, and worthy\nto trust to, under certain conditions. Dear Mr. Kenyon—but how good he\nis! And I love him more (shall it be _under-love_?) because of his right\nperception and understanding of _you_—no one among men sets you higher\nthan he does as a man and as a poet—even if he misses the subtle sense,\nsometimes.\n\nSo you dine with him—don’t you? And I shall have you on Wednesday instead\nof Thursday! yes, certainly. And on Saturday, of course, next time.\n\nIn the carriage, to-day, I went first to Mr. Kenyon’s, and as he was\nnot at home, left a card for a footstep. Then Arabel and Flush and I\nproceeded on our way to Mr. Boyd’s in St. John’s Wood, and I was so\nnervous ... so anxious for an excuse for turning back ... that ... can\nyou guess what Arabel said to me? ‘Oh Ba’; she said, ‘such a coward as\n_you_ are, never will be ... married, while the world lasts.’ Which made\nme laugh if it did not make me persevere—for you see by it what her\nnotion is of an heroic deed! So, there, I stood at last, at the door of\npoor Mr. Boyd’s dark little room, and saw him sitting ... as if he had\nnot moved these seven years—these seven heavy, changeful years. Seeing\nhim, my heart was too full to speak at first, but I stooped and kissed\nhis poor bent-down forehead, which he never lifts up, his chin being\nquite buried in his breast. Presently we began to talk of Ossian and\nCyprus wine, and I was forced, as I would not have Ossian for a god, to\ntake a little of the Cyprus,—there was no help for me, nor alternative:\nso I took as little as I could, while he went on proving to me that\nthe Adamic fall and corruption of human nature (Mr. Boyd is a great\ntheologian) were never in any single instance so disgustingly exemplified\nas in the _literary controversy about Ossian_; every man of the Highland\nSociety having a lost soul in him; and Walter Scott ... oh, the woman\nwho poisoned all her children the other day, is a saint to Walter Scott,\n... so we need not talk of him any more. ‘Arabel!—how much has she taken\nof that wine? not half a glass.’ ‘But Mr. Boyd, you would not have me be\nobliged to carry her home.’\n\nThat visit being over, we went into the Park, Hyde Park, and drove close\nto the Serpentine, and then returned. Flush would not keep his head out\nof the window (his favourite pleasure) all the way, because several\ndrops of rain trickled down his ears. Flush has no idea of wetting his\nears:—his nose so near, too!\n\nRight you are, I think, in opposition to Miss Martineau, though your\nreasons are too gracious to be right ... except indeed as to the physical\ninaptitude, which is an obvious truth. Another truth (to my mind) is,\nthat women, as they _are_ (whatever they _may be_) have not mental\nstrength any more than they have bodily; have not instruction, capacity,\nwholeness of intellect enough. To deny that women, as a class, have\ndefects, is as false I think, as to deny that women have wrongs.\n\nThen you are right again in affirming that the creators have no business\n_there_, with the practical men—_you_ should not be _there_ for\ninstance. And _I_ (if I am to be thought of) would be prouder to eat\ncresses and maccaroni (Dearest—there is a manufactory of maccaroni and\nwriting-paper at Amalfi close by—observe that combination! maccaroni\nand writing-paper!) _I_ would be prouder to eat cresses and maccaroni\nwith _you_ as _you_, than to sit with diamonds in my ears, under the\nshelter of the woolsack, _you_ being a law-lord and parliamentary maker\nof speeches! By the way, I _couldn’t_ have diamonds in my ears: they\nnever were _bored_ for it ... as I never was _born_ for it. A physical\ninaptitude, here too!\n\nShall I say what you tell me ... ‘You never seriously believed’ ... shall\nI? I will, if you like. But it is not _Ceva_, if you like—it is Cava ...\nLa Cava ... in my map, and according to my authorities. Otherwise, the\nplace is the same—four miles from Salerno, I think, and ‘enchantingly\nbeautiful.’ It is worth an enquiry certainly, this enchanting place which\nhas no English in it, with porticoes like Bologna, and too little known\nto be spelt correctly by the most accomplished geographers.\n\nAh—your head is ‘_dizzy_,’ my beloved! Tell me how it is now. And tell me\nhow your mother is. I think of you—love you. I, who am discontented with\nmyself, ... self-condemned as unworthy of you, in all else ... am yet\nsatisfied with the _love_ I have for you—it seems worthy of you, as far\nas an abstract affection can go, without taking note of the personality\nloving.\n\nDo you see the meaning through the mist? Do you accept\n\n Your very own\n\n BA?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, July 1, 1846.]\n\nDearest—dearest, you _did_ once, one time only, call me by my\nname—Robert; and though it was to bid ‘R. not talk extravagances’ (your\nvery words) still the name so spoken became what it never had been before\nto me. I never am called by any pet-name, nor abbreviation, here at home\nor elsewhere.... Oh, best let it alone ... it is one of my incommunicable\nadvantages to have a Ba of my own, and call her so—indeed, yes, my Ba!\nI write ‘dearest,’ and ‘most dearest,’ but it all ends in—‘Ba,’ and the\n‘my’ is its framework,—its surrounding arm—Ba—my own Ba! ‘Robert’ is in\nSaxon, (_ni fallor_), ‘famous in counsel,’ so let him give a proof of his\nquality in counselling you to hold your good, happy inspiration about La\nCava (my French map-maker must have had _Ceva in Piedmont_ in his head)\nfor at such a place, so situate, we renounce not one sight at Salerno,\nnor Amalfi, nor Sorrento ... four miles ... the distance between your\nhouse and Highgate, perhaps! Cava,—the hollow of a hill; and such hills\nand such hollows are in that land! Oh, let it be La Cava—or Seven Dials,\n_with you_!\n\nI passed through Seven Dials this morning—and afterward, by your\nhouse,—with a heart full of thoughts,—not fuller than usual, but they\nwere more stirring and alive, near their source. I called at Mrs.\nProcter’s door (proceeding from Forster’s) and then on Mrs. Jameson whom\nI found and talked with pleasantly till a visitor came. I do extremely\nappreciate her, delight in her ... to avoid saying ‘love’—I was never\njust to her before, far from it. I saw her niece, a quiet earnest-looking\nlittle girl. But did it not please me to call in at Moxon’s and hear that\n(amongst other literary news dexterously enquired after) Miss Barrett’s\npoems were selling very well and would ere long be out of print? And,\nafter that pleasure, came the other of finding dear, generous, noble\nCarlyle had sent his new edition of ‘Cromwell,’ three great volumes,\nwith his brave energetic assurance of ‘regards’ and ‘many’ of them, in\nblack manly writing on the first page. So may he continue to like me\ntill he knows you; when it will be ‘mine’ instead of me, that he shall\nlove—‘love’? I let the whole world love you—if they can overtake my love.\nAs I read on, about the visit to Mr. Boyd, I thought, ‘I trust she will\nkiss his forehead,’—and I kiss yours—thus—for _that_, too,—in gratitude\nfor that. You dear, good, blessing of a Ba, how I kiss you!—\n\n R.B.\n\nI am quite well to-day, and my mother is quite well—The good account\nof the visit is enough to make me happy on a Wednesday—leading to a\nSaturday! Then my two letters!\n\nI did not see Moxon—only the brother—who tells odd stories drily; one\nmade me laugh to-day. Poor Mr. Reade, Landor’s love, sent a book to\nCampbell the Poet, and then called on him ... to discover him in the very\nact of wiping a razor on a leaf torn out of the book, laid commodiously\nby his toilet-table for the express purpose.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, July 2, 1846.]\n\nNo, No! indeed I never did. If you heard me say ‘Robert,’ it was on a\nstair-landing in the House of Dreams—never anywhere else! Why how could\nyou fancy such a thing? Wasn’t it rather your own disquieted Conscience\nwhich spoke instead of me, saying ‘Robert, don’t be extravagant.’\nYes—just the speech _that_ is, for a ‘good _un_easy,’ discerning\nConscience—and you took it for my speech! ‘Don’t be extravagant’ I may\ncertainly have said. Both I and the Conscience might have said so obvious\na thing.\n\nAh—and now I have got the name, shall I have courage to say it? tell me,\nbest councillor! I like it better than any other name, though I never\nspoke it with my own lips—I never called any one by such a name ...\nexcept once when I was in the lane with Bertha. One uncle I have, called\nRobert—but to me he is an ‘uncle Hedley’ and no more. So it is a white\nname to take into life. Isn’t this an Hebraic expression of a preferring\naffection ... ‘_I have called thee by thy name._’? And therefore, because\nyou are the best, only dearest!——_Robert._\n\nYou passed by and I never knew! How foolish—but really it quite strikes\nme as something wonderful, that I should not have known. I knew however\nof your being in London, because ... (don’t expect supernatural evidence)\nMrs. Jameson told me. She was here with me about five, and brought her\nniece whom I liked just for the reasons you give; and herself was feeling\nand affectionate as ever:—it is well that you should give me leave to\nlove her a little. Once she touched upon Italy ... and I admitted that\nI thought of it, and thought it probable as an event ... on which she\npressed gently to know ‘on what I counted.’ ‘Perhaps on my own courage,’\nI said. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed ‘now I see clearly.’\n\nWhich made me smile ... the idea of her seeing clearly, but earnestly\nand cordially she desired me to remember that to be useful to me in any\nmanner, would give her pleasure. Such kindness! The sense of it has sunk\ninto my heart. You cannot praise her too much for _me_. She was so kind,\nthat when she asked me to go to see her in Mortimer Street on Friday,\nI could not help agreeing at once: and I am to have the sofa and no\ncompany—that’s a promise. She asked me to go at twelve o’clock, and to\nbring Mr. Kenyon for an escort—but I would not answer for Mr. Kenyon’s\ngoing, only half promising for myself. Now I must try to fix a later\nhour, because....\n\nListen to the _because_. My aunt, Miss Clarke, and my cousin, her\nadopted daughter and niece, come to-morrow evening, and stay in this\nhouse ... oh, I cannot tell you how long: for a whole week as a\nbeginning, certainly. I have been sighing and moaning so about it that\nArabel calls it quite a scandal—but when one can’t be glad, why should it\nbe so undutiful to appear sad? If she had but stayed in Paris six months\nlonger! Well!—and to-morrow morning Miss Mitford comes to spend the day\nlike the kind dear friend she is; and I, not the least in the world glad\nto see her! Why have you turned my heart into such hard porphyry? Once,\nwhen it was plain clay, every finger (of these womanly fingers) left a\nmark on it—and now, ... you see! Even Mrs. Jameson makes me grateful to\nher chiefly (as I know in myself) because she sees you as you are in\npart, and will forgive me for loving you as soon as she hears of it ...\nhowever she may, and must consistently, expect us to torment one another,\naccording to the way of the ‘artistic temperament,’ evermore, and ever\nmore and more. But for the rest, the others who do not know you and\nvalue you ... _I hate to see them_ ... and there’s the truth! There is\nsomething too in the concealment, the reserve, the doubleness enforced on\noccasion! ... which is painful and hateful. Detestable it all is.\n\nAnd _I_ like La Cava too! Think of a hollow in the mountain ... something\nlike a cave, do you think? At least it must be a hollow in the mountains.\nI wrote to my friend this morning to ask if the place is considered\nwarm, and if she knew any more of it. The ‘_porticoes as at Bologna_’\nlook attractive too by the dreamlight we look at them by; and _Baba_ may\nescape the forty thieves of English in the _Cave_, with a good watchword\nlike Sesame—now that’s half _my_ nonsense and half yours, I beg you to\nobserve. I won’t be at the charge of it all.\n\nI was out to-day—walked up, walked down, in my old fashion—only I do\nimprove in walking, I think, and gain strength.\n\nMay God bless you dear dearest! I am your own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 2, 1846.]\n\nDear, you might as well imagine you had never given me any other of the\ngifts, as that you did not call me, as I tell you. You spoke quickly,\ninterrupting me, and, for the name, ‘I can hear it, ’twixt my spirit and\nthe earth-noise intervene’; do you think I forget one gift in another,\neven a greater? I should still taste the first freshness of the vinegar,\n(or whatever was the charm of it)—though Cleopatra had gone on dissolving\npearl after pearl in it. I love you for these gifts to me now—hereafter,\nit seems almost as if I must love you even better, should you choose to\ncontinue them to me in spite of complete knowledge: I feel this as often\nas I think of it, which is not seldom.\n\nDo you know, Mrs. Jameson asked _me_ to go and see her on Friday\nmorning—would you like me to go? What _I_ like ... do not fancy,—because\nyour own pleasure is to be consulted. Should you fear the eyes, which\n_can_, on occasion, wear spectacles? If not ... and if our Saturday will\nnot be interfered with ... and if you can tell me the hour ‘later than\ntwelve’ you mean to appoint, ... so that my call may be neither too early\nnor too late ... why, then, Ba, dearest, dearest—\n\nLa Cava—is surely our cave, Ba—early in October will be vintage-time,—no\nfire flies. There will be the advantage in the vicinity of Naples,\nthat through the Rothschilds’ House there we can, I believe, receive\nand dispatch letters without any charge, which otherwise would be an\nexpensive business in Italy. The economy of the Post Office there is\nastounding. A stranger goes to a window and asks for ‘A’s’ or ‘Z’s’\nletters ... not even professing himself to be ‘A,’ or ‘Z’—whereupon the\nofficial hands over sundry dozens of letters, without a word of enquiry,\nout of which the said stranger picks what pleases him, and paying for\nhis selections, goes away and there an end. At Venice, I remember, they\noffered me, with other letters, about ten or fifteen for the Marquis\nof Hastings who was not arrived yet—I had only to say ‘I am sent for\nthem’.... At Rome a lady lamented to me the sad state of things ‘A letter\nmight contain Heaven only knew what and lie at the office and’—‘_I_ might\ngo and get it,’ I said—‘You? Nay, my husband might!’ she answered as one\nmightily wronged.\n\nBut of your dear self now—the going out will soon and effectually cure\nthe nervousness, we may be sure. I am most happy, love, to hear of the\nwalking and increased strength. So you used to like riding on a donkey?\nThen you shall have a mule, un bel mulo, and I will be your muleteer,\nwalk by your side—and you will think the moment you see him of the wicked\nshoeing of cats with walnut-shells, for they make a mule’s shoes turn\nup, for all the world like large shells—those on his forefeet at least.\nWill the time really come then? Meanwhile, your visitors ... let us hope\nthey will go sight-seeing or call-making, do anything but keep the house\non our days.... The three hours seem as a minute ... if they are to be\ncurtailed,—oh, no, no, I hope. Tell me all you can, dearest ... and let\nme tell you all I can, little as it is, in kissing you, my best and\ndearest Ba, as now kisses your very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 3, 1846.]\n\nBut, ever dearest, I do so fear that I shall not be able to get to Mrs.\nJameson’s to-morrow at all! not at twelve, I fear, I fear. Our visitors\nare to arrive late to-night, too late for me to see them: and for me to\ngo away at twelve in the morning, just about the hour when they might\nreasonably expect to have and to hold me, ... seems altogether unlawful,\naccording to my sisters. Yet the temptation is strong. Would half-past\ntwelve be too early for you, if I could manage to go at twelve? Ah—but\nI shall not be able, I do fear. Just see how it becomes possible and\nimpossible at once for us to touch hands! I could almost wring mine, to\nsee! For I _could_ dare the spectacles, the hypothetical spectacles, and\nthe eyes discerning without them: she has no idea to begin with—and you\nwould not say ‘Ba, let us order the mules,’ I suppose. If I went, it\nwould be _alone_—but probably I shall not be able—so you had better not\nthink of me, and pay your visit at your own hour ‘after the devices of\nyour heart.’\n\nIn the meanwhile, quite you make me laugh by your positiveness about\nthe name-calling. Well—if ever I did such a thing, it was in a moment\nof unconsciousness all the more surprising, that, even to my own soul,\nin the lowest spirit-whisper, I have not been in the _habit_ of saying\n‘Robert,’ speaking of you. You have only been The One. No word ever stood\nfor you. The Idea admitted of no representative—the words fell down\nbefore it and were silent. Still such very positive people must be right\nof course—they always are. At any rate it is only one illusion more—and\nsome day I expect to hear you say and swear that you saw me fly out of\none window and fly in at another. So much for your Cleopatra’s Roman\npearls, oh my famous in council!—and appreciation of sour vinegar!\n\nDear Miss Mitford came at two to-day and stayed until seven, and all\nthose hours you were not once mentioned—_I_ had not courage—and she\nperhaps avoided an old subject of controversy ... I do not know. It is\nsingular that for this year past you are not mentioned between us, while\nother names come up like grass in the rain. No single person will be more\nutterly confounded than she, when she comes to be aware of what you are\nto me now—and _that_ I was thinking to-day, while she talked to never a\nlistener. She will be confounded, and angry perhaps—it will be beyond\nher sympathies or if they reach so far, the effort to make them do so\nwill prove a more lively affection for me, than, with all my trust in\nher goodness, I dare count on. Yet very good and kind and tender, she\nwas to me to-day. And very variously intelligent and agreeable. Do you\nknow, I should say that her _natural_ faculties were stronger than Mrs.\nJameson’s—though the latter has a higher aspiration and, in some ways, a\nfiner sensibility of intellect. You would certainly call her superior to\nher own books—certainly you would. She walks strongly on her two feet in\nthis world—but nobody shall see her (not even _you_) fly out of a window.\nToo closely she keeps to the ground, I always feel. Now Mrs. Jameson can\n‘aspire’ like Paracelsus; and believes enough in her own soul, to know a\npoet when she sees one. Ah—but all cannot be all.\n\nMiss Mitford wrung a promise from me—that ‘if I were well enough and in\nEngland next summer, I would go to see _her_.’ So remember. Isn’t it a\npromise for two?\n\nOnly we shall be mule-riding in those days—unless I shall have tired you.\n_Shall_ you be tired of me in one winter, I wonder? My programme is, to\nlet you try me for one winter, and if you are tired (as I shall know\nwithout any confession on your side) why then I shall set the mule on a\ncanter and leave you in La Cava, and go and live in Greece somewhere all\nalone, taking enough with me for bread and salt. Is it a jest, do you\nthink? Indeed it is not. It is very grave earnest, be sure. I believe\nthat I never could quarrel with you; but the same cause would absolutely\nhinder my living with you if you did not love me. We could not lead\nthe abominable lives of ‘married people’ all round—you _know_ we could\nnot—_I_ at least know that _I_ could not, and just because I love you so\nentirely. Then, you know, you could come to England by yourself—and ...\n‘Where’s Ba?’—‘Oh, she’s somewhere in the world, I suppose. How can _I_\ntell?’ And then Mrs. Jameson would shake her head, and observe that the\nproblem was solved exactly as she expected, and that artistical natures\nsmelt of sulphur and brimstone, without any exceptions.\n\nAm I laughing? am I crying? who can tell. But I am not _teazing_, ...\nRobert! because, my Robert, if gravely I distrusted your affection, I\ncould not use such light-sounding words on the whole—now could I? It is\nonly the supposition of a _possible_ future ... just possible ... (as the\nend of human affections passes for a possible thing)—which made me say\nwhat I would do in such a case.\n\nBut I am yours—your own: and it is impossible, in my _belief_, that I can\never fail to you so as to be less yours, on this side the grave or across\nit. _So_, I think of _im_possibilities—whatever I may, of possibilities!\n\nWill it be possible to see you to morrow, I wonder! I ask myself and not\nyou.\n\nAnd if you love me only nearly as much (instead of the prodigal ‘more’)\n_afterward_, I shall be satisfied, and shall not run from you further\nthan to the bottom of the page.\n\n Where you see me as your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 3, 1846.]\n\nI am forced to say something now which you will not like and which I, for\nmy part, hate to say—but you shall judge how impossible it is for me to\nsee you to-morrow.\n\nThe visitors did not come last night; and as this morning we expected\nthem hourly, the post brought a letter instead, to the effect that they\nwere to arrive just _on Saturday_ ... leaving us to calculate the time\nof arrival between one p.m. to five or six. If at one, ... Papa will be\nin the house and likely to stay in it all day after ... which would be\na complication of disadvantages for us, and if at three ... why even\nso, my aunt would ‘admire’ a little the reason of my not seeing her at\nonce, and there would be questions and answers a faire frémir. So dearest\ndearest, I must try to live these two days more without seeing you—and\nindeed it will be hard work—the very light of the sun to-morrow, let it\nbe ever so bright a sun, will only reproach the day with what it _ought_\nto have been ... _our_ day, instead of everybody’s day or nobody’s day,\na poor, blank, dreary day. What, when the clock is at three ... oh\n_what_ will keep me, I wonder, from being sullen to my aunt and sulky\nto my cousin? They will think me (if my ministering angel should not\nthrow me some hallowing thought of _you_, best beloved!) considerably\nfallen off in the _morale_, however the improvement may be of the bodily\nhealth—I shall be as cross, as cross ... well, if I am less than cross,\nyou must be right after all, and I, ‘une femme miraculeuse’ without\nillusion! It is too bad, too bad. The whole week—from Monday to Monday!\nAnd I do not positively fix even Monday, though I hope for Monday:—but\nMonday may be taken from us just as Saturday is, and the Hedleys are to\ncome on _Tuesday_ ... only not to this house. I wish they were all at\nSeringapatam.\n\nDo not mind it however. Yes, mind it a little, ... Robert! but not\novermuch—because the day shall not be lost utterly—I shall take care. I\nwill be on the watch for half-days when people go out to shop ... that\nsolemn business of life, ... and we will have our lost day back again\n... you will see. But I could not get to Mrs. Jameson’s this morning,\nnot being quite well enough. It is _nothing_ as illness,—I tell you the\ntruth, dear—and even now I feel better than I did in the early morning.\nIt was only just enough to prevent my going. And if I had gone I should\nnot have seen you—you would not go in time—you would not perhaps even\nhave my letter in time. The stars are against us for the moment, it seems.\n\nWrite to me, think of me, love me. You shall hear on Saturday and on\nSunday, and we will settle about Monday.\n\nAfter all, it would have been difficult to have met you at Mrs.\nJameson’s, observing the ‘fitness of things’: ... and as I am subject to\nthe madness of saying ‘Robert’ without knowing it...!\n\nMay God bless you. Say how you are! Don’t let me slide out of your mind\nthrough this rift in the rock. I catch at the jutting stones.\n\n I am your own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 3, 1846.]\n\nNo, dear, dear Ba, I shall not see you to-day in spite of all the hoping\nand fancying ... for I could not, as I calculate, reach Mrs. Jameson’s\nbefore 1 o’clock or a little later ... and there would be the worst of\nvexations, to know you had been and gone again! I persuade myself you may\nnot pay the visit to-day, ... (‘it is impossible’ you say), and that it\nmay be paid next week, the week in which there is only one day for us ...\nhow do you say, dearest? all complaining is vain—let to-morrow make haste\nand arrive!\n\nBa, there is nothing in your letter that shocks me,—nothing: if you\nchoose to imagine _that_ ‘possibility,’ you are consistent in imagining\nthe proper step to take ... it is all imagining. But I feel altogether\nas you feel about the horribleness of married friends, mutual esteemers\n&c.—when your name sounds in my ear like any other name, your voice\nlike other voices,—when we wisely cease to interfere with each other’s\npursuits,—respect differences of taste &c. &c., all will be over _then_!\n\nI cannot myself conceive of one respect in which I shall ever fall from\nthis feeling for you ... there never has been one word, one gesture\nunprompted by the living, immediate love beneath—but there have been\nmany, many, _so_ many that the same love has suppressed, refused to be\nrepresented by! I say this, because I can suppose a man taking up a\nservice of looks and words, which service is only to last for a time, and\nso may be endured,—after which the ‘real affection,’ ‘honest attachment’\n&c. &c. means to go to its ends by a shorter road, saving useless\nceremony and phrases ... do you know what I mean? I hardly do ... except\nthat it is, whatever it is, opposed, as heaven to earth, to what I feel\nis. I count confidently on being more and more able to find the true\nwords and ways (which may not be _spoken_ words perhaps), the true rites\nby which you should be worshipped, you dear, dear Ba, my entire blessing\nnow and ever—and _ever_; if God shall save me also.\n\nLet me kiss you now, and long for to-morrow—I shall bring you the poorest\nflowers——all is brown, dry, autumnal. The sun shines and reproves me....\nAfter all, there would have been some rocks in the pleasant water of\nto-day’s meeting ... ‘Oh, hardness to dissemble’!\n\nHere is no dissembling.... I kiss you, my very own!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Night,\n [Post-mark, July 4, 1846.]\n\nAh! ‘to-morrow, make haste and arrive.’ And what good will to-morrow do\nwhen it comes?\n\nDearest, with your letter to-night, I have a note from Mrs. Jameson, who\nproposes that I should go to her just on this to-morrow, between twelve\nand one: she will wait for me till one and then go out. Moreover she\nleaves town on Tuesday. Now I think I ought to try to be with her this\ntime, therefore, on the hour she mentions, and I will try ... I mean to\ntry. But as for seeing you even _so_, and for a moment, ... I understand\nthat it scarcely is possible—no, _not_ possible—you cannot have time, I\nthink. Thinking which, understanding which, I shall yet, in spite of\nreason, listen for the footstep and the voice: certainly I shall not help\ndoing _that_.\n\nOur to-morrow!—How they have spoilt it for us! In revenge, I shall love\nyou to-morrow twice as much, looking at my dead flowers. Twice as much!!\n‘_Ba, never talk extravagances._’ _Twice as much_ is a giant fifty feet\nhigh. It is foolish to be fabulous.\n\nBeing better this evening (almost as if I were sure to see you in\nthe morning) I went out to drive with Arabel and Flush, about six\no’clock,—and we were not at home until eight, after having seen a mirage\n(as it appeared) of green fields and trees. Beyond Harrow cemetery we\nwent, through silent lanes and hedgerows—so silent, so full of repose!\nQuite far away over the tops of the trees, was ‘_London_,’ Arabel said\n... but I could see only a cloud:—it seemed no more, nor otherwise. Once\nshe got out and went into a field to give Flush a run—and I, left to\nmyself and you, read your last letter in the carriage, under the branches\nwhich were dropping separate shadows of every leaf they had. The setting\nsun forced them to it. Oh—but I send you no leaves, because I could not\nreach any, and did not get out to walk to-day where I might have gathered\nthem. Arabel tried hard to persuade me to go into the cemetery—but let\nme deserve all she said to me about weakness and foolishness, ... really\nthat sort of thing does sadden me—my spirits fall flat with it: it is the\ndark side of death. So I begged her to go by herself and to leave me....\nI would wait for her—and she should have as long a pleasure in that\npleasure-ground of the Dead, as she liked. ‘Very pretty,’ it is said to\nbe—the dissenters and the churchpeople planted in separate beds; and the\nRoman Catholics conspicuous for their roses! Oh that ghastly mixture of\nhorror and frivolity! The _niaiserie_ of their divisions and subdivisions\ntaken down so carefully into the dust! But Arabel did not go at last, and\nwe were at home quite late enough.\n\nMay God bless you, dear, dear! Give me all my thoughts (those that belong\nto me) to-morrow. Poor disinherited to-morrow.\n\nI will _write_ to-morrow, at any rate—and _hear_—let me hear.\n\nAnd you are the best, best! When I speak lead, you answer gold. Because I\n‘do not shock’ you, you melt my heart away with joy.\n\nYet I can love you enough, even I!\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, July 4, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba, I am at Mrs. Jameson’s ... to hear you cannot come; most\nproperly. She wants me to go and see an Exhibition, and I cannot refuse\n... so this is my poor long letter (with kisses in the words), that was\nto have been! But on Monday, dearest, dearest, I shall see you? All\nthanks for your letter.... I dare write no more, as there _must_ be some\ndifference in my way of writing to you from other ways.\n\nBless you, ever, as I am ever yours—\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, July 4, 1846.]\n\nAh, this Saturday! how heavily the wheels of it turn round! as if ‘with\nall the weights of sleep and death hung at them.’ After all it was not\npossible for me to get to Mrs. Jameson’s this morning ... not that I was\nunwell to _signify_, mind—but unfit for the exertion—and it would not\nhave been agreeable to anybody if I had gone there and fainted. So here\nI am, the picture of helpless indolence, stretched out at full length\nbetween the chair and the high stool, thinking how you will not to-day\nsit on the low one, nor in your old own place by me——oh how I think,\nthink, think of you, to make imperfect amends! Are you disappointed ...\n_you_? I hope you are, and I fear you are. My generosity does not carry\nme through the hope of it to the end. I love your love too much. And\n_that_ is the worst fault, my beloved, I ever can find in my love of\n_you_.\n\nLook, what Miss Mitford has sent me from the _Daily News_—Mr. Horne’s\nlament for poor Haydon. Tell me if you do not like it. It has moved\nme much, and as a composition it is fine, I think,—worthy of ‘Orion.’\nI shall write to Mr. Horne to thank him, as one reader of many, for\ntouching that solemn string into such a right melody. To my mind, it is\nworth, and more than worth, twenty such books as his ballad-book—tell me\nif it isn’t. It has much affected me.\n\nPapa went out early—so we should have escaped the ‘complication’—but\nevery half-hour we are expecting our visitors. And for Monday ... I\nscarcely dare say yet ‘Come on Monday.’ Only we will find our lost\nPleiads ... of that, be very sure—_I_ am very sure. Still to miss one for\na moment draws me into darkness—or ... do you not know that you are _all_\nmy stars? yes, and the sun, besides! The thing which people call a sun\nseems to shine quite coldly to-day, because you are not on this side of\nmy window. ‘All complaining is vain,’ do you say?\n\nLet me pass the time a little, then, by confessing to you that what you\nsaid, some letters ago, about the character of our intercourse, in our\npresent relation, being a sort of security for the future, ... that\n_that_ did strike me as a true and reasonable observation as far as it\ngoes. I think, at least, that if I were inclined to fear for my own\nhappiness apart from yours (which, as God knows, is a fear that never\ncomes into my head), I should have sense to reason myself clear of it all\nby seeing in you none of the common rampant man-vices which tread down\na woman’s peace—and which begin the work often long before marriage.\nOh, I understand perfectly, how as soon as ever a common man is sure of\na woman’s affections, he takes up the tone of right and might ... and\nhe _will_ have it so ... and he _won’t_ have it so! I have heard of the\nbitterest tears being shed by the victim as soon as ever, by one word of\nhers, she had placed herself in his power. Of such are ‘Lovers’ quarrels’\nfor the most part. The growth of power on one side ... and the struggle\nagainst it, by means legal and illegal, on the other. There are other\ncauses, of course—but for none of them could it be possible for _me_ to\nquarrel with _you_ now or ever. Neither now nor ever do I look forward\nto the ordinary dangers. What I have feared has been so different! May\nGod bless you my own ... own! For my part, you have my leave to make me\nunhappy if you please. It only would be just that the happiness you have\ngiven, you should take away—it is yours, as I am yours.\n\nSay how your head is—say how your mother is. Think of me with the\nthoughts that do good.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\n TO THE MEMORY OF B. R. HAYDON\n\n _By the Author of ‘Orion’_\n\n Mourn, fatal Voice, whom ancients called the Muse!\n Thy fiery whispers rule this mortal hour,\n Wherein the toiling Artist’s constant soul\n Revels in glories of a visioned world,—\n Power, like a god, exalting the full heart;\n Beauty with subtlest ravishment of grace\n Refining all the senses; while afar\n Through vistas of the stars where strange friends dwell.\n A temple smiles for him to take his seat\n Among the happy Dead whose work is done.\n Mourn, fatal Voice, whom ancients called the Muse!\n Thou lead’st the devotee through fruitful bowers\n Wherein Imagination multiplies\n Divinely, and, with noblest ecstasy,\n To nature ever renders truth for truth.\n\n Mourn, fatal Voice, whom ancients called the Muse!\n Thou teachest to be strong and virtuous;\n In labour, patient; clear-eyed as a star,\n Self-truthful; vigilant within; and full\n Of faith to be, and do, and send it forth;—\n But teachest no man how to know himself,\n His over-measures or his fallings short,\n Nor how to know when he should step aside\n Into the quiet shade, to wait his hour\n And foil the common dragon of the earth.\n\n O fatal Voice! so syren-sweet, yet rife\n With years of sorrow, deathbeds terrible!\n Mourn for a worthy son whose aims were high,\n Whose faith was strong amidst a scoffing age.\n No warning giv’st thou, on the perilous path,\n To those who need the gold thy teaching scorns,\n Heedless if other knowledge hold due watch.\n Thou fill’st with heavenly bliss the enraptured eyes,\n While the feet move to ruin and the grave.\n Therefore, O voice, inscrutably divine,\n Uplifting sunward, casting in the dust,\n Forgetting man as man, and mindful only\n Of the man-angel even while on earth,—\n Mourn now with all thine ancient tenderness,\n Mingled with tears that fall in heavy drops,\n For One who lost himself, remembering thee!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 6, 1846.]\n\nYou will have known by my two or three words that I received your letter\nin time to set out for Mrs. J.’s—she said to me, directly and naturally,\n‘you have missed a great pleasure’—and then accounted for your absence.\nDo not be sorry, Ba, at my gladness ... for I was, I hope, glad ... yes,\nI am sure, glad that you ran no risk, if you will not think of _that_,\nthink of _my_ risk if you had ‘_fainted_’ ... should I have kept the\nsecret, do you suppose? Oh, dearest of all dreamt-of dearness,—incur\nno unnecessary danger now, at ... shall I dare trust,—the end of the\nadventure! I cannot fear for any mischance that may follow, once let\nmy arms be round you ... I mean, the blow seems then to fall on both\nalike—now, what dismal, obscure months might be prolonged between us,\nbefore we meet next, by a caprice where the power is! When have I been\nso long without the blessing of your sight! Yet how considerately you\nhave written, what amends you make, all that the case admits of! If I\nwere less sure of my own mind, and what it knows for _best_, I might\nunderstand the French lover’s fancy of being separated from his mistress\nthat he might be written to and write ... but the _very best_ I know, and\nhave ever in sight, and constantly shall strive after ... to see you face\nto face, to live so and to die so—which I say, because it ends all, all\nthat can be ended ... and yet seems in itself so encountered—no death, no\nend.\n\nAfter all, I _may_ see you to-morrow, may I not? There is no more than a\ndanger, an apprehension, that we may lose to-morrow also, is there? You\ncannot tell me after this is read ... I shall know before. If I receive\n_no_ letter, mind, I go to you ... so that if the Post is in fault after\nits custom, and your note arrives at 3 o’clock, you will know why I seem\nto disobey it and call ... and I shall understand why you are not to be\nseen—but I will hope.\n\nWhen you say these exquisitely dear and tender things, you know Ba, it is\nas if the sweet hand were on my mouth—I cannot speak ... I try to seem\nas if I heard not, for all the joy of hearing ... you give me a jewel\nand I cannot repeat ‘you, you _do_ give me a jewel.’ I am not worthy of\nany gift, you _must_ know, Ba,—never say you do not—but what you press\non me, let me feel and half-see, and in the end, carry away, but do not\nthink I can, in set words, _take_ them. At most, they are, and shall be,\nhalf-gift half-loan for adornment’s sake,—mine to wear, yours to take\nback again. Even this, all this ungracefulness, is proper, appropriate in\nits way—I am penetrated with shame thinking on what you say, and what my\nutmost devotion will deserve ... so infinitely less will it deserve! You\nare my very, very angel.\n\nMrs. Jameson showed me the lines you had sent her, Horne’s very beautiful\npoem,—very earnest, very solemn and pathetic,—worthy of Horne and the\nsubject—and you will do well to reward him as you propose. I think I will\nalso write two or three lines,—telling him that you called my attention\nto the poem,—so that he may understand the new friend does not drive out\nthe old, as the old proverb says. I will wait a day or two and write. And\nyou are herein, too, a dear good Ba,—to write me out the verses in the\ncharacters I love best of all! I may keep them, I hope.\n\nThe weather is hot as ever: Ba, remember how I believe in you—is the\nindisposition ‘nothing to signify’? And remember the confidence I make\nyou of every slightest headache or what looks like it—tell me frankly as\nBa should, and will if she loves me! I am very well ... and my mother\nmuch better. I observe while I write, the clouds gather propitiously for\ncoolness if not rain—may all be as is best for you—‘and for me?’ Then\nkiss me, really, through the distance, and love me, my sweetest Ba!\n\n I am your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 6, 1846.]\n\nWill it do if you come on Wednesday, dearest? It will be safer I\nthink—and, with people staying in the house, it is necessary, you see,\nto consider a little. My aunt is so tired with her journey that she is\nnot likely to go out at all to-morrow—and when I remember that you dine\nwith Mr. Kenyon on that Wednesday, it seems marked out for our day. Still\nI leave it to you. Never have we been so long parted, and perhaps by\nWednesday you may forget me—ah no! Now I will not make the time longer by\nbeing unkind ... or even unjust.\n\nI meant to write you a long letter to-day,—but first my aunt and\ncousin were here telling me all the statistics of Arabella Hedley’s\nmarriage,—and then Mr. Kenyon came, ... and on such a very different\nsubject, _his_ talk was, that he has left me quite depressed. It\nappears that poor Mr. Haydon, in a paper entering into his reasons for\nself-destruction, says that he has left his manuscripts to _me_, with a\ndesire for me to arrange the terms of their publication with Longman.\nOf course it has affected me naturally ... such a proof of trust when\nhe had so many friends wiser and stronger to look to—but I believe the\nreference to be simply to the _fact_ of his having committed to my\ncare all his private papers in a great trunk ... one of three which he\nsent here. Two years ago when we corresponded, he made me read a good\npart of his memoirs, which he thought of publishing at that time; and\nthen he asked me (no, it was a year and a half ago) to speak about\nthem to some bookseller ... to Longman, he said, I remember, then. I\nexplained, in reply, how I had not any influence with any bookseller\nin the world; advising him besides not to think of printing, without\nconsiderable modification, what I had read. In fact it was—with much that\nwas individual and interesting,—as unfit as possible for the general\nreader—fervid and coarse at once, with personal references blood-dyed at\nevery page. At the last, I suppose, the idea came back to him of my name\nin conjunction with Longman’s—I cannot think that he meant me to do any\n_editor’s_ work, for which (with whatever earnestness of will) I must be\ncomparatively unfit, both as a woman and as personally and historically\nignorant of the persons and times he writes of. I should not know how\none reference would fall innocently, and another like a thunderbolt,\non surviving persons. I only know that without great modification, the\nMemoirs should not appear at all ... that the scandal would be great if\nthey did. At the same time you will feel with me, I am sure, you who\nalways feel with me, that whatever is clearly set for me to do, I should\nnot shrink from under these circumstances, whatever the unpleasantness\nmay be, more or less, involved in the doing. But if Mr. Serjeant Talfourd\nis the executor ... is he not the obviously fit person? Well! there is no\nneed to talk any more. Mr. Kenyon is to try to see the paper. It was Mr.\nForster who came to tell him of this matter and to get him to communicate\nit to me. Poor Haydon!\n\nDearest, I long for you to come and bring me a little light. Tell me how\nyou are—now tell me. Tell me too how your mother is.\n\nMy aunt’s presence here has seemed to throw me back suddenly and\npainfully into real life out of my dream-life with you——into the old\ndreary flats of real life. She does not know your name even—she sees in\nme just _Ba_ who is not your Ba—and when she talks to me ... seeing me so\n... I catch the reflection of the cold abstraction as _she_ apprehends\nit, and feel myself for a moment a Ba who is not your Ba ... sliding\nback into the melancholy of it! Do you understand the curious process, I\ntalk of so mistily? Do you understand that she makes me sorrowful with\nnot talking of _you_ while she talks to _me_? Everything, in fact, that\ndivides us, I must suffer from—so I need not treat metaphysically of\ncauses and causes ... splitting the thinner straws.\n\nOnce she looked to the table where the remains of your flowers are, ...\nand said, ‘I suppose Miss Mitford brought you those flowers.’ ‘No,’ I\nanswered, ‘she did not.’ ‘Oh no,’ began Arabel with a more suggestive\nvoice, ‘not Miss Mitford’s flowers.’ But I turned the subject quickly.\n\nRobert!—how did you manage to write me the dear note from Mrs. Jameson’s?\nhow could you dare write and direct it before her eyes? What an audacity\nthat was of yours. Oh—and how I regretted the missing you, as you proved\nit was a missing, by the letter! Twice to miss you on one day, seemed\ntoo much ill-luck ... even for _me_, I was going to write ... but _that_\nwould have been a word of my old life, before I knew that I was born to\nthe best fortune and happiest, which any woman could have, ... in being\nloved by _you_.\n\nDearest, do not leave off loving me. Do not forget me by Wednesday. Shall\nit be Wednesday? or must it be Thursday? answer _you_.\n\n I am your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, July 6, 1846.]\n\nWhen I read, after the reasons for not seeing you to-day, this—‘still I\nleave it to you,’—believe, dearest, that I at once made the sacrifice and\ndetermined to wait till Wednesday,—as seemed best for you, and therefore\nfor me: but at the letter’s very end, amid the sweetest, comes ‘Wednesday\n... or must it be Thursday?’ What is _that_? What ‘_must_’ is mine? Shall\nyou fear, or otherwise suffer, if we appoint Wednesday?\n\nOh, another year of this! Yet I am not, I feel, ungrateful to the Past\n... all the obstacles in the world can do nothing now, nothing: earlier\nthey might have proved formidable annoyances. I have seen enough of you,\nBa, for an eternity of belief in you ... and you, as you confess, you\ncannot think ‘I shall forget.’\n\nAll you can, you compensate me for the absence—that such letters,\ninstead of being themselves the supremest reward and last of gains,\nshould be—compensation, at the best! Am I really to have you, all of you\nand altogether, and always? If you go out of your dream-life, can I lie\nquietly in mine? But I hold your hand and hear your voice through it all.\n\nHow do these abrupt changes in the temperature affect you? Yesterday at\nnoon, so oppressively hot—this morning, a wind and a cold. Do you feel\nno worse than usual? If you do not tell me,—you know, I cannot keep\naway. Then, this disinspiriting bequest of poor Haydon’s journal ... his\n‘writings’—from which all the harm came, and, it should seem, is still to\ncome to himself and everybody beside—let us all forget what came of those\ndescriptions and vindications and explanations interminable; but as for\nbeginning another sorrowful issue of them,—it is part and parcel of the\ninsanity—and to lay the business of editing the ‘twenty-six’ (I think)\nvolumes, with the responsibility, on _you_—most insane! Unless, which one\nwould avoid supposing, the author trusted precisely to your ignorance of\nfacts and isolation from the people able to instruct you. Take one little\ninstance of how ‘facts’ may be set down—in the _Athenæum_ was an account\nof Haydon’s quoting Waller’s verse about the eagle reached by his own\nfeather on the arrow,—which he applied to Maclise and some others, who\nhad profited by their intimacy with him to turn his precepts to account\nand so surpass him in public estimation: now, Maclise was in Haydon’s\ncompany for the first time at Talfourd’s on that evening when I met your\nbrother there,—so said Talfourd in an after-supper speech,—and Forster,\nto whom I mentioned the circumstance, assured me that Maclise ‘called\non Haydon for the first time only a few months ago’ ... I suppose,\nshortly after. Now, what right has Maclise, a fine generous fellow, to\nbe subjected to such an imputation as that? With an impartial prudent\nman, acquainted with the artists of the last thirty years, the editing\nmight turn to profit: I do hope for an exercise of Mr. Kenyon’s caution\nhere, at all events. And then how horrible are all these posthumous\nrevelations,—these passions of the now passionless, errors of the at\nlength better-instructed! All falls unfitly, ungraciously—the triumphs or\nthe despondencies, the hopes or fears, of—whom? He is so far above it all\nnow! Even in this life—imagine a proficient in an art or science, who,\nafter thirty or sixty years of progressive discovery, finds that some\nbookseller has disinterred and is about publishing the raw first attempt\nat a work which he was guilty of in the outset!\n\nAll of which you know better than I—what do you not know better? Nor as\nwell?—that I love you with my whole heart, Ba, dearest Ba, and look up\ninto your eyes for all light and life. Bless you.\n\n Your very own—\n\nI am going to Talfourd’s to-morrow (to dine)—and perhaps to Chorley’s\nin the evening. If I can do any bidding of yours at Talfourd’s ... but\nthat seems improbable,—with Mr. Kenyon, too! But (_this between our very\nselves_) the Talfourds, or at least Mrs. T., please to take one of their\nunimaginably stupid groundless dislikes to him.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, July 7, 1846.]\n\nBut I meant to ‘leave it to you,’ not to come before Wednesday but after\nWednesday, in case of some Wednesday’s engagement coming to cross mine.\n‘Ba’s old way’ ... do you cry out! Perhaps—only that an engagement is a\npossible thing always. Not meaning an engagement with Miss Campbell. I\nhope, hope, then, to be able to see you, dearest Robert, on Wednesday. On\nWednesday, at last!\n\nHere is a letter which I had this morning from Mr. Landor, than which\ncan anything be more gracious? It appears ... I forgot to tell you\nyesterday after I heard it from Mr. Kenyon ... it appears that my note\nof thanks had my signature affixed to it in such a state of bad writing,\nthat Mr. Landor, being sorely puzzled, sent the letter up to Mr. Forster\nto be read. Mr. Forster read it (so it _could_ be read!) and then took it\nto Mr. Kenyon, who read it too, and afterwards came to scold me for being\nperfectly illegible. It was signed at full length too, Elizabeth Barrett\nBarrett ... and really I couldn’t believe that I was very guilty till\nMr. Landor’s own letter persuaded me this morning of its being so much\npleasanter to be guilty than innocent, for the nonce.\n\nAh—you use the right word for the other subject. _If_ a bequest, it is\nindeed a ‘_dispiriting_ bequest,’ this of poor Haydon’s. But I hope to\nthe last that he meant simply to point to _me_ as the actual holder of\nthe papers—and certainly when he sent the great trunk here, it was with\nno intention of dying; Mr. Kenyon agreed with me to that effect—I showed\nhim the notes which I had found and laid aside for you, and which you\nshall take with you on Wednesday. Still, there must be an editor found\nsomewhere—because the papers cannot go as they are to a publisher’s\nhands from mine, if I _only hold_ them. Does any one say that I am a fit\neditor? Have I _the power_? the knowledge of art and artists? of the\nworld? of the times? of the persons? All these things are against me—and\nothers besides.\n\nNow I will tell you one thing which he told me in confidence, but which\nis at length perhaps in those papers—I tell you because you are myself,\nand will understand the need and obligation to silence—and I want you\nto understand besides how the twenty-six volumes hang heavily on my\nthoughts. He told me in so many words that Mrs. Norton had made advances\ntowards him—and that his children, in sympathy towards their mother, had\ndashed into atoms the bust of the poetess as it stood in his painting\nroom.\n\nIf you can say anything _safely_ for me at Mr. Talfourd’s, of course I\nshall be glad ... and Mr. Kenyon will speak to Mr. Forster, he said.\nI want to get back my letters too as soon as I can do it without\ndisturbing anyone’s peace. What is in those letters, I cannot tell, so\nimpulsively and foolishly, sometimes, I am apt to write; and at that\ntime, through caring for nobody and feeling so loose to life, I threw\naway my thoughts without looking where they fell. Often my sisters have\nblamed me for writing in that wild way to strangers—and I should like to\nhave the letters back before they shall have served to amuse two or three\nexecutors—but of this too, I spoke to Mr. Kenyon.\n\nStill it is not of _me_ that we are called to think—and I would not for\nthe world refuse any last desire, if clearly signified, and if the power\nshould be with me. He was not a common man—he had in him the stuff of\ngreatness, this poor Haydon had; and we must consider reverently whatever\nrent garment he shall have left behind. Quite, in some respects, I think\nwith you but your argument does appear to me to sweep out too far on one\nside, so that if you do not draw it back, Robert, you will efface all\nautobiography and confession—tear out a page bent over by many learners—I\nmean when you say that because he is above (now) the passions and\nfrailties he has recorded, we should put from us the record. True, he is\nabove it all—true, he has done with the old Haydon; like a man outgrowing\nhis own childhood he will not spin this top any more. Oh, it is true—I\nfeel it all just as you do. But, after all, a man outgrowing his\nchildhood, may leave his top to children, and no one smile! This record\nis not for the angels, but for _us_, who are a little lower at highest.\nThree volumes perhaps may be taken from the twenty-six full of character\nand interest, and not without melancholy teaching. Only some competent\nand sturdy hand should manage the selection; as surely as mine is unfit\nfor it. But where to seek _discretion_? _delicacy_?\n\nDearest, I speak the truth to you—I am not ill indeed. When I was at\nbest in health I used sometimes to be a little weak and faint, and it\nhas only been _so_ for this last day or two. By Wednesday the cloud will\nhave passed. And, do you know, I have found out something from our long\nparting, ... I have found out that I love you better than even I thought.\nThere’s a piece of finding out! My own dearest—what would become of me\nindeed, _if_ I could not see you on Wednesday nor on Thursday nor on\nFriday?—no breath I have, for going on. No breath I should have, for\nliving on. I do kiss you through the distance——since you tell me. I love\nyou with my soul.\n\n Your own I am.\n\nThree of the flowers and nearly all the little blue ones stay with me all\nthis while to comfort me!! isn’t it kind of them?\n\nTwo letters to-day—and such letters! Ah—if you love me always but half\nas much—I will agree with you now for half! Yet, O Hesiod, half is not\nbetter than the whole, by any means! Yet ... if the whole went away, and\ndid not leave me half!—\n\nWhen I was a child I heard two married women talking. One said to the\nother ... ‘The most painful part of marriage is the first year, when the\nlover changes into the husband by slow degrees.’ The other woman agreed,\nas a matter of fact is agreed to. I listened with my eyes and ears, and\nnever forgot it ... as you observe. It seemed to me, child as I was, a\ndreadful thing to have a husband by such a process. Now, it seems to me\nmore dreadful.\n\n Si l’âme est immortelle\n L’amour ne l’est-il pas?\n\nBeautiful verses—just to prove to you that I do not remember _only_ the\ndisagreeable things ... only to teaze you with, like so many undeserved\nreproaches. And you so good, so best—Ah—but it is _that_ which frightens\nme! so far _best_!\n\nYou were foolish to begin to love me, you know, as always I told you, my\nbeloved!—but since you _would_ begin, ... go on to do it as long as you\ncan ... do not leave me in the wilderness. God bless you for me!—\n\n I am your BA.\n\nThink if people were to get hold of that imputation on poor Mrs.\nNorton—think!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning in haste.\n [Post-mark, July 7, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I am uncertain whether I can see you to-morrow. To-night I will\nwrite again—you shall hear. You tell me to _risk nothing_ ... which is\nwhat I feel. But I long, long to see you. You shall hear in the morning.\n\nRead the note which Mr. Kenyon sends me from Mr. Forster. Very averse I\nfeel, from applying, in the way prescribed, to Mr. Serjeant Talfourd.\nTell me what to do, Robert ... my ‘famous in council!’ Sick at heart, it\nall makes me. Am I to write to Mr. Talfourd, do you think?\n\nOh, _you_ would manage it for me—but to mix _you_ up in it, will make\na danger of a worse evil. May God bless you, my own. I may see you\nto-morrow perhaps after all—it is a ‘_perhaps_’ though ... and I am surely\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, July 7, 1846.]\n\nDearest, the first thing to say is the deep joyfulness of expecting\nto see you, really, to-morrow—mind, the engagement with Mr. Kenyon is\nnothing in the way. If you cannot let me stay the usual time—I can call,\npass away the interval easily ... this is a superfluous word to your\ngoodness which is superfluous in these ‘old ways of Ba’s’—dear Ba, whom\nI kiss with perfect love—and shall soon kiss in no dream! Landor is all\nwell enough in one sentence ... happily turned _that_ is,—but I am vexed\nat his strange opinion of Goethe’s poem,—and the more, that a few years\nago he wrote down as boldly that nothing had been written _so_ ‘Hellenic’\nthese two thousand years—(in a note to the ‘Satire on the Satirists’)—and\nof these opinions I think the earlier much nearer the truth. _Then_ he\nwrote so, because Wordsworth had depreciated Goethe—now, very likely,\nsome maladroit applauder has said Landor’s own ‘Iphigenia’ is worthy of\nGoethe,—or similar platitudes.\n\nYes, dearest, you are quite right—and my words have a wrong sense, and\none I did not mean they should bear, if they object to confessions\nand autobiographies in general. Only the littleness and temporary\ntroubles, the petty battle with foes, which is but a moment’s work\nhowever the success may be, all _that_ might go when the occasion,\nreal or fancied, is gone. I would have the customary ‘habits,’ as we\nsay, of the man preserved, and if they were quilted and stiffened with\nsteel and bristling all over with the offensive and defensive weapons\nthe man judged necessary for his safety,—they should be composed and\nhung up decently—telling the true story of his life. But I should not\npreserve the fretful gesture,—lift the arm, as it was angrily lifted to\nkeep off a wolf—which now turns out to have been only Flush in a fever\nof vigilance—half-drew the sword which—Ah, let me have done with this!\nYou understand, if I do not. For the bad story,—the telling _that_, if\nit were true, is nearly as bad as inventing it. That poor woman is the\nhack-block of a certain class of redoubtable braggarts—there are such\nstories by the _dozen_ in circulation. All may have been misconception\n... ‘advances’—to induce one more painter to introduce her face in his\nworks.\n\nMy time is out ... I had much to say, but this letter of mine arrived by\nthe afternoon post,—shame on the office! To-morrow!\n\n Bless you, ever dearest dearest—\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening\n [Post-mark, July 8, 1846.]\n\nYes—I understand you perfectly—and it should be exactly as you say—and it\nis just _that_, which requires so much adroitness,—and such decision and\nstrength of hand, to manage these responsibilities. Somebody is wanted\nto cut and burn, and be silent afterwards. I remember that bitter things\nare said of Shelley and Leigh Hunt beyond all the bitterness of alcohol.\nOlives do not taste so, though steeped in salt. There are some curious\nletters by poor Keats about Hunt, and _they_ too are bitter. It would\nbe dreadful to suffer these miseries to sow themselves about the world,\nlike so much thistle-down ... the world, where there are thistles enough\nalready, to make fodder for its wild asses!\n\nAs to Landor ... oh, I did not remember the note you speak of in the\nsatire you speak of—but you remember everything ... even _me_. Is it\nnot true that Landor, too, is one of the men who carry their passions\nabout with them into everything, as a boy would, pebbles ... muddying\nevery clear water, with a stone here and a stone there. The end is, that\nwe lose the image of himself in the serene depth, as we might have had\nit—and the little stone comes to stand for him. How unworthy of such a\nman as Landor, such weakness is! To _think_ with one’s temper!! One might\nas well be at once Don Quixote, and fight with a warming-pan.\n\nBut I did not remember the _former_ opinion. I took it for a\nconstitutional fancy of Landor’s, and did not smile much more at it than\nat my own ‘profundity in German,’ which was a matter of course ... of\ncourse ... of course. For have I not the gift of tongues? Don’t I talk\nSyriac ... as well as Flush talks English—and Hebrew, like a prophetess\n... and various other languages and dialects less familiarly known to\npersons in general than these aforesaid? So, profound indeed, must be the\nGerman and the Dutch! And perhaps it may not be worth while to answer Mr.\nLandor’s note for the mere purpose of telling him anything about it.\n\nDearest!—I have written all this before I would say a word of your\ncoming, just to think a little more—and down all these pages I have\nbeen thinking, thinking, of _you_ ... of your possible coming ... what\nnonsense they must be! Well! and the end is that, let it be wise or\nunwise, I _must and will see you to-morrow_—I cannot do otherwise. It is\njust as if Flush had been shut up in a box for so many days. My spirits\nflag ... and I could find it in my heart to grow cross like Landor and\ndeny Goethe. So come, dearest dearest—and let the world bark at our heels\nif it pleases. I will just turn round and set Flush at it.\n\nFor two or three days I have not been out—not for two days ... not out of\nthis room. This evening at seven, when they were all going to dinner, I\ntook Wilson with me and drove into the park for air. It will do me good\nperhaps—but your coming will, certainly. So come, my dearest beloved!—At\nthree, remember.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "PRIVATE\n\n Wednesday 7 A.M.\n [Post-mark, July 8, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, I received your note on my return from Talfourd’s last night.\nI am anxious to get the first post for this, so can only use the bare\nwords,—if those. After dinner, Forster put a question to our host about\nthe amount of the subscription; and in a minute the paper-bequest was\nintroduced. Talfourd had received a letter from Miss Mitford, enclosing\none from you (or a copy of one ... I did not hear)—whereat he pronounced\nso emphatically upon H.’s conduct in making you,—‘who could never have\nknown the nature of the transaction nor the very serious consequences\nit involved’—the depositary of his pictures &c. on such occasions,—the\nwords, ‘H. it seems, has been in the habit of using Miss B’s house &c.’\n(or to that effect) had so offensive an implication,—that I felt obliged\nto say simply, you had never seen Haydon and were altogether amazed\nand distressed at his desire,—and that, for the other matter, what he\nchose to send, you could not, I supposed, bring yourself to refuse\nadmittance to the house. I gave no particular account of my own means of\nknowledge, nor spoke further than to remove the impression from the minds\nof the people present that you must have ‘known’ Haydon, as they call\n‘knowing’—and Forster, for one, expressed surprise at it. I ventured to\nrepeat what I mentioned to you—‘that it seemed likely you were selected\nfor the Editorship precisely on account of your isolation from the world.’\n\nSoon after, Forster went away—and, up-stairs, I got Talfourd alone, and\njust told him that I was in the habit of corresponding with you, that you\nhad made me acquainted with a few of the circumstances, and that you had\nat once thought of _him_, Talfourd, as the proper source of instruction\non the subject. Talfourd’s reply amounted to this,—(in the fewest words\npossible). The _will_ &c. is of course an absurdity. The papers are the\nundoubted property of the creditors ... any attempt to publish them\nwould subject you to an action at law. They were given prospectively to\nyou _exactly for the reason I suggested_: they having been in the first\ninstance offered to Talfourd. Haydon knew that T. would never print them\nin their offensive integrity, and hoped that _you would_—being quite\nof the average astuteness in worldly matters when his own vanity and\nselfishness were not concerned. They might, these papers, be published\nwith advantage to Mrs. Haydon at some future time if the creditors\npermit—or without their permitting, if woven into a substantially new\nframework; as some ‘Haydon and his Times,’ or the like ... but there\nis nothing to call for such a step at present, even in that view of\nadvantage to the family ... the subscription and other assistances being\nsufficient for their necessities. Therefore the course T. would recommend\nyou to adopt is to let the deposit (_if_ you have one ... for he did not\n_know_, and I said nothing)—lie untouched—not giving them up to anybody,\nany creditor, to Mrs. H’s prejudice.\n\nNow, can you do better than as Forster advises? Talfourd goes on circuit\n_to-morrow_—he said, ‘I can hear, or arrange anything with Miss B’s\nbrother’—so that, if there should be no time, you can write by him, and\nentrust explanations &c. But would it not be best to get done with this\nmatter directly—to write a BRIEF note in the course of to-day, mentioning\nthe facts, and requesting advice? In order to leave you the time to do\nthis,—should the post presently bring me a letter allowing me to see you\nat three ... unless the allowance is _very_ free, _very_ irresistible ...\nI will rather take to-morrow ... a piece of self-denial I fear I should\nnot so readily bring myself to exhibit, were I not really obliged to pass\nyour house to-day; so that even Ba will understand!\n\nMiss Mitford’s note appears to have been none of the wisest—indeed a\nphrase or two I heard, were purely foolish: H. was said to have practised\n‘Ion’s principle’!\n\nT. had known Haydon most intimately and for a long time: he does not\nbelieve H. was mad—of a mad vanity, of course. His _last_ paper ...\n‘Haydon’s Thoughts’ ... was a dissertation on the respective merits of\nNapoleon and Wellington—how wrong Haydon felt he had been to prefer the\nformer ... and the why and the wherefore. All this wretched stuff, in a\nroom theatrically arranged,—here his pictures, there ... God forgive us\nall, fools or wise by comparison! The debts are said to be £3,000 ... he\nhaving been an insolvent debtor ... how long before? His landlord, a poor\nman, is creditor for £1,200.\n\nHere I will end, and wait: this is written in _all_ haste ... and is so\naltogether no proper letter of _mine_ that I shall put the necessary\n‘Private’ at the top of it. _My_ letter shall go presently, if _I_ do not\ngo, to my own Ba—\n\n R.B.\n\nShould you write to your brother ... will he need reminding that Talfourd\nis only to know we correspond,—not that we are personally acquainted? Had\nyou not better mention this in any case?\n\nGod bless you, dearest,—what a letter from me to you—to Ba! _Time_, Time!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 9, 1846.]\n\nMy own darling, my Ba, do you know when I read those letters (as soon\nas I remembered I had got them,—for you hold me long after both doors,\nup and down stairs, shut) when I looked through them, under a gateway\n... I was pricked at the heart to have thought so, and spoken so, of\nthe poor writer. I will believe that he was good and even great when\nin communication with you—indeed all men are made, or make themselves,\ndifferent in their approaches to different men—and the secret of goodness\nand greatness is in choosing _whom_ you will approach, and live with, in\nmemory or imagination, through the crowding obvious people who seem to\nlive with you. That letter about the glory of being a painter ‘if only\nfor the neglect’ is most touching and admirable ... there is the serene\nspot attained, the solid siren’s isle amid the sea; and while _there_,\nhe was safe and well ... but he would put out to sea again, after a\nbreathing time, I suppose? though even a smaller strip of land was\nenough to maintain Blake, for one instance, in power and glory through\nthe poor, fleeting ‘sixty years’—then comes the rest from cartooning and\nexhibiting. But there is no standing, one foot on land and one on the\nwaves, now with the high aim in view, now with the low aim,—and all the\nstrange mistaken talk about ‘prestiges,’ ‘Youth and its luck,’ Napoleon\nand the world’s surprise and interest. There comes the low aim between\nthe other,—an organ grinds Mr. Jullien’s newest dance-tune, and Camoens\nis vexed that the ‘choral singing which brought angels down,’ can’t also\ndraw street-passengers round.\n\nI take your view of H.’s freedom, at that time, from the thoughts of what\nfollowed.\n\nHe was weak—a strong man would have borne what so many bear—what were\nhis griefs, as grief _goes_? Do you remember I told you, when the news\nof Aliwal and the other battles came to England, of our gardener, and\nhis son, a sergeant in one of the regiments engaged ... how the father\ncould learn nothing at first, of course ... how they told him at the\nHorse Guards he should be duly informed in time, after his betters,\nwhether this son was dead, or wounded. Since then, no news came ...\n‘which is _good_ news’ the father persuaded himself to think ... so the\napprehensions subside, and the hope confirms itself, more and more,\nwhile the old fellow digs and mows and rakes away, like a man painting\nhistorical pictures ... only without the love of it. Well, this morning\nwe had his daughter here to say ‘the letter’ had arrived at last ...\nher brother was killed in the first battle, so there’s an end of the\nthree months’ sickness of heart,—and the poor fellow must bear his loss\n‘like a man’—or like a woman ... for I recollect another case, of an\nold woman whom my mother was in the habit of relieving,—who brought a\nletter one day which she could hardly understand—it was from her son,\na sailor, and went on for a couple of pages about his good health and\nexpectations,—then, in a different handwriting, somebody, ‘your son’s\nshipmate’ ‘took up his pen to inform you that he fell from the masthead\ninto the sea and was drowned yesterday,—which he therefore thought it\nright to put in the unfinished letter.’ All which the old woman bore\nsomehow,—seeing she lives yet.\n\nWell,—ought not I to say Mr. Kenyon was as kind as usual, and his party\nas pleasant? No, for you know—what you cannot by possibility know, it\nseems, is, that I am not particularly engaged next Saturday! Ba, shall I\nreally see you so soon? Bless you ever, my very, very own! I shall not\nhear to-day ... but to-morrow,—do but not keep me waiting for _that_\nletter, and the mules shall be ready hours and hours, for any sign I will\nhave, at La Cava!\n\n Ever your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 9, 1846.]\n\nSee what an account we have this morning of La Cava ... ‘quite impossible\nfor the winter.’ What does ‘quite impossible’ quite mean, I wonder? I\nfeel disappointed. As to Palermo, you would rather be in Italy, and so\nwould I, perhaps. Salerno seems questionable too; and Vietri ... what of\nVietri? I don’t at all see why we should receive the responses of this\nfriend of my friend who is not so very much my friend, as if they were\noracular and final. There must be the right of appeal for us to other\nauthorities. Will you investigate and think a little? For my part I shall\nnot care to what place we go, except for the climate’s sake—the cheapness\ntoo should be considered a little: and, for the rest, every place which\nyou should like, I should like, and which you liked most, I should like\nmost—everything is novelty to _me_, remember.\n\nMy uncle Hedley has just come now, and I must quicken my writing. Oh—to\nbe so troubled just now ... just now!—But I wrote to Mr. Serjeant\nTalfourd last night, and told him as fully and as briefly as I could the\nwhole position ... and _that_ vexation I shall try now to throw behind\nme, after the fashion of dear Mr. Kenyon’s philosophy. I put the thought\nof you, beloved, between me and all other thoughts—surely I _can_, when\nyou were here only yesterday. So much to think of, there is! One thing\nmade me laugh in the recollection. Do you mean to tell Mrs. Jameson that\nyou are going to marry me, ‘because it is intolerable to hear me talked\nof?’ That would be an original motive. ‘So speaks the great poet.’—\n\nAh Flush, Flush!—he did not hurt you really? You will forgive him for me?\nThe truth is that he hates all unpetticoated people, and that though he\ndoes not hate _you_, he has a certain distrust of you, which any outward\nsign, such as the umbrella, reawakens. But if you had seen how sorry and\nashamed he was yesterday! I slapped his ears and told him that he never\nshould be loved again: and he sate on the sofa (sitting, not lying) with\nhis eyes fixed on me all the time I did the flowers, with an expression\nof quite despair in his face. At last I said, ‘If you are good, Flush,\nyou may come and say that you are sorry’ ... on which he dashed across\nthe room and, trembling all over, kissed first one of my hands and then\nanother, and put up his paws to be shaken, and looked into my face with\nsuch great beseeching eyes that you would certainly have forgiven him\njust as I did. It is not savageness. If he once loved you, you might pull\nhis ears and his tail, and take a bone out of his mouth even, and he\nwould not bite you. He has no savage caprices like other dogs and men I\nhave known.\n\nWriting of Flush, in my uncle comes, and then my cousin, and then my aunt\n... _by relays!_ and now it is nearly four and this letter may be too\nlate for the post which reaches you irregularly. So provoked I am!—but I\nshall write again, to-night, you know.\n\nDearest, you did me so much good yesterday! Say how your head is—and\nremember Saturday. Saturday will be clear through Chiswick—may the sun\nshine on it!—\n\n Your own BA.\n\nThink of the dreadful alternative as set forth in this MS.!—The English\n... or a bad climate!—_Can_ it be true?\n\n\nENCLOSURE\n\n[La Cava is _impossible_ for the winter owing to the damp and cold. At\nno season should any person remain out at the hour of sunset. An hour\n_afterwards_ the air is dry and healthy—[Is this at La Cava? Ba] This\napplies to all Italy, and is a precaution too often neglected. Salerno\nhas bad air too near it, to be safe as a residence. Besides, it is\ntotally without the resources of books, good food, or medical advice.\nPalermo would be agreeable in the winter, and not _very_ much frequented\nby English. _However, where good climate exists, English are to be\nfound._ Murray’s ‘Southern Italy’ would give every particular as to the\ndistance of La Cava from the sea.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 10, 1846.]\n\nHow I have waited for your letter to-night,—and it comes nearly at\nten!—It comes at last—thank you for it, ever dearest.\n\nAnd I knew—quite understood yesterday, that you were sorry for _me_,\nwhich made you angry with another ... but, as to poor Haydon, you are too\ngenerous and too pitiful to refuse him any justice. I was sure that the\nletters would touch you. The particular letter about the ‘back-ground’\nand the ‘neglect’ and Napoleon, ... _that_, you will observe, was the\nlast I had from him. Every word you say of it, I think and feel. Yes,\nit was just _so_! His conscience was not a sufficient witness, ... nor\nwas God. He must also have the Royal Academy and the appreciators of\nTom Thumb. A ‘weak man,’ of course he was,—for all vain men are weak\nmen. They cannot stand alone. But that he had in him the elements\nof greatness—that he looked to noble aims in art and life, however\ndistractedly, ... that his thoughts and feelings were not those of a\ncommon man, ... it is true, it is undeniable,—and you would think so\nmore and more if you read through the packets of letters which I have\nof his—so fervid, so full of earnestness and individuality ... so alive\nwith egotism which yet seemed to redeem itself. Mr. Kenyon said of the\nletter we have spoken of, that it was scarcely the production of a sane\nmind. But I who was used to his letters, saw nothing in it in the least\nunusual—he has written to me far wilder letters! That he ‘never should\ndie,’ he had said once or twice before. Then Napoleon was a favourite\nsubject of his ... constantly recurred to. He was not mad _then_!\n\nPoor Haydon! Think what an agony, life was to him, so constituted!—his\nown genius a clinging curse! the fire and the clay in him seething and\nquenching one another!—the man seeing maniacally in all men the assassins\nof his fame! and, with the whole world against him, struggling for the\nthing which was his life, through night and day, in thoughts and in\ndreams ... struggling, stifling, breaking the hearts of the creatures\ndearest to him, in the conflict for which there was no victory, though he\ncould not choose but fight it. Tell me if Laocoon’s anguish was not as an\ninfant’s sleep, compared to this? And could a man, suffering _so_, stop\nto calculate very nicely the consideration due to A, and the delicacy\nwhich should be observed toward B? Was he scrupulously to ask himself\nwhether this or that cry of his might not give C a headache? Indeed no,\nno. It is for _us_ rather to look back and consider! Poor Haydon.\n\nAs to grief as grief—of course he had no killing grief. But he _suffered_.\n\nOften it has struck me as a curious thing (yet it is not perhaps curious)\nthat suicides are occasioned nearly always by a mortified self-love ...\nby losses in money, which force a man into painful positions ... and\nscarcely ever by bereavement through death ... scarcely ever. The wound\non the vanity is more irritating than the wound on the affections—and\nthe word _Death_, if it does not make us recoil (which it does I think\nsometimes, ... even from the graves of beloved beings!), yet keeps us\nhumble ... casts us down from our heights. We may despond, but we do not\nrebel—we feel God over us.\n\nAh—your poor gardener! All that hope is vain—and the many, many hopes\nwhich in a father’s heart must have preceded it! How sorry I am for\nhim.[4]\n\nYou never can have a grief, dearest dearest, of which I shall not have\nhalf for my share. That is my right from henceforth ... and if I could\nhave it _all_ ... _would_ I not, do you think, ... and give my love to\nyou to keep instead? Yes, ... indeed yes! May God bless you always.\nI have walked out to-day, you did me so much good yesterday. As for\nSaturday, it certainly is our day, since you are not ‘particularly\nengaged’ to Miss Campbell. Saturday, the day after to-morrow! But\nthe mules may wait long at La Cava for us, if the tradition, which I\nsent you, is trustworthy—may they not? I feel as disappointed ... as\ndisappointed—\n\n Your own, very own BA.\n\n[4] [Some months later the discovery was made that there had been a\nmistake in the War Office in the name, and that the son was\nunharmed.—R.B.B.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 10, 1846.]\n\nAnd _I_ am disappointed, dearest, in this news of La Cava—after which\nit would be madness to think of going there: the one reason we have to\ngo at all is simply _for your health_—I mean, that if the seclusion\nwere the main object, we might easily compass _that_ here. All places\nare utterly indifferent to me if I can inhabit them with you—why should\nPalermo please me less than Italy proper? The distance is considerable,\nhowever, and the journey expensive—I wonder whether the steamer will\nsail for Leghorn as last year. As for the travelling English, they are\nhorrible, and at Florence, unbearable ... their voices in your ear at\nevery turn ... and such voices!—I got to very nearly hate the Tribune for\ntheir sakes. Vietri is close to Salerno and must be obvious to the same\ncondemnation. Your friend speaks from personal experience, I presume—she\nmay well say that the baneful effects of the hour of sunset (_i.e._ the\nAve-maria) are too much overlooked ‘in all Italy’—I never heard of them\nbefore—but an infinity of ‘crotchets’ go from Italian brain to brain\nabout what, in eating or drinking or walking or sleeping, will be the\ndeath of you: still, they may know best. The most dreadful event that\ncould happen to me would be your getting worse instead of better.... God\nknows what I should do! So whatever precaution we _can_ take, let us take.\n\nOh, poor Flush,—do you think I do not love and respect him for his\njealous supervision,—his slowness to know another, having once known\nyou? All my apprehension is that, in the imaginations down-stairs, he\nmay very unconsciously play the part of the dog that is heard to ‘bark\nviolently’ while something dreadful takes place: yet I do not sorrow over\nhis slapped ears, as if they ever pained him very much—you dear Ba!\n\nAnd to-morrow I shall see you. Are you, can you be, really ‘better’ after\nI have seen you? If it is not truth ... which I will not say ... such an\nassurance is the most consummate flattery I can imagine ... it may be\nrecorded on my tombstone ‘R.B.—to whom this flattery was addressed, that,\nafter the sight of him, Ba was better, she said.’ If it is truth ... may\nyou say _that_, neither more nor less, day by day, year by year through\nour lives—and I shall have lived indeed!\n\nHow it rains—how it varies from hot to cold! a pretty vantage-ground\nwhence we English can look and call other climates bad or indifferent!\nNow if to-morrow resembles to-day, will the Chiswick expedition hold\ngood? I shall consider that I may go unless a letter comes to-morrow ...\nwhich would have to be written to-day. How pleasant it would be to make\nour days _always_ Wednesday and Saturday ... could not that be contrived?\nSo much for considerateness and contentedness!\n\nI want, now, to refer as little as possible to the sad subject ... but I\nam glad you have written,—glad too that you are not severe on me for some\nhasty speeches—which did, indeed, mean as you say ... vexation at your\nhaving been vexed. And, I will just add, you remark excellently on the\nwound to self-love making itself that remedy, rather than the wound to\nthe affections ... yet there are instances ... Romilly loses his wife ...\nso does poor Laman Blanchard.\n\nSo I go on writing, writing about all but what my heart is full of! Let\nme kiss you, ever dearest—to-morrow will soon arrive—meanwhile, and\nforever I am your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 12, 1846.]\n\nWhen I made you promise to refer no more to that subject in your letter\n(which I must wait a day and a night for, alas!), I did not engage\nmyself to the like silence ... perhaps because I was not bidden—or,\nno! there is a better reason; I want to beg your pardon, dearest, for\nall that petulancy,—for the manner of what I said rather than the\nmatter,—there is a rationality in it all, if I could express trulier what\nI feel—but the manner was foolish and wrong and unnecessary to _you_—so\ndo forgive and forget it. You would understand and sympathize if you\nknew—not me, whom you do know in some degree,—but so much of my early\nlife as would account for the actual horror and hatred I have of those\nparticular doctrines of the world—and the especially foolish word about\nthe ‘travelling’ meant something like the not unnatural thought that if\nin this main, sole event for all good and all evil in my life,—if _here_\nthe world plucked you from me by any of the innumerable lines it casts,\nwith that indirectness, too,—_then_, I should simply go and live the rest\nof my days as far out of it as I could.\n\nThe simple thing to say is, that I who know you to be above me in all\ngreat or good feelings and therefore worship you, must be without excuse\nto talk inconsiderately as if I, sitting by you and speaking of the same\nsubject, must needs feel more acutely, more strongly in one respect\nwhere, indeed, it wants very little pre-eminence in heart or brain\nto feel entirely the truth—a simplest of truths. It would have been\nlaughable if I had broken out on Mrs. Proctor’s bitterness of speech,\nfor instance ... just as though you were the slower of us two to see the\nnature of it! So I do again ask your pardon, dearest Ba! You said you\nloved me no less yesterday than ever—how must I love you and press closer\nto you more and more, and desire to see nothing of the world behind you,\nwhen I hear how the world thinks, and how you think! You only, only\nadorable woman, only imaginable love for me! And all the hastiness and\npetulancy comes from that ... someone seems to come close (in every such\nmaxim of the world’s) and say ‘What is _she_—to so much a year? Could\nyou be happy with her except in Mayfair—and there whom could you not be\nhappy with!’\n\nIt is as I expected—Rachel plays on Wednesday in ‘Phèdre,’ and our friend\nwrites to say he has secured places. May nothing overcast the perfect\nthree hours on Tuesday,—those dear, dear spaces of dear brightness—why\ncannot a life be made up of these ... with the proper interposition\nof work, to justify God’s goodness so far as poor mortality and its\nendeavours can,—a week of Tuesdays—then a month—a year—a life! I\nmust long to see you again,—always by far the most I long, the _next\nday_—the very day after I have seen you—when it is freshest in my mind\nwhat I did _not_ say while I might have said it,—nor ask while I might\nhave been answered—nor learn while you would have taught me—no, it is\nindescribable. Did I call yesterday ‘unsatisfactory’? Would I had it back\nnow! Or better, I will wish you here when I write, with the trees to see\nand the birds to hear through the open window—I see you on this old chair\nagainst the purple back ... or shall you lie on the sofa? Ba, how I love\nyou, my own perfect unapproachable mistress.\n\nLet me kiss your feet—and now your hands and your eyes—and your lips now,\nfor the full pardon’s sake, my sweetest love—\n\n Ever your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday. 6 P.M.\n [Post-mark, July 13, 1846.]\n\nEver, ever dearest, I have to _feel_ for you all through Sunday, and\nI hear no sound and see no light. How are you? how did you get home\nyesterday? I thought of you more than usual after you went, if I did not\nlove you as much as usual.... What could _that_ doubt have been made of?\n\nDearest, I had a letter last night from Mrs. Jameson, who says that on\n_Tuesday or Wednesday_ at about four o’clock (though she is as little\nsure of the hour apparently as of the day), she means to come to see me.\nNow you are to consider whether this _grand peutêtre_ will shake our\nTuesday, ... whether you would rather take Thursday instead, or will\nrun the risk as it appears. I am ready to agree, either way. She is the\nmost uncertain of uncertain people, and may not come at all ... it’s a\ncase for what Hume used to call sceptical scepticism. Judge! Then I have\nheard (I forgot to tell you) from Mr. Horne—and ... did _you_ have two\nletters last week from your Bennet? ... because _I_ had,—flying leaves of\n‘Mignonette,’ and other lyrical flowers.\n\nWhen you had gone Arabel came to persuade me to go to the park in a\ncab, notwithstanding my too lively recollections of the last we chanced\nupon,—and I was persuaded, and so we tumbled one over another (yet not\nall those cabs are so rough!) to the nearest gate opening on the grass,\nand got out and walked a little. A lovely evening it was, but I wished\nsomehow rather to be at home, and Flush had his foot pinched in shutting\nthe cab-door, ... and altogether there was not much gain:—only, as for\nFlush’s foot, though he cried piteously and held it up, looking straight\nto me for sympathy, no sooner had he touched the grass than he began\nto run without a thought of it. Flush always makes the most of his\nmisfortunes—he is of the Byronic school—_il se pose en victime_.\n\nNow I will not write any more—I long to have my letter of to-morrow\nmorning—I _long_ to have it.... Shall I not have it to-morrow morning?\nThis is posted by my hand.\n\nI loved you yesterday ... I love you to-day ... I shall love you\nto-morrow.\n\n Every day I am yours.\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, July 13, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, your letter kisses me in its entire kindness—and I kiss it and\nyou.—Mrs. Jameson may come or keep away ... (since you let me speak and\ndecide, which is like you) ... she may appoint and reappoint, but Tuesday\nwas given me and I will have it if her visit is the only obstacle—for\nwhat was all the confessing worth if not to account for such a phenomenon\nas my presence in your room when by any chance she might discover it?\nBeside, as you say, she is the most uncertain of engagement-holders\n... no, indeed,—no Tuesday ought to be given up for _her_! Therefore,\nunless fresh orders arrive,—at three on Tuesday ... which is happily,\nhappily to-morrow! You are my own sweetest to reach a letter to me with\nyour own hand, as you tell me,—and the drive, and the walk to the Post\nOffice—thank you, Ba! Perhaps ... dare I say ... you will answer that\nletter I sent yesterday ... because now I remember there is no prayer\nat the end to prevent you ... that is, from answering the main part of\nit—the reverting &c.\n\nI wrote to Mr. Horne, but shall not hear from him—on Saturday I wrote.\nAnd Mr. Bennett’s two letters are considerately written,—directed, I\nmean,—in a hand and with a blue ink that I recognise,—consequently\nthe contents give me no trouble. I wrote two or three lines to the\n‘year of the world’ poet,—did you take the pains? Once on a time some\nunknown author sent me a Tragedy, ‘not published,’ called ‘Alessandro\nde’ Medici,’ with some striking scenes ... I wonder who could be the\nwriter—did it ever fall in your way?\n\n... As if I care!—can I care about anything that is not Ba? All else\nseems as idle as ... as,—now you shall have a real instance in point—as\nmy dream last night. This morning at breakfast my mother asked me, the\nfirst thing, what could so amuse me as to make me call loudly ‘Bravo’\nagain and again, with abundance of laughter? (My room is next to hers and\nthe door is left ajar). Whereupon I tried to recall my dream—and all that\nI can seize is a passage through a gallery of _Haydon’s_ pictures, one\nof which was a portrait of his wife; nor did a suspicion once cross my\nmind that the artist was not well and working somewhere in the vicinity\nall the time—How strange! I never dream if _quite_ well—and I suppose the\npresent state of my head just amounts to _not_ being quite well. (It is\nbetter at any rate, and to-morrow—ought to be worse, that—Ba may prove\nher potency as of old).\n\nNow I will kiss you and wait as well as I can till the full blessing.\nDearest—dearest I am your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 14, 1846.]\n\nI must write ... even if you come to-morrow. Dearest, if I told you\nall that nonsense on Saturday, it was for the sake of telling you all\nand of hearing you say ‘What nonsense’ afterwards. I never began by\ndisguising anything from you ... did I? I always wished you to see how\nthe arrows would strike out at us from that bush and this bush. At _us_.\nFor, granting that you seriously thought it possible for such motives to\ndivide me from you, ... ah, _granting_ it, ... and _you may well ask my\npardon_!\n\nThe world! the world could as soon catch me with a ‘line’ so baited, as\nyou could catch a trout with a silver sixpence at the end of a string.\nNot only do I think with you entirely on that subject, but I always\nthought like you. Always I have hated all their worldly systems, and\nnot merely _now_, and since I _have loved you_. With a hundred a year\nbetween us, I would have married you, if _you_ had not been afraid. And\nso, think whether directly or ‘indirectly’ I am likely to be frightened\ninto the breach of an engagement by what I repeated to you or by what is\nlike unto it. No—my weaknesses are of a different class altogether.\n\nThe talk I talked over again to you, seemed to burn in my ears the\nlonger on that Saturday, because, while it was being originally talked\nbetween Papa and my aunt (touching Arabella Hedley’s marriage), he had\nbrought a paper for me to sign about some money placed on a railway,\n(not speculatively) ... and my aunt, by way of saying a lively thing,\nexclaimed, ‘Is that your marriage-settlement, my dear?’ ... which made me\nso nervous that I wrote my name wrong and vexed Papa into being almost\ncross with me. So one word got entwined with another, and all seemed to\nhang around me—Do you understand?\n\nBut you _do not_, how you pained me when you said _that_. Ah—I thought I\nsaw you gone ... ‘so far, so far,’ as you said ... and myself left.\n\nYet I should deserve it of course, if I were to give you up for the sake\nof _that_! ... or for any other motive, ... except your advantage ...\nyour own. I should deserve everything in such a case, but should feel\nnothing ... not even my punishment. _Could_ I? ... _being without a\nheart_?\n\nAh—after all my mistrust, did I ever mistrust you _so_? I have doubted\nyour power to love me as you believed you loved me, perhaps—but your will\nto be true to one you loved, without reference to worldly influences, I\nnever doubted, nor _could_. I think I will let you beg my pardon; you\nunjust, dearest....\n\nTo so much over-praise, there should be a little wronging, too ... and\ntherefore you are not, after all, ‘unjust’ ... only ‘dearest’!...\n\nSuch a letter, besides, you have written, ... and there are two of them\nto-day! You will not go from me, I think, ‘so far, so far.’ You will not\nleave me behind, with the harpoon in me, to make red the salt wilderness\nof waters.\n\nAltogether, then, I forgive you, Robert—and it is glorious for me to have\nsomething to forgive you for, who are the _best_ so out of measure!—I\nseize the opportunity.\n\nAnd you come to-morrow! Which is right ... right! I was afraid that you\nwould not come—And Mrs. Jameson is perfectly uncertain as you may read in\nthis new note which reached me with yours to-night.\n\nAll the Hedleys have dined here. To-morrow will be clear of them ...\n_pure_ of them, I was going to write ... but I thought of Mrs. Hedley’s\nbeaming affectionate face ... (so still lovely, she looked this evening,\nwhen she came up-stairs to kiss me!) ... and could not say such a\nwronging word. You would like her—you could not help it.\n\nI was in the carriage to-day in Oxford Street ... and a sealed letter\nwas thrown exactly at my head, my aunt and cousin and Henrietta being\nwith me—a sealed letter sealed with arms (not of Agincourt!) and directed\n‘For your perusal.’ Guess the meaning of that!—why just a tract by the\nRev. Villiers of that parish, upon the enormous wickedness of frequenting\nplays and balls! Perhaps I looked as if my soul had entered into the\nsecret of the Polka-dancers—who can say?\n\nSo, good-night, dearest dearest!—\n\nI cannot give myself again to you,\n\n being your own.\n\nOf course this was written with the poker, as you will see by the\ncalligraphy.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 15, 1846.]\n\nAnd is it true of to-day as you said it would be, ever dearest, that you\nwish to be with me? Let me have the comfort, or luxury rather, of the\nthought of it, before to-morrow takes you a step farther off.\n\nAt dinner my aunt said to Papa ... ‘I have not seen Ba all day—and when\nI went to her room, to my astonishment a gentleman was sitting there.’\n‘Who was _that_?’ said Papa’s eyes to Arabel—‘Mr. Browning called here\nto-day,’ she answered—‘And Ba bowed her head,’ continued my aunt, ‘as\nif she meant to signify to me that I was not to come in’—‘Oh,’ cried\nHenrietta, ‘_that_ must have been a mistake of yours. Perhaps she meant\njust the contrary.’ ‘You should have gone in,’ Papa said, ‘and seen the\n_poet_.’ Now if she really were to do that the next time!—Yet I did\nnot, you know, make the expelling gesture she thought she saw. Simply I\nwas startled. As to Saturday we must try whether we cannot defend the\nposition ... set the guns against the approaches to right and left ... we\nmust try.\n\nIn speaking too of your visit this morning, Stormy said to her ... ‘Oh\nMr. Browning is a _great_ friend of Ba’s! He comes here twice a week—is\nit twice a week or once, Arabel?’\n\nWhile I write, the Hedleys come—and Mrs. Hedley is beseeching me into\nseeing Mr. Bevan, whom perhaps I must see, notwithstanding Flush’s wrongs.\n\nBy the way, I made quite clear to Flush that you left the cakes, and they\nwere very graciously received indeed.\n\nDearest, since the last word was written, Mrs. Hedley came back leading\nMr. Bevan, and Papa who had just entered the room found the door shut\nupon him.... I was nervous ... oh, so nervous! and the six feet, and\nsomething more, of Mr. Bevan seemed to me as if they never would end,\nso tall the man is. Well—and he sate down by me according to my aunt’s\narrangement; and I, who began to talk a thousand miles from any such\nsubject, with a good reason for the precaution, found myself thrown\nhead-foremost into ecclesiastical architecture at the close of about\nthree minutes—how he got there all his saints know best! It’s his subject\n... par excellence. He talks to Arabella about arches and mullions—he\ncan’t talk of anything else, I suspect. And because the Trinity is\nexpressed in _such_ a form of church-building, the altar at the east,\nand the baptistery at the door, ... there’s no other lawful form of a\nchurch, none at all! Not that he has an opinion! he ‘adopts opinions,’\nbut would not think for himself for the world at the risk of ultimate\ndamnation! Which was the amount of his talk to-day ... and really it does\nnot strike me as wisdom, now that I set it down so. Yet the man expressed\nhimself well and has a sensible face—he is a clever third-class man, I\nthink—better than the mass for sense, but commonplace essentially. Only,\ninasmuch as ecclesiastical architecture is not _my_ subject, I may think\notherwise of him when I know him otherwise. I do not dislike him now.\nAnd then I am conscious how you spoil me for common men, dearest! It is\nscarcely fair on them.\n\nMy aunt (Mrs. Hedley) said when she introduced him: ‘You are to\nunderstand this to be a great honour—for she never lets anybody come here\nexcept Mr. Kenyon, ... and a few other gentlemen’ ... (laughing). Said\nPapa—‘Only _one_ other gentleman, indeed. Only Mr. Browning, the poet—the\nman of the pomegranates.’ Was _that_ likely to calm me, do you think?\nHow late it is—I must break off. To-night I shall write again. Dearest\nbeloved,\n\n I am your own always.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, July 15, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba, I am anxious to know what cannot yet be told me, how that\nunforeseen visit has worked—tell me the moment you can,—and fully,\nwhatever happens.\n\n‘Suspicious’—anything in the world rather than _that_, you are! When\nyou have mistrusted your own power over me, I believed always in the\nmistrust ... which, indeed, matters little except to yourself. For if I\nwould, certainly, have the truth seen as the truth, and our true position\nunderstood,—yet ... there is,—ought I not to be ashamed at saying?—an\nexquisite, _final_ grace and _endearingness_ in the ignorance, strange as\nI must account it. You doubly trust me,—with the treasure, and then, with\nthe knowledge that it is a treasure, or _such_ a treasure.\n\nBa, when I think of it all, my whole heart becomes one gratitude to\nyou,—I am only yours, grateful for ever. It is the only kind of thoughts\nin which you _shall_ not share (there are many in which you _cannot_) the\nthoughts to my inmost self as I go over what you say and do and try to\nclear up to myself the precise fascination in each: you shall not know\nwhat you do ... but shall continue to do and to let _me know_. I love\nyou entirely. Where can you change so that I shall not love you more\nand more as I grow more able and worthier? I cannot sit for twenty-four\nhours by you as I sit for three—as it is, I take myself to task for not\ndoing something here at home to justify in some measure my privilege and\nblessing—and the only thing that keeps conscience quiet comparatively\nis ... the old expedient that the Future engages to do for me what the\nPresent cannot. Under your eyes, I will hope to work and attain your\napproval. _I know_ that when you were only the great Poet and not my Ba,\nI would have preferred _your_ praise, as competent to praise, to that\nof the whole world—I remember distinctly, and _know_ I should have done\nso. And now, if I put aside the Poet and only (what an ‘only’) see my\ndearest, dearest lady of that hair and eyes, and hands, and voice, and\nall the completeness that was trusted to my arms yesterday—why I feel\nthat if she, never having written a line, said ‘What Miss Barrett may\nthink I do not know, but _I_ am content with what you show me’—then,\ndearest, should not _I_ be content—?\n\nI called on Moxon—and called at Carlyle’s to no purpose. He was out,\nand will leave town (said the servant) next Saturday. Mrs. Carlyle has\nalready left it. So, no Rag Fair for the present, or probably ever! This\nwas my fault,—I having let several Sundays go by—I must write to Mr.\nKenyon and try if he will come on his own account. Moxon tells me that he\nhas sold fifteen hundred of Tennyson’s Poems in a year—and is about to\nprint another edition in consequence. If that is the case, and Tennyson\ngets, say, only half a crown by the sale of each copy, expenses deducted,\nhe will have received 178_l._,—little enough, as payments are made to\n_Punch_-literature, but enough to live upon, whatever the awful fiat\ndecides! Tennyson ‘is going’ to Switzerland presently with Moxon—but is\nliable to fits of indecision. He did talk of going to Italy (of course),\nbut the other day, time being up, his brother was forced to proceed\nalone. Moxon is coming here first.\n\nNow I will kiss you, dearest, and hope that Wimpole Street stands where\nit did, unhurt by explosions of any-kind. I have got a letter from\nProcter asking me to go to-day, which I cannot do. Ever your own, very\nown R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 16, 1846.]\n\nWell! I anticipated your asking, I think, and told you _fully_ this\nmorning. It was a chronicle I sent you, rather than a letter. And\nnothing is left to tell you—for I did not go out all day ... nor\nyesterday. Which was wrong. But I had visitor on visitor to-day, ... my\nold maid coming to bring me her baby to look at, to Flush’s infinite\ndelight. Whenever she comes he devotes himself to her, stays with her\ndown-stairs, lies on the corner of her gown, and, for the most part,\nforbears going to sleep. To-morrow I mean to go out ... to-morrow,—when\nyou are beginning to think rather less of me.\n\nIsn’t it ungrateful of me? _I think so._\n\nI am glad, at least, that I do not appear to you ‘suspicious.’ Because\nI dislike suspicious people myself, and it has struck me often in the\nmidst of the dislike.... ‘_That_ is how I must appear to _him_.’ Ah—but\nyou are too indulgent to me, my own dearest ... too dearest! ... and\nyou draw crooked inferences for me, shutting _both_ the eyes ... the\nnear-sighted eye and far-sighted eye. Or is it, in that strange sight of\nyours, that I walk between the far and the near objects, in an invisible\nsecurity? Or is it (which were best) that I am too near to be seen even\nby the near-sighted eye, ... like a hand brought close to the eyelashes,\nwhich, for over-closeness, nobody can see? _Let_ me be too near to be\nseen—always too near!—dearest, dearest! Never will I complain that you do\nnot see me! Be sure of that, now.\n\nOnce I used to be more uneasy, and to think that I ought to _make_ you\nsee me. But Love is better than Sight, and Love will do without Sight.\nWhich I did not understand at first. I knew it was enough for _me_,\nthat you should love me. That it was enough for _you_, I had to learn\nafterwards.\n\nAnd ‘_Grateful_’ is my word and not yours. I am grateful to you,\nif to owe you all the sense of life, all the renewal of hope, all\nthe possibility of happiness ... if to owe these things to another,\nconsciously, feelingly, shall pass for gratitude, ... then _I_ am\ngrateful to _you_, Robert. Do you not know it, that I should say it\nagain? For me, it seems to me that I can do nothing in return. To love\nyou! Why no woman in the world could do less.\n\nI am glad, both for the public and Tennyson, that his poems sell so\nwell—and presently you will do as well or better—and I, half as well\nperhaps; so that we shall be too rich, which will spoil it all ... won’t\nit?\n\nMr. Horne sent me the _Daily News_ to-day, ... the number containing\nhis verses on Haydon ... and I cut from it an advertisement, for the\npurpose of bidding you observe that the land journey, or river-voyage,\nis very much cheaper than the sea-voyage by the steamers—unless the\ndirect vessel to Leghorn should go as last year, and I fear it will\nnot. The steamer-charges of the Oriental company are immense. Nineteen\nguineas to Gibraltar even! Twenty-eight, I think, to Naples. As for the\nadvertisement, I send it only for what it suggests. And there is time\nenough for calculations, all ways suggestible.\n\nMay God bless you, dear, _dear_! How is the head? Shall it be better,\nwithout me, until Saturday? Say how it is.\n\nAmong all my visitors, the only one I expected, never came! No Mrs.\nJameson again to-day!—\n\n Dearest, I am your very own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 16, 1846.]\n\nI should be doing your own dear face (which I see so perfectly through\nthe distance)—too great a wrong if I so much as answered the charge of\n‘not remembering.’ I see the face smile above the hand that writes! As if\none may not say that a division, a wound, smarts more on the first day,\nand aches more on the next! As if I do not prefer the fresh sharp regret\nto the settling of ... what I trust in God and you I never shall feel!\nHowever, if it will please you to know, I _do_ feel to-day as earnest a\nlonging to be with you again as if your two letters were not here,—as if\nTuesday lay only an hour behind instead of the two long days!\n\nI think your Father’s words on those two occasions, very kind,—very!\nThey confuse,—perhaps humble me ... that is not the expression, but it\nmay stay. I dare say he is infinitely kind at bottom—I think so, that\nis, on my own account,—because, come what will or may, I shall never see\notherwise than with your sight. If he could know me, I think he would\nsoon reconcile himself to all of it,—know my heart’s purposes toward\nyou. But that is impossible—and with the sincere will to please him by\nany exertion or sacrifice in my power, I shall very likely never have\nthe opportunity of picking up a glove he might drop. In old novels, the\nimplacable father is not seldom set upon by a round dozen of ruffians\nwith blacked faces from behind a hedge,—and just as the odds prove too\nmany, suddenly a stranger (to all save the reader) leaps over an adjacent\nditch, &c. ‘Sir, under Providence, I owe you my life!’ &c. &c. How\ndoes Dumas improve on this in ‘Monte Cristo’—are there ‘new effects?’\nAbsurdity! Yet I would fain ... fain! you understand.\n\nTo talk about my ‘spoiling you for other conversers’ is ... oh, leap\nover hedge and ditch, somebody, to the rescue! If I praise myself for\nanything in our intimacy it is that I never ... but I won’t go into it.\nAnd putting my own experience aside and in its place, it strikes me that\nwhat Ba ranks as a ‘third-rate man’ may pass justly for a paragon and\nmarvel among men as the world has a right to class them. I am quite sure\nif I had been present and much had uttered itself about mullions ...\n_somebody_ would have looked a very babe in knowledge, and perhaps made\nBa blush for him and her own waste of love and praise—So he retreats\nwhere he may keep it all in virtue of being what he _is_ ever is, and\nshall be, her own R.\n\nThe river-voyage is not only the cheaper but by far the more interesting\n... _all_ to consider is the fatigue to you; what else?\n\nI am very well to-day. Rachel’s ‘Phèdre’ was admirable last night; quite\n_through_ Racine up to Euripides—the declaration-scene with Hippolytus\nexquisite ... I must tell you—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 17, 1846.]\n\nDearest, if _you_ feel _that_, must I not feel it more deeply? Twice or\nthree times lately he has said to me ‘my love’ and even ‘my puss,’ his\nold words before he was angry last year, ... and I quite quailed before\nthem as if they were so many knife-strokes. Anything but his _kindness_,\nI can bear now.\n\nYet I am glad that you feel _that_ ... The difficulty, (almost the\ndespair!) has been with me, to make you understand the two ends of truth\n... both that he is _not_ stone ... and that he _is_ immovable _as_\nstone. Perhaps only a very peculiar nature could have held so long the\nposition he holds in his family. His hand would not lie so heavily,\nwithout a pulse in it. Then he is upright—faithful to his conscience. You\nwould respect him, ... and love him perhaps in the end. For me, he might\nhave been king and father over me _to_ the end, if he had thought it\nworth while to love me openly enough—yet, even _so_, he should not have\nlet you come too near. And you could not (so) have come too near—for he\nwould have had my confidence from the beginning, and no opportunity would\nhave been permitted to you of proving your affection for me, and I should\nhave thought always what I thought at first. So the night-shade and the\neglantine are twisted, twined, one in the other, ... and the little pink\nroses lean up against the pale poison of the berries—we cannot tear this\nfrom that, let us think of it ever so much!\n\nWe must be humble and beseeching _afterwards_ at least, and try to get\nforgiven—Poor Papa! I have turned it over and over in my mind, whether\nit would be less offensive, less _shocking_ to him, if an application\nwere made first. If I were strong, I think I should incline to it at all\nrisks—but as it is, ... it might ... would, probably, ... take away the\npower of action from me altogether. We should be separated, you see,\nfrom _that moment_, ... hindered from writing ... hindered from meeting\n... and I could evade nothing, as I am—not to say that I should have\nfainting fits at every lifting of his voice, through that inconvenient\nnervous temperament of mine which has so often made me ashamed of myself.\nThen ... the positive disobedience might be a greater offence than the\nunauthorised act. I shut my eyes in terror sometimes. May God direct us\nto the best.\n\nOh—do not write about this, dearest, dearest?—I throw myself out of it\ninto the pure, sweet, deep thought of you ... which is the love of you\nalways. I am yours ... your own. I never doubt of being yours. I feel too\nmuch yours. It is might and right together. You are more to me, beside,\nthan the whole world.\n\nWrite nothing of this, dearest of all!—it is of no use. To-day ... this\nmorning ... I went out in the carriage, and we drove round the Park; and\nMrs. Jameson did not come afterward. Will she put it off till Saturday?\nI have heard nothing against Saturday, by the way, worse than that\nconjecture of mine.\n\nAnd I have written you, perhaps, a teazing, painful letter ... I, who\nlove you to-day ‘as much as ever.’ It is my destiny, I sometimes think,\nto torment you. And let me say what I will, remember how nothing that I\nsay can mean _a doubt_—you never shall have reason to reproach me for the\nfalseness of cowardice—that double falseness ... both to me and to you.\nOnly I wish this were Christmas-Day, and we ... even at Salerno ... in\nthe ‘bad air’! There’s no harm in such a wish—now _is_ there?\n\n Ever and ever I am your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 17, 1846.]\n\nDid you ever see a more uncongenial, colourless day than this—that\nbrings me no letter! I do not despair yet, however—there will be a post\npresently. When I am without the sight of you, and the voice of you,\nwhich a letter seems ... I feel very accurately the justice of that\nfigure by which I am represented as ‘able to leave you alone—leaving you\nand following my pleasure elsewhere’—so you have written and spoken!\nWell, to-day, I may follow my pleasures.\n\nI will follow you, Ba,—the thoughts of you, and long for to-morrow.\n\nNo letter for me,—the time is past. If you are well, my own Ba, I will\nnot mind ... more than I can. You had not been out for two days—the wind\nis high, too. May God keep you at all times, ever dearest!\n\nThe sun shines again—now I will hope to hear at six o’clock.\n\nI can tell you nothing better, I think, than this I heard from Moxon\nthe other day ... it really ought to be remembered. Moxon was speaking\nof critics, the badness of their pay, how many pounds a column the\n_Times_ allowed, and shillings the _Athenæum_,—and of the inevitable\neffects on the performances of the poor fellows. ‘How should they be at\nthe trouble of reading any _difficult_ book so as to review it,—Landor,\nfor instance?’ and indeed a friend of my own has promised to write\na notice in the _Times_—but he complains bitterly,—he shall have to\n_read_ the book,—he can do no less,—and all for five or ten pounds’!\nAll which Moxon quite seemed to understand—‘it will really take him\nsome three or four mornings to read _enough_ of Landor to be able to do\nanything effectually.’ I asked if there had been any notices of the Book\nalready—‘Just so many,’ he said ‘as Forster had the power of _getting\ndone_’—Mr. White, a clergyman, has written a play for Macready, which\neverybody describes as the poorest stuff imaginable,—it is immediately\nreviewed in _Blackwood_ and the _Edinburgh_ ‘Because’ continues M, ‘he\nis a _Blackwood_ reviewer, and may do the like good turn to any of the\nconfraternity.’\n\nSo—here I will end,—wanting to come to the kissing dearest Ba, and\nbidding her remember to-morrow how my heart sinks to-day in the silence.\n\n Ever, dearest dearest, your very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 18, 1846.]\n\nIt is out of time to-night to write to you, since to-morrow we are to\nmeet—but the letter which did not reach you, has been recoiling on me\nall day. Perhaps you have it by this time ... an uncomfortable letter,\nbetter away from you, notwithstanding all the kindness you speak, about\nmy silence and the effect of _that_. So I write just a few words—The post\noffice was in fault as usual. May it do perfecter duty to-morrow.\n\nSaturday!—our day! At least if anything should be against it, you shall\nhear at the door by a note, when you come at three o’clock. I have\nput away my Thursday night’s melancholy ... except the repentance of\ntroubling you with it——understand that I have!\n\nMrs. Jameson was here to-day, and her niece, ... and _you_, never\nnamed,—but she is coming another day, she says, to pay me a longer visit.\nI like her ... I like her. Then, there came another visitor, ... my uncle\nHedley, who began, as usual, to talk of Italy—he advises me to go this\nyear.—‘If you don’t go this year, _you never will go_ ... and you ought\nat once to make an effort, and go.’ We talked of places and of ways,\nand after he had said many words in favour of Pisa, desired, if I went\nthrough Paris, that I would pay him a visit. ‘Ah,’ said I, ‘uncle Hedley,\nyou are very good to me always, but when that day arrives, you may be\ninclined, perhaps, to cast me off.’ ‘Cast you off, Ba,’ he cried in the\nmost puzzled astonishment—‘why what _can_ you mean? what words to use!\nCast you off! now do explain what you mean.’ ‘Ah, no one can tell,’ said\nI musingly. ‘Do you mean,’ he insisted, ‘because you will be a rebel and\na runaway?’ ... (laughing!) ‘no, no—_I_ won’t cast you off, I promise\nyou! Only I hope that you may be able to manage it quietly’ &c. &c.\n\nHe is a most amiable man, so gentle and tender; and fond of me;\n_exclusively_ of the poetry. I am certain that he never can make out how\nanyone in the world can consent to read my verses. But Ba, as Ba, is a\ndecided favourite of his, beyond all in the house—not that he is a real\nuncle ... only the husband of my aunt, and caring more for me than both\nmy real uncles, who, each of them, much prefer a glass of claret,—thank\nyou! The very comparison does me too much honour for either of them.\nClaret is a holy thing. If I had said half a glass, and mixed it with\nwater, I should have been more accurate by so much.\n\nNow, dearest, dearest, I say good-night and have done.\n\n I am wholly yours and always.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 20, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba’s face of yesterday, with the smiles and perfect\nsweetness,—oh, the comfort it is to me through this day of my especial\nheaviness! I don’t know when I have felt more stupid, and I seem to keep\nthe closelier to you, Ba. Is that one of my felicities of compliment?\nI think if you were here I should lay my head on your bosom, my own\nbeloved, and never raise it again. In your last letter, you speak of\nthose who care less for you than for a ‘glass of claret’—there is\nsomething sublime,—at all events, astounding, in the position we occupy\neach of us,—I, and those less-carers,—standing in respect to each other\nso like England and Owhyhee, at which, they told me when I was a boy, I\nshould be pretty sure to arrive if I dug a hole just through the earth,\ndropped to the centre and then, turning round, climbed straight up!\n\nI left here, yesterday, without taking the prints of Dumas and\nHugo—_there_ is a head ‘for remembering!’ and justifying your\ncommodations! Chorley says, you see, my acquisitions are rather\naccumulated than digested—or words to that effect—I am sure at this\nmoment the stupid, heavy head _knows_ not one thing,—as a clear point\nof knowledge, taken in and laid by, orderly and separately. So let me\nsay here, while I _do_ remember, that a letter from Forster puts off his\nvisit and Moxon’s till Monday—should any reason therefore, prevent your\nconfirming to me the gift of Tuesday, this other day will lie open—but\n_only_ in that case, I trust—because Tuesday objects not to Saturday,\ndoes it? while Wednesday looks grave, and Thursday frowns downright on\nthe same! _Friday_, remember, is Mr. Kenyon’s day.\n\nI wish, dearest, you would tell me precisely what you have written—all my\naffectionate pride in you rises at once when I think of your poetry, that\nis and that is to be—you dear, dear Ba, can you not write on my shoulder\nwhile my head lies as you permit?\n\nI found at home on my return yesterday my friend Pritchard, who brought\nme an old notice of Rachel by Jules Janin—of course there is no believing\na word—but he _does_ say that she was,—at the time he wrote,—perfectly\nignorant of the most ordinary rules of grammar,—that, for instance,\non meeting him she remarked (alluding to her having played previously\nat another theatre than the T. Français)—‘C’était moi que j’était\nau Gymnase!’—to which he ought to have answered, he thinks, ‘Je le\nsavions!’—I will bring her portrait, too, if you please—and this memoir,\nuntrustworthy as it is.\n\nI will go now and walk about, I think—did you go out, as you promised,\nlove? Ah, dearest,—_you_ to wonder I could look up to you for ever as you\nstand,—you who once wrote to me that, in order to verify a date about\nShelley in a book I lent you, ‘You had accomplished a journey to the\nother end of the room, even’! And _now_! I thankfully _know_ this to be\nmiraculous—nor have I to ask my spiritual director’s opinion thereon—to\nwhom, how on earth can one surrender one’s private right of judgment when\nit is only by the exercise of that very right that I select him from\nthe multitude of would-be directors of me and the whole world? What but\na deliberate act of judgment takes up Dr. Pusey of Oxford rather than\nMrs. Fox of Finsbury—and is it for _that_ pernicious first step that I\ndetermine on never risking a second?\n\nBless you, ever dearest—and do you bless your\n\n very own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 20, 1846.]\n\nDearest, the leaf of yesterday was folded down quite smoothly and softly.\nA dinner party swept the thought of you out of people’s minds. Otherwise\nI was prepared to be a little afraid,—for my aunt said to Arabel, upon\nbeing dispensed with so cavalierly from this room, ... (said in the\npassage, Arabel told me, with a half-laugh,) ‘Pray which of Ba’s lovers\nmay _this_ be?’ So Arabel had to tell the name of the visitor. But the\ndinner-party set all right, and this morning I was asked simply whether\nit had been an agreeable visit, and what you had written, and banalities\nafter such a fashion.\n\nOh, and I went out ... remembering your desire ... was it not a desire,\ndearest, dearest? I went out, any way—but the wind blew, and I had to\nhold my veil against my mouth, doubled, and trebled ... with as many\nfolds, indeed, as Ajax’s shield ... to keep myself in breathing order.\nThe wind always gives me a sort of strangling sensation, which is the\neffect, I suppose, of having weak lungs. So it was not a long walk, but I\nliked it because you seemed to be with me still,—and Arabel, who walked\nwith me, was ‘sure, without being told, that I had had a happy visit,\njust from my manner.’ The wisest of interpreters, I called her, and _pour\ncause_.\n\nIf ever I mistake you, Robert, doing you an injustice, ... you ought\nto be angry, I think, _rather_ and _more_ with me than with another—I\nshould have far less excuse it appears to me, for making such a mistake,\nthan any other person in the world. I thought so yesterday when you\nwere speaking, and now upon consideration I think so with an increasing\ncertainty. Is it your opinion that the members of our family, ... those\nwho live with us always, ... know us best? They know us on the side we\noffer to them ... a bare profile ... or the head turned round to the\near—yes!—they do not, except by the merest chance, look into our eyes.\nThey know us in a conventional way ... as far from God’s way of knowing\nus, as from the world’s—mid-way, it is—and the truest and most cordial\nand tender affection will not hinder this from being so partial a\nknowledge. Love! I love those who at the present moment, ... who love me\n(and tenderly on both sides) ... but who are so far from _understanding_\nme, that I never think of speaking myself into their ears ... of trying\nto speak myself. It is wonderful, it is among the great mysteries of\nlife, to observe how people can love one another in the dark, blindly\n... loving without knowing. And, as a matter of general observation, if\nI sought to have a man or woman revealed to me in his or her innermost\nnature, I would not go to the _family_ of the person in question—though I\nshould learn there best, of course, about personal habits, and the social\nbearing of him or her. George Sand delights me in one of her late works,\nwhere she says that the souls of blood relations seldom _touch_ except at\none or two points. Perfectly true, _that_ is, I think—perfectly.\n\nRemember how you used to say that I did not know you ... which was true\nin a measure ... yet I felt I knew you, and I did actually know you, in\nanother larger measure. And if _now_ you are not known to me altogether,\nit is my dulness which makes me unknowing.\n\nBut I know you—and I should be without excuse if ever I wronged you with\na moment’s injustice. I do not think I ever could depreciate you for a\nmoment,—_that_ would not be possible. There are other sins against you\n(_are_ they against you?) which bring their own punishment! You shall\nnever be angry with me for those.\n\nWhile I was writing, came Mr. Kenyon. As usual he said that there was no\nuse in his coming—that you had taken his place, and so on. He was in a\nhigh good humour, though, and spirits, and I did not mind much what he\nwas pleased to say. More I minded, that he means ‘to stay in London all\nthe summer’ ... which I can’t be glad of, ... though I was glad at his\nnot persisting in going to Scotland against his own wishes. But he might\nlike to go somewhere else—it would be a pleasure, _that_, in which I\nshould sympathize! The more shame for me!\n\nMr. Chorley pleases me more _than he ever pleased me before_! Only,\nas an analysis, he has done curiously with ‘Pippa.’ But it is good\nappreciation, good and righteous, and he has given me, altogether, a\ngreat, great deal of pleasure. As to the letter, I liked that too in its\ndegree—and the advice is wise for the head, if foolish for the work. How\n_can_ wise people be so foolish?\n\nI am going out to walk now with Henrietta, and shall put this letter into\nthe post with my own hand. It is seven p.m. May God bless you. Do say how\nyou are, dear, dearest!\n\n I am your very own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 20, 1846.]\n\nCertainly you _do_ know me, my own Ba, beyond all other knowledge\npossible to relatives,—_that_ I know—in fact, I found myself speaking\nunwarily on a subject where speech is obliged to stop abruptly—the fault\nwas mine for bringing up terms, remarks &c. quite inapplicable out of\nthis house,—where all, as you understand, have seen me so long that they\ndo not see differences in me,—increases or diminutions; I am twice as\nblind, most likely, to _them_, after the same fashion. Still, one is slow\nto concede an excuse to such blindness—hence the ‘hasty words’ I told you\nthey charge me with uttering.\n\nI apprehend no danger from _that_, to your feeling for me—it is your\nown speech my Ba, which I will take from you, and use—my own general\nshort-comings, you will inevitably see and be sorry for—but there will\nbe the more need of your love, which I shall go on asking for daily and\nnightly as if I never could have enough—which is the exact fact; and\nalso, I shall grow fitter through the love to be what you would have me,\nso the end may be better than the beginning, let us hope.\n\nWill you not do what you can with me who am your very own? as you are my\nown too, but for a different end—I am yours to operate on, as you are my\nonly lady to dispose of what belongs to you. Dear, dearest Ba, it _is_\nso; will ever be so!\n\nYes, that notice by Chorley is very kind and gratifying. I\nwanted—(_quite_ apart from the poor good to me or my books—but for\nChorley’s own sake, I rather wanted)—some decided streak of red, or spot,\nor spark,—some life in the increasing grey of the ashes—this is true,\n_live_ lovingness of him—I will tell him so.\n\nFor Domett’s letter,—he means, by all that nonsense, that my health is\nmore in his estimation than any works producible at its expense. All the\ncalculation about so many lines a day, so many a month &c., _he_ knows\nto be absurd ... you _can’t_ write ‘so many lines to-day,’ and add next\nday’s complement, and so ‘grow to an end’—any more than you can paint\na picture by thumb-breadths. The other paragraph about intelligibility\nlaughs at itself all the time ... is not to be taken for serious.\n\nIndeed I _did_ desire with a great desiring that you should go out, and\nnow I thank you for all the good account of the walk, and victory over\nthe wind: and how kind that sister is!—I shall never forget it.\n\nMy own head, since you _will_ be teazed with intelligence about it, was\nnot very well yesterday, but is better decidedly this morning—_I_, too,\nwill go and put this letter in the post and think of to-morrow ... for do\nnot I keep to-morrow? I shall be with you unless another order comes ...\nmay it be averted! And may you be happy always _with_ me, as I shall be\nthrough you ... nay, but half as happy, dearest Ba, my very own!\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, July 22, 1846.]\n\nHow I long, my sweetest Ba, to know whether any heavy price is to be paid\nfor our three hours yesterday,—if your Aunt knew or has discovered since?\nI shall not murmur in any case, I hope ... they are too delicious, these\nthree-hour visits—and if _I_ could pay for them by myself, Ba,—what\nwould I not pay?\n\nWill you let me write something, and forgive me? Because it is, I\nknow, quite unnecessary to be written, and, beside, may almost seem an\ninterference with your own delicacy,—teaching it its duty! However, I\nwill venture to go on, with your hand before my two eyes. Then,—you\nremember what we were speaking of yesterday,—house-rents and styles of\nliving? You will never overlook, through its very obviousness, that to\nconsult my feelings on the only point in which they are sensitive to the\nworld you must endeavour to live as simply and cheaply as possible, down\nto my own habitual simplicity and cheapness,—so that you shall come and\nlive with me, in a sense, rather than I with Miss Campbell! You see, Ba,\nif you have more money than you want, you shall save it or spend it in\npictures or parrots or what you please ... you avoid all offence to _me_\nwho never either saved money nor spent it—but the large house, I should\nbe forced to stay in,—the carriage, to enter, I suppose. And you see\ntoo, Ba, that the one point on which I desire the world to be informed\nconcerning our future life, will be that it is ordered _so_—I wish they\ncould hear we lived in one room like George Sand in ‘that happy year—’\n\nNo, there I have put down an absurdity—because, I shall have to confess\na weakness, at some time or other, which is hardly reconcilable to that\nmethod of being happy—why may I not tell you now, my adored Ba, to whom I\ntell everything as it rises to me? Now put the hand on my eyes again—now\nthat I have kissed it. I shall begin by begging a separate room from\nyours—I could never brush my hair and wash my face, I do think, before my\nown father—I could not, I am sure, take off my coat before you _now_—why\nshould I ever? The kitchen is an unknown horror to me,—I come to the\ndining-room for whatever repast there may be,—nor willingly stay too\nlong there,—and on the day on which poor Countess Peppa taught me how\nmaccaroni is made,—_then_ began a quiet revolution, (indeed a rapid one)\nagainst ‘tagliolini, ‘fettucce, ‘lasagne,’ etc., etc., etc.—typical,\ntypical!\n\nWhat foolishness ... spare me, my own Ba, and don’t answer one word,—do\nnot even laugh,—for I _know_ the exceeding unnecessary foolishness of it!\n\nChorley has just sent me a note which I will send you because it is most\ngraceful in its modesty—but you must not, if you please, return it to me\nin an envelope that ought only to hold your own writing,—and so make my\nheart beat at first, and my brows knit at last! (Toss it into ‘my room,’\nat Pisa!!)\n\nThus it is to be made happy and unwise! Never mind—make me happier still\nby telling me you are well and have been out, and where, and when, and\nhow—the footsteps of you, Ba, should be kissed if I could follow them.\n\nBless you, ever dearest, dearest, as yesterday, and always you bless me—I\nlove you with all my heart and soul—_yes_ Ba!\n\n Your own, very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 22, 1846.]\n\nI did not go out yesterday, and was very glad not to have a command laid\non me to go out, the wind blew so full of damp and dreariness. Then it\nwas pleasanter to lie on the sofa and think of you, which I did, till\nat last I actually dreamed of you, falling asleep for that purpose. As\nto Flush, he came up-stairs with a good deal of shame in the bearing of\nhis ears, and straight to me—no indeed! I would not speak to him—then he\nwent up to Arabel ... ‘naughty Flush, go away’ ... and Wilson, ... who\nhad whipped him before, ‘because it was right,’ she said ... in a fit of\npoetical justice, ... did not give him any consolation. So he lay down\non the floor at my feet looking from under his eyebrows at me. I did\nnot forgive him till nearly eight o’clock however. And I have not yet\ngiven him your cakes. Almost I am inclined to think now that he has not\n_a soul_. To behave so to you! It is nearly as bad as if I had thrown the\ncoffee-cup! Wicked Flush!—Do you imagine that I scolded Wilson when she\nconfessed to having whipped him? I did not. It was done with her hand,\nand not very hardly perhaps, though ‘he cried,’ she averred to me—and\nif people, like Flush, choose to behave like dogs savagely, they must\ntake the consequences indeed, as dogs usually do! And _you_, so good and\ngentle to him! Anyone but _you_, would have said ‘hasty words’ at least.\nI think I shall have a muzzle for him, to make him harmless while he\nlearns to know you. Would it not be a good plan?\n\nBut nobody heard yesterday of either your visit or of Flush’s misdoings\n... so Wilson was discreet, I suppose, as she usually is, by the instinct\nof her vocation. Of all the persons who are _not_ in our confidence, she\nhas the most certain knowledge of the truth. Dearest, we shall be able to\nhave Saturday. There will be no danger in it.\n\nPerhaps in the days to come we shall look back on these days as covetable\nthings. Will _you_ do so, because you were loved in them as a beginning,\nor because you were _free_? (Am _I_ not as bad as Flush, to ask such\nquestions?) _I_ shall look back on these days gratefully and gladly,\nbecause the good in them has overcome the evil, for the first time in\ndays of mine. Yet my position is worse than yours on some accounts—_now_.\nHenrietta has had a letter from Capt. Surtees Cook who says in it, she\nsays, ... ‘I hope that poor Ba will have courage to the end.’ There’s a\ngenerous sympathy! Tell me that there is none in the world!\n\nWill you let me know how you are? Such a letter you wrote to me on\nSunday! Ah!—to _be anything to you_ ... what is the colour of _ambition_\nafterwards? When I look forwards I can see no work and no rest, but what\nis for you and in you. Even Duty seems to concentrate itself into one\nDebt—Dearest!\n\nYet it will be a little otherwise perhaps!—not that ever I shall love you\notherwise or less—No.\n\nYou shall see some day at Pisa what I will not show you now. Does not\nSolomon say that ‘there is a time to read what is written.’ If he\ndoesn’t, he _ought_.\n\n Your very own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, July 23, 1846.]\n\nDearest, what you say is unnecessary for you to say—it is in everything\n_so_ of course and obvious! You must have an eccentric idea of _me_ if\nyou can suppose for a moment such things to be necessary to say. If they\nhad been _unsaid_, it would have been precisely the same, believe me, in\nthe event.\n\nAs to the way of living—now you shall arrange _that_ for yourself. You\nshall choose your own lodging, order your own dinner ... and if you\nchoose to live on locusts and wild honey, I promise not to complain\n... I shall not indeed be _inclined_ to complain ... having no manner\nof ambition about carriages and large houses, even if they were within\nour possibilities,—which they may not be, according to Mr. Surtees’s\ncalculation or experience. The more simply we live, the better for _me_!\nSo you shall arrange it for yourself, lest I should make a mistake! ...\nwhich, in _that_ question, is a just possible thing.\n\nOne extravagance I had intended to propose to you ... but it shall be\nexactly as you like, and I hesitate a little as I begin to speak of it.\nI have thought of taking Wilson with me, ... for a year, say, if we\nreturned then—if not, we might send her home alone ... and by that time,\nI should be stronger perhaps and wiser ... rather less sublimely helpless\nand impotent than I am now. My sisters have urged me a good deal in this\nmatter—but if you would rather it were otherwise, be honest and say so,\nand let me alter my thoughts at once. There is one consideration which I\nsubmit to yours, ... that I cannot leave this house with the necessary\nnumber of shoes and pocket handkerchiefs, without help from somebody. Now\nwhoever helps me, will suffer through me. If I left her behind she would\nbe turned into the street before sunset. Would it be right and just of\nme, to permit it? Consider! I must manage a sheltering ignorance for my\npoor sisters, at the last, ... and for all our sakes. And in order to\n_that_, again, I must have some one else in my confidence. Whom, again, I\nwould unwillingly single out for an absolute _victim_.\n\nWilson is attached to me, I believe—and, in all the discussions about\nItaly, she has professed herself willing to ‘go anywhere in the world\nwith me.’ Indeed I rather fancy that she was disappointed bitterly last\nyear, and that it would not be a pure devotion. She is an expensive\nservant—she has sixteen pounds a year, ... but she has her utilities\nbesides, and is very amiable and easily satisfied, and would not add\nto the expenses, or diminish from the economies, even in the matter\nof room—_I_ would manage _that_ for her. Then she would lighten your\nresponsibilities ... as the Archbishop of Canterbury and company do Mr.\nBevan’s. Well—you have only to consider your own wishes. I shall not care\nmany straws, if you decide this way or that way. Let it be as may seem to\nyou wisest.\n\nI like Mr. Chorley’s note. I began to write so late that _I_, too, must\nsend you a bare note to-night. May God bless you, ever dearest. I am\ntired ... so tired—yet I have not a long story to tell you of myself\nfor the day’s chronicle I was just out for the few minutes my walking\noccupies, and came home and had coffee at half-past four; and scarcely\nwas the cup empty, when Mrs. Jameson arrived—she stayed while you might\ncount to a hundred—and your name was not once mentioned. And now,\ngood-night. I hope the ‘testimonials’ may be ‘satisfactory,’ in this\nnote which will not wait to be a letter! Dearest, say how your head is—do.\n\n I am your Ba, always!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, July 23, 1846.]\n\nI have just returned from Town and Mr. Kenyon’s, my own Ba. I called,\naccording to compact, to point out the precise way he must go to reach\nus. He seemed to make sure I was going to Wimpole Street—‘Oh, no!’\n\nSo, losing Wimpole Street, I made haste home, and gain my letter,—my dear\nletter: yesterday night, too, the first letter arrived duly—you perfect\nin kindness!\n\nMy dearest—dearest,—you might go to Pisa without shoes,—or feet to wear\nthem, for aught I know, since you may have wings, only folded away from\nme—but without your Wilson, or some one in her capacity, you ... no,\nI will not undertake to speak of _you_; then, _I_, should be simply,\nexactly, INSANE to move a step; I would rather propose, let us live on\nbread and water, and sail in the hold of a merchant-ship; THIS CANNOT be\ndispensed with! It is most fortunate, most providential, that Wilson is\ninclined to go—I am _very_ happy; for a new servant, with even the best\ndispositions, would never be able to anticipate your wants and wishes\nduring the voyage, at the very beginning. Yet you write of this to me\n_so_, my Ba! I think I will, in policy, begin the anger at a good place.\nYes, all the anger I am capable of descends on the head—(not in kisses,\nwhatever you may fancy).\n\nAnd so poor Flush suffered after all! Dogs that are dog-like would\nbe at no such pains to tell you they would not see you with comfort\napproached by a stranger who might be—! A ‘muzzle’? oh, no,—but suppose\nyou have him removed next time, and perhaps the next, till the whole\noccurrence is out of his mind as the fly bite of last week—because, if\nhe sees me and begins his barking and valiant snapping, and gets more\nand heavier vengeance down-stairs, perhaps,—his transient suspicion of\nme will confirm itself into absolute dislike, hatred, whereas, after an\ninterval, we can renew acquaintance on a better footing. Dogs have such\nmemories! My sister told me last week she saw in a provincial newspaper\nan anecdote of one,—a miller’s dog, that was a good fellow in the main,\nbut chose to take an especial dislike to one of his master’s customers,\nwhom he invariably flew at and annoyed—so much so that the man declared\nhe must carry his custom elsewhere unless the dog was parted with:\nthis the miller was unwilling to do; so he hit on an expedient—by some\ncontrivance, the dog was suffered to fall into a deep well, and bark\nhimself hoarse there in vain—no help came—till the obnoxious individual\narrived, let himself down and brought up the prisoner. From which time\nnothing could exceed the devotion of the dog to his rescuer; whom he\nalways insisted henceforth on accompanying as far as his home, for one\ninstance of it.\n\nI wonder whether I have anywhere one of the sketches my father made of my\nbulldog’s face.\n\nWhat ‘tired’ you, dearest? You are not _less_ well, I trust? Pray tell\nme,—and remember there are three days before our Saturday. I am very much\nbetter—the walking and riding of this morning did me good, too—and what\nprofits it, if you are not better also? Love me in caring for yourself,\nwhich is _my_ truest self! And I will go on and try to love you more than\nI do—for what may happen?\n\n Ever your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 24, 1846.]\n\nNo letter for me to-night! not a word!—Perhaps the post is sinning again.\nIf so, I shall hear to-morrow morning, if not ... may it be anything\nrather than that you are more unwell than usual! anything!\n\nThere is not much to say on my part. I had a letter from Miss Mitford\nthis morning, and she encloses to me ... you will not guess what—a lyric\nof the ubiquitous Bennett—the ‘Mignonette.’ Are you not amused? That’s\nthe way to ‘agitate’ for readers and praisers. She sees something in\nBennett. He is to be ‘heard of in our literature.’ She shed tears over\nthe ‘Mignonette,’ herself—\n\nYour portrait of Victor Hugo, I like less and less—there is something\nignoble in the face—and even the forehead is rather big than large. _He_\ndoes not ‘look like a poet’ in any case—now does he?\n\nDearest, did I annoy you ... frighten you, ... about Wilson yesterday?\nDid _that_ prevent you from writing to me to-day—if really you did not\nwrite to me to-day? It yet was the merest _question_, ... I wished you\nto understand—the merest question for a yes or a no—and I shall not\nmind, _however_ you may answer, be certain. I have been thinking to-day\nthat it would be possible enough to leave a direction which might supply\neverything, and so escape inflicting the injury apprehended—yes, and as\nfor myself, I shall manage perfectly. Observe how I pinned your coat,\nmiraculously pricking you at the same moment. I shall do for myself and\nby myself, as well as possible. And therefore, judge, speak your thoughts\nout to the purpose and without drawback. I shall always feel to thank you\nfor speaking the _truth_, even where it goes against me. But _this_ will\nnot go against me, _however_ you speak it, ... understand.\n\nAnd as for what my sisters think, it is nothing to the purpose. Say\nyour ‘no,’ and they never shall hear it. I will avoid the subject from\nhenceforth, with them ... _that_ is all.\n\nAnd take care of Mr. Kenyon to-morrow. I feel afraid of Mr. Kenyon. But\ntake care of yourself most—look well that you never let me do, in the\nleast or greatest matter, what would seem better undone hereafter. Not\nin the least, not in the greatest. For me, if I am to be thought of,\nremember that you _kill_ me, if you suffer me to injure you. That is for\n_me_.\n\nSee how I exhort people who do not write to me!... Ah no! It must be the\npost’s fault. You could not be very much vexed with me, I think, for a\nmere proposal about Wilson. And the rest of my letter was all made up\nof assent and agreement. You could not be vexed about Wilson. And you\n_shall_ not be ill, because I cannot bear to think of it—which, dearest,\nis a good reason and irrefragable.\n\nThe Hedleys dine here, and others. I hear the voices and the laughing. I\nwish I could, your voice, as near. May God bless you ... bless you—\n\n Your own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 24, 1846.]\n\nSweet, sweet, sweet Ba, look to be kissed to-morrow till it hurts\nyou,—punished you ought to be for such a letter! When the ancients were\nin doubt about a man’s identity (the ancient fathers) they called him\n‘aut Erasmus (or whoever it might be) aut—diabolus!’—no gradation, no\nmean between best and worst! Or do you think Flush bit me and inoculated\nme with super-cynical snappishness? Well, I _do_ think I should not have\nconducted myself as you consider highly possible,—even if you _had_\nmade, let me say at once, the _most_ preposterous of proposals, even\nthat of going _without_ Wilson, or her substitute. I think and am sure I\nshould, like a rational being, write all the faster to try and get you\nto reconsider the matter—convinced as I should be that your perfect good\nsense would, after a few minutes examination, see that I could no more\ntake you away without such assistance than desire you to perform the\npassage of the Mont Cenis on foot. Do I not remember that you intended\nto be thus accompanied even when your sister was to be of the party? But\nthe absolute necessity of what you fancy I may object to ... it is not\n_that_, I complain about—but of the strange notion, that whenever Fate\nshall decree that you say, or do, or think anything, from which I shall\nbe forced to differ,—my proceedings will needs take this fashion and\ncolour—I shall ‘sulk’ and _say_ nothing,—or perhaps turn aside grandly\noffended and meditative of noble vengeance! Oh, Ba, dearest, dearest\nbeyond all words, come for _once_ and always _into_ the heart which is\nyour own, and see how full it is of you, and if you say, _that_ does\nnot prevent the head being weak and acting accordingly, I will begin\nexemplifying the very point I want to convince you of by at once writing\nand speaking and by every imaginable means making you know, that the\nheart _does_ teach the head better than such foolishness—ought to do it,\nand _does_ do it!\n\nDo you believe me, Ba, my own? Or, what nonsense! Did you _wonder_\nat my letter when it did come? Or _did_ it come? It was duly\nposted at Deptford—moreover the ‘Thursday’ at the top was written\n‘Wednesday’—because all day long I was in that error—having been used to\nsee you on Mondays, and to calculate my time by the number of days since\nI saw you—whence, knowing to my cost that two days had gone by since such\nan event, I thought what I wrote.\n\nNow kiss me, my very own, for an end to every thing—your doubt and my\nimpudent making the most of it,—for I do not doubt _you_, sweetest,\ntruest, best love!\n\nTo-morrow brings me to you, Ba, I trust—I will be careful to-day, never\nfear your\n\n own devoted R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 27, 1846.]\n\nWhy should you ask such a question of me yesterday, as to whether I loved\nyou as much then as ever? Love you as much? Why should I not love you\n_more_? ... to give question for question. And it does seem to me, too,\nthat _my_ question is more reasonable than yours. ‘Is it afternoon at\nsix o’clock,’ you might have asked in the same breath with yours, and\ntouched, _so_, as questionable a matter.\n\nTell me how the evening passed at Mr. Kenyon’s. I have seen nobody\nyet—not him, not Mrs. Jameson.\n\nSeen nobody? Except all the Hedleys, who have just left my room. Do you\nknow, the pomp and circumstance, the noise and fuss and publicity of\nthis marriage of theirs happen just in time to make me satisfied with\n‘quite the other principle’ as you said. The system they are carrying\nout is detestable to its own extreme. Fifty or sixty people are to\nbreakfast at Fenton’s Hotel, ... with processions to and fro! ... which\naltogether, though the bride will bear it very well, (for she has been\nused to be a Belle _ex-officio_, and this business has been arranged by\nher and for her—otherwise they would have all been in Paris) is likely,\nI think, to half kill the bride’s mother. My poor aunt wonders how she\nwill get through it. To have to part with her daughter in that crowd! So\nbarbarous a system it is, this system of public marriages, under whatever\nlight considered. Both my sisters are invited; and so was _I_! (in vain)\nand Henrietta officiates as a bridesmaid. Did I tell you that Arabella\nHedley is a glorious convert to Puseyism, as might have been expected,\nand talked here like a theologian a few days since, and ‘considered the\ndissenters in a most dangerous position,’ much to the amusement of my\nbrothers.\n\nWhat am I writing of all this time? Dearest, how did you get home\nyesterday through the ambush at Mr. Kenyon’s? Tell me everything. And\n_know_ that I love you ‘as much,’ my own beloved!—you may know it.\n\nWhen Flush came into the room and had spoken to me (in the\nFlush-language) and had examined your chair, he suddenly fell into a\nrapture and reminded me that the cakes you left, were on the table. So I\nexplained thoroughly to him that _you_ had brought them for him, and that\nhe ought to be properly ashamed therefore for his past wickedness, and\nmake up his mind to love you and not bite you for the future—and then he\nwas allowed to profit from your goodness to him. How _over_-good of you!\nIt is an encouragement to throw coffee-cups, ... such over-goodness!\n\nNobody knew of your being here yesterday—at least, not that _I_ know!\nSo Tuesday looks brightly, at a distance. At a distance! The day after\nto-morrow! Ah, it seems too near! Too near, in the sense of saying ‘_Too\ngood_ ... to be true.’\n\nI will write the paper as you bid me. Only, in the face of all that is\nto come, I solemnly tell you that neither I nor mine ... certainly not\nI ... will consent to an act of injustice, disinheriting my last hours\n(whenever they shall come) of a natural satisfaction. You are noble in\nall things—but this will not be in your power—I will not discuss it so as\nto teaze you. Your reputation is dear to me of course ... the thoughts\nwhich men shall have of you in the least matter, I would choose to keep\nclean ... free from every possible taint. But it will be obvious to all,\nthat if you pleased, you might throw out of the windows everything called\nmine, the moment after our marriage—interest and principal—why not? And\nif you abstain from this, and after your own death allow the sum which\noriginally came from my family, to relapse there ... why it is all of\npure generosity on your part—and they will understand it as I do, ... as\ngenerosity ... as more than justice. Well—let _that_ be! It is your act,\nand not mine, letting it be—and I have no objection to show you what my\nwishes are, (mere wishes), so helping you to carry out such an act in the\nbest way. I send you the paper therefore—to that end—and only that end.\nThere, you must stop—I never will consent to the extravagance you propose\nabout yourself. You shall not, _if you love me_, think of carrying it\nout. If I thought you _could be so hard on me_, ... do you know, I would\nrather throw it all up now into the hands of my sisters, and be poor\nwith you at once—I could bear _that_ so much better than the thoughts of\n_leaving_ you to be poor. Or, would you be easier, dearest—if a _part_\nwere relinquished _now_? would it make you easier ... and would you\npromise me, _so_, that what is mine should be accepted as yours to the\nend? The worst is that if I were ill, I should be a burden to you, and\nthus we might have reasons for regret. Still it shall be as pleases you\nbest. But _I_ must be pleased a little too. It is _fair_ that I should.\n\nCertainly you exaggerate to yourself the position. What would have become\nof you if you had loved a real heiress instead? That _would_ have been\na misfortune. As it is, while you are plotting how to get rid of these\npenny-pieces, everybody will be pitying you for having fixed yourself\nin such conditions of starvation. _You_, who _might_—_have married Miss\nBurdett Coutts_!\n\nSee how I teaze you!—first promising not to teaze you! But always I am\nworse than I meant to be. Wasn’t it your fault a little for bringing\nup this horrible subject?—but here is the paper, the only sort of\n‘settlement’ we shall have! Always I have said and sworn that I never, if\nI married, would have a settlement—and now I thank God to be able to keep\nmy word so. _This_ only is a settlement of the question.\n\nBeloved, how is your head? I love you out of the deepest of my heart, and\nshall not cease.\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.\n\nIs this what is called a _document_? It seems to me that I have a\nsort of legal genius—and that I should be on the Woolsack in the\nMartineau. Parliament. But it seems, too, rather _bold_ to attach such a\nspecification to your name. Laugh and pardon it all!\n\n In compliance with the request of Robert Browning, who may\n possibly become my husband, that I would express in writing my\n wishes respecting the ultimate disposal of whatever property I\n possess at this time, whether in the funds or elsewhere, ... I\n here declare my wishes to be ... that he, Robert Browning, ...\n having, of course, as it is his right to do, first held and\n used the property in question for the term of his natural life,\n ... should bequeath the same, by an equal division, to my two\n sisters, or, in the case of the previous death of either or\n both of them, to such of my surviving brothers as most shall\n need it by the judgment of my eldest surviving brother.\n\n ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT.\n\n Wimpole Street: July, 1846.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, July 27, 1846.]\n\nMr. Kenyon said nothing,—except a few words at dinner about the mistake\nof Talfourd, to Forster,—nothing whatever, though we sat together and\ntalked for some time before the arrival of the company. And all that I\nheard about Mrs. Jameson, was her return to Ealing and some wish she\nmeant to express in a letter, of seeing me there. So you will have to\ntell me and tell me, dearest, when you know anything—to-day perhaps.\n\nMy own Ba, _do not refer to what we spoke of_—the next vile thing to\nthe vilest is, being too conscious of avoiding _that_,—painfully,\nostentatiously, protesting and debating—only it seemed absolutely\nnecessary to say thus much at some time, and early:—now it is done\nwith,—you understanding what I expect at your hands.\n\nMr. Longman was of the party yesterday—speaking of Haydon, he remarked\non his omitting to mention in the list of his creditors, ‘the House’—to\nwhich he owed about 100_l._ being the loss consequent on publishing his\n‘Book’—the Lectures, I suppose—then, in a break, he said, in answer to a\nquestion from Forster, that the Book in question had gone into a second\nedition, but ‘Oh, no—the Author had received nothing for it!’ And he\nlost the money, poor fellow, besides! Is not that inexplicable to all\nsave booksellers? Also, what could be his need for another person’s\nintermediation with the Longmans since he knew them so well and so long!\n\nI hope there is nothing to prevent our meeting on Tuesday. Do you think\nI am any longer able to appreciate properly the additional gift of the\nday in the week? I only know that I do not see you _now_, my Ba—and\nI feel as if I were—the words must not be written! I need _all_ of\nyou,—utterly dearest dearest that you are! My next day, _my_ ‘Sunday’\nis the forlornest imaginable. I never wasted time (in the worldly sense\nof not working in it) as at present,—I read books and at the turning of\nevery page go back again for shame ... the words only before the eyes,\nthe thoughts of you before the mind.\n\nI found a new litter of poetry in a letter of our indefatigable\nBennett,—the happy man! By the way (a very roundabout one), someone\nmentioned yesterday as an agreeable, or at least characteristic trait in\nSydney Smith, that after dinner, or during dinner, he would occasionally\npour water down, or _up_, as we say, his coat-sleeves, for coolness’\nsake. Nobody made a remark—nor spoke of such a feat’s disqualifying its\nperformer from going into good society. Now do you remember poor Horne\nand the censorship of his manners?—were not his more rational libations\nfound abominable? See the association—Bennett—Miss Mitford—Horne? But\nI cannot write sensibly to-day, nor _in_sensibly, which would be more\namusing perhaps—I can only know I am—_here_, on Sunday!—and whatever the\npen may force itself to put down, my one thought is, that you are not\nhere. To-morrow I shall hear, and get fresh strength in the anticipation\nof Tuesday,—if the letter tells me you are well—the ‘headache for two\ndays,’—tell me, my own Ba!\n\nBless you, ever best and dearest.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 27, 1846.]\n\nThat is sufficient, ever dearest: now dismiss the matter from your\nthoughts, as I shall—having forced myself once to admit that most\ndreadful of possibilities and to provide for it, I need not have\ncompunction at dwelling on the brighter, better chances which God’s\nprevious dispensations encourage me to expect. There may be even a\n_claimant_, instead of a recipient, of whatever either of us can\nbequeath—who knows? For which reason, but most of all for the stronger\nyourself adduce—the contingency of your illness—I do not ask you to\n‘relinquish a part’—not as our arrangements now are ordered: for I have\nnever been so foolish as to think we could live without money, if not of\nmy obtaining, then of your possessing, and though, in certain respects\nI should have preferred to try the first course,—at the beginning\nat least, when my faculties seemed more my own and that ‘end of the\nsummer’ had a less absorbing interest (as I perceive now)—yet, as that\nis not to be, I have only to be thankful that you are not dependent on\nmy exertions,—which I could not be _sure_ of,—particularly with this\nuncertain head of mine. I hope when we once are together, the world will\nnot hear of us again until the very end—it would be horrible to have to\ncome back to it and ask its help.\n\nI wish Mr. Kenyon had paid his visit—our Tuesday would be safer—I shall\nbe with you _unless_ a letter forbids. I can only say this now, because I\nexpect my visitors nearly directly,—Moxon and Forster, do you remember?\nAnd the post is always late in arriving on Mondays. But I should fill\nsheets of paper to no purpose if I thought to tell you how I love\nyou—‘more than ever’—I am wholly your own, dearest dearest.\n\nPat Flush for me—after having let me kiss you, Ba!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 28, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, your ‘Hush’ came too late. I had spoken. Do not blame\nme however,—for I do not blame myself. It was not very possible that\nI should allow your fine schemes to lie unmolested by a breath.\nNevertheless we will not carry on this discussion any farther: my simple\nprotest is enough for the present,—and we shall have time, I hope, in\nthe future, for your nobleness to unteach itself from being too proud.\nAt any rate, let the subject _be_, now! I mentioned my ‘eldest surviving\nbrother’ in that way in the paper, because he is put out of the question\nby the estates being entailed ... the Jamaica estates, I mean. And now,\nto have done! Unless I could _make you easier_—!\n\nDearest, you may come to-morrow, Tuesday ... for my aunt goes out and we\nshall have a clear ground. Ah—can it be true that you wish me to be with\nyou _so_—dearest, dearest? That you miss me as you say, the day after?\nYet I am with you in my thoughts, in my affections, always. Let them\ncount for something, that it may not be entirely an absence.\n\nBennett to Bennett. When Wilson brought up my coffee on the little tray\non Saturday, there was a Bennett ready on one corner. Then I must not\nforget to tell you how Mrs. Paine (you remember Mrs. Paine?) writes of\nyou to _me_, ... speaking what she little knows the effects of ... ‘I\nhope,’ she says, ‘that you admire “Luria” greatly. I don’t know whether\nyou will call it a sweeping conclusion, but I feel inclined to call\nBrowning the greatest dramatic genius we have had for hundreds of years.’\nCan anybody be more than the ‘greatest’ to anybody? Half inclined I\nmight be to be jealous of my prerogative of knowing you—yet no. Dearest\nis greater than Greatest ... even if one Greatest were not greater than\nanother.\n\nAs to my headache, you might as well enquire about Troy—_Fait_. It was\nthe air, perhaps—the heat or the cold ... the causes are forgotten with\nthe effects. And, since I began this letter, I have been out with my\naunt and Henrietta, the former having visits to pay in all the noisiest\nstreets of the town, as appeared to me. The stone pavements seemed to\naccumulate on all sides to run to meet us, and I was stunned and giddy,\nand _am_ so tired that I shall finish my letter in a hurry, looking to\nto-morrow. We were out nearly three hours. Think of travelling three\nhours in a ‘Diligence,’ with a Clap of Thunder! It may be something like\n_that_! And as we were coming homeward ... there was Mr. Kenyon! He\nshook hands through the window and declared that he was on the point of\npaying a visit to me, holding up as witness, his lump of sugar for Flush\n... which Flush leapt from the other side of the carriage to accept,\n_ore rotundo_. Then the next word was ... ‘Did you see our friend B.’\n... (pronounced Bee) ... ‘on Saturday.?’ ‘No,’ said I ... saying no\nfor yes in the confusion ... ‘but I shall to-morrow.’ ‘He dined with\nme,’ continued Mr. Kenyon. The sound of which struck me into a fit of\nclairvoyance and I had to unsay myself with an ‘Oh yes—I _did_ see him on\nSaturday.’ Mr. Kenyon must have thought me purely stupid or foolish or\nsomething of the sort—and really I agree with him. To imagine my telling\nin that unsolicited way, too, both to my aunt and himself, that you were\ncoming here to-morrow! So provoking! Well—it can’t be helped. He won’t\ncome to-morrow in any case.\n\nAnd _you_ will! Dearest, how glad I am that you are coming!\n\n Being your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 29, 1846.]\n\nDearest, as I lost nearly an hour of you to-day, I make amends to myself\nby beginning to write to you as if I had not seen you at all. A large\nsheet of paper, too, has flown into my hands—the Fates giving ample room\nand verge enough, my characters ... not ‘of _Hell_’ ... to trace, _as_ I\nam not going to swear at Mr. Kenyon, whatever the provocation! Dear Mr.\nKenyon!\n\nIt appears that he talked to my sisters some time before he let himself\nbe announced to me—he said to them ‘I want to talk to you ... sit down\nby me and listen.’ Then he began to tell them of Mrs. Jameson, repeating\nwhat _you_ told me, of her desire to take me to Italy, ... and of her\nearnestness about it. To which, he added, he had replied by every\nrepresentation likely to defeat those thoughts—that only a relative\nwould be a fit companion for me, and that no person out of my family\ncould be justified in accepting such a responsibility, on other grounds,\nentering on the occurrences of last year, and reasoning on from them to\nthe possibility that if I offended by an act of disobedience, I might\nbe ‘cast off’ as for a crime. Oh—poor Papa was not spared at all—not to\nMrs. Jameson, not to my sisters. Mr. Kenyon said ... ‘It is painful to\nyou perhaps to hear me talk so, but it is a sore subject with me, and I\ncannot restrain the expression of my opinions.’ He ‘had told Mrs. Jameson\neverything—it was due to her to have a full knowledge, he thought ... and\nhe had tried to set before her the impossibility she was under, of doing\nany good.’ Then he asked my sisters ... if I ever spoke of Italy ... if\nthey thought I dwelt on the idea of it. ‘Yes,’ they answered ‘in _their_\nopinion, I had made up my mind to go.’ ‘But _how_? what is the practical\nside of the question? She can’t go alone—and which of you will go with\nher? You know, last year, she properly rejected the means which involved\nyou in danger.’ Henrietta advised that nothing should be said or done.\n‘Ba must do everything for herself. Her friends cannot help her. She must\nhelp herself.’ ‘But she must not go to Italy by herself. Then, _how_?’\n‘She has determination of character,’ continued Henrietta—‘She will\nsurprise everybody some day.’\n\n‘_But how?_’—Mr. Kenyon repeated ... looking uneasy. (And how imprudent\nof Henrietta to say _that_! I have been scolding her a little.)\n\nThe discussion ended by his instructing them to tell _me_ of Mrs.\nJameson’s proposal; ‘because it was only right that I should have the\nknowledge of her generous kindness, though for his part, he did not like\nto agitate me by conversing on the subject.’\n\nYes, one thing more was said. He mentioned having had some conversation\nwith my uncle Hedley, who was ‘very angry’—and he asked if my aunt Hedley\nhad no influence with the highest authority. My sisters answered in the\nnegative. And this is all. He appears to have no ‘plan’ of his particular\nown.\n\nWhat do you say, Robert, to all this? Since I am officially _informed_ of\nMrs. Jameson’s goodness, I must thank her certainly—and in what words?\n‘_How_’!——as Mr. Kenyon asks. Half I have felt inclined to write and\nthank her gratefully, and confide to her, not the secret itself, but the\nsecret of _there being a secret_ with the weight of which I am unwilling\nto oppress her at this time. Could it be done, I wonder? Perhaps not.\nYet how hard, how very difficult, it seems to me, to thank her worthily,\nand be silent wholly on my motives in rejecting her companionship! And a\n_whole confidence_ now is dangerous ... would torment her with a sense of\nresponsibility. Think which way it should be.\n\nOnce you asked me about joining travelling-company, with Mrs. Jameson.\nShould you like it? prefer it for any cause? ... if it could be done\nwithout involving her in trouble, of course.\n\nAh, dearest ... what a loss the three quarters of an hour were to me!\nlike the loss of four quarters of a moon on a dark night! When dear Mr.\nKenyon came to me, he found me with my thoughts astray—following you\nup the street! He asked how long you had been here.... ‘Some time,’ I\nsaid—by an answer made to fit anything. The rest of my answers were\nnot so apt!—were more like ‘cross-questions,’ perhaps, than answers\nof the common. But he roused me a little by telling me that he wanted\nyou to ‘make an excursion’ with Landor and himself, and that you did\nnot ‘encourage the idea’—and by proceeding to tell me further, that at\na dinner the other day at his house, your poetry being taken up and\npraised to the right measure, before that wretched Mr. Reade, he wrote\na letter by the morning’s post to Mr. Kenyon, to express a regret that\nhe (Mr. Reade) should have found it impossible to join in the plaudits\n‘of a brother-bard,’ but that Edmund Reade _could not_ recognize Robert\nBrowning as a master-mind of the period, for reasons, which were given\nat length. ‘_He_, (Robert Browning) had never rushed, with a passionate\ngenius, into the production of long poems’ ... (like ‘Italy’) ‘and long\ndramas’ ... (like ... like ... what’s the name of Mr. Reade’s last?)\nPoor, wretched man! Mr. Kenyon tore up the letter in compassion too\ntender toward humanity! Also he told me your excellent story on the\nstairs.\n\nOn the stairs! I heard the talking and the laughing, and felt ready to\ncry out the burden. Well—, Saturday will come, as surely as _you_ could\ngo. May God bless you, my own!—are you my own? and not rather, yes,\nrather, far rather, _I_ am your own, your very own\n\n BA.\n\nI doubt your being able to read what is written. Only don’t send the\n‘manuscript’ to Mr. Forster, to be interpreted ... after the fashion of\nothers!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, July 29, 1846.]\n\nThis is just the way, the only way, my ever, ever dearest, you make\ncares for me—it _is_ hard to dare to settle whether the pain of the\nlost quarters of the hour yesterday be not balanced by the gladness\nand gain of this letter; as it is hard saying whether to kiss your\nhand (mind, only the hand!) with shut eyes, be better than seeing you\nand only seeing: you cause me abundance of _such_ troubles, dearest,\nbest, divinest that you are! Oh, how _can_ you, blessing me so, speak\nas you spoke yesterday—for the _first_ time! I thought you would only\nwrite such suppositions, such desires—(for it was a desire) ... and\nthat along with you I was safe from them,—yet you are adorable amid\nit all—only I _do_ feel such speaking, Ba, lightly as it fell—no, not\n_now_ I feel it,—this letter is before my heart like the hand on my\neyes. I feel this letter, only—how good, good, good of you to write it!\nYes, I _did_ meet Mr. Kenyon on the stairs—with a half opened door that\ndiscovered sundry presences, and _then_ had I to speak of a sudden—put\nit to my credit on one side that I _did_ speak and laugh; and on the\nother side, that I did neither _too à propos_. He most kindly (SEEING\nIT ALL) began asking about Forster and Moxon—and I remember some kind\nof stammering remark of the latter which I retailed ... to the effect\nthat ‘now would be a favourable time to print a volume of poems’—this I\ndid, to _seem_ to have something on my mind calling for a consultation\nwith you! Then he made that proposal about Landor and Mr. Eagles ...\nwhether I ‘encouraged the idea,’ or no, it encouraged me, and helped\nme a good deal this morning,—for Eliot Warburton sent two days ago a\npressing letter to invite me to go to Ireland,—I should have yachting\nand other delights,—and I was glad to return for an answer, that I had\nan engagement, ‘conditional on my accepting any.’ As for my ‘excellent\nstory on the stairs’—you _alarm_ me! Upon my honour, I have not the least\nrecollection of having told one, or said another word than the above\nmentioned. So people are congratulated on displaying this or the other\nbravery in battle or fire, when their own memory is left a blank of all\nsave the confusion! Let me say here, that he amused me also with the\ncharacteristic anecdote of poor Mr. Reade, on Saturday.\n\nAnd—now! now, Ba, to the subject-matter: whatever you decide on writing\nto Mrs. Jameson will be rightly written—it seems to me _nearly_\nimmaterial; (putting out of the question the confiding the whole secret,\nwhich, from its responsibility, as you feel, must not be done) whether\nyou decline her kindness for untold reasons which two months (Ba?)\nwill make abundantly plain,—or whether you farther inform her that\nthere _is_ a special secret—of which she must bear the burthen, even\nin that mitigated form, for the same two months,—as I say, it seems\nimmaterial—but it is most material that you should see how the ground is\ncrumbling from beneath our feet, with its chances and opportunities—do\nnot talk about ‘four months,’—till December, that is—unless you mean\nwhat _must_ follow as a consequence. The next thing will be Mr. Kenyon’s\napplication to me—_he certainly knows everything_ ... how else, after\nsuch a speech from your sister? But his wisdom as well as his habits\nincline him to use the force that is in kindness, patience, gentleness:\nyour father might have entered the room suddenly yesterday and given vent\nto all the passionate indignation in the world. I dare say we should have\nbeen married to-day: but I shall have the quietest, most considerate\nof expositions made me (with one arm on my shoulder), of how I am sure\nto be about to kill you, to ruin you, your social reputation, your\npublic estimation, destroy the peace of this member of your family, the\nprospects of that other,—and the end will be?\n\nBecause I _can_ not only die for you but live without you _for you_—once\nsure it is for you: I know what you once bade me promise—but I do not\nknow what assurances on assurance, all on the ground of a presumed\nknowledge of your good above your own possible knowledge,—might not\neffect! _I do not know!_\n\n_This_ is _through you_! You _ought_ to know now that ‘it would _not_\nbe better for me to leave you’! That after this devotion of myself\nto you I cannot undo it all, and devote myself to objects so utterly\ninsignificant that yourself do not venture to specify them—‘it would be\nbetter—people will say such things’ ... I will never _force_ you to know\nthis, however—if your admirable senses do not instruct you, I shall never\nseem to, as it were, threaten you, by prophecies of what my life would\nprobably be, disengaged from you—it should certainly not be passed where\nthe ‘people’ are, nor where their ‘sayings’ influenced me any more—but I\nask you to look into my heart, and into your own belief in what is worthy\nand durable and _the better_—and then _decide_:—for instance, to speak of\nwaiting for four months will be a decision.\n\nSee, dearest—I began lightly,—I cannot end so. I know, after all, the\nwords were divine, self-forgetting words—after all, that you _are_ mine,\nby the one tenure, of your own free gift,—that all the _other_ words have\nnot been mere breath, nor the love, a playful show, an acting, an error\nyou will correct. I believe in you, or what shall I believe in? I wish I\ncould take my life, my affections, my ambitions, all my very self, and\nfold over them your little hand, and leave them there—then you would see\nwhat belief is mine! But if you had _not_ seen it, would you have uttered\none word, written one line, given one kiss to me? May God bless you, Ba—\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 30, 1846.]\n\n‘Such desires—(for it was a desire—’)\n\nWell put into a parenthesis _that_ is!—ashamed and hiding itself between\nthe brackets!\n\nBecause—my own dearest—it was _not_ a ‘desire’—it was the farthest\npossible from being a ‘desire’ ... the word I spoke to you on Tuesday ...\nyesterday!\n\nAnd if I spoke it for the first time instead of writing it——what did\n_that_ prove, but that I _was able_ to speak it, and that just it was so\nmuch less earnest and painfully felt? Why it was not a proposition even—.\nI said only ‘You had better give me up!’ It was only the reflection,\nin the still water, of what _had been_ a proposition. ‘Better’\nperhaps!—‘Better’ for you, that you should desire to give me up and do\nit—my ‘Idée fixe’ you know. But _said_ with such different feelings from\nthose which have again and again made the tears run down my cheeks while\nI wrote to you the vexatious letter ... that I smile at you seeing no\ndifference. You, blind!—Which is wrong of me again. I will not smile for\nhaving vexed you ... teazed you. Which is wrong of _you_, though ... the\nbeing vexed for so little! because ‘you _ought_ to know by this time’ ...\n(now I will use your reproachful words)—you ought certainly to know that\nI am your own, and ready to go through with the matter we are upon, and\nwilling to leave the times and the seasons in your hand! Four months!\nmeant nothing at all. Take September, if you please. All I thought of\nanswering to you, was, that there was no need yet of specifying the exact\ntime. And yet—\n\nAh—yes!—I feel as _you_ feel, the risks and the difficulties which close\naround us. And _you_ feel _that_ about Mr. Kenyon? Is it by an instinct\nthat I tremble to think of _him_, more than to think of others? The\nhazel-rod turns round in my hand when I stand _here_. And as you show\nhim speaking and reasoning ... his arm laid on your shoulder ... oh,\nwhat a vision, _that_ is! before _that_, I cannot stand any longer!—it\ntakes away my breath—the likelihood of it is so awful that it seems to\n_promise_ to realise itself, one day!\n\nBut _you promised_. I have your solemn promise, Robert! If ever you\nshould be moved by a single one of those vain reasons, it will be an\nunfaithful cruelty in you. You will have trusted _another_, against _me_.\nYou would not do it, my beloved.\n\nFor I have none in the world who will hold me to make me live in it,\nexcept only you. I have come back for you alone ... at your voice and\nbecause you have use for me! I have come back to live a little for you—.\nI see _you_. My fault is ... not that I think too much of what people\nwill say. I see you and hear you. ‘People’ did not make me live for\n_them_. I am not theirs, but yours. I deserve that you should believe in\nme, beloved, because my love for you is ‘_Me_.’\n\nNow tell me again to ‘decide’—and I will tell you that the words are not\n‘breath,’ nor the affection ‘a show.’ Dearest beyond words, did I deserve\nyou telling me to ‘decide’?\n\nLet it be September then, if _you_ do not decide otherwise—I would not\nlean to dangerous delays which are unnecessary—I wish we were at Pisa,\nrather!\n\nSo try to find out if and how (certainly) we can get from Nevers to\nChâlons ... _I_ could not to-day, with my French travelling-book, find a\nway, either by the _chemin de fer_ or _coche d’eau_.—All the rest is easy\nand direct ... and very cheap. We must not hesitate between the French\nroute and the sea voyage.\n\nNow I will tell you your good story. You said that you had only heard\nsix words from Mr. Reade—but that they were characteristic. Someone was\ntalking before him and you of the illness of Anacreon Moore—‘He is very\nill’ said the someone. ‘_But he is no poet_’ said Mr. Reade.\n\nIsn’t it a good story? Mr. Kenyon called it ‘exquisite.’ It is what your\nman of science would have called ‘A beautiful specimen’—now isn’t it?\n\nMay God bless you, dearest, dearest!—I owe all to you, and love you\nwholly—I am your very own—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, July 30, 1846.]\n\nNow you are my very own best, sweetest, dearest Ba—Do you think after\nsuch a letter as mine any amount of confidence in my own intentions,\nor of the reasonableness of being earnest on such a subject, can avail\nto save me from mortal misgivings? I should not have said those words,\ncertainly I should not—but you forgive them and me, do you not?\n\nIt was through seeing the peril about Mr. Kenyon just as you see it;\nbut do not suppose I could break my promise,—to every point urged after\nthat sad irresistible fashion, my answer would be,—would in the end\namount to,—‘provided she consents.’ And then he would return to you, put\naway altogether the arguments just used to me, take up in their stead\nthe corresponding ones founded on _my_ interests as he would profess to\nunderstand them, and the result would be that a similar answer would be\nobtained from you,—which he would call your ‘consent.’ This is not what\nI fear _now_,—oh, no!—but the fancy that I was frightened by, yesterday,\nwhile I wrote. Now, I seem to have my powers about me, and could get to\nthe truth and hold by it through every difficulty,—and if I, how much\nmore you!\n\nThen, this is expecting the _worst_ of Mr. Kenyon,—and the best is\nat least as likely. In any case, one may be sure of cautions and\nwarnings and a wise, good, shaking of the head—he is none of the ardent\nanticipators of exuberant happiness from any scheme begun and ended here\nbelow. But after that,—why, ours is the only thoroughly rational match\nthat ever came under my notice, and he is too clever not to see some\njustification in it. At all events, he will say ‘we shall see!’—whether\nhe sigh or smile in the saying—and if he waits, he _will_ see.\n\nAnd we will ‘decide’ on nothing, being sure of the _one_ decision—I\nmean, that, if the summer _be_ long, and likely to lead in as fine an\nAutumn, and if no new obstacles arise,—September shall go as it comes,\nand October too, if your convenience is attained thereby in the least\ndegree,—afterward, you will be all my own, all your days and hours and\nminutes. I forgot, by the way, to reply to your question concerning Mrs.\nJ.—_if there is good to you_, decided or even not impossible good—of\ncourse, let her be with us if she will, otherwise, oh let us be alone,\nBa! I find by the first map, that from Nevers the Loire proceeds S.E.\ntill the _Arroux_ joins it, and that just below it communicates with the\nCanal du Centre, which runs N.E. from _Paray_ to _Chagny_ and thence\nto Châlons sur Saône. It is a roundabout way, but not more so than the\npost-road by Autun—the Canal must be there for something, and in that\ncase, you travel from Orleans to Leghorn by water and with the least\nfatigue possible. I observe that steam-boats leave St. Katherine’s Wharf\nevery Thursday and Sunday morning at 8 o’clock for Havre, Rouen and\nParis—would that way be advisable? I will ascertain the facts about\nNevers and Châlons by the time we meet.\n\nDearest Ba, my very own, I love you with a love—not to die before any\nsorrow! perhaps that is the one remaining circumstance of power to\nheighten it! May God bless you for me—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, July 31, 1846.]\n\nWell, then,—it wasn’t, after all, so extravagant of me to make the\nproposition about ‘four months?’ How innocent people may be treated like\nguilty ones, through no _mistake_ even, of theirs!\n\nBut I hold to my first impression about Mr. Kenyon, whatever your second\nones may be. I know him entirely, and his views of life, and his terrors\nof responsibility ... his irresolution, his apprehensiveness. He never\nwould ‘shake his head’ good-naturedly, ... until he could do nothing\nelse. Just in proportion to the affection he bears each of us, would he\nlabour to drive us apart. And by the means you describe! And we who can\nforesee and analyze those means from this distance, would not, either of\nus, resist the actual process! There ... do not suffer yourself, ever\ndearest, to be drawn into any degree of confidence _there_! It would\nend miserably, I know ... see ... am confidently sure. Let him, on the\ncontrary, see the thing done, before he sees it at all, and _then_ he\nwill see the best of it ... the good in it ... _then_ we shall stand on\nthe sunshiny side of his philosophy and have all the benefit of _that_,\ninstead of having to endure, as we should now, the darkness of his\nirresolution and the weight of his over-caution. Observe of dear Mr.\nKenyon, that, generous and noble as he is, _he fears like a mere man of\nthe world_. Moreover he might find very rational cause for fearing, in\na distant view of this ... ‘most rational’ of marriages!—oh, but I am\nwrong in my quotation!—this only rational marriage that ever was heard\nof!—!!—it is _so_, I think.\n\nWhere did you guess that I was to-day? In Westminster Abbey! But we were\nthere at the wrong hour, as the service was near to begin ... and I was\nso frightened of the organ, that I hurried and besought my companions out\nof the door after a moment or two. Frightened of the organ!—yes, just\nexactly _that_—and you may laugh a little as they did. Through being so\ndisused to music, it affects me quite absurdly. Again the other day, in\nthe drawing room, because my cousin sang a song from the ‘Puritani,’\nof no such great melancholy, I had to go away to finish my sobbing by\nmyself. Which is all foolish and absurd, I know—but people cannot help\ntheir nerves—and I was ready to cry to-day, only to _think_ of the organ,\nwithout hearing it—I, who do not cry easily, either! and all Arabel’s\njests about how I was sure of my life even if I _should_ hear one note,\n... did not reassure me in the least. We walked within the chapel ...\nmerely within ... and looked up and looked down! How grand—how solemn!\nTime itself seemed turned to stone there! Then we stood where the poets\nwere laid—oh, it is very fine—it is better than Laureateships and\npensions. Do you remember what is written on Spenser’s monument—‘Here\nlyeth, in expectation of the second coming of Jesus Christ, ... Edmond\nSpenser, having given proof of his divine spirit in his poems’—something\nto that effect; and it struck me as being earnest and beautiful, and as\nif the writer believed in him. We should not dare, nowadays, to put such\nwords on a poet’s monument. We should say ... the author of such a book\n... at most! Michael Drayton’s inscription has crept back into the brown\nheart of the stone ... all but the name and a date, which somebody has\nrenewed with black lines ... black as ink.\n\nDearest, it will not do at all ... the going at eight o’clock in the\nmorning. I could not leave this house—it would not be possible. And then,\nwhy should we _wish_ even, for that long passage to no end; Southampton\nor Brighton being, each of them, accessible and unobjectionable. As for\nthe expense, it is nearly equal, by railway or sea.\n\nFor Mrs. Jameson, I mentioned her because you did once, and because her\nbeing so kind reminded me of it. I thought perhaps you might like her\nbeing with us (how should _I_ know?), in which case ... Well—but you do\nnot wish it, ... and indeed _I_ do not. Therefore she shall go by herself\n... dear Mrs. Jameson ... I will however write to her, which I have not\ndone yet. It is not so easy as you think, perhaps, to write at once so\nmuch and so little.\n\nWhy not tell me how you are, Robert? When you do not, I fancy that\nyou are not well! Say how you are, and love me till Saturday—and even\nafterwards.\n\n Your very own BA.\n\nAs to forgiveness—_ought_ I to have been angry when I was not? All I felt\nin that letter, was, that you loved me—and as to your pretending to think\nthat it was ‘show and acting’ on my part, I knew you did not really,\nand could not:—but at any rate I was the farthest possible from being\nangry—and the _very_ farthest possible, peradventure!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, July 31, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba, the love _was_ as you admit, beneath all the foolish\nwords—I will lay your pardon to my heart with the other blessings.\nAll this missing of instant understanding—(for it does not amount\nto _mis_understanding)—comes of letters, and our being divided. In\nmy anxiety about a point, I go too much on the other side from mere\nearnestness,—as if the written words had need to make up in force what\nthey want in sound and promptness—and assuredly if I _had_ received such\nan impression _directly_ from your suggestion (since not a ‘desire,’—you\ndear, dear Ba!) I should have begun at once to ask and argue ... whereas,\nit _was_ only to the memory of what you said, an after impression, that I\nwrote in answer. Well, I will certainly ‘love you till Saturday,—and even\nafter.’\n\nDid you indeed go to the Abbey? How right to go! Every such expedition is\nthe removal of a world of apprehension. And why not accept Mrs. Jameson’s\noffer now, stipulating for privacy, and go and see the Museum,—the\nMarbles? And the National Gallery, and whatever you would wish to see.\nAt Pisa, Ba, the Cathedral will be ours, wholly—divinely beautiful it\nis—more impressive in itself than the Florence Duomo—and then the green\ngrass round, over the pavement it hides.\n\nAnd considerably more impressive than the party at Mrs. Milner Gibson’s\nlast night—whereof I made one through a sudden goodnatured invitation\nwhich only came yesterday—so I went ‘for reasons.’ Chorley was there,\nlooking very tired as he said he was. I left very early, having\naccomplished my purpose.\n\nYou know you are right, and that I knew you to be right about Mr.\nKenyon—no _confidence_ shall I make to him, be assured—but in the case\nof a direct application, with all those kind apologies in case his\nsuspicion should be wrongly excited, what should I say?—to Mr. Kenyon,\nwith his kindness and its right, mind—not to any other inquirer—think\nof the facilities during the week among the Quantock Hills! But no\nmatter,—nothing but your own real, unmistakable consent, divides us—I\nbelieve _nothing_ till that comes. The Havre voyage was of course merely\na fact noted—all courses, ways, routes are entirely the same to me.\n\nThank you, dearest—I am very much better, well, indeed—so said my doctor\nwho came last evening to see my father, whose eye is a little inflamed—so\nshall Ba see, but not take the trouble to say, when I rejoice in her\npresence to-morrow. Dearest, I love you with my whole heart and soul—may\nGod bless you—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning and Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 3, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, you were wet surely? The rain came before you reached the\nfront door; and for a moment (before I heard it shut) I hoped you might\nreturn. Dearest, how I blame myself for letting you go—for not sending\nyou a cab in despite of _you_! I was frightened out of all wisdom by the\nidea of who was down-stairs and listening perhaps, and watching—as if\nthe cab would have made you appear more emphatically you! And then you\nsaid ‘the rain was over’—and I believed you as usual. If this isn’t a\nprecedent of the evils of too much belief...!!\n\nAltogether, yesterday may pass among the ‘unsatisfactory days,’ I\nthink—for if I was not frightened of the storm, and _indeed_ I was not,\nmuch—of the state of affairs down in the provinces, I was most sorely\nfrightened—uneasy the whole time. I seem to be with you, Robert, at this\nmoment, more than yesterday I was ... though if I look up now, I do not\nsee you sitting there!—but when you sate there yesterday, I was looking\nat Papa’s face as I saw it through the floor, and now I see only yours.\n\nDearest, he came into the room at about seven, before he went to dinner—I\nwas lying on the sofa and had on a white dressing gown, to get rid of\nthe strings ... so oppressive the air was, for all the purifications of\nlightning. He looked a little as if the thunder had passed into him, and\nsaid, ‘Has this been your costume since the morning, pray?’\n\n‘Oh no’—I answered—‘Only just now, because of the heat.’\n\n‘Well,’ he resumed, with a still graver aspect ... (so displeased he\nlooked, dearest!) ‘it appears, Ba, that _that man_ has spent the whole\nday with you.’ To which I replied as quietly as I could, that you had\nseveral times meant to go away, but that the rain would not let you,—and\nthere the colloquy ended. Brief enough—but it took my breath away ... or\nwhat was left by the previous fear. And think how it must have been a\nterrible day, when the lightning of it made the least terror.\n\nI was right too about the message—he took up the fancy that I might be\nill perhaps with fear ... ‘and only Mr. Browning in the room’!! which was\nnot to be permitted. He was _peremptory_ with Arabel, she told me.\n\nWell—we need not talk any more of it—it has made one of us uncomfortable\nlong enough. Shall you dare come on Tuesday after all? He will be out.\nIf he is not—if my aunt should not be ... if a new obstacle should occur\n... why you shall hear on Tuesday. At any rate I shall write, I think.\nHe did not see you go yesterday—he had himself preceded you by an hour\n... at five o’clock ... which if it had been known, would have relieved\nme infinitely. Yet it did not prevent ... you see ... the appalling\ncommentary at seven—No.\n\nWith all the rest I am afraid besides of Mr. Chorley and his idea about\nyour ‘mysteriousness.’ Let Mr. Kenyon hold that thread in one hand, and\nin the other the thread Henrietta gave him so carelessly, why he need\nnot ask you for information—which reminds me of the case you put to me,\nRobert—and certainly you could not help a confession, in such possible\ncircumstances. Only, even granting the circumstances, you need not\nconfess more than is wrung from you—need you? Because Mr. Kenyon would\nundo us.\n\nBefore yesterday’s triple storms, I had a presentiment which oppressed me\nduring two days ... a presentiment that it would all end _ill_, through\nsome sudden accident or misery of some kind. What is the use of telling\nyou this? I do not know. I will tell you besides, that it cannot ...\nshall not ... be, by my fault or failing. I may be broken indeed, but\nnever bent.\n\nIf things should go smoothly, however, I want to say one word, once for\nall, in relation to them. Once or twice you have talked as if a change\nwere to take place in your life through marrying—whereas I do beg you to\nkeep in mind that not a pebble in the path changes, nor is pushed aside\nbecause of me. If you should make me feel myself in the way, should I\nlike it, do you think? And how could I disturb a single habit or manner\nof yours ... as an unmarried man ... though being within call—I? The best\nof me is, that I am really very quiet and not difficult to content—having\nnot been spoilt by an excess of prosperity even in little things. It will\nbe prosperity in the greatest, if you seem to be happy—believe that,\nand leave all the rest. You will go out just as you do now ... when you\nchoose, and as a matter of course, and without need of a word—you will be\nprecisely as you are now in everything,—lord of the house-door-key, and\nof your own ways—so that when I shall go to Greece, you shall not feel\nyourself much better off than before I went. That shall be a reserved\nvengeance, Robert.\n\nWhile I write, comes Mr. Kenyon,—and through a special interposition\nof guardian-angels, he has broken his spectacles and carries them in\nhis hand. On which I caught at the opportunity and told him that they\nwere the most unbecoming things in the world, and that fervently (and\nsincerely) I hoped never to see them mended. The next word was ... ‘Did\nyou see Browning yesterday?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I thought so, I intended to come\nmyself, but I thought it probable that he would be here, and so I stayed\naway—’\n\nNow——I confess to you that that thought carries me a good way over to\nyour impression. It is at least ‘suspicious,’ that he who knew you\nwere with me on Saturday and Tuesday should expect to find you again\non the next Saturday. ‘Oh—how uncomfortable’—the miracle of the broken\nspectacles not saving one from the discomfort of the position open to the\nbare eyes!—\n\nHe talked of you a little—asked what you were doing—praised you as usual\n... for inexhaustible knowledge and general reasonableness, this time.\nDid I not think so? Yes—of course I thought so.\n\nPresently he made me look aghast by just this question—‘Is there an\nattachment between your sister Henrietta and Capt. Cook?’—(put as\nabruptly as I put it here).\n\nMy heart leapt up—as Wordsworth’s to the rainbow in the sky—but there was\na recoil in my leap. ‘Why, Mr. Kenyon?’—I said ... ‘what extraordinary\nquestions, opening into unspeakable secrets, you do ask.’\n\n‘But I did not know that it was a secret. How was I to know? I have seen\nhim here very often, and it is a natural enquiry which I might have put\nto anybody in the house touching a matter open to general observation. I\nthought the affair might be an arranged one by anybody’s consent.’\n\n‘But you ought to know,’ I answered, ‘that such things are never\npermitted in this house. So much for the consent. As for the matter\nitself you are right in your supposition—but it is a great secret,—and\nI entreat you not to put questions about it to anybody in or out of the\nhouse.’ Something to that effect I believe I said—I was frightened ...\nfrightened ... and not exactly for Henrietta. What did he mean?—Had _he_\ntoo in his mind....\n\nHe touched on Mrs. Jameson ... just _touched_ ... He had desired my\nsisters to tell me. He thought I had better write a note to thank her for\nher kindness. He had told her that if I had any thoughts of Italy they\ncould be accomplished only by a sea-voyage, which was impossible to her.\n\nI briefly expressed a sense of the kindness and said that I meant to\nwrite. On which the subject was changed in mutual haste, as seemed to me.\n\nIs not this the book of the chronicles?... And you shall hear again on\nTuesday, if the post should be faithful to me that morning. I might be\ninclined to put off our Tuesday’s meeting, but Mrs. Hedley remains in\nLondon for a few days after her daughter’s marriage, and ‘means to see\na great deal’ of me—therefore Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,’ ... where\nshould we look, from Tuesday? but I must consider and will write. May God\nbless you! Do say how you are after that rain. The storm is calm,\n\n and ever and ever I am your own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 3, 1846.]\n\nWhat can I tell you, ever dearest, while I am expecting all you are to\ntell _me_? I will not conjecture, nor be afraid (for you) before the\ntime—I felt your dear hand press mine closer while the thunder sounded—so\nit will always be, I know, in life, in death—and when a thunder shall\nbreak, of a kind that I can fear, I will hold _your_ hand, my Ba. Perhaps\nthere is nothing formidable here ... indeed there can hardly be—tell me\n_all_. I got to your Hodgson’s, waited a few minutes till a cab passed,\nand then was properly deposited at the Haymarket. The streets, at least\nthe roads out of Town, were flooded—very canals. Here, at home our\nskylight was broken,—and our chimneys behaved just as yours.\n\nAnd now—shall I see you really on Tuesday after this Saturday of perils?\nAnd how will your head be,—your health in general be, you sweetest Ba? Is\nit the worse for the storm and the apprehension,—to say nothing of what\nmay have followed? Oh, if but a ‘sign’ might be vouchsafed me—if I might\ngo to Wimpole Street presently, and merely know by the disposition of a\nblind or of a shutter, that you were better, or no worse! I ought to have\ncontrived something of the kind yesterday—but ‘presence of mind’!\n\nBa, I have been reading those poems—now to speak soberly—I had no\nconception, Mrs. Butler could have written anything so mournfully\nmediocre ... to go as near flattery as I can. With the exception of three\nor four pieces respectable from their apparent earnestness, all that\nalbum writing about ‘sprites,’ and the lily-bell, and ‘wishes’—now to be\ndead and now alive,—descriptions without colour, songs without tune,—why,\nBennett towers above it! _Either_ Bennett—for the one touch you recorded,\n‘I will not be forgot’—seems grandly succinct contrasted with\n\n Yet not in tears remembered be my name—\n Weep over those ye loved—for me, for me,\n Give me the wreath of glory and let fame\n Over my tomb spread immortality.\n\nHow many of these unfortunate Sundays are in store for me, I wonder—eight\nor nine, then the two months ... ‘when constant faith and holy hope shall\ndie,’ one lost in certainty and one in the deep deep joy of the ever\npresent ever dearest Ba! Oh, Ba, how I love you!\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 3, 1846.]\n\nOh, the comfort you are to me, Ba—the perpetual blessing and sustainment!\nAnd what a piece of you, how instinct with you, this letter is! I will\nnot try to thank you, but my whole life shall.\n\nSee! _Now_ talk of ‘three or four months’! And is not the wonder, that\nthis should wait for the eighty-second visit to happen? Or could anything\nbe more fortunate, more _mitigating_ than the circumstances under which\nit _did_ happen at last? The rain and thunder,—the two hours (see the\naccounts—nothing like it has been known, for years), at most, _proved_\nagainst us,—the ignorance of the visits last week—in spite of all which,\nsee what comes and is likely to come!\n\nLet me say at once that, at the worst, it _may_ come! You have had time\nto know enough of me, my Ba,—and I, who from the first knew you, have\ntaken one by one your promises from your lips,—I _believe_ what you write\nhere; I accept it as the foundation of all my future happiness—‘you will\nnever fail me’—I will never fail you, dearest dearest.\n\nHow you have mistaken my words, whatever they may have been, about the\n‘change’ to be expected in my life! I have, most sincerely I tell you,\nno one habit nor manner to change or persevere in,—if you once accept\nthe general constitution of me as accordant to yours in a sufficient\ndegree,—my incompleteness with your completeness, dearest,—there is no\nfurther difficulty. I want to be a Poet—to read books which make wise in\ntheir various ways, to see just so much of nature and the ways of men as\nseems necessary—and having done this already in some degree, I can easily\nand cheerfully afford to go without any or all of it for the future,\nif called upon,—and so live on, and ‘use up,’ my past acquisitions\nsuch as they are. I will go to Pisa and learn,—or stay here and learn\nin another way—putting, as I always have done, my whole pride, if that\nis the proper name, in the being able to work with the least possible\nmaterials. There is my scheme of life _without_ you, _before_ you existed\nfor me; prosecuted hitherto with every sort of weakness, but always\nkept in view and believed in. Now then, please to introduce Ba, and\nsay what is the habit she changes? But do not try to say what divinest\nconfirmation she brings to ‘whatever is good and holy and true’ in this\nscheme, because even She cannot say that! All the liberty and forbearance\n... most graceful, most characteristic of you, sweet! But why should I\nplay with you, at taking what I mean to give again?—or rather, what\nit would be a horror to have to keep—why make fantastic stipulations\nonly to have the glory of not abiding by them? If I may speak of my own\ndesires for a moment unconnected with your happiness,—of what I want _for\nmyself_ purely—what I mean by marrying you,—it is, that I may be with\nyou forever—I cannot have enough of you in any other relation: why then\nshould I pretend to make reservations and say ‘Yes, you shall deprive me\nof yourself (of your sympathy, of your knowledge, and good wishes, and\ncounsel) on such and such occasions? But I feel your entire goodness,\ndear angel of my life,—ever more I feel it, though all seems felt and\nrecorded.\n\nAnd now of your ‘chronicling’—of course Mr. Kenyon _knows_—and this is\nthe beginning of his considerate, cautious kindness—he has determined to\nhurry nothing, interfere abruptly in no case, to make you _infer_ rather\nthan pretend to instruct you—as you must,—for ‘if the visits of Captain\nCook _have_ that appearance &c., must not those of R.B. &c., &c.,’ So,\nthis is not from Chorley’s information, mind, but from his own spectacled\n_acumen_.\n\nAfter this, it seems very natural to remark that the Havre packets leave\nnow at nine instead of eight o’clock on Thursdays and Sundays—while the\ndepartures from Southampton are on Tuesdays and Fridays. My presentiment\nis that suddenly you will be removed to Devonshire or Sussex or—. In\nwhich case, our difficulties will multiply considerably—be prepared for\nsuch events!\n\nAnd for to-morrow—only think of yourself, _lest_ you should forget my\ninterests: _pray write to-night_, if but two or three words. If I am\nallowed to call, I will bring Mrs. Butler’s book in a cover, and, if I\nfind a note from you, leave _that_, as an excuse for the knock. Will you\ncontrive that a note shall be ready—in case of your Aunt’s presence &c.\nIf it saves you from a danger, let me stay away—until the letters stop,\nI can bear absence _till_ the _two months end_—any such journey as I\napprehend would be most annoying, deplorable indeed.\n\nWould you not if the worst came,—_what_ would you do?\n\nMay God bless you, infinitely bless you, ever dearest dearest, prays ever\nyour very own—\n\n R.\n\nMrs. Procter wants me to go to her on Thursday—is there anything to get\nout of _that_ arrangement?—probably not—but write!\n\nDo _re_consider, Ba,—had I better stay away to-morrow? You cannot\nmisunderstand me,—I _only_ think of you—any man’s anger to me is\nFlushie’s barking, without the respectability of motive,—but, once the\ndoor shut on me, if he took to biting you! Think for us both! Is there\nany possibility of a suspicious sudden return _because_ of the facilities\nof the day? Or of the servant being desired to mention my visits—or to\n‘deny you,’ as unwell &c.? Ah my soul revolts at the notion of a scene\nin your presence—my own tied tongue, and a system of patience I can well\n_resolve_ upon, but not be _sure_ of, as experience makes sure.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, August 4, 1846.]\n\nTwo precious letters to make amends for yesterday! and in return only\njust two or three words to say ... ‘yes, come.’ And I meant to have\nproposed to you something like what you suggest when you talk of the book\nand the note. If the ground is not clear at three, and Papa (above all)\nstill in the house, you shall have a note, instead of admittance, ... and\nyou will understand by the sign that it is wise for us not to meet. My\nhope and expectation are, however, that no obstacle will occur—that _he_\nwill be in the city, and _she_ at Fenton’s Hotel, engaged in some office\nof consolation beside her sister. I seriously exhorted her to remain\nthere the rest of the day to wipe away the tears of the bride’s mother\n... as an appendix to the breakfast:—ah, and seriously I thought she\nought to stay, as well as seriously wishing it. And thus, altogether, we\nshall probably have open ground when it is desirable. If not, the note!—\n\nFor the rest, dearest, do not exaggerate to yourself my report of what\npassed on Saturday. It was an unpleasant impression, and that is all,\n... and nothing, I believe, has been thought of it since. Once before,\nremember, your apparition made an unpleasant impression, which was\nperfectly transitory then as now. Now as then, do not suffer such things\nto vex you beyond their due import. There will be no coming back, no\ndirections to servants, nothing of the sort. Only it would not do to\ndeepen Saturday’s impression with to-morrow’s—we must be prudent a little.\n\nAnd you see me, my prophet, sent to Sussex or Devonshire, in a flash\nof lightning? That is your presentiment, do you say? Well! Sussex\nis possible, Kent is not impossible. This house, ... _vox populi\nclamat_,—wants cleaning, painting, papering—the inhabitants thereof, too,\ncry aloud for fresh air. Nevertheless, summer after summer, there have\nbeen the same reasons for going, and nobody goes. We shall see.\n\nSo, till to-morrow! Dear, dearest! you are always best—to justify the\n_dearest_, I suppose! I remember your having said before some of this ...\nwhich, never could I forget, having once heard. But think how Alfred the\nking divided his days—and how Solomon the king would tell you of ‘a time’\nfor sitting with _me_. ‘Bid me ... not ... discourse’ however—we shall\nboth know what is right presently—and I in the meanwhile perfectly do now\nthat I could not consent to your shutting yourself up for my sake—no,\nindeed!\n\nShall I fail to you? Could I? Could it be needful for me to say ‘_I will\nnot fail._’\n\n Your own, I am.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 5, 1846.]\n\nOne word or two to-night and no more, let the paper spread itself as it\nmay. Dearest, it was wise of you, perhaps, to go to-day. Wisdom was the\nfirst to wear sackcloth. My aunt, who had just had time to hear of your\nbeing in the house, found my door open, and you were noticed by a passing\njest ... too passing to meet ears in authority—and I was made to put on\nmy bonnet and go out in the carriage with _our_ department of the bridal\nparty, who had come home first, in order to change their costume into\nsomething wearable for comfort ... into gowns which had not a devil,\ntorturing the wearers with a morbid sense of flounces. So they came\nhome for _that_, and we were vexed and frightened for _that_ reason—and\nI was taken to Kensington Gardens to leave some walkers there, and\nthen to Fenton’s Hotel, to leave my aunt as comforter for the evening.\nAltogether, oh, how provoked I was! But it was wise perhaps. I will not\nsay that it was not very wise indeed. Papa knows nothing of your having\nbeen here, and Saturday is not far off. Still, to think of two hours\nbeing cut off; and of the long journey from New Cross, just for the one\nhour! Shall I hear to-morrow _fully_, to make up for it, Robert? And tell\nme if you accept Mrs. Jameson’s invitation. And _your head_?\n\nFlush thanks you! I asked him if he loved you even, and he wagged his\ntail. Generally when I ask him that question he won’t answer at all,—but\nyou have overcome him with generosity ... as you do me!\n\nI forgot to tell you—There is a letter from Mr. Horne which makes me\nvexed a little. He is coming to England, and says, that, if still I will\nnot see him, he shall bring his guitar to play and sing for my sisters,\nleaving the door open that I may hear up-stairs. What a vexation! How\nshall I escape a checkmate now? He castles his king, and the next move\nundoes me. There’s a bishop though to be played first, for he wants an\nintroduction to Whately, which I am to write for to Miss Mitford, if I\n_don’t know him myself_.\n\nMy consolation for to-day, is, that to-morrow is not Sunday. In the\nmeanwhile, nothing is talked except of the glories of Fenton’s Hotel. The\nbride behaved with the most indisputable grace, and had words and smiles\nfor everybody. The bridegroom appears to have been rather petrified\n(he was saying orisons to St. James, I dare say) and was condemned by\nthe severer critics, for being able to produce no better speech at the\nbreakfast, when his health was drunk with ever so much elaboration of\neloquence, than ‘I thank you—I propose yours.’ For my part I sympathize\nmore with him in that point of specific stupidity, than on any other\nI have yet heard of. If he had said as little about ecclesiastical\narchitecture, he would have been unobjectionable, wholly. They went away\nwith four horses, in disdain of the railroads.\n\nBut poor Mrs. Hedley was dreadfully affected—I knew she would be. This is\nthe only grown-up daughter, you see,—the others being all children, the\nyoungest three years old—and she loses a constant companion, besides the\nhourly sight of a very lovely girl, the delight of her eyes and heart.\n\nDearest, you understood why I told you to-day of Mr. Kenyon’s professed\nopinions? It was to make you know _him_. The rest, we know alike. And for\n_him_ even, when he looks back on a thing instead of looking forward to\nit (where the Bude Light of the world is in his eyes and blinds them) he\nwill see aright and as we do. Only you frightened me by your idea about\nhis application to you. May God forbid!\n\nMay God bless you, rather, in the best way! Why should I choose how? I\n_‘ought’ not_, I think, to fancy that I know the best for you, enough to\nuse such words.\n\nBut I am your own. That, we both know! _May_ I be yours, not to do you\nharm, my beloved! Good-night, now!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 5, 1846.]\n\nIf I had felt, as you pleased to feel yesterday, that it had been ‘only\none hour’ which my coming gained—I should richly deserve to find out\nto-day, as I do fully, what the precise value of such an hour is. But\nI never act so ungratefully and foolishly—you are more than ever you\nhave been to me,—yet at any time I would have gone for the moment’s\nsight of you,—one moment’s—and returned happy. You never doubt this\nbecause I do not waylay you in your walks and rides? I consider your\nsisters, and your apprehension for them, and other reasons that make\nsuch a step objectionable. Do you remember what I said yesterday—what\nI have told myself so often? It is one proof how I love you that I am\njealous of any conversation with you which should be too interesting _for\nitself_, apart from the joy of your presence—it is better to sit and see\nyou, or hear you, or only say something which, in its insignificance,\nshall be obviously of no account beside the main and proper delight—as\nat wine-feasts you get the wine and a plate of thin dry tasteless\nbiscuits—(observe, for instance, that this noble simile was not set\nbefore you yesterday—no, my Ba!)\n\nAnd you _did_ understand also why I left, on that mere chance of danger\nto you,—for it was not, do you think it was only the irksomeness to\nmyself I sought to escape—though that would have been considerable.\nThere is no unstable footing for me in the whole world except just\nin your house—which is _not_ yours. I ought not to be in that one\nplace—all I could do in any circumstances (were a meeting to happen)\nwould be _wrong_, unfortunate. The certainty of misconception would spoil\neverything—so much of gentleness as is included in _gentle_manliness\nwould pass for a very different quality—and the _manliness_ which one\nobserves there too, would look like whatever it is farthest from. This is\na real avowal of weakness—because, being in the right, as I dare trust\nI am, so far as I can see through the involvement, I ought to be able\nto take my stand upon it,—and so I shall be able, and easily—but not\n_here_, just here. With Mr. Kenyon, in spite of a few misgivings, I shall\nknow what to say—I can justify myself, if not convince him. Never fancy,\ndearest, that he has any ‘clay’ in his composition—he may show a drop of\nwater at the heart of the else entire chrystal he is—did you ever see\nthat pretty phenomenon—of which Claudian wrote so prettily? ‘Non potuit\ntoto mentiri corpore gemmam, sed medio latuit proditor orbe latex.’\nOur Druids used to make balls for divining out of such _all-but-solid_\ngems with the central weakness—I have had them in my hand. Such doubts\nand fears are infinitely more becoming in him, situated as he is than\ntheir absence would be—if he said for instance, ‘Oh yes,—I am used to\na certain style of living, which of course I do not change for _no_\nreason at all,—but who doubts that I _could_ do so, without difficulty or\nregret? I shall hardly bestow any sympathy on what I am sure must be the\neasiest life in the world!’ One would rather hear an epicure say frankly\nhe cannot conceive how people can end a dinner without Tokay, than ask\nover his Tokay (as Sheridan’s Abbot in the ‘Duenna’) of the poor starved\nwistful attendant monk, ‘Haven’t you the chrystal spring?’\n\nIn this case, he is directly looking to your possible undertakings,\nnot merely expressing his general ‘remembrance that we are dust’ and\nneed gilding—and certainly if in some respects you have, as I believe,\nless use, fewer uses for money than ordinary women,—you also have an\nabsolute _necessity_ for whatever portion you _do_ require,—such a\nnecessity as _they_ have not, neither. I shall never grieve over the lace\nhandkerchiefs you cannot get—but whatever you possess already in this\nroom of yours, or might possess on the contingency of such illness, you\nmust _keep_,—to your life’s end. I would not take you away on any other\ncondition. Now listen Ba—not think for a moment that it puts me to the\nleast, least pain imaginable to talk on this subject, while I know you\nwholly, as _there_ I am sure I do, and while you too know me, as I also\nam sure,—we may discuss this, as we do the better or worse routes to\nItaly, in the fullest confidence of our aims and desires being absolutely\nidentical,—so that it is but a prize for the ingenuity of either,—a\nprize from the common stock of our advantage,—whenever a facility is\ndiscovered or a difficulty avoided. So listen,—will you, at once, or as\nsoon as practicable, ascertain what you certainly possess—what is quite\nyours, and in your sole power, to take or to let remain—what will be just\nas available to you in Italy as in England? I want to know, being your\npossible husband. My notion of the perfection of money arrangements is\nthat of a fairy purse which every day should hold _so_ much, and there an\nend of trouble. Houses and land always seem like a vineyard to a man who\nwants a draught of wine for present thirst: so tell me how much will be\nfound in the purse—because when we are in Italy or halfway there telling\nwill be superfluous or beyond remedy,—easy remedy at least.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSince writing the above I have been down-stairs—and now return to tell\nyou, a miracle has just happened, which my father, mother and sister\nare at this moment engaged in admiring—I hear their voices in the\ngarden. We have a fig-tree which I planted four years ago—this year it\nproduces its first fruit, a small fig, ‘_seule et unique_,’ which is\nstill on the tree—not another fig, ripe or unripe, living or dead, has\never been carried into the garden—yet this morning is discovered in the\nexact centre of the garden, and parallel with the fig-tree aforesaid,\nanother indubitable seedling fig-tree,—‘how begot, how nourished?’ _Ipse\nvidi_—does that prognosticate, my own Siren, my soothsayer and wise lady?\n\nAnd now, have you been incommoded by the storm,—and thunder, which was\nloud and lasting here? I thought of you with such thoughts.\n\nAnd what came of my visit? Was it really your Aunt—did my precipitation\nimprove matters? Will Saturday have to fear?\n\nYesterday I was not in a mood to go quietly home—‘for my soul kept\nup too much light under my eyelids for the night, and thus I _went_\ndisquieted’ till at Charing Cross it struck me that going home by water\n(to Greenwich, at least) would be a calmative—so I went on board a\nsteamer. Close by me sate three elderly respectable men,—I could not help\nhearing them talk rationally about the prospects of the planters, the\n‘compensation there is to be in the article of Rum,’—how we ‘get labour,’\nwhich is the main thing, and may defy, with that, Cuba, the Brazils &c.\nOne who talked thus was a fat genial fellow, ending every sentence in a\nlaugh from pure good-nature—his companions somehow got to ‘the Church,’\nthen Puseyism, then Dissent—on all which this personage had his little\nopinion,—when one friend happened to ask ‘you think so?’—‘I do,’ said the\nother ‘and indeed I _know_ it.’ ‘How so?’—‘Because it was revealed to me\nin a vision.’ ‘A ... vision?’—‘Yes, a vision’—and so he began to describe\nit, quite in earnest, but with the selfsame precision and assurance, with\nwhich he had been a little before describing the effect of the lightning\non an iron steamboat at Woolwich as he witnessed it. In this vision he\nhad seen the devil cast out of himself—which he took for an earnest\nof God’s purposes for good to the world at large—I thought, ‘we mad\npoets,—and this very unpoetical person!’ who had also previously been\nentering on the momentous question ‘why I grow fatter than of old, seeing\nthat I eat no more—’\n\nCome, Ba, say, is not this too bad, too far from the line?—I may _talk_\nthis _by_ you,—but _write_ this _away_ from you,—oh, no! Be with me then,\ndearest, for one moment, for many moments, in spite of the miles, while I\nkiss your sweetest lips, as now—Beloved!\n\n I am ever your very own\n\nOh,—I determine not to go _yet_ to Mrs. J’s ‘for reasons’—a phrase which\nought to be ready stereotyped.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Night.\n [Post-mark, August 6, 1846.]\n\nDearest, you did not have my letter, I think—the letter I wrote on\nTuesday, yesterday. These iniquitous postpeople—who are not likely to see\nin a vision (like your fat prophet) the devil cast out of them for the\ngood of the world! Indeed it is too bad.\n\nTo answer first the question—(You are wise beyond me in all things\n... let me say _that_ in a parenthesis!) I will tell you what I know.\nStormie told me the other day that I had eight thousand pounds in the\nfunds; of which the interest comes to me quarterly, the money being in\ntwo different per cents ... (do you understand better than I do?) and\nfrom forty to forty-five pounds Papa gives me every three months, the\nincome tax being first deducted. It may be eight thousand pounds, or more\nor less, ... it is difficult to ask about it ... but what comes to me\nevery three months, I know certainly. Then there is the ship money ... a\nlittle under two hundred a year on an average ... which I have not used\nat all (but must for the future use), and the annual amount of which\ntherefore, has been added to the Fund-money until this year, when I was\ndirected to sign a paper which invested it (_i.e._ the annual return) in\nthe Eastern Railroad. That investment is to yield a large percentage, I\nheard, and Stormie tried to persuade me to ask Papa to place everything\nI had, on the same railroad. Papa had said down-stairs the other day\nthat it would be best so—and I ought to remind him to do it, repeated\nStormie, as it would very much increase ... increase by doubling almost\n... the available income; and without the slightest risk of any kind. But\nI could not take the advice under the circumstances—I could not mention\nsuch a word as money to him, giving the appearance even of trouble about\nmy affairs, now. And he would wonder how I should take a fancy suddenly\nto touch such matters with the end of my finger. Then there are the ten\nshares in Drury Lane Theatre—out of which comes nothing.\n\nYou wonder how I can spend, perhaps, the quarterly forty pounds and\nupward that come to me? I _do spend_ them. Yet let me hold you from\nbeing frightened, and teach you to consider how easy it is to spend\nmoney, and not upon oneself. Never in any one year of my life, even when\nI was well, have my expenses in dress (as I told Mr. Kenyon the other\nday) exceeded twenty pounds. My greatest personal expense lately has\nbeen _the morphine_. Still the money flows out of window and door—you\nwill understand how it flows like a stream. I have not the gift (if it\nis a gift) of making dresses ... in my situation, here. Elsewhere, all\nchanges, you know. You shall not call me extravagant—you will see. If I\nwas ‘surprised’ at what you told me of Mrs. Norton, it was only because\nI had had other ideas of her—for my own gown cost five shillings ... the\none I had on when you spoke. So she was better than I by a mere sixpence.\nAh—it came into my head afterwards that my being ‘surprised’ about Mrs.\nNorton, might argue my own extravagance. See!—\n\nBut the Goddess Dulness inspires me to write about it and about it, to\nno end. I say briefly at last, that whatever I have, is mine ... and for\nuse in Italy, as in England. Papa has managed ... has taken a power of\nattorney, to manage for me kindly ... but everything is in my name—and\nif it were not, he could not for a moment think of interfering with an\nincontestable right of property. Still, I do see a difficulty at the\nbeginning—I mean that, _as I am here_, I could not put my hand out for a\nlarge sum, such as would be necessary perhaps. I have had a great deal to\npay and do lately,—and the next quarter will not be until the middle of\nOctober. Still there would be something, but less than is necessary. We\nmight either wait on the road till the required sum were called for and\nsent—or get a hundred pounds advanced by someone for a few weeks until\neverything was settled ... which would be pleasanter, if possible. Poor\nPapa’s first act will be to abandon his management. Ah, may God grant him\nto do it rather angrily than painfully.\n\nA letter, I have written to you, like the chiming of two penny pieces—a\nmiserable letter! And there is much to tell you ... but nothing painful\n... do not fear. The Hedleys dined here, and Mrs. Hedley has been sitting\nwith me ... keeping me from writing. Good-night now it must be! When you\nwrite so of caring to be with me, my heart seems to _rock_ with pleasure.\nShouldn’t this letter have been written on ’Change, and isn’t it unworthy\nof all you are to me ... and even of all I am to _you_? But such things\nmust be, after a fashion. Have I told you right, dearest? does it make\nany sense, altogether? You are wise in little subjects as in great ones,\nand I will let you make me wiser if you can. And there _is_ no clay in\ndear Mr. Kenyon ... but just the drop in the chrystal you tell me of—only\nyou shall not divine by him, my Druid, or you will sit by yourself under\nthe oak tree to the end of the day!\n\nWholly yours and ever—in the greatest haste—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 6, 1846.]\n\nNo, dearest,—the post brought me no letter till early this morning, a few\nhours before the second arrival: so, in case of any unexpected stoppage\nin our visit-affairs, if the post _can_ have been to blame, always be\nsure it _is_; if I do not arrive at any time when I ought to arrive,\nhaving been sent for—there is the great instance and possibility, which\nyou are to remember! However at present, _post naufragia tutus sum_ with\nmy two treasures.\n\nThank you, dearest, for all that kind care of answering—will you now\nlet me lay it all quietly up in my head to mature, before I ... really\n_think_ upon it, much more, speak of it? If one can do both _once\nfor all_, what a blessing! But a little leaven of uncertainty and\napprehension, just enough to be tasted bitterly in the whole lump of our\nlife,—that cannot be too diligently guarded against while there is time.\n\nWell, love, your excursion to Kensington was a real good, well purchased\nby my early going—and I am glad the great event stood before all eyes and\nmouths. I seem to notice that you do not leave the house quite so often\nas, say, a month ago; and that you are not the better for it. Of course\nyou cannot go out in storm and rain. Will you do what is best for _my_\nBa, you who say you love me,—that is, love her?\n\nDon’t I sympathize with Horne, and see with his eyes, and want with\nhis senses! But why can he not want after the two months, I ask\nselfishly—seeing, or fancying I see, this inconvenience ... that, as\nhis _report_ will probably be the _latest_ to the world, it would be\nadvisable for you to look as well as possible,—would it not? It would\nnot do for him to tell people ‘All I can say is, that a few weeks only\n_before it happened_, she appeared to me thus and thus’—while, on\nthe other hand, if you receive him in the drawing room,—_there_ are\ndifficulties too.\n\nYou never told me how yesterday’s thunder affected you—nor how your\ngeneral health is—yet I will answer you that I am very well to-day—about\nto go to Mrs. Procter’s, alas—it is good that this letter cannot reach\nyou before night or nine o’clock—I should fail to deny myself the\nmoment’s glance at the window—if you could be prayed to stand there! But\nit is past praying for now. I told you that I have excused myself to Mrs.\nJameson on the ground of some kind of uncertainty that rules the next\nfortnight’s engagements—who shall say what a fortnight may not bring\nforth? I shall not mind Mr. Kenyon being of the party to-night, should\nit be so ordered ... for, if he asks me, I can say with dignity—‘No,—I\ndid not call to-day,—meaning to call on Saturday, perhaps’—‘Well, there\nis _some_ forbearance,’ he will think! However, he will not be present,\nI prophesy, and Chorley _will_ ... or no, perhaps, Rachel’s Jeanne D’Arc\nmay tempt him. Important to Ba, very! almost as much as to me—so at once\nto the really, truly, exclusively important thing, by comparison—Love me\never, dearest dearest, as I must ever love you,—and take my heart, as if\nit were a better offering. Also write to me and tell me that Saturday is\nsafe ... will it be safe? Your aunt may perhaps leave you soon—and one\nobservation of hers would be enough to ruin us—consider and decide!\n\nSince these words were written, my mother, who was out, entered the\nroom to confirm a horrible paragraph in the paper. You know our light\nmomentary annoyance at the storm on Saturday; it is over for _us_. The\nnext day, Mr. Chandler, the cultivator of camellias at Wandsworth,\ndied of grief at the loss from the damage to his conservatories and\nflowers—which new calamity added to the other, deprived his eldest son,\nand partner—of his senses ... ‘he was found to be raving mad on Monday’\nare the words of the _Times_. My mother’s informant called theirs ‘the\nmost amicable of families.’\n\nHow strange—and a few weeks ago I read, in the same paper, a letter from\nConstantinople—wherein the writer mentioned that he had seen (I think,\nthat morning) Pacha somebody, whose malpractices had just drawn down\non him the Sultan’s vengeance, and who had been left with barely his\nlife,—having lost his immense treasures, palaces and gardens &c., along\nwith his dignity,—the writer saw this old man selling slices of melon\non a bridge in the city; and on stopping in wonderment to praise such\nconstancy, the Turk asked him with at least equal astonishment, whether\nit was not fitter to praise Allah who had lent him such wealth for forty\nyears, than to repine that he had judged right to recall it now?\n\nCould we but practise it, as we reason on it!—May God continue me that\nblessing I have all unworthily received ... but not, I trust, insensibly\nreceived!\n\n May he keep you, dearest dearest\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, August 7, 1846.]\n\nI told you nothing yesterday; but the interruption left me no time, and\nthe house was half asleep before I had done writing what I was able to\nwrite. Otherwise I wanted to tell you that Mrs. Jameson had been here ...\nthat she came yesterday, and without having received my note. So I was\nthrown from my resources. I was obliged to thank her with my voice ... so\nmuch weaker than my hand. If you knew how frightened I was! The thunder,\nthe morning before, (which I did not hear holding _your_ hand!) shook me\nless, upon the whole. I thanked her at least ... I could do _that_. And\nthen I said it was in vain ... impossible.\n\n‘Mr. Kenyon threw cold water on the whole scheme. But _you_! Have _you_\ngiven up going to Italy?’\n\nI said ‘no, that I have not certainly.’ I said ‘I felt deeply how her\ngreat kindness demanded every sort of frankness and openness from me\ntowards her,——and yet, that at that moment I could not be frank—there\nwere reasons which prevented it. Would she promise not to renew the\nsubject to Mr. Kenyon? not to repeat to him what I said? and to wait\nuntil the whole should be explained to herself?’\n\nShe promised. She was kind beyond imagination—at least, far beyond\nexpectation. She looked at me a little curiously, but asked no more\nquestions until she rose to go away. And then——\n\n‘But you will go?’ ‘Perhaps—if something unforeseen does not happen.’\n‘And you will let me know, and when you can,—when everything is settled?’\n‘Yes.’ ‘And you think you shall go?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And with efficient\ncompanionship?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And happily and quietly?’ ... ‘Ye ...’ I could\nnot say the full ‘Yes,’ to _that_—If it had been utterable, the idea of\n‘quiet’ would have been something peculiar. She loosened her grasp of her\ncatechumen, therefore——nothing was to be done with me.\n\nI forgot, however, to tell you that in the earlier part of the discussion\nshe spoke of having half given up her plan of going herself. In her\ninfinite goodness she said, ‘she seemed to want an object, and it was in\nthe merest selfishness, she had proposed taking _me_ as an object’—‘And\nif you go even without me, would it not be possible to meet you on the\nroad? I shall go to Paris in any case. _If_ you go, _how_ do you go?’\n\n‘Perhaps across France—by the rivers.’\n\n‘Precisely. That is as it should be. Mr. Kenyon talked of a long\nsea-voyage.’\n\nNow I have recited the whole dialogue to you, I think, except where my\ngratitude grew rhetorical, as well it might. She is the kindest, most\naffectionate woman in the world! and you shall let me love her for you\nand for me.\n\nAs for me, my own dearest, you are fanciful when you say that I do not\ngo out so much, nor look so well. Now I will just tell you—Henrietta\ncried out in loud astonishment at me to-day, desiring Treppy to look at\nmy face, when we were all standing together in this room—‘Look at Ba,\nTreppy!—Did you ever see anyone looking so much better; it really is\nwonderful, the difference within these few weeks.’ That’s Henrietta’s\nopinion! She quite startled me with crying out ... as if suddenly she had\nmissed my head!—And _you_!\n\nThen I have been out in the carriage to-day, just to Charing Cross, and\nthen to Mr. Boyd’s in St. John’s Wood. I am as well at this moment as\nanyone in the world. I have not had one symptom of illness throughout\nthe summer—perfectly well, I am. At the same time, being _strong_ is\ndifferent; and sometimes for a day or two together, when I do not feel\nthe strongest, it is _right_ to be quiet and not to walk up and down\nstairs. So as I ‘love _Ba_,’ (quite enough, I assure you!) I am quiet.\nThere’s the only meaning of not going out every day! But the health\nis perfectly unaffected, I do assure you,—so keep yourself from every\nvexing thought of me, _so_ far at least. Are you getting frightened for\nme, my beloved? Do not be frightened, I would not deceive you by an\nexaggeration, for the sake even of your temporary satisfaction—you may\ntrust what I say.\n\nFor the thunder ... if you thought of me during it, as _you_ say, ... why\nit did me just so much good. Think of me, dearest, in the thunder and\nout of the thunder; the longest peal’s worth of your thought would not\ncontent me now, because you have made me too covetous.\n\nAs to Mr. Horne, you write _Sordelloisms_ of him—and you shall tell me\nyour real meaning in a new edition on Saturday. Might your meaning be\nthat I _look worse_ in this room than in the drawing-room? Have you an\nobjection to this room as a room? I rub my eyes and look for a little\nmore light—(but can’t be more impertinent!—can I?)\n\nSo, till Saturday—yes, Saturday! To-morrow there is a clearance of\naunts—one going at nine in the morning, and one at five in the afternoon:\nand uncles and cousins do not stay behind. You are glad, I think—and I,\nnot sorry.\n\nHow striking your two stories are! Wonderful it is to me, when mere\nworldly reverses affect men _so_—I cannot comprehend it—I stand musing\n_there_. But the sublime sentiment of the Melon-seller applies to the\ngriefs I _can_ understand—and we may most of us (called Christians) go to\nhim for his teaching.\n\nMay God bless you for _me_! Your BA.\n\n(I want to say one word more and so leave the subject. Stormie told me\nthis morning, in answer to an enquiry of mine, that certainly I did not\nreceive the whole interest of the fund-money, ... could not ... making\never so much allowance for the income-tax. And now, upon consideration, I\nseem to see that I cannot have done so. The ship-shares are in the ‘David\nLyon,’ a vessel in the West Indian trade, in which Papa also has shares.\nStormie said ‘There must be three hundred a year of interest from the\nfund-money—even at the low rate of interest paid there.’ Now it would be\nthe easiest thing in the world (as I saw even in to-day’s newspaper) to\nhave money advanced upon this—only there is a risk of its being known\nperhaps, which neither of us would at all like.) _Burn this._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 7, 1846.]\n\n(First of all, let me tell you that the whole story about that death\nthrough grief, madness &c., turns out to be a vile fabrication,—false\nfrom beginning to end. My mother’s informant, I now find, had derived\nthe knowledge from newspaper also—I hope the _other_ tale, of the Turk,\nis true at least.)\n\nAnd now, love, I can go on to say that no letter comes—is it the post’s\nfault? Yes—I think,—so does your goodness spoil me—you have to tell me\nabout to-morrow, beside. I shall wait hopefully till 2 or 3 o’clock.\n\nMr. Kenyon was there last evening, for all my prognostications—he had\nalready twice passed this place in the course of the day on his way to\nLewisham. He soon asked me as I expected—or something that sounded like\nit—for, in the half whisper of his tone, I can only hope he did not\nput the question thus ‘Have you seen Miss Barrett _since Saturday_,—or\nhave you called to-day?’ My mind misgives a little—at all events I only\nanswered the last part of the sentence—and now, mark you!—after dinner he\nproposed that I should go to him on Wednesday, and make one of a party he\nis organising. I tried some faint excuse or other—‘You know,’ interposed\nhe, ‘you can pay a visit to Wimpole Street and I shall know and keep\naway from troubling you’—or words to that effect. I thought it really\nbetter to simply (in every sense of the word) smile, and attempt to say\nnothing. Now, I feel sure that if I were to remark, ‘I will call on\nMrs. Jameson’—for instance—he would say, ‘So will I, then, if I can’—on\nthat day, rather than any other—unless some special business had been\nmentioned as the object of my visit. And here is another inconvenience\nhe will perhaps consider ‘As he means to call on Wednesday,—there is no\nreason I should keep away to-morrow—Saturday—’\n\nIt will be, however, a justification in his eyes at the end—‘he knew her\nso well, saw so much of her,—who could wonder?’\n\nI sate by a pleasant chatting Jewess, Goldsmid, or whatever the name\nis,—also by Thackeray—and Milnes came in the evening,—yet the dulness was\nmortal, and I am far from my ordinary self to-day. I am convinced that\ngeneral society depresses my spirits more than any other cause. I could\nkeep by myself for a month till I recovered my mind’s health. But you\nare part or all of that self now,—and would be, were you only present in\nmemory, in fancy. As it is, oh, to be with you, Ba?\n\n * * * * *\n\nThree o’clock, no letter! I will put my own philosophy in practice and\nbe consoled that you are not in any circumstances to justify and require\nanxiety—not unwell—nor have any fresh obstacles arisen _necessarily_....\nAny alleviations so long as I am allowed to keep a good substantial\nmisfortune at the end!\n\nOnce you said in your very own way ... when I sent you some roses in a\nbox, and no letter with them, ‘Now I shall write no more to-day, not\nhaving been written to!’ I cannot write more—I see! Ah, Ba, here the\nletter comes!! and I will wait from reading it to kiss my gratitude to\nyou, you utterly best and dearest! And I repeat my kisses while I write\nthe few words there is time for—what a giver you are of all good things\nall together. Let me take the best first, not minding ingratitude to the\nrest, and say _yes_, to-morrow I will see you—even if Mr. Kenyon comes,\nit will be easy saying—‘I cannot go on Wednesday.’ Did you manage so well\nwith Mrs. Jameson? As for Horne,—why, there may have been Sordelloisms,\nI daresay—I only meant, ‘if you look an invalid to him,—he will say so,\njust when your improved health is my one excuse for the journey and its\nfatigues—and if you look plainly no longer an invalid’—Oh, I don’t know\n... I thought he might talk of that too, and bring in a host! There is\nthe secret, rendered more obscurely perhaps! As for the room, the dearest\nfour walls that I ever have been enclosed by—I only thought of the\npossible phrase—‘Still confined to her room’—or the like—and as—that is\nthe fact,—I rather understood the whole tone in which you spoke of the\ncircumstance, as of slight dissatisfaction at the notion of the intended\nvisit ... _in tuam sententiam discedens_, I sordelloized!\n\nThe words about your health reassure me, beloved! I had no positive\nfears _quite_ as you suppose ... but I coupled one circumstance with\nanother, do you see, and _did_ get to apprehend what you now show me to\nbe groundless, thank God!\n\nOh, my time! Bless you, ever, ever, beloved!\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 10, 1846.]\n\nJust now I tore the few words I had begun of the letter to you, Ba—they\nall went away, strangely afar from the meaning begun in them, through\nmy mind taking up the thought that you were ‘waiting’ for what I should\nwrite—‘waiting all day’—and ready to call the poor joyful service of\nlove, ‘goodness’ in me! When such thoughts arise, I am not fit to pay\neven that imperfect service—I have only arms to receive you, kisses to\ngive you—the words seem too cold, indeed! I sincerely believe this I am\nto write now, will be the shorter because of the intervention of you,—and\nthat, like Flush, I shall behave best when not looked at too much!\n\nThen, in our life,—what I do earnestly in intention and from love of\nyou, _that_ you will always accept and make the best of! How happy you\nmake me, _now_ and _ever_—in the present happiness, in the assurance of\nthe future’s even greater happiness, I am obliged to believe! It seemed\nlike a dream as I walked home last night and thought of all over again,\nafter a few hours’ talk with my old friends, on subjects from which\nyou were excluded, and of a kind that brought my former feelings back\nagain; so as to be understood, at least, and recognised as mine. ‘All\nwhich is changed now,’ I thought going home in the moonlight. Chorley\nwas apprised of my being there and came good-naturedly—and we discussed\ndelinquencies political and literary: he says, times were never so bad\nas now—people come without a notion of offending a critic, and offer him\nmoney—‘will you do this for so much’—praise this or blame this! He was\nin a bad humour, he said; at least teazed and tired—and really looked\nboth, so that: I asked ‘had you not better throw away a day on our green\ndulness at Hatcham, strolling through it with me?’—‘Yes—this day next\nweek, if you like’—he answered at once ... so that our Saturday will be\ngone ... so that our Tuesday _must_ be secured, my own Ba, and after it\nthe Friday, at an equal interval of time—do you let it be so? Saturday\nwould seem to be his only available day, poor Chorley—he walked through\nthe park with me and over the Bridge, at one in the morning—in return\nfor my proving, (I don’t quite think _that_, however!)—proving, to\n_Arnould’s_ great satisfaction at least, that Mr. Horne _was a poet_, and\nmoreover a dramatic one,—Chorley sees no good in him beyond talent with\nan abundance of ‘crotchets,’ and ‘could not read “Orion” for his life.’ I\nproved another thing too—that Forster was not a whit behind his brethren\nof the faculty, in literary morals—that the _Examiner_, named, was quite\nas just and good as another paper, unnamed. Whereat Chorley grew warm and\nlost his guard, and at last; declaring I forced him into corners and that\nspeak he _must_; _instanced the ‘Examiner’s’ treatment of myself as not\ngenerous_ ... ‘Luria’ having been noticed as you remember a week after\nthe publication, and _yet_, or never, to be reviewed in the Unnamed:—_Ces\nMisères!_\n\nA fortnight ago when Rachel played in ‘Andromaque’ ‘for the last\ntime’—Sarianna and I agreed that if she did ever play again in it, we\nwould go and see ... and lo, contrary to all expectation she _does_\nrepeat Hermione to-morrow night, and we are to go. And you, Ba, you\ncannot go—ought I to go? One day, one not distant day, and ‘cannot’ will\napply to us both—_now_, it seems to do me good, with the crowd of its\nsuggestions, this seeing Rachel; beside, Sarianna has just this only\nopportunity of going.\n\nI am anxious to let the folly of that person spend itself unaggravated\nby any notice of mine—I mean _to you_; any notice which should make\nyou think it—(the folly)—affected _me_ as well as you; but I do trust\nyou will not carry toleration too far in this case, nor furnish an\nungenerous, selfish man with weapons for your own annoyance. ‘_Insolent_\nletters’ you ought to put up with from _no one_—and as there is no need\nof concealment of my position now, I think you will see a point when\nI may interfere. Always rely on my being _quietly_ firm, and never\nviolent nor exasperating: you alluded to some things which I cannot let\nmy fancy stop upon. Remember you are mine, now,—my own, my very own.\nI know very well what a wretched drunkenness there is in that sort of\nself-indulgence—what it permits itself to do, all on the strength of its\n‘strong feeling’ ‘earnestness’—stupid in execrable sophistry as it is!\nI have too a strong belief that the man who would _bully_ you, would\ndrop into a fit at the sight of a man’s uplifted little finger. Can this\nperson be the ‘old friend in an ill humour’ who followed me up-stairs one\nday? I _trust_ to you—that is the end of all.\n\nNow I will kiss you, my own Ba, and wait for my letter, and then,\nTuesday. Dearest, I am your own, your very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 10, 1846].\n\nEver dearest, I shall write to you a little this morning and try to\nmanage to post myself what shall be written, too early to permit the\npossibility (almost) of your being without a letter to-morrow. Dearest,\nhow you were with me yesterday, after you went away!—I thought, thought,\nthought of you,—and the books I took up one by one ... (I tried a\nromance too ‘Les Femmes’ by a writer called Desnoyers ... quite new, and\nweak and foolish enough as a story, but full of clever things about shoe\ntyes ... philosophy in small:) the books were all so many _lorgnons_\nthrough which I looked at you again and again. Did you ever hear a story\nof the late Lord Grey, that he was haunted by a head, a head without a\nbody? If he turned to the right or left there it was—if he looked up in\nthe air, there it hung ... or down to the floor, there it lay—or walked\nup or down stairs, there it bounded before him—flop ... flop ... just\non its chin. ‘Alas, poor ghost?’ And just such another, as far as the\nhaunting goes, were you to me, dearest, yesterday—only that _you_ were of\nthe celestial rather than ghastly apparitionery, and bore plainly with\nyou airs from Heaven full against my forehead. How did I ever deserve\nyou—how ever? Never indeed! And how can it seem right to submit to so\nmuch happiness undeservedly, as the knowledge of your affection gives,\nyou who are ‘great in everything,’ as Mr. Kenyon said the other day!\nShall I tell you how I reconcile myself to the good? Thus it is. First I\nthink that no woman in the world, let her be ever so much better than I,\ncould quite be said to deserve you—and that therefore there may not be\nsuch harm in your taking the one who will owe you most with the fullest\nconsciousness! If it may not be merit, it shall be gratitude—_that_ is\nhow I look at it when I would keep myself from falling back into the old\nfears. Ah! you may prevent my rising up to receive you ... though I did\nnot know that I did ... it was a pure instinct!—but you cannot prevent my\nsinking down to the feet of your spirit when I think of the love it has\ngiven me from the beginning and _not_ taken away. Dearest, dearest—I am\ncontent to owe all to you—it is not too much humiliation!\n\nWhile I was writing, came Mr. Kenyon ... the spectacles mended, and\nlooking whole catechisms from behind them. The first word was, ‘Have you\nseen Browning lately?’ I, taken by surprise, answered _en niaise_, ‘Yes,\nyesterday.’ ‘And did he tell you that he was coming on Wednesday, next\nWednesday?’ ‘He said something of it.’\n\nA simpleton would have done better—to call me one were too much\nhonour!—yet it seemed impossible to be adroit under the fire of the full\nface, spectacles included. The words came without the will. And now,\nwhat had we better do? Take Tuesday, that you may be able to say on\nWednesday, ‘I was not there to-day’...? or be frank for the hour and let\nit all pass? Think for us, Robert—I am quite frightened at what I have\ndone. It seemed to me too, afterwards, that Mr. Kenyon looked grave.\nStill he talked of Miss Mitford and Mr. Buckingham, and Landor, and of\ngoing to the Lakes himself for a few days, and laughed and jested in\ngreat good humour, the subject being turned—he asked me too if I had ever\ndiscussed your poetry with Miss Mitford, on which I said that she did\nnot much believe in you—‘Not even in “Saul”?’ said he. I don’t know what\nto think. I am in a fog off the Nore. And he proposed coming to-morrow\nwith a carriage, to drive me up the Harrow road to see the train coming\nin, and then to take me to his house, and, so, home,—all in his infinite\nkindness. He comes at half-past three—let me have your thoughts with me\nthen—and the letter, farther on. Two letters, I am to have to-morrow. If\nSunday is the worst day, Monday is the best,—of those I mean of course,\non which I do not see you. May God bless you, my own beloved. I love you\nin the deepest of my heart; which seems ever to grow deeper. I live only\nfor you; and feel that it is worth while.\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 10, 1846.]\n\nYou dearest Ba, do you write thus to put all thoughts of fear out of my\nhead, and make me confident nothing can go ill with us if you feel so for\nme? I seem to have a presentiment that this afternoon, before this letter\nreaches you, Mr. Kenyon will have spoken—and if the whole world spoke\nits loudest, your words would be all I should hear. Or are they trials,\nevery such word, of my vanity and weakness,—do you think, ‘if anything\ncan call them up, this will?’ No, I very well know your entire truth\nin this and the other assurances I make my life bright with,—through\nany darkness that can come. What you choose to assert of yourself, _I_\nfeel of myself every hour. But there must be this disproportionateness\nin a beloved object—before I knew you, women seemed not so much better\nthan myself,—therefore, no love for them! There is no love but from\nbeneath, far beneath,—that is the law of its nature—and now, no more of\nwords—will there indeed be need of no more,—as I dare hope and believe,\nwill the deeds suffice?—not in their own value, no! but in their plain,\ncertain intention,—as a clear advance beyond mere words? We shall soon\nknow—if you live, you will be mine, I must think—you have put these dear\narms too surely round my neck to be disengaged now. I cannot presume to\nsuggest thoughts to you resolutions for the future—you must impart to me\nalways,—but I do lift up my heart in an aspiration to lead the life that\nseems accorded by your side, under your eyes.—I cannot write on this,\ndear Ba,—to say, I will live and work as I ought, seems too presumptuous.\nUnderstand all, and help me with your dearest hand, my own love!\n\nAs I say, I fancy Mr. Kenyon will speak—I only hope, the caution will\nact both ways, and that he will see as much inexpediency in altogether\nopposing as in encouraging such a step. That you should pass another\nwinter and the risk of it—and perhaps many—_that_ seems the _worst_ fate.\nCan he apprehend any worse evil than that?\n\nI observe in the _Times_ to-day that the Peninsular & Oriental Steam\nCompany have advertised a ship from Southampton to Genoa, Leghorn, Civita\nVecchia and Naples on the 30th September, and that ‘thenceforth the\ncompany will despatch a first-class steamer to those ports on the 15th of\nevery month. One more facility, should circumstances require it. Are you\nsure that the France journey with the delays and fatigue is preferable to\nthis—where if the expenses are greater, yet the _uncertain_ expenses are\nimpossible? You are to think, beloved.\n\nNow, will you write to-night? I may come to-morrow? Say one word—you\nhave heard why I wanted to come, even if Mr. Kenyon’s questions had not\nbeen put—otherwise, Friday will be impossible—I can say, ‘I called on\nSaturday, and think of doing so next Friday—’ I must see you to-morrow\nindeed, love!\n\nLet me leave off here—I love you wholly, and bless you ever as now—Your\nown R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 11, 1846.]\n\nThen let it be Tuesday. It will correct, too, my stupidity to Mr. Kenyon,\nfor easily you may reply to his certain question, that you had not been\nhere on Wednesday but meant to go on Friday instead. Ah well! By the\ntime all this is over we shall be fit to take a degree in some Jesuits’\ncollege—we shall have mastered all the points of casuistry. To wash one’s\nhands of it, and then throw away the water, will be something gained at\nleast.\n\nDearest, no, indeed!—there is nothing for your goodness to do in that\nbadness I told you of, and which you describe so precisely in your\nword, ‘drunkenness’ of mind. It is precisely _that_, and no more nor\nless—a throwing off of moral restraint ... a miserable degradation.\nOne may get angry, frightened, disgusted—but, after all, compassion\ncomes in:—and who would think of fighting a delirious man with a sword?\nIt would be a cruelty, like murder. There is a fine nature too, under\nthese ruins of the will; and a sensibility which strikes inwards and\noutwards—(no one else should have any sensibility, within a thousand\nmiles.) Think of a sort of dumb Rousseau,—with the ‘Confessions’ _in_\nhim, pining evermore to get out! A miserable man, first by constitution\nand next by fortune—seeing only the shadow, for the sun,—the nettles\nin the field,—and breathing hard when he stands among garden-roses, to\nattain to smelling the onions over the wall. I have told him sometimes\nthat he had a talent for anger!—‘indignatio facit orationes’ and _that_\nis his pleasure, ‘par excellence,’—to be let talk against this abuse\nor that abuse, this class of men or that class of men, this or that\nworld’s misery or offence:—he will rise up in it and be eloquent and\nhappy. Otherwise ... mécréants we must be, he thinks, who dare to be\nhappy in this vale of tears. Life is a long moan to him. And is not such\na man enough punished? For me, I have not had the heart to take quite\nthe position I ought to have done, looking only to his most outrageous\nbearing towards myself—although he talks of my scorn and sarcasms, as\nif I had shown myself quite equal to self-defence. An old, old friend,\ntoo!—known as a friend these twelve or thirteen years! And then, men\nare nearly all the same in the point of _wanting generosity to women_.\nIt is a sin of sex, be sure—and we have our counter-sins and should be\nmerciful. So I have been furiously angry, and then relented—by turns;\nas I could. Oh yes—it was he who followed you up-stairs. There was an\nexplosion that day among the many—and I had to tell him as a consequence,\nthat if he chose to make himself the fable and jest of the whole house,\nhe was the master, but that I should insist upon his not involving\nmy name in the discussion of his violences. Wilson said he was white\nwith passion as he followed you, and that she in fear trembled so she\ncould scarcely open the door. He was a little ashamed afterwards, and\napologized in a manner for what sufficiently required an apology. Before\na servant too!—But that is long ago—and at that time he knew nothing for\na certainty. Is it possible to be continuously angry with any one who\nproves himself so _much the weaker_? The slave of himself ... of his own\npassions—is too unhappy for the rod of another—man or woman.\n\nMr. Chorley—Mr. Chorley!—how could he utter such words! Men seem imbecile\nsometimes—understandings have they, and understand not.\n\n Monday Night.\n\nDearest, I have your last letter. Thank you out of my heart—though you\nare not a prophet, dear dearest—not about Mr. Kenyon at least. See how\nfar you are from the truth-well, with that divining hazel which you wave\nto and fro before my eyes. Mr. Kenyon, instead of too much remembering\nus, has forgotten me to-day. I waited an hour with my bonnet on, and he\ndid not come. And then came a note! He had had business—he had forgotten\nme—he would come to-morrow. Which I, thinking of you, wrote back a word\nagainst, and begged him to come rather on Thursday or Saturday, or\nMonday. Is _that_ right, dearest? Your coming to-morrow will be very\nright.\n\nBut when you say that there can be no love except ‘_from beneath_’ ...\nis it right? is it comforting to hear of? No, no—indeed! How unhappy\nI should be if I accepted your theory! So I accept rather your love,\nbeloved....\n\n Trusting to be yours.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 12, 1846.]\n\nI have been putting all the letters into rings—twenty together—and they\nlook now as they should—‘infinite treasure in a little room’—note, that\nthey were so united and so ranged from the beginning, at least since\nI began to count by twenties—but the white tape I used (no red tape,\nthank you!) was vile in its operation,—the untying and retying (so as to\npreserve a proper _cross_ [Illustration]) hard for clumsy fingers like\nmine:—these rings are perfect. How strange it will be to have no more\nletters! Of all the foolishnesses that ever were uttered that speech of\nmine,—about your letters strewing the house,—was the most thoroughly\nperfect! yet you have nothing to forgive in me, you say!\n\nJust now I took up a periodical and read a few lines of a paper on the\ncharm that there is in a contrariety of tempers and tastes, for friends\nand lovers—and there followed platitudes in a string—the clever like\nthe stupid, the grave choose the lively, and so forth. Now, unless,\nthe state of the liker and chooser is really considered by him as a\nmisfortune,—what he would get rid of if he could in himself, so shall\nhardly desire to find in another—except in this not very probable case,\nis there not implied by every such choice, an absolute despair of any\nhigher one? The grave man says (or would if he knew himself)—‘except\non my particular grounds such a serious humour would be impossible and\nabsurd ... and where can I find another to appreciate them? Better\naccept the lower state of ignorance that they exist even, and consequent\ngaiety,—than a preposterous melancholy arising from no adequate cause.’\nAnd what man of genius would not associate with people of no talent at\nall, rather than the possessors of _mere_ talent, who keep sufficiently\nnear him, as they walk together, to give him annoyance at every step?\nBetter go with Flush on his four legs, avowedly doglike, than with a\nmonkey who will shuffle along on two for I don’t know how many yards. Now\nfor instance, is the writer of that wise notice of Landor in last week’s\n_Athenæum_, one whit nearer your sympathy _in that precise matter_,\nthan somebody who never heard of Landor or supposed him to have usually\nwritten under the signature of L.E.L.? With the exception of a word or\ntwo about the silly abuse of Plato, and on the occasional unfairness of\nstatement, is there one word right and seasonable?\n\nHere am I letting the words scratch themselves one after another while\nmy thought as usual goes quite another way. Perhaps my wits are resting\nbecause of the great alacrity they are to display at Mr. Kenyon’s this\nevening ... I shall take care not to be first comer, nor last goer.\nDearest, you are wrong in your fancy about my little caring whether he\nknows or does not. I see altogether with your eyes ... indeed, now that\nyou engage to remove any suspicion of unkindness or mistrust which might\nattach to me in his thoughts (all I ever apprehended for _myself_), there\nis no need to consider him—at all. He can do no good nor harm. Did you\never receive such a letter? The dull morning shall excuse it—anything\nbut the dull heart—for you fill it, however the _heat_ may keep within,\nsometimes.\n\nBless you, Ba, my dearest, perfect love—now I will begin thinking of you\nagain—let me kiss you, my own!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 12, 1846.]\n\nShall you pass through this street to Mr. Kenyon’s, this evening? I\nhave been sitting here these five minutes, wondering. But no answer is\npossible now, and if I go to the window of the other room and look up\nand look down about half-past five or a little later, it will be in vain\nperhaps. Just now I have heard from Mr. Kenyon, who cannot come to-day to\ndrive with me though he may come to talk. He does not leave London, he\nsays, so soon as he thought!—more’s the pity. Ah! What unkind things one\nlearns to write and meditate in this world, even of the dear Mr. Kenyons\nin it!—I am ashamed. Instruct your guardian angel to cover me with the\nshadow of his wings,—dearest.\n\nNow I will tell you a curious thing which _Treppy_ said to Arabel\nyesterday while you and I were together. Arabel was walking with her,\nand she was in one of her ill humours, poor Treppy, sighing and moaning\nover the wickedness of the people in Wimpole Street—she ‘should go and\nlive at Ramsgate,’ she thought, as nobody paid her the right attention!\n_That’s_ the intermittent groan, when she is out of humour, poor Treppy.\n‘And besides’ said she, ‘it is much better that I should not go to\nWimpole Street at this time when there are so many secrets. Secrets\nindeed! You think that nobody can see and hear except yourselves, I\nsuppose; and there are two circumstances going on in the house, plain\nfor any eyes to see! and those are considered _secrets_, I suppose.’\n‘Oh, Treppy’—interpolated Arabel ... ‘you are always fancying secrets\nwhere there are none.’ ‘Well, I don’t fancy anything now! I _know_—just\nas _you_ do.’—Something was said too about ‘Ba’s going to Italy.’ ‘And,\nTreppy, do you think that she _will_ go to Italy?’ ‘Why there is only one\nway for her to go—but she may go that way. If she marries, she may go.’\n‘And you would not be surprised?’ ‘_I!_ not in the least—_I_ am never\nsurprised, because I always see things from the beginning. Nobody can\nhide anything from _me_.’ After which fashion she smoothed the darkness\ntill it smiled, and boasted herself back into a calmer mood. But just\nobserve how people are talking and inferring! It frightens me to think of\nit. Not that there is any danger from Treppy. She would as soon cut off\nher hand, as bring one of us into a difficulty, and _me_, the last. Only\nit would not do to _tell her_,—she must have it in her power to say ‘I\ndid not know this’ ... for reasons of the strongest. To occasion a schism\nbetween her and this house, would be to embitter the remainder of her\ndays.\n\nHere is a letter from a lady in a remote district called Swineshead, who\nsends me lyrical specimens, and desires to know if _this be Genius_. She\ndoes not desire to publish; at any rate not for an indefinite number of\nyears; but for her private and personal satisfaction, she would be glad\nto be informed whether she is a Sappho or George Sand or anything of\nthat kind. What in the world is to be answered, now, to an application\nof _that_ kind! To meddle with a person’s opinion of himself or herself\n(quite a private opinion) seems like meddling with his way of dressing,\nwith her fashion of putting in pins—like saying you _shall_ put your\nfeet on a stool, or you _shan’t_ eat pork. It is an interference with\nprivate rights, from which I really do shrink. Unfortunately too it is\nimpossible to say what she wants to hear—I am in despair about it. When\nwe are at Pisa we shall not hear these black stones crying after us any\nmore perhaps. I shall listen, instead, to my talking bird and singing\ntree, and repose from the rest. How did you get home? And tell me of Mr.\nKenyon’s dinner! So nervous I am about Mr. Kenyon, when you or I happen\nto be _en rapport_ with him.\n\nNot only I loved you yesterday, but even to-day I love you; which is\nremarkable. To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow, what will _you_ do? Is\n_that_ an ‘offence?’ Nay, but it is rather reasonable that when the hour\nstrikes, the fairy-gold should turn back into leaves, and poor Cinderella\nfind herself sitting in her old place among the ashes, just as she had\ntouched the hand of the king’s son.\n\nDon’t think I mean anything by _that_, ever dearest—not so much as to\nteaze you—Robert!\n\nI only love you to-day—that is, I love you and do nothing more. And the\nFairy Tales are on the whole, I feel, the most available literature for\nillustration, whenever I think of loving you.\n\n Your own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 13, 1846.]\n\n‘Did I ever receive such a letter?’ Never—except from _you_. It is a\nquestion easily answered.\n\nAs to [the] other question, about the communion of contrarieties, I agree\nwith you, thought for thought, in all your thinking about it—only adding\none more reason to the reasons you point out. There is another reason at\nthe bottom of all, _I_ think—I cannot but think—and it is just that, when\nwomen are chosen for wives, they are not chosen for companions—that when\nthey are selected to be loved, it is quite apart from life—‘man’s love\nis of man’s life a thing apart.’ A German professor selects a woman who\ncan merely stew prunes—not because stewing prunes and reading Proclus\nmake a delightful harmony, but because he wants his prunes stewed for him\nand chooses to read Proclus by himself. A fulness of sympathy, a sharing\nof life, one with another, ... is scarcely ever looked for except in a\nnarrow conventional sense. Men like to come home and find a blazing fire\nand a smiling face and an hour of relaxation. Their serious thoughts,\nand earnest aims in life, they like to keep on one side. And this is the\ncarrying out of love and marriage almost everywhere in the world—and\nthis, the degrading of women by both.\n\nFor friendship ... why Like seeks Like in friendship very openly. To\n‘have sympathy’ with a person, is a good banal current motive for\nfriendship. Yet (for the minor points) a man with a deficiency of animal\nspirits may like the society of a man who can amuse him, and the\namusing man may have pleasure again in the sense of using a faculty and\nconferring a benefit. It is happily possible to _love down_, and even\nacross a chasm—or the world would be more loveless than it is. I have\nloved and still love people a thousand souls off—as you have and do, of\ncourse;—but to love them _better_ on that account, would be strange and\ndifficult.\n\nAlways I know, my beloved, that I am unworthy of your love in a hundred\nways—yet I do hold fast my sense of advantage in one,—that, as far as\nI can see, I see after you ... understand you, divine you ... call you\nby your right name. Then it is something to be able to look at life\nitself as you look at it—(I quite _sigh_ sometimes with satisfaction at\nthat thought!): there will be neither hope nor regret away from your\nfootsteps. Dearest—I feel to myself sometimes, ‘Do not move, do not\nspeak—or the dream will vanish,’ So fearfully like a dream, it is! Like\na reflection in the water of an actual old, old dream of my own, too ...\ntouching which, ... now silent voices used to say “That romantic child.”’\n\nWhat did _you_ mean to say about my not believing in your nature ...\nin your feelings ... what did you and could you mean yesterday? Was it\nbecause of my speech about the ‘calm eyes’? Ah—_you!_—I did not think to\nmake so impressive a speech when I made it ... for this is not the first\ntime, Robert, you have quoted Hansard for it. Well! I shall not rise to\nexplain after all. Only I do justice to the whole subject ... _eyes_\ninclusively ... ‘whatever you may think’ as you said yesterday with ever\nsuch significance.\n\nNo—yes—now I will ask you one thing. Common eyes will carry an emotion\nof a soul—and, so, not be calm, of course. Calm ones, I know, will carry\nthe whole soul and float it up against yours, till it loses footing, and\n... _That_ is a little of what I meant by the calm in the eyes, and so\nI will ask you whether I could wrong, by such meaning, any depth in the\nnature.\n\nAt this moment you are at Mr. Kenyon’s—and you did not, I think, go up\nthis street. Perhaps you will go home through it—but I shall not see—I\ncannot watch, being afraid of the over-watchers. May God bless you, my\nown dearest! You have my heart with you as if it lay in your hand! I told\nyou once that I never could love (in _this_ way of love) except _upward_\nvery far and high—but you are not like me in it, I thank God—since you\ncan love _me_. Love me, dearest of all—do not tire. I am your very own\n\n BA.\n\nAnother Bennett!!—yet the same! _To Friday._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, August 13, 1846].\n\nDearest Ba, I love you wholly and for ever! How shall the charm ever\nbreak?\n\nMy two letters! I think we must institute solemn days whereon such\nletters are to be read years hence ... when I shall ask you,—(all being\nknown, many weaknesses you do not choose to see now, and perhaps some\nstrength and constancy you cannot be sure of—for the charm may break, you\nthink) ... ‘If you stood _there_’ ... at Wimpole Street in the room ...\nwould you whisper ‘Love, I love you, as before?’ Oh, how fortunately,\nfortunately the next verse comes with its sweetest reassurance!\n\nWhen I have chosen to consider the circumstances of the altered life I am\nabout to lead with you ... (‘chosen,’ because you have often suggested\ndrawbacks, harms to my interest &c. which I have really been forced to\ntake up and try to think over seriously, lest I should be unawares found\ntreating what had undoubtedly come from you with disrespect), I never,\nafter all the considering in my power, was yet able to _fancy_ even the\npossibility of their existence. I will not revert to them now—nor to the\nfew _real_ inconveniences which I _did_ apprehend at the beginning, but\nwhich never occurred to _you_: at present I take you, and with you as\nmuch happiness as I seem fit to bear in this world,—the one shadow being\nthe fear of its continuance. Or if there is one thing I shall regret\n... it is just that which I should as truly lose if I married any Miss\nCampbell of them all—rather, _then_ should _really_ lose, what now is\nonly modified,—transferred partly and the rest retainable. There was\nalways a great delight to me in this prolonged relation of childhood\nalmost ... nay altogether—with all here. My father and I have not one\ntaste in common, one artistic taste ... in pictures, he goes, ‘souls\naway,’ to Brauwer, Ostade, Teniers ... he would turn from the Sistine\nAltar piece to these—in music he desiderates a tune ‘that has a story\nconnected with it,’ whether Charles II.’s favourite dance of ‘Brose and\nbutter’ or—no matter,—what I mean is, that the sympathy has not been an\nintellectual one. I hope if you want to please me especially, Ba, you\nwill always remember I have been accustomed, by pure choice, to have\nanother will lead mine in the little daily matters of life. If there are\ntwo walks to take (to put the thing at simplest) you must say, ‘_This_\none’ and not ‘either’ ... because though they were before indifferently\nto be chosen—after _that_ speech, one is altogether better than the\nother, to _me_ if not to you. When you have a real preference which I\ncan discern, you will be good enough to say nothing about it, my own Ba!\nNow, do you not see how, with this feeling, which God knows I profess\nto be mine without the least affectation,—how much my happiness would\nbe disturbed by allying myself with a woman to whose intellect, as well\nas goodness, I could _not_ look up?—in an obedience to whose desires,\ntherefore, I should not be justified in indulging? It is pleasanter to\nlie back on the cushions inside the carriage and let another drive—but\nif you suspect he cannot drive?\n\nNothing new at Mr. Kenyon’s yesterday—I arrived late to a small\nparty—Thackeray and Procter—pleasant as usual. I took an opportunity of\nmentioning that I had come straight from home. Did you really look from\nthe window, dearest? I was carried the other way, by the new road, but I\nthought of you till you may have felt it!\n\nAnd indeed you are ‘out’ again as to my notions of your notions, you\ndearest Ba! I know well enough that by ‘calmness’ you did not mean\nabsence of passion—I spoke only of the foolish popular notion.\n\nTo-morrow there would seem to be no impediment whatever—and I trust to\nbe with you, beloved—but before, I can kiss you as now,—loving you as\never—ever—\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [August 15, 1846.]\n\nA bright beautiful day this is, on which you do not come—it seems as if\nyou ought to have come on it by rights. Dearest, you did not meet Mr.\nKenyon yesterday after you left me? I fancied that you might, and so be\ndetected in the three hours, to the fullest length of them—it seemed\npossible. Now I look forward to the driving instead of to you—and he has\njust sent to desire me to be ready at a quarter to three, and not later,\nas was fixed in your hearing. And why, pray, should you be glad that I am\ngoing on this excursion? I _should_ have liked it, if we had been living\nin the daylight; but with all these ‘shadows, clouds and darkness,’ it is\npleasanter to me to sit still and see nobody—and least, Mr. Kenyon. Oh,\nthat somebody would spirit him away gently, very gently, so as to do him\nno manner of harm in achieving the good for me!—for both you and me. Did\nyou say ‘Do you pity me’ to _me_? I did not tell you yesterday that I\nhave another new fear ... an American lady who in her time has reviewed\nboth you and me, it seems, comes to see me ... is about to come to see me\n... armed with a letter of introduction from Mr. Mathews—and in a week, I\nmay expect her perhaps. She is directed, too, towards Mr. Horne. Observe\nthe double chain thrown across the road at my feet—I am entreated to\nshow her attention and introduce her to my friends ... things out of the\nquestion as I am situated. Yet I have not boldness to say ‘I will not see\nyou.’ I almost _must_ see her, I do fear. Mr. Mathews ought to have felt\nhis way a little, before throwing such a weight on me. He is delighted\nwith your ‘Bells and Pomegranates’ (to pass from his frailties to his\nmerits) and the review of them is sent to me, he says—only that I do not\nreceive it.\n\nDearest, when I told you yesterday, after speaking of the many coloured\ntheologies of the house, that it was hard to answer for what _I_ was,\n... I meant that I felt unwilling, for my own part, to put on any of\nthe liveries of the sects. The truth, as God sees it, must be something\nso different from these opinions about truth—these systems which fit\ndifferent classes of men like their coats, and wear brown at the elbows\nalways! I believe in what is divine and floats at highest, in all these\ndifferent theologies—and because the really Divine draws together souls,\nand tends so to a unity, I could pray anywhere and with all sorts of\nworshippers, from the Sistine Chapel to Mr. Fox’s, those kneeling and\nthose standing. Wherever you go, in all religious societies, there is a\nlittle to revolt, and a good deal to bear with—but it is not otherwise in\nthe world without; and, _within_, you are especially reminded that God\nhas to be more patient than yourself after all. Still you go quickest\nthere, where your sympathies are least ruffled and disturbed—and I\nlike, beyond comparison best, the simplicity of the dissenters ... the\nunwritten prayer, ... the sacraments administered quietly and without\ncharlatanism! and the principle of a church, as they hold it, _I_ hold\nit too, ... quite apart from state-necessities ... pure from the law.\nWell—there is enough to dissent from among the dissenters—the Formula\nis rampant among them as among others—you hear things like the buzzing\nof flies in proof of a corruption—and see every now and then something\ndivine set up like a post for men of irritable minds and passions to rub\nthemselves against, calling it a holy deed—you feel moreover bigotry\nand ignorance pressing on you on all sides, till you gasp for breath\nlike one strangled. But better this, even, than what is elsewhere—_this_\nbeing elsewhere too in different degrees, besides the evil of the place.\nPublic and social prayer is right and desirable—and I would prefer, as\na matter of custom, to pray in one of those chapels, where the minister\nis simple-minded and not controversial—certainly would prefer it. Not\nexactly in the Socinian chapels, nor yet in Mr. Fox’s—not by preference.\nThe Unitarians seem to me to throw over what is most beautiful in the\nChristian Doctrine; but the Formulists, on the other side, stir up a\ndust, in which it appears excusable not to see. When the veil of the body\nfalls, how we shall look into each other’s faces, astonished, ... after\none glance at God’s!\n\nHave I written to you more than too much about my doxy? I was a little,\nlittle, uncomfortable in the retrospect of yesterday, lest my quick\nanswer should have struck you as either a levity or an evasion—and have\nyou not a right to all my thoughts of all things? For the rest, we will\nbe married just as you like ... _volo quod vis_: and you will see by\nthis profession of faith that I am not likely much to care either way.\nThere are some solemn and beautiful things in the Church of England\nMarriage-service, as I once heard it read, the only time I was present\nat such a ceremony—but I heard it then in the abbreviated customary form\n... and not as the Puseyites (who always bring up the old lamps against\na new) choose to read it, they say, in spite of custom. Archdeacon Hale\nwith an inodorous old lamp, displeased some of the congregation from\nFenton’s Hotel, I hear. But we need not go to the Puseyites at least. And\nafter all, perhaps the best will be what is easiest. Something is sure to\nhappen—something must surely happen to put an end to it all ... before I\ngo to Greece!\n\nMay God bless you, ever dearest: Tell me if you get this letter to-day,\nSaturday.\n\n Your very own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, August 15, 1846.]\n\nMy very, very dearest—many, if not all, of those things for which I\nwant the words when too close to you, become quite clear at a little\ndistance. How simple, for instance, it is to admit, that in our case,—my\nown, only Ba once discovered, the circumstances of the weakness and\nretirement were, on the whole, favourable rather than otherwise! Had\nthey been unfavourable ... I do not think a few obstacles would have\ndiscouraged me ... but this way has been easier—better—and now all is\nadmitted! _By themselves_, the circumstances could never obtain more\nthan the feeling properly due to them—do you think one particle of love\ngoes with the pity and service to a whole Hospital of Incurables? So\nlet all the attraction of that kind pass for what it is worth, and for\nno more. If all had been different, and I had still perceived you and\nloved you, then there _might_, perhaps,—or probably—be as different an\naim for me,—for my own peculiar delight in you ... I should want to feel\nand be sure of your love, in your happiness ... certainly in your entire\nhappiness then as now—but I should aspire to find it able to support\nitself in a life altogether different from the life in which I had first\nseen you—if you loved me you would need to be happy in quiet and solitude\nand simplicity and privation ... then I should _know_ you loved me,\nknowing _how_ you had been happy before! But now, do you not see that my\nutmost pride and delight will be to think you are happy, as _you were\nnot_,—in the way you were not: if you chose to come out of a whirl of\nballs and parties and excursions and visitings—to my side, I should love\nyou as you sate still by me,—but now, when you stand up simply, much\nmore walk ... I will consider, if you let me, every step you take that\nbrings you pleasure,—every smile on your mouth, and light on your eyes—as\na directest _obedience_ to me ... all the obedience you _can_ ever pay\nme ... you shall say in every such act ‘this I do on purpose to content\nyou!’ I hope to know you have been happy ... that shall prove you loved\nme, at the end.\n\nProbably you _will_ not hear anything to-day from Mr. Kenyon, as your\nsister is to be present: do you really imagine that those eyes and\nspectacles are less effective than the perceptions of your ‘Treppy’?\n\nBy the way, hear an odd coincidence—you heard that foolish story of\nThackeray and Mr. ‘Widdicombe’ ... which I told just to avoid a dead\nsilence and guilty blankness of face. As I was returning I met Thackeray\n(with Doyle—H.B.) and was energetically reminded of our dinner ... he\nis in very earnest, Mr. Kenyon may assure himself. Presently I reached\nCharing Cross—and stood waiting for my omnibus. There is always a crowd\nof waiters—in a moment there passes an extraordinary looking personage—a\npoliceman on duty at this police-requiring spot saunters up to _me_,\nof all others, and says (on some miraculous impulse, no doubt)—with\nan overflowing impressible grin, ‘D’ye know _him_, Sir?’ ‘No—who may\nhe be?’ ‘He’s Widdicombe!—He goes now to Astley’s, and afterwards to\nVauxhall—there’s a good likeness of him in the painting of the Judge and\nJury Club.’ Here my omnibus arrives ... ‘Thank you’ I said—and there was\nan end of the communication. How for many thousand years may I walk the\nstreet before another inspired policeman addresses me without preface\nand tells me, _that_ is the man I have just been talking of to somebody\nelse? Let me chronicle Mr. W.’s glories ... his face is just Tom Moore’s,\n_plus_ two painted cheeks, a sham moustache, and hair curled in wiry long\nringlets; Thackeray’s friend was a friend indeed, ‘warning every man and\nteaching every man’—the _tête-à-tête_ would have been portentous.\n\nNow, dearest, you cannot return me such delectabilities, so must even\nbe content to tell me what happens to-day and what is said and done and\nsurmised—and how you are ... three times over, how you are, dearest\ndearest! And I will write to-morrow, and kiss you meanwhile, as now as\never. Bless you, love—\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 17, 1846.]\n\nHow I thank for your letter, ever beloved. You were made perfectly to\nbe loved—and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life\nlong. Did I tell you _that_ before, so often as I have thought it? It is\n_that_ which makes me take it all as visionary good—for when one’s Ideal\ncomes down to one, and walks beside one suddenly, what is it possible to\ndo but to cry out ... ‘a dream’? You are the best ... best. And if you\nloved me only and altogether for pity, (and I think that, more than _you_\nthink, the sentiment operated upon your generous chivalrous nature), and\nif you confessed it to me and proved it, and I knew it absolutely—what\nthen? As long as it was _love_, should I accept it less gladly, do you\nimagine, because of the root? Should I think it less a gift? should I be\nless grateful, ... or _more_? Ah—I have my ‘theory of causation’ about\nit all—but we need not dispute, and will not, on any such metaphysics.\nYour _loving_ me is enough to satisfy me—and if you did it because I\nsate rather on a green chair than a yellow one, it would be enough still\nfor me:—only it would not, for _you_—because your motives are as worthy\nalways as your acts.—Dearest!\n\nSo let us talk of the great conference in Mr. Kenyon’s carriage, in which\njoined himself, Arabel, Flush and I. First he said ... ‘Did Browning stay\nmuch longer with you?’ ‘Yes—some time.’ This was as we were going on\nour way toward some bridge, whence to look at the Birmingham train. As\nwe came back, he said, with an epical leap _in medias res_ ... ‘What an\nextraordinary memory our friend Browning has.’ ‘Very extraordinary’—said\nI—‘and how it is raining.’ I give you Arabel’s report of my reply, for I\ndid not myself exactly remember the full happiness of it—and she assured\nme besides that he looked ... looked at me ... as a man may look ... And\nthis was everything spoken of you throughout the excursion.\n\nBut he spoke of _me_ and observed how well I was—on which Arabel said\n‘Yes—she considered me quite well; and that nothing was the matter now\nbut _sham_.’ Then the railroads were discussed in relation to me ... and\nshe asked him—‘Shouldn’t she try them a little, before she undertakes\nthis great journey to Italy?’ ‘Oh’ ... he replied—‘_she_ is going on no\ngreat journey.’ ‘Yes, she will, perhaps—Ba is inclined to be a great deal\ntoo wild, and now that she is getting well, I do assure you, Mr. Kenyon.’\n\nTo sit upon thorns, would express rather a ‘velvet cushion’ than where I\nwas sitting, while she talked this foolishness. I have been upbraiding\nher since, very seriously; and I can only hope that the words were taken\nfor mere jest—_du bout des lèvres_.\n\nMoreover Mr. Kenyon is _not_ going away on Thursday—he has changed his\nplans: he has put off Cambridge till the ‘spring’—he meets Miss Bayley\nnowhere—he holds his police-station in London. ‘When _are_ you going’\nI asked in my despair, trying to look satisfied. He did not know—‘not\ndirectly, at any rate’—‘I need not hope to get rid of him,’ he said aside\nperhaps.\n\nBut we saw the great roaring, grinding Thing ... a great blind mole, it\nlooked for blackness. We got out of the carriage to see closer—and Flush\nwas so frightened at the roar of it, that he leapt upon the coach-box.\nAlso it rained,—and I had ever so many raindrops on my gown and in my\nface even, ... which pleased me nearly as much as the railroad sight. It\nis something new for me to be rained upon, you know.\n\nAs for happiness—the words which you use so tenderly are in my heart\nalready, making me happy, ... I am happy by you. Also I may say solemnly,\nthat the greatest proof of love I could give you, is to be happy because\nof you—and even _you_ cannot judge and see how great a proof _that_ is.\nYou have lifted my very soul up into the light of your soul, and I am not\never likely to mistake it for the common daylight. May God bless you,\never ever dearest!\n\n I am your own—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 17, 1846.]\n\nNo, my own dearest, your letter does not arrive on Saturday, but this\nmorning—what then? You will not be prevented from your usual ways of\nentire goodness to me by _that_? You will continue to write through the\nremainder of the writing-time? This one letter reaches me,—if another\nwas sent, it stays back till to-morrow—so I _do_ get a blessing by your\nendeavour, and am grateful as ever, my own Ba! After all, neither of\nus loses,—effectually loses—anything—for my letter always comes in its\ngood time,—it is not cast hopelessly away—and do you suppose that _you_\nlose any of the gladness and thanks? Rather, you get them doubly—for all\nalong, all through the suspense, I have been (invariably) sure of the\ndeed when promised, and of the unchanging love, when only expected ...\nso that when the letter finds me at last, the joy being unaccountably\nunabated do you not see that there is a _gain_ somehow? I told you on\nFriday I loved you more at that instant than at any previous time—I\nwill show you why, because I _can_ show you, I think—though it seems at\nfirst an irrational word ... for always having loved you wholly, how\ncan I, still _only_ loving you wholly, speak of ‘more’ or ‘less’?—This\nis why—I used to see you once a week, to sit with you for an hour and\na half—to receive a letter, or two, or three, during the week—and I\nloved you, Ba, wholly, as I say, and reckoned time for no time in the\nintervals of seeing you and hearing from you. Now I see you twice in\nthe week, and stay with you the three hours, and have letter on dear\nletter,—and the distance is, at least, the _same_, between the days, and\nbetween the letters—I will only affirm it is the _same_—so I must love\nyou more—because if you were to bring me back to the old allowance of\nyou,—the one short visit, the two or three letters,—I should be starved\nwith what once feasted me! (If you do not understand Flush does!)\nSeriously, does not that go to prove, I love you more! Increased strength\ncomes insensibly thus,—is only ascertained by such process of induction\n... once you crossed the room to look out Shelley’s age in a book, and\nwere not tired—now you cross London to see the trains arrive, and (I\ntrust) are not tired.... _So_—you are stronger.\n\nDearest, I know your very meaning, in what you said of religion, and\nresponded to it with my whole soul—what you express now, is for us both\n... those are my own feelings, my convictions beside—instinct confirmed\nby reason. Look at that injunction to ‘love God with all the heart, and\nsoul, and strength’—and then imagine yourself bidding any faculty, that\narises towards the love of him, be still! If in a meeting house, with\nthe blank white walls, and a simple doctrinal exposition,—all the senses\nshould turn (from where they lie neglected) to all that sunshine in\nthe Sistine with its music and painting, which would lift them at once\nto Heaven,—why should you not go forth?—to return just as quickly, when\nthey are nourished into a luxuriance that extinguishes, what is called,\nReason’s pale wavering light, lamp or whatever it is—for I have got into\na confusion with thinking of our convolvuluses that climb and tangle\nround the rose-trees—which might be lamps or tapers! See the levity!\nNo—this sort of levity only exists because of the strong conviction, I do\nbelieve! There seems no longer need of earnestness in assertion, or proof\n... so it runs lightly over, like foam on the top of a wave.\n\nChorley came and was very agreeable and communicative. You shall tell\nme more about Mr. Mathews and his review. And with respect to his\nlady-friend, you will see her, I think. But first tell me of Mr. Kenyon,\nand yourself—how you are, and what I am to do, when to see you.\n\nNow goodbye, my own Ba—‘goodbye.’ Be prepared for all fantasticalness\nthat may happen! Perhaps some day I shall shake hands with you, simply,\nand go ... just to remember the more exquisitely where I once was, and\nwhere you let me stay now, you dearest, dearest heart of my heart, soul\nof my soul! But the shaking-hands, at a very distant time! _Now_—let me\nkiss you, beloved—and so I do kiss you—\n\n Ever your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 17, 1846.]\n\nYour sight of Widdicombe was highly dramatic—and the policeman ‘intersit\nnodo’ as well as any god of them all. What a personage Widdicombe must\nbe! Think of the mental state of a man, who could gravely apply to his\nown face false moustachios and rouge before a looking-glass. There is\nsomething in it to wonder over, as over the megalosaurie and prodigions\nof ridicules. Mind—when I talked of rouge improving a complexion for\nthe nonce, I was thinking of women; not of men, in whom that sort of\ncolouring (even if it were natural) is detestable, or, to measure one’s\nlanguage, very ugly indeed. I have seen a man, of whom it was related\nthat he _painted his lips_—so that at dinner, with every course, was\nremoved a degree of bloom; the lips paled at the soup, grew paler at the\nmutton, became white at the fricandeau and ghastly at the pudding—till\nwith the orange at dessert, his nearest neighbours drew back their chairs\na little, expecting him to fall flat in a fainting-fit. But he was very\nrich, and could only talk charmingly out of those painted lips. There\nwere women who ‘couldn’t conceive why people should call him a fool.’ To\nevery Bottom’s head (not to wrong Bottom by such a comparison), there\nwill be a special Titania—see if there will not!\n\nSo you go on Wednesday to this club-dinner, really. And you come to me\nalso on Wednesday. Does _that_ remain decided? I have had a letter from\nthat poor Chiappino, to desire a ‘last interview’ ... which is promised\nto be ‘pacific.’ Oh—such stuff! Am I to hold a handkerchief to my eyes\nand sob a little? Your policeman is necessary to the full development\nof the drama, I think. And I forgot to tell you that there were _two_\nthings in which I had shown great want of feeling—one, the venturing to\nenclose your verses—the other ... (now listen!) the other ... the having\nsaid that ‘I was sincerely sorry for all his real troubles.’ Which I do\nremember having said once, when I was out of patience—as how can any one\nbe patient continually? and how was I especially to condole with him in\nlawn and weepers, on the dreadful fact of your existence in the world?\nWell—he has real troubles unfortunately, and he is going away to live in\na village somewhere. Poor Chiappino! A little occupation would be the\nbest thing that could happen for him; it would be better than prosperity\nwithout it. When a man spins evermore on his own axis, like a child’s\ntoy I saw the other day, ... what is the use of him but to make a noise?\nNo greater tormentor is there, than self-love, ... even to self. And no\ngreater instance of this, than _this_!\n\nDearest beloved, to turn away from the whole world to you ... _when_ I\ndo, do I lose anything ... or not rather gain all? Sometimes I feel to\nwish that I had more to sacrifice to you, so as to prove something of\nwhat is in me—but you do not require sacrifice ... it is enough, you\nsay, that I should _be happy through you_. How like those words are to\nyou!—how they are said in your own idiom! And for myself, I am contented\nto think that, ... if such things can really satisfy you, ... you would\nfind with difficulty elsewhere in the world than here, a woman as\nperfectly empty of life and gladness, except what comes to her from your\nhands. Many would be happy through you:—but to be happy through only you,\nis my advantage ... my boast. In this, I shall be better than the others.\n\nWhy, if you were to drive me from you after a little, in what words could\nI reproach you, but just in these ... ‘You might have left me to die\n_before_.’ Still I should be your debtor, my beloved, as now I am\n\n Your very own\n\n BA.\n\nI told you that I was going to the chapel one Sunday—but I have not been\nyet. I had not courage. May God bless you!—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 17, 1846.]\n\nI come home from Town for my letters ... the _two_ I ventured to expect,\nand here they meet me. As I said, you _had_ written, and I thanked you\n_then_, and _now_, too, just as if I had been despairing all along—and\nover and above, there are some especial thanks to pay,—for when I\ncould not otherwise disengage myself from a dinner a little way out of\ntown,—having unawares confessed to the day’s being at my disposal, ... I\nsaid—‘I expect letters at home which _must_ be answered’—and here I am.\n\nOr rather, here you are, dearest,—in, I do think, your dearest mood. I\nmust shift my ground already, alter my moment of time, and avow that it\nis _now_ I love you the best, the completest. Do you want to know how\nmuch kindness I can bear? If I ever am so happy as to speak so as to\nplease you, it may be only your own kindness overflowing and running\nback to you—I feel every day, often in every day, the regret follow some\nthought of you,—that _this_ thought, for instance, if I could secure and\nproperly tell you _this_ only, you would know my love for what it is,—and\nyet that _this_ thought will pass unexpressed like the others! Well, I\ndo not care—rightly considered, there is not so much to regret—the words\n_should_ lead to acts, and be felt insufficient.\n\nNow we collect then, from Mr. Kenyon’s caution, or discretion, or pity,\nor ignorance, that he will not interpose, and that there will be one\ngreat effort, and acknowledgment _for all_? I should certainly like it\n_so_ best. You seem stronger than to need the process of preparatory\ndisclosures, now to one, now to another friend. It is clearly best as it\nis like to be ... for perhaps the chances are in our favour that the few\nweeks more will be uninterrupted.\n\nMy time is gone—and nothing said! For to-morrow, all rests with you ...\nif the note bids me go, I shall be in _absolute_ readiness—otherwise on\nWednesday ... just as you seem to discern the times and the seasons.\n\nBless you my own best, dearest Ba—your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday.\n [Post-mark, August 18, 1846.]\n\nFor these two dear letters, I thank you, dearest! You are best, as ever!\nAnd _that_ is all I have to tell you, almost—for I have seen nobody,\nheard nothing ... except that _Eugène Sue can paint_, ... which Miss\nMitford told me this morning in a note of hers, ... in which, besides,\nshe complains of the fatigue she suffers from the visitors who go to see\nafter her the Reading prison, as the next ‘sight’ of the neighbourhood.\nBetter to live in Cheapside, than among the oaks, on such conditions!\nAs to Mr. Kenyon, he does not approach me. So he may come to-morrow,\nperhaps, or even on Wednesday. Would it not appear the top of wisdom\nif you deferred our day to Thursday’s sun!—now consider! It would be a\ndecided gain, surely, to be able to say to him on Wednesday that you had\nnot seen me since you and he saw me together. So I propose _Thursday_ if\nyou permit it. Next week we may take up our two days again, as one takes\nup so many dropt silken stitches, ... and we will be careful that the\nbeads do not run off in the meantime. To-day George came from circuit. He\nasked, for nearly a first question, whether I had thought of Italy—‘Yes,\nI had thought of it—but there was time to think more.’ I am uneasy a\nlittle under George’s eyes.\n\nYou did not tell me of Mr. Chorley ... whether he put questions about\nthe Continent, or observed on the mysteries in you. Does he go himself,\nand when? A curious ‘fact’ is, that Mrs. Jameson was in the next house\nto us this morning, and also a few days ago; yet never came here—the\nreason certainly being a reluctance to seem to tread in upon the\nrecalling confidence. I felt sorry, and obliged to her—both at once.\nTalking of confidences, I neglected to tell you when you were here\nlast, that one more had escaped us. It was not by my choice, if by my\nfault. I wrote something in a note to Mr. Boyd some weeks ago, which\nnobody except himself would have paused to think over; but he, like a\nprisoner in a dungeon, sounds every stone of the walls round him, and\ndiscerns a hollowness, detects a wooden beam, ... patiently pricks out\nthe mortar with a pin—all this, in his rayless, companionless Dark,—poor\nMr. Boyd! The time before I last went to see him, he asked me if I were\ngoing to be a nun—there, was the first guess! On the next visit he puts\nhis question precisely right—_I_ tried to evade—then, promised to be\nfrank in a little time—but being pressed on all sides, and drawn on by\na solemn vow of secrecy, I allowed him to see the truth—and he lives\nsuch an isolated life, that it is perfectly safe with him, setting the\noath aside. Also, he was very good and kind, and approved highly of\nthe whole, and exhorted me, with ever such exhortation, to keep to my\npurpose, and to allow no consideration in the world or out of the world,\nto make any difference—quoting the moral philosophers as to the rights\nof such questions. Is there harm in his knowing? He knows nobody, talks\nto nobody, and is very faithful to his word. Just as _I_, you will\nretort, was foolish in mine! Yet I do assure you, mine was a sort of\nword, which to nine hundred and ninety nine persons, would have suggested\nnothing—only _he_ mused over it, turned it into all lights, and had\nnothing to do but _that_. Afterwards he was proud, and asked ... ‘Was I\nnot acute?’ It was a pleasure to him, one could not grudge.\n\nAre you well, ever dearest? _I_ am well. And yesterday, while they were\nat dinner, I walked out alone, or with Flush—twice to the corner of the\nstreet, turning it, to post your letter. May God bless you. Surely we\nfeel alike in many, many things—the convolvuluses grow together; twisted\ntogether—and you lift me up from the ground; you! I am your very own—\n\nMr. Mathews said nothing more than I told you—very briefly—but he _sent_\nthe review, he said—and it has not come.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning\n [Post-mark, August 18, 1846.]\n\nLet it be on Thursday then, dearest, for the reasons you mention. I will\nsay nothing of my own desires to meet you sooner ... they are corrected\nby the other desires to spend my whole life with you. After all, these\nare the critical weeks now approaching or indeed present—there shall be\nno fault I can avoid. So, till Thursday—\n\nChorley said very little ... he is all discreetness and forbearance, here\nas on other points. He goes to Birmingham at the end of this week, and\nreturning after some three or four days, leaves London for Paris—probably\nnext Saturday week. From Paris he thinks of going to Holland ... a\ngood step,—and of staying at Scheven ... ing ... what is the Bath’s\nname?—not a good step, I told him, because of the mortal ugliness of the\nplace—which I well remember ... it may have improved in ten years, to\nbe sure. There, ‘walking on the sands,’ (sands in a heapy slope, not a\ntraversable flat) he means to ‘grow to an end’ with his Tragedy ... there\nis a noble ardour in his working which one cannot help admiring—he has a\nfew weeks’ holiday, is jaded to death with writing, and yet will write\naway his brief time of respite and restoratives—for what? He wondered\nwhether there was any chance of our meeting in Paris—‘our’ meaning him\nand myself.\n\nAs for your communication to Mr. Boyd—how could you do otherwise, my own\nBa? I am altogether regardless of whatever danger there may be, in the\ngreat delight at his sympathy and approval of your intention: he probably\nnever heard my name before ... but his own will ever be associated\ndivinely in my memory with those verses which always have affected me\nprofoundly ... perhaps on the whole, _more_ profoundly than any others\nyou ever wrote: _that_ is hard to prove to myself,—but I really think\nso—the personal allusions in it went straight to my heart at the\nbeginning. I remember, too, how he loved and loves you ... you told me,\nBa: so I am most grateful to him,—as I ever shall feel to those who,\nknowing you, judge me worthy of being capable of knowing you and taking\nyour impress, and becoming yours sufficiently for your happiness.\n\nAre you so well, dearest, in your walks,—after your rides? Does that\nrejoice me or no, when I would rather hear you had been happy, than\nsimply see you without such an assurance? I am very well, since you\nask—but my mother is not—her head being again affected. Yet the late\nimprovement gives ground for hope ... nor is this a very violent attack\nin itself.\n\nI suppose it _was_ in Mrs. Jameson’s mind, as you apprehend—you must\nalways be fond of her—(and such will be always my way of rewarding people\n_I_ am fond of!)\n\nGod bless you, dearest—I love you all I can, Ba. I see another ship is\nadvertised to sail—(a steamer) for Naples, and other southern ports—but\nno higher. When you are well and disposed to go to Greece, take me, my\nlove. I should feel too happy for this world, I think, among the islands\nwith you.\n\nMy very own, I am yours—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 19, 1846.]\n\nYour mother is not well, dearest? _that_ is bad news indeed. And then, I\nthink of your superstition of your being ill and well with her—take care\nand keep well, Robert, ... or of what use will it be that _I_ should be\nwell? To-day we drove out, and were as far as Finchley, and I am none\nthe worse at all for it. Do you know Finchley? It is pretty and rural;\nthe ground rising and falling as if with the weight of verdure and dew!\nfields, and hedgerows, and long slopes of grass thick and long enough, in\nits fresh greenness, quite to hide the nostrils of the grazing cows. The\nfields are little, too, as if the hedges wanted to get together. Then the\nvillage of Finchley straggles along the road with a line of cottages, or\nsmall houses, seeming to _play_ at a village. No butchers, no bakers—only\none shop in the place—but gardens, and creepers round the windows. Such\na way from London, it looked! Arabel wanted to call on a friend of\nhers, a daughter of Sir William Russell’s, who married an adopted son\nof _Lamartine_, and was in the navy, and is now an Independent minister\nofficiating in this selfsame metropolis of Finchley. A concatenation,\n_that_ is, altogether. Very poor they are—living on something less than\ntwo hundred a year, with five children, and the eldest five years old.\nAnd the children came out to us, everybody else being away—so I, who\nwould have stayed in the carriage under other circumstances, was tempted\nout by the children and the cottage, and they dragged us along to see\nthe drawing room, and dining room, and ‘Papa’s flowers,’ and their own\nparticular book ‘about the twenty-seven tailors’; and those of the\nchildren who could speak, thought Flush ‘very cool’ for walking up-stairs\nwithout being asked. (The baby opened its immense eyes wider than ever,\nthinking unutterable things.) So as they had been so kind and hospitable\nto us, we could not do less (after a quantity of admiration upon the\npretty house covered with roses, and the garden and lawn, and especially\nthe literature of those twenty-seven tailors) we could not do less than\noffer to give them a drive ... which was accepted with acclamation. Think\nof our taking into the carriage, all five children, with their prodigious\neyes and cheeks—the nurse on the coachbox, to take them home at the end\nof some quarter of a mile! At the moment of parting, Alphonse Lamartine\nthought seriously of making a great scream—but upon Arabel’s perjuring\nherself by a promise to ‘come again soon,’ we got away without that\ncatastrophe. A worse one is, that you may think yourself obliged to read\nthis amusing history. To make amends, I send you what I gathered for you\nin the garden ‘Pansy!—that’s for thoughts.’[5]\n\nHow wise we are about Thursday! or rather about Tuesday and Wednesday,\nperhaps.\n\nAs for Mr. Boyd, he had just heard your name, but he is blind and deaf\nto modern literature, and I am not anxious that he should know you much\nby your poetry. He asked some questions about you, and he enquired of\nArabel particularly whether she thought we cared for each other enough.\nBut to tell you the truth, his unqualified adhesion strikes me as less\nthe result of his love for _you_, than of his anger towards another. I am\nsure he triumphs inwardly in the idea of a chain being broken which he\nhas so often denounced in words that pained and vexed me—and then last\nyear’s affair about Italy made him furious. Oh—I could see plainly by the\nsort of smile he smiled—but we need not talk of it—I am at the end too\nof my time. How good you are to me not to upbraid me for imprudence and\nwomanly talkativeness! You are too, too good. And you liked my verses to\nMr. Boyd! Which _I_ like to hear, of course. Dearest—\n\nShall we go to Greece then, Robert? _Let_ us, if you like it! When we\nhave used a little the charm of your Italy, and have been in England\njust to see that everybody is well, of yours and mine, ... (if you like\n_that_!) ... why straightway we can go ‘among the islands’—(and _nearly_\nas pleasant, it will be for me, as if I went there alone, having left\nyou!). I should like to see Athens with my living eyes ... Athens was\nin all the dreams I dreamed, before I knew you. Why should we not see\nAthens, and Egypt too, and float down the mystical Nile, and stand in the\nshadow of the Pyramids? _All_ of it is more possible now, than walking up\nthis street seemed to me last year.\n\nIndeed, there is only one miracle for _me_, my beloved,—and _that_ is\nyour loving me. Everything else under the sun, and much over it, seems\nthe merest commonplace and workday matter-of-fact. If I found myself,\nsuddenly, riding in Paradise, on a white elephant of golden feet, ...\nI should shake the bridle, I fancy, with ever so much nonchalance, and\nabsently wonder over ‘that miracle’ of the previous world. Because\n‘_THAT’S for thoughts_,’ as my flower says! look at it and listen.\n\n As for me, I am your very own—\n\n[5] [The flower is enclosed with the letter.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, August 19, 1846.]\n\nSee my one piece of available paper for the minute! Ought I to write on\nor wait? No, I will tell Ba at once how I love her for giving me this\none more letter with its delights. ‘Finchley’—I know very well—not that\nI ever saw the streets, and palaces, and cathedral, with these eyes ...\nbut in ‘Quarles’ Emblems,’ my childhood’s pet book, I well remember\nthat an aspiring Soul,—(a squat little woman-figure with a loose gown,\nhair in a coil, and bare feet—) is seated on the world, a ‘terrestrial\nball,’—which, that you may clearly perceive it to be our world, is\nsomewhat parsimoniously scattered over with cities and towns—and\none, the evident capital of the universe and Babylon’s despair for\nsize,—occupying as it does a tract quite equal to all Europe’s due share\non the hemisphere, is marked ‘Finchley’—Do you recognize? [Illustration]\nYet, if you will have it only the pretty village with the fields you\ndescribe so perfectly, I accept the sweetness and give up the glory, and\nyour Finchley is mine for ever, you dearest—whom I see in the house,\nand in the carriage ... but how is it you escaped the rain, Ba? Oh, it\ndid not rain till later, now I think a little. Those are indeed strange\ncircumstances ... and the ‘independent ministry’ at the end, seems hard\nto account for ... or, why hard? Well, _this_ is _not_ hard to feel\nand know, that it is perfect joy to hear you propose such travels and\nadventures—Greece _with you_, Egypt _with you_! Will you please and\ntell me ... (not _now_, but whenever your conscience prompts you on the\nrecurrence of that notable objection, if Miss Campbell’s desirableness\n_is_ to recur) ... what other woman in the whole world and Finchley,\nwould propose to go to Egypt instead of Belgravia? Do our tastes coincide\nor no? This is putting all on the lowest possible ground ... setting\nlove aside even, to Miss Mitford’s heart’s fullest content; if I were to\nchoose among women, without love to give or take, and only for _other_\nadvantages, do you think _any_ advantage would compete with this single\none,—‘she will feel happy in travelling with you to a distance.’ Love\nalters the scale, overbalances everything—at the beginning I fancied\nyou could not leave England, you know. But it singularly affects my\nimagination, such a life with you,—led _for_ the world, I hope, all the\nmore effectually for being not led _in_ the world. If their ways are not\nto be ours, all is better at a distance, and _so_ I have put this down\nas, surely, _one_ palpable, unmistakable _advantage_ even _you_ must\nconfess I shall gain in marrying you—(I may only love Ba’s eyes and mouth\nin a sort of fearful secrecy so far as words go ... she stops all speech\non that subject!)\n\nYes indeed, Ba, I always felt that ‘Cyprus wine’ poem fill my heart with\nunutterable desires to you. There is so much of you in it. Observe, I\ndo no foolish injustice in criticisms ... I quite understand a charm\n_beside_ the charm the world can see. Some of your pansies are entirely\nbeautiful in themselves.... I can set them before the visitors of a\nflower-show and bid all pronounce on them—others, beside their beauty,\ncome to me as _this_ dear one, in a letter, with a story of the plucking,\nwith a _sense_ of the fingers that held it. Bless you, ever dearest, dear\nbeyond words,—you have given me already in this year and a half the\nentirest faith and purest kindness my heart can comprehend. Do lovers\n‘abuse the beloved object’—‘try to shake off their chains’ &c. &c.? Mine\nis not love then! No one minute or moment of your life with me could have\nbeen other than it was without seeming less dear, less perfect in my\nmemory—and for all, God reward you.\n\nTo-morrow, Thursday! And to-night I will warily speak of not having seen\nyou.\n\n Your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, August 21, 1846.]\n\nDearest, this is to be a brief letter, though my heart shall find room in\nwhatever goes to you. Yesterday cost us nothing—no observation was made:\nwe were in all security notwithstanding the forebodings on either side.\nMay they find such an end in circumstances of still more consequence.\nDearest, your flowers are beautiful beyond their beauty of yesterday\nwhich I praised—they think themselves still in the garden; we have done\nthem no sort of wrong. What a luring thought you leave with me in the\nflowers! How I look at them as a sign of you, left behind—your footstep\nin the ground! It has been so from the beginning. And yet sometimes you\ntry to prove that you are not always good. You!\n\nIf you are not good, it is because you are _best_. I will admit so much.\n\nOh, to look back! It is so wonderful to me to look back on my life\nand my old philosophy of life, made of the necessities of sorrow and\nthe resolution to attain to something better than a perpetual moaning\nand complaint,—to that state of neutralized emotion to which I did\nattain—that serenity which meant the failure of hope! _Can_ I look back\nto such things, and not thank you next to God? For you, who had the\n_power_, to stoop to having the will,—is it not worthy of thanks? So I\nthank you and love you and shall always, however it may be hereafter.\nI could not feel otherwise to you, I think, than by my feeling at this\nmoment.\n\nHow Papa has startled me. He came in while I was writing ... (I shut the\nwriting-case as he walked over the floor—) and then, after the usual\ntalk of the weather, and how the nights ‘were growing cold,’ ... he said\nsuddenly ... looking to the table ... ‘What a beautiful colour those\nlittle blue flowers have—’ Calling them just _so_, ... ‘little blue\nflowers.’ I could scarcely answer I was so frightened—but he observed\nnothing and turned and left the room with his favourite enquiry _pour\nrire_, as to whether he ‘could do anything for me in the City.’\n\nDo anything for _me_ in the City! Well—do _you_ do something for me, by\nthinking of me and loving me, Robert. Dear you are, never to be tired\nof me, with so much reason for it as I know. May God bless you, very\ndear!—and ever dearest! I am your own too entirely to need to say so.\n\n _Ba._", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, August 21, 1846.]\n\nI think—now that the week is over with its opportunities,—and now that\nno selfish complaining can take advantage of your goodness,—that I will\nask you how _I_ feel, do you suppose, without my proper quantity of\n‘morphine’? May I call you my morphine?\n\nAnd speaking of ‘proper quantities’—there were some remarks of yours\nwhich I altogether acquiesced in, yesterday, about a humiliating\ndependence in money-matters; though I should be the first to except\nmyself from feeling _buite_ with the world there—I have told you,\nindeed,—but my case is not everybody’s. I hate being _master_, and\nalone, and absolute disposer in points where real love will save me the\ntrouble ... because there are infinitely more and greater points where\nthe solitary action and will, with their responsibility, cannot be\navoided. I suppose _that_ is Goethe’s meaning when he says every man has\nliberty enough—political liberty and social: so that when they let him\nwrite ‘Faust’ after his own fashion, he does not mind how they dispose of\nhis money, or even limit his own footsteps. Ah,—but there are the good\nthousands all round who don’t want to write ‘Fausts,’ and only have money\nto spend and walks to take, and how do _they_ like such an arrangement?\nMoreover, I should be perhaps more refractory than anybody, if what I\ncheerfully agree to, as happening to take my fancy, were forced on me,\nas the only reasonable course. All men ought to be independent, whatever\nCarlyle may say. And so, too, I like being alone, myself—but I should be\nsorry to see the ordinary friends I have, live alone. Do you understand\nall this, Ba? Will you make me say it, in your mind, intelligibly?\nAnd then will you say still more of your own till the true thing is\ncompletely said? And, after all, will you kiss me?’\n\nAs I asked you yesterday ... because of a most foolish, thoughtless\nallusion,—which I only trust you never noticed ... do not you allude\nto it, not even to forgive me, dearest, dearest. I would rather be\nunforgiven than pain you afresh to do it ... but perhaps you did not\nnotice my silly expression after all.... I wished your dear hands before\nmy eyes, I know! Still you would know it was only thoughtlessness.\n\nAll this sad morning the blackness has been quite enough to justify our\nfire ... we have had one there two or three days. But now the sun comes\nout—and I will hope you follow him,—after Mr. Kenyon’s visit? _That_ is\nto be I think!\n\nI never write anything bearable, even for _me_, on these days when\nno letter from you leads me on phrase by phrase ... I am thrown too\ncompletely on the general feelings—‘Do you love Ba?—then tell her\n_that_!’ Yes, indeed! It is easier to leave all the love untold, having\nto speak for the moment of Finchley only! Finchley,—the cottage,—Ba\nentering it—Flush following her ... now I come to something I wanted to\nsay! In the paper, this morning, is a paragraph about the bold villainy\nof _dog-stealers_. There is an ‘organised society’ of these fellows,\nand they seize and convey away everybody’s Flushes, ‘if such a one ever\n_were_,’ as Iago rhymes of his perfect wife. So friend Flush must go his\n_high_ ways only, and keep out of alleys and dark corners: beside in\nPisa, he must guard the house. In earnest, I warn you, Ba!\n\nNow tell me—will there be any impediment to Tuesday?\n\nI think I will go out into this sunshine while it lasts. I am very well\nconsidering there are three days to wait, but a walk will do no harm,—nor\nwill I.\n\nAll speech to you shall be ever simple, simplest. I can only love you and\nsay so,—and I do love you, best beloved!\n\n Your own, very own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 22, 1846.]\n\nCan I be as good for you as morphine is for me, I wonder ... even at the\ncost of being as bad also? Can’t you leave me off without risking your\nlife,—nor go on with me without running the hazards of all poison. Ah!—it\nwill not do, so. The figure exceeds me, let _it_ be ever so fatal. I may\nnot be your morphine, even if I shall be your Ba!—you _see_!\n\nYou are my prophet though, in a few things. For instance, Mr. Kenyon came\nto-day, and sate here I really believe two hours, talking of poor Papa\n... (oh! not of _us_, my prophet!) and at length, of the Pyrenees and\nof Switzerland, and of the characteristics of mountain scenery—full of\ninterest it all was, and I thought (while he talked) that when you and I\nhad done with the crocodiles, we might look for a chamois or two. If I\n‘drive,’ I shall drive that way, I think still ... that is, ever since\nfour o’clock, I _have_ thought. Mr. Kenyon said ... ‘You had a visitor\nyesterday!’ ‘Yes’ said I—‘Mr. Browning came.’ ‘You mean that he actually\n_did_ come, through that pouring rain! Well—he told me he was coming:\nbut when I saw the rain, I imagined it to be out of the question.’ Just\nobserve his subtlety. Imagining that you did not come yesterday he\nconcluded of course that you would come to-day,—and straightway hurried\nhere himself! Moreover he seems to me to have resolved on never again\nleaving London! Because Mr. Eagles goes to the seaside instead of to the\nQuantock hills, Mr. Kenyon has written to Landor a proposition toward a\ngeneral renouncement of the adventure. Quite cross I felt, to hear of it!\nAnd it doesn’t unruffle me to be told, even that he goes to Richmond on\nTuesday and sleeps there and spends the Wednesday. Nothing _can_ unruffle\nme. So tiresome it is! Then I am provoked a little by the news he brought\nme of ‘Miss Martineau’s leaving the Lakes for a month or two’—seeing that\n_if_ she leaves the Lakes, it is for London—there are nets on all sides\nof us. I am under a promise to see her, and I shrink both from herself\nand her consequences. Now, _is_ it not tiresome? Those are coming, and\nthese are _not_ going away. The hunters are upon us ... and where we run,\nwe run into the nets.\n\nDearest, I have been considering one thing, and do _you_ consider\nwhether, if we _do_ achieve this peculiar madness of going to Italy,\nwe should take any books, and what they should be. A few books of the\nsmall editions would be desirable perhaps—and then it were well for\nus to arrange it so that we should not take duplicates, and that the\npossession of the duodecimo should ‘have the preference’ ... do you\nunderstand? Also, this arrangement being made, and the time approaching,\nI had better perhaps send you _my_ part of the books, so as to save the\ndifficulty of taking more packets than absolutely were necessary, from\nthis house. It will be very difficult to remove things without exciting\nobservation—and _my sisters must not observe_. The consequences would be\nfrightful if they were suspected of knowing; and, poor things, I could\nnot drive them into acting a part.\n\nMy own beloved, when my courage seems to bend and break, I turn to you\nand look at you ... as men see visions! _It is enough, always._ Did you\never give me pain by a purpose of yours?—do you not rather keep me from\nall pain?—do we blame the wind that breathes gently, because a reed or a\nweed trembles in it? I could not feel much pain while sitting near you, I\nthink—unless you suffered a little, ... or looked as if you did not love\nme. And _that_ was not at least yesterday.\n\n May God bless you dearest, ever dearest.\n\n I am your own.\n\nSay how your mother is—and how you are. _Don’t_ neglect this.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, August 22, 1846.]\n\nYour first note reached me at six o’clock yesterday ... did the dear\nliving spirit inside help it along in spite of all the post’s hindrances?\nAnd this second comes duly. When you know I am most at a loss how to\nthank you, invariably you begin thanking _me_! Is that because of my own\npractice of saying a foolish thing and then, to cover it, asking you to\nkiss me? I think I will tell you now what that foolish thing was,—lest\nyou, missing it, should go hunting and find worse, and far worse. I will\njust remind you, that on your enumerating your brothers and sisters, I\nsaid without a moment’s thought ‘so, _you are seven_’!... And you know\nhow Wordsworth applied that phrase ... and in the sudden fear of wounding\ndearest Ba, I took such refuge for myself, rather than her! Will you kiss\nme now, my own love? And say nothing, but let it die away here, this\nstupidity of mine.\n\nI hardly conceive what Mr. Kenyon means ... except perhaps a sort of\ngeneral exhortation to take care, and—I mean, if he came for the purpose\nof catching me _only_,—he ought either to know or not know, keep silence\nor speak, approve or condemn ... and to do _neither_ being so easy, his\nown cautiousness would keep him away, I should have thought.\n\nAbout your books, you speak altogether wisely: in this first visit to\nItaly we had better take only enough to live upon,—travelling books,—and\nreturn for the rest. And so with everything else. I shall put papers &c.\ninto a room and turn the key on them and my death’s heads—because when we\ncome back (think of you and me ... why, we shall walk arm in arm,—would\nFlush object to carry an umbrella in his mouth? And so let Lough cut us\nin marble, all three!)—well, when we come back, all can be done leisurely\nand considerately. And _then_, Greece, Egypt, Syria, the Chamois-country,\nas Ba pleases!\n\nBa, Lord Byron is altogether in my affection again ... I have read on\nto the end, and am quite sure of the great qualities which the last ten\nor fifteen years had partially obscured. Only a little longer life and\nall would have been gloriously right again. I read this book of Moore’s\ntoo long ago: but I always retained my first feeling for Byron in many\nrespects ... the interest in the places he had visited, in relics of\nhim. I would at any time have gone to Finchley to see a curl of his hair\nor one of his gloves, I am sure—while Heaven knows that I could not get\nup enthusiasm enough to cross the room if at the other end of it all\nWordsworth, Coleridge and Southey were condensed into the little China\nbottle yonder, after the Rosicrucian fashion ... they seem to ‘have their\nreward’ and want nobody’s love or faith. Just one of those trenchant\nopinions which I found fault with Byron for uttering,—as ‘proving\nnothing’! But telling a weakness to Ba is not telling it to ‘the world,’\nas poor authors phrase it!\n\nBy the way, Chorley has written another very kind paper, in that little\njournal of to-day, ‘Colombe’s Birthday’—I have only glanced at it\nhowever. See his goodwill: I will bring it on Tuesday, if you please in\ngoodness. I was not _quite_ so well ... (there is the bare truth ...)\nthis morning early—but the little there was to _go_, _has_ gone, and I am\nabout to go out. My mother continues indisposed. The connection between\nour ailings is no fanciful one. A few weeks ago when my medical adviser\nwas speaking about the pain and its cause ... my mother sitting by me\n... he exclaimed ‘Why, has anybody to search far for a cause of whatever\nnervous disorder you may suffer from, when _there_ sits your mother ...\nwhom you so absolutely resemble ... I can trace every feature &c. &c.’ To\nwhich I did _not_ answer, ‘And will anybody wonder that the said disorder\nflies away, when there sits my Ba, whom I so thoroughly adore.’\n\nYes, there you sit, Ba!\n\nAnd here I kiss you, best beloved,—my very own as I am your own—", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, August 22, 1846.]\n\nI begin to write before one this morning, with the high resolve that\nyou shall have a letter on Sunday, to-morrow, at least,—it shall be put\ninto the post so precisely at the right hour. At two I am going out in\nthe carriage to Mr. Boyd’s and other places,—and dining duties are to\nbe performed before then, and before now I have had a visitor. Guess\nwhom—Mrs. Jameson. So I am on a ‘narrow neck of land’ ... such as Wesley\nwrote hymns about; ... and _stans in pede uno_ on it—can make for you but\na hurried letter.\n\nShe came in with a questioning face, and after wondering to find me\nvisible so soon, plunged into the centre of the question and asked ‘what\nwas settled ... what I was doing about Italy.—’ ‘Just nothing,’ I told\nher. ‘She found me as she left me, able to say no word.’\n\n‘But what _are_ you going to do—’ throwing herself back in the chair with\na sudden—‘but oh, I must not enquire.’\n\nI went on to say that ‘in the first place my going would not take place\ntill quite the end of September if so soon,—that I had determined to make\nno premature fuss,—and that, for the actual present, nothing was either\nto be done or said.\n\n‘Very sudden then, it is to be. In fact, there is only an _elopement_ for\nyou—’ she observed laughing.\n\nSo I was obliged to laugh.\n\n(But, dearest, nobody will use such a word surely to the _event_. We\nshall be in such an obvious exercise of Right by Daylight—surely nobody\nwill use such a word.)\n\nI talked of Mr. Kenyon,—how he had been with me yesterday and brought the\nmountains of the Earth into my room—‘which was almost too much,’ I said,\n‘for a prisoner.’ ‘Yes—but if you go to Italy....’\n\n‘But Mr. Kenyon thinks I shall not. In his opinion, my case is desperate.’\n\n‘But I tell you that it is not. Nobody’s case is desperate when the\nwill is not at fault. And a woman’s will when she wills thoroughly as I\nhope you do, is strong enough to overcome. When I hear people say that\n_circumstances are against them_, I always retort, ... you mean _that\nyour will is not with you_! I believe in the will—I have faith in it.’\n\nThere is an oracle for us, to remember for good! She goes to Paris, she\nsays, with her niece, between the seventh and tenth of September,—and\nafter a few days at Paris she goes to Orleans for the cathedral’s\nsake—but what follows is doubtful ... Italy is doubtful. Only that my\nopinion is, as I told her, that if Italy is doubtful here in London, at\nOrleans, when she gets there, it will be certain. She will not resist the\nattraction towards the South. She looked at me all the while she told me\nthis ... looked into my eyes, like a Diviner.\n\nOn Monday morning she comes to see me again. It is all painful, or rather\nunpleasant. One should not use strong words out of place, and there will\nremain too much use for this. How I teaze you now!\n\nBelieve me, through it all, that when I think of the very worst of the\nfuture, I love you the best, and feel most certain of never hesitating.\nAs long as you choose to have me, my beloved, I have chosen—I am yours\nalready—\n\n and your own always—\n\n _Ba_.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 24, 1846.]\n\nBut dearest—Did you not understand that I understood? I know your\nwords better than you think, you see. Were you afraid to trust me to\ngive a chase to them in my recollection, lest I should fall blindly\nupon some ‘Secret Sin’ of yours? a wild boar, instead of a poor little\nconey belonging to the rocks of my desolation?—such as it was before\nyou made the yellow furze grow everywhere on it? Now, it is like me\nfor wickedness, to begin talking of your ‘Secret Sins,’ just by this\nopportunity. You overcome me with goodness—there’s the real truth, and\nthe whole of it.\n\nWhile I am writing, comes in Arabel with such a face. My brother had\nbeen talking, talking of me. Stormie suddenly touched her and said—‘Is\nit true that there is an engagement between Mr. Browning and Ba—?’ She\nwas taken unaware, but had just power to say ‘You had better ask them,\nif you want to know. What nonsense, Storm.’ ‘Well,’ he resumed, ‘I’ll ask\nBa when I go up-stairs.’ George was by, looking as grave as if antedating\nhis judgeship. Think how frightened I was, Robert ... expecting them\nup-stairs every minute,—for all my brothers come here on Sunday, all\ntogether. But they came, and not a single word was said—not on that\nsubject, and I talked on every other in a sort of hurried way—I was so\nfrightened.\n\nSaturday Mr. Boyd and I talked on _it_ for two hours nearly, he would\nnot let me go with his kindness. Nothing, he said, would make him\ngladder than our having gone, and escaped the storms. In fact, what\nwith affection for me, and disaffection in other directions, he thinks\nof nothing besides, I do believe. He only wishes that he had known last\nyear, in order to exhort me properly. The very triumph of reason and\nrighteousness, he considers the whole affair. But I told you what Mr.\nBoyd is—dear, poor Mr. Boyd! Talking such pure childishness sometimes,\nin such pure Attic—yet one of the very most upright men, after all, that\nI ever dreamt of—one of the men born shepherds—with a crook in the hand,\ninstead of the metaphorical ‘silver spoon in the mouth.’ Good, dear Mr.\nBoyd,—I am very grateful to him for his goodness to me just now. I assure\nyou that he takes us up exactly as if we were Ossian and Macpherson, or\na criticism of Porson’s, or a new chapter of Bentley on Phalaris. By the\nway, _do you believe in Ossian_? Let me be properly prepared for that\nquestion.\n\nBut I have a question for you of my own. Listen to me, my Famous in\nCouncil, and give me back words of wisdom. A long, long while ago,\nnearly a year since perhaps, I wrote to the Blackwoods of Edinburgh to\nmention my new ‘Prometheus,’ and to ask if they would care to use it\nin their magazine, _that_, and verses more my own; whether they would\ncare to have them at the usual magazine terms—I had some lyrics by me,\nand people have constantly advised me to print in Blackwood, with the\nprospect of republishing in the independent form. You get at the public\nso, and are paid for your poems instead of paying for them. Did I tell\nyou all this before—and about my having written the enquiry? At any rate,\nno reply came—I concluded that Mr. Blackwood did not think it worth\nwhile to write, and eschewed the poems—and the subject passed from my\nthoughts till last night. Then came a very civil note. The authorities\nreceiving nothing from me, were afraid that their answer to my letter had\nnot reached me, and therefore wrote again. They would ‘like to see’ my\n‘Prometheus’ though apprehensive of its being unfit for the Magazine—but\nparticularly desire to have all manner of lyrics, whatever I have by me.\nNow, what do you think? What shall I do? Would it not be well to let\nthis door between us and Blackwood stand open. One is not in the worst\ncompany there—they pay well,—and you have the opportunity of standing\nface to face with the public at any moment—without hindering the solemner\ninterviews. When we are in Italy, particularly...! Do you see? Tell me\nyour thoughts.\n\nSince I began this letter, I have been to the Scotch Church in our\nneighbourhood—and it has all been in vain—I could not stay. We heard that\na French minister, a M. Alphonse Monod of Montauban, was to preach at\nthree o’clock, in French—and counting on a small congregation, and Arabel\n(through a knowledge of the localities) encouraging me with the prospect\nof sitting close to the door, and retiring back into the entrance-hall\nwhen the singing began, so as to escape that excitement—I agreed to make\nthe trial, and she and I set out in a cab from the cab-stand hard by\n... to which we walked. But the church was filling, obviously filling,\nas we arrived ... and grew fuller and fuller. We went in and came out\nagain, and I sate down on the stairs—and the people came faster and\nfaster, and I could not keep the tears out of my eyes to begin with. One\ngets nervous among all these people if a straw stirs. So Arabel after\ndue observations on every side, decided that it would be too much of a\ncongregation for me, and that I had better go home to Flush—(poor Flush\nhaving been left at home in a state of absolute despair). She therefore\nput me into a cab and sent me to Wimpole Street, and stayed behind\nherself to hear M. Monod—there’s my adventure to-day. When I opened my\ndoor on my return, Flush threw himself upon me with a most ecstatical\nagony, and for full ten minutes did not cease jumping and kissing my\nhands—he thought he had lost me for certain, this time. Oh! and you\nwarn me against the danger of losing _him_. Indeed I take care and take\nthought too—those ‘organised banditti’ are not merely banditti _de\ncomedie_—they are a dreadful reality. Did I not tell you once that they\nhad announced to me that I should not have Flush back the _next time_,\nfor less than ten guineas? But you will let him come with us to Italy,\ninstead—will you not, dear, dearest? in good earnest, will you not?\nBecause, if I leave him behind, he will be teazed for my sins in this\nhouse—or I could not be sure of the reverse of it. And even if he escaped\nthat fate, consider how he would break his heart about me. Dogs pine to\ndeath sometimes—and if ever a dog loved a man, or a woman, Flush loves\nme. But you say that he shall keep the house at Pisa—and you mean it, I\nhope and I think?—you are in earnest. May God bless you,—_so_, I say my\nprayers, though I missed the Church. To-morrow, comes my letter ... come\nmy two letters! the happy Monday! The happier Tuesday, if on Tuesday\ncomes the writer of the letters!\n\n His very own BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, August 24, 1846.]\n\nThis time, they brought me your letter at six o’clock yesterday evening:\nwas I startled, or no, do you think, as I received it? But all proved\nright, and kind as ever, or kinder. By the post-mark, I see you _did_ go\nout. Can you care in this way for my disappointments and remedy them?\nIf I did not love you, how I would begin _now_! Every day shows me\nmore to love in you, dearest, and I open my arms as wide as I can ...\n‘incomprehensible’ Ba, as Donne would say! Also he would say much better\nthings, however.\n\nWhat a visitation! Miss Martineau is the more formidable friend,\nhowever—Mrs. Jameson will be contented with a little confidence, you see,\nand ask no questions—but I doubt if you arrange matters so easily with\nthe new-comer. Because no great delicacy can be kept alive with all that\nconceit—and such conceit! A lady told me a few weeks ago that she had\nseen a letter in which Miss M. gave as her reason for not undertaking\n_then_, during the London season, this very journey which empty London\nis to benefit from now, ‘that at such a time she should be _mobbed to\ndeath_’: whereupon the lady went on to comment, ‘Miss M. little knows\nwhat London is, and how many nearly as notable objects may be found to\ndivert its truculence from herself’—Tom Thumb, and Ibrahim Pacha, to wit.\n\nWhy do you suspect that you ‘teaze’ me when you say ‘there will remain\ntoo much use for the word “painful”’? Do you not know more of me by this\ntime, my own Ba? When I have spoken of the probable happiness of our\nfuture life—of the chances in our favour from a community of tastes and\nfeelings,—I have really done it on your account, not mine. I very well\nknow that there would be an exquisite, secret happiness _through_ pain\nwith you, or for you—but it is not for me to insist on _that_, with that\ndivine diffidence in your own worth which meets me wherever I turn to\napproach you, and puts me so gently aside ... so I rather retire and\ncontent myself with occupying the ground you _do_ concede ... and since\nyou will only hear of my being happy in the obvious, ordinary way, I tell\nyou, with perfect truth, that you, and only you, can make me thus—that\nonly you, of all women, look in the direction that I look, and feel as I\nfeel, and live for the ends of my life; and beside that, see with my eyes\nthe most natural and immediate way of reaching them, through a simple\nlife, retirements from the world here (not from the real world), travel,\nand the rest. But all the while I know ... do not _you_ know, Ba? ...\nthat the joy’s essence is in the life with you, for the sake of you, not\nof the mere vulgar happiness; and that if any of our calculations should\nfail, it will be a surprise, a delight, a pride to me to take the new\ntaste you shall prescribe, or leave the old one you forbid. My life being\nyours, what matters the change which you effect in it?\n\nHere, you mean not even so much as this by your ‘painful’—‘Elopement’!\nLet them call it ‘felony’ or ‘burglary’—so long as they don’t go to\nchurch with us, and propose my health after breakfast! Now you fancy this\na gratuitous piece of impertinence, do you not, Ba? You are wrong, sweet:\nI speak from directest experience—having dreamed, the night before last,\nthat we were married, and that on adjourning to the house of a friend of\nmine, his brother, a young fop I know slightly, made a speech, about a\ncertain desk or dressing-case, which he ended by presenting to me in the\nname of the house! Whereto I replied in a strain of the most alarming\nfluency ( ... all in the dream, I need not tell you)—‘and then I woke.’\nOh _can_ I have smiled, higher up in the letter, at Miss Martineau’s\nover-excitability on the subject of ‘mobbing’ here? The greatest coward\nis the wisest man ... even the suspicion of such mobs ought to keep\npeople at their lakes, or send them to their Pisas.\n\nBy the way, Byron speaks of plucking oranges in his garden at Pisa ... I\nsaw just a courtyard with a high wall—which may have been a garden ...\nbut a gloomier one than the palace, even, warrants. They have painted the\nfront fresh staring yellow and changed its name ... there being another\nCasa Lanfranchi on the other side of the Arno.\n\nNow I will kiss you, dearest: used you to divine that at the very\nbeginning, I have sometimes shortened the visit in order to arrive at the\ntime of taking your hand?\n\nYou will write to me to-night, I think—Tuesday is our day, remember. May\nGod bless you, my very very dearest—\n\n Your R.\n\nThat sonnet will not turn up—it is neither in Vasari, nor Dolce, nor\nCastiglione ... probably in Richardson’s ‘Painting’ which somebody has\nborrowed—but I will find it yet, knowing that it must be near at hand.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 24, 1846.]\n\nMy own dearest, let me say the most urgent thing first. You hear these\nsuspicions of your brothers. Will you consider if, during this next\nmonth, we do not risk too much in seeing each other as usual? We risk\neverything ... and what do we gain, in the face of that? I can learn no\nmore about you, be taught no new belief in your absolute peerlessness—I\nhave taken my place at your feet for ever: all my use of the visits is,\ntherefore, the perfect delight of them ... and to hazard a whole life\nof such delight for the want of self-denial during a little month,—that\nwould be horrible. I altogether sympathise with your brothers’\nimpatience, or curiosity, or anxiety, or ‘graveness’—and am prepared\nfor their increasing and growing to heights difficult or impossible to\nbe borne. But do you not think we may avoid compelling any premature\ncrisis of this kind? I am guided by your feelings, as I seem to perceive\nthem, in this matter; the harm to be apprehended is _through_ the harm\nto _them_—to your brothers. If they determine on avowedly _knowing_\nwhat we intend, I do not see which to fear most; the tacit acquiescence\nin our scheme which may draw down a vengeance on them without doing us\nthe least good,—or the open opposition which would bring about just so\nmuch additional misfortune. I _know_, now, your perfect adequacy to any\npain and danger you will incur for our love’s sake—I believe in you as\nyou would have me believe: but give yourself to me, dearest dearest Ba,\nthe entire creature you are, and not a lacerated thing only reaching my\narms to sink there. Perhaps this is all a sudden fancy, not justified by\ncircumstances, arising from my ignorance of the characters of those I\ntalk about; that is for you to decide—your least word reassures me, as\nalways. But I fear much for _you_, to make up, perhaps, for there being\nnothing else in the world fit to fear: I exclude direct visitations of\nGod, which cannot be feared, after all—dreadful dooms to which we should\nbow. But the ‘fear’ _proper_, means with me an apprehension that, with\nall my best effort, it may be unable to avert some misfortune ... the\neffort going on all the time: and _this_ is a real effort, dearest Ba,\nthis letter: consider it thus. I will (if possible) send it to town, so\nas to reach you earlier and allow you to write _one line_ in reply. You\nhave heard all I can say ... say you, _shall I come to-morrow?_ If you\nthink it advisable, I will come and be most happy.\n\nAnother thing: you see your excitement about the church and the crowd....\nMy own love, are you able,—with all that great, wonderful heart of\nyours,—to bear the railway fatigues, and the entering and departure\nfrom Paris and Orleans and the other cities and towns? Would not the\nlong sea-voyage be infinitely better, if a little dearer? Or what\ncan be _dear_ if it prevents all that risk, or rather certainty, of\nexcitement and fatigue? You see, the packet sails on the 30th September\nand the _15th October_. As three of us go, they would probably make some\nreduction in price. Ah, even here, I must smile ... will you affirm that\never _an approximation to a doubt_ crossed your mind about Flush? I\nthink your plans with respect to ‘Blackwood’ most excellent—I see _many_\nadvantages.\n\n * * * * *\n\nHere is the carriage for my sister, who is going to stay in town at the\nArnoulds’ for a week,—with Mrs. A. in it to fetch her. I shall give\nthis letter to be put in the post—I have _all_ to say, but the _very_\nessential is said—understand me, my best, only love, and forgive my undue\nalarm, for the sake of the love that prompts it. Write the one line ...\ndo not let me do myself wrong by my anxiety—if I _may_ come, _let me_!\nBless you, Ba.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 25, 1846.]\n\nDearest, how you frightened me with the sight of your early letter!\nBut it is only your wisdom,—which by this time should scarcely startle\nme,—there’s a compliment, to begin with, you see, in change for all the\npraises; ... my ‘peerlessness’ (!!!) being settled like the Corn Law\nrepeal!—oh, you want no more evidence of it, not you! (poor blind you!)\nand the other witnesses are bidden to ‘stand down’—‘I may smile even\n_now_’ ... as you say _quoad_ Flush, ... smile at your certainty as you\nsmile at my doubt. Will you let me smile, and not call it a peerless\ninsolence, or ingratitude,—dearest you?\n\nFor dearest you are, and best in the world, ... it all comes to _that_,\n... and considerate for me always: and at once I agree with you that for\nthis interval it will be wise for us to set the visits, ... ‘our days’\n... far apart, ... nearly a week apart, perhaps, so as to escape the\ndismal evils we apprehend. I agree in all you say—in all. At the same\ntime, the cloud has passed for the present—nothing has been said more,\nand not a word to me; and nobody appears out of humour with me. They will\nbe displeased of course, in the first movement ... we must expect _that_\n... they will be vexed at the occasion given to conversation and so on.\nBut it will be a passing feeling, and their hearts and their knowledge\nof circumstances may be trusted to justify me thoroughly. I do not fear\noffending them—there is no room for fear. At this point of the business\ntoo, you place the alternative rightly—their approbation or their\ndisapprobation is equally to be escaped from. Also, we may be certain\nthat they would press the applying for permission—and I might perhaps, in\nthe storm excited, among so many opinions and feelings, fail to myself\nand you, through weakness of the body. Not of the _Will_! And for my\naffections and my conscience, they turn to you—and untremblingly turn.\n\nWill you come on _Wednesday_ rather than Tuesday then? It is only one\nday later than we meant at first, but it nearly completes a week of\nseparation; and we can then go to next week for the next day. Also, on\nWednesday we secure Mr. Kenyon’s absence. He will be still at Richmond.\n\nYour letter which startled me by coming early, yet came too late for you\nto receive the answer to it to-night. But I will send it to the post\nto-night; and I write hurriedly to be in time for that end.\n\nMy own beloved, you shall not be uneasy on my account.—I send you\nfoolishnesses and you are daunted by them—but see! What affects me in\nthose churches and chapels is something different, quite different,\nfrom railroad noises and the like. You do not understand, and I never\nexplained, ... you could not understand—but the music, the sight of the\npeople, the old tunes of hymns ... all these things seem to suffocate\nmy very soul with the sense of the past, past days, when there was one\nbeside me who is not here now—I am upset, overwhelmed with it all. I\nthink I should have been quite foolishly, hysterically ill yesterday if I\nhad persisted in staying. Next Sunday I shall go to the vestry, and see\nnobody, and get over it by degrees.\n\nWell—but for the sea-voyage, it seems to me that the great thing for us\nto ascertain is the precise _expense_. I should not at all mind going by\nsea, only that I fear the expense, and also that it is necessary to take\nour passages some time before, ... and then, if anything happened ...\nI mean any little thing ... an obstacle for a day or two! Consider our\ncircumstances.\n\nI shall write again perhaps. Do not rely, though, on my writing.\n_Perhaps_ I shall write. I shall think of your goodness certainly! May\nGod bless you, dearest beloved, I love, love you! I cannot be more\n\n Your own.\n\nDon’t forget to bring the paper on ‘Colombe’s Birthday,’—and say\nparticularly how you are—and how your mother is. In such haste I write!—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, August 25, 1846.]\n\nWhen your letter came, my love, I could have easily borne the over-ruling\nits objections to a visit to-day, for all my cautious philosophy! But\nit seems best arranged as at present ... indeed it must be best, if you\nagree. To-morrow repays me: nor is very long to wait!\n\nI will only write briefly because I want to go to Town, (since there is\nnothing better practicable), and enquire precisely about that steamboat\nand the prices. I see that one may go to Trieste, a much greater\njourney, for ‘£12 and £15,’ according to Mr. Waghorn’s bill. Besides, the\nadvertisement speaks of the ‘economy’ of this way—and certainly under\nordinary circumstances anybody would prefer the river-voyage with its\npicturesqueness. There is a long account, in the paper to-day, of the\nearthquakes in Tuscany—which have really been formidable enough to keep\naway the travelling English for the next month or two—whole villages were\noverthrown, Leghorn has suffered considerably, the inhabitants bivouac\noutside the walls—and at Pisa the roof of a church fell in ... also the\nvillas in the vicinity have been damaged. Do you fear, dearest? If you do\nnot,—_I fear_ that the eligibility of Pisa as our place of abode is only\ndoubled and tripled by all this. Think; there is a new lake risen, just\nby! and great puffs of sulphureous smoke came up through chinks in the\nplains. How do these wonders affect you?\n\nYou asked me about Ossian—now here is truth—the first book I ever bought\nin my life was Ossian ... it is now in the next room. And years before\nthat, the first _composition_ I ever was guilty of was something in\n_imitation_ of Ossian, whom I had not read, but _conceived_, through two\nor three scraps in other books—I never can recollect _not_ writing rhymes\n... but I knew they were nonsense even then; _this_, however, I thought\nexceedingly well of, and laid up for posterity under the cushion of a\ngreat arm-chair. ‘And now my soul is satisfied’—so said one man after\nkilling another, the death being suggested, in its height of honour, by\nstars and stars (* * * *). I could not have been five years old, that’s\none consolation. Years after, when I bought this book, I found a vile\ndissertation of Laing ... all to prove Ossian was not Ossian ... I would\nnot read it, but could not help knowing the purpose of it, and the pith\nof the hatefully-irresistible arguments. The worst came in another shape,\nthough ... an after-gleaning of real Ossianic poems, by a firm believer\nwhose name I forget—‘if this is the _real_’—I thought! Well, to this\nday I believe in a nucleus for all that haze, a foundation of truth to\nMacpherson’s fanciful superstructure—and I have been long intending to\nread once again those Fingals and Malvinas.\n\nI remember that somewhere a chief cries ‘Come round me, my\nthousands!’—There is an Achilles! And another, complaining of old\nage remarks ‘_Now_—I feel the weight of my shield!’ Nestor; and both\nbeautifully perfect, are they not, _you_ perfect Ba?\n\nI will go now. To-morrow I trust to see you face to face; dearest that\nyou are!\n\n Ever your own.\n\nMy poor mother suffers greatly. I am much better.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday, 6 p.m.\n [Post-mark, August 26, 1846.]\n\nI have just had a note from Mr. Kenyon, who, after his absence at\nRichmond, promises to come and see me on _Thursday afternoon_. Now ...\nwould it be quite ‘unco guid’ of us ... and wise ‘above what is written’\n(in your letter) if we put off our day to Friday, and gave me the power\nto answer to Mr. Kenyon’s certain question, ... ‘no, I have not seen him\nsince I saw _you_.’? If you think it would be wise, my own dearest, why\ndo not come to-morrow; do not come till Friday. See—to-day is Tuesday,\nand only two days more will intervene,—and we are agreed on the necessity\nof prudence for the coming weeks—particularly when my brothers have\nnothing particular to do, at this time of vacation, but to watch us on\nall sides. I am so nervous that my own footsteps startle me. But _quite\nwell_ I am, and you shall not have fancies about me—as to strength, I\nmean—as to what I cannot do, bear, and the like.\n\nTo-night I shall write a letter as usual. This is a bare _line_, which\nHenrietta will throw into the post, to speak to you of to-morrow. The\nletter follows.\n\nHow I miss you, and long for Friday. If you have an engagement for\nFriday, there is Saturday. ‘_Understand_’ ... as you say, and I repeat.\n\nTo-night I will tell you where I went to-day.\n\n Your own I am always", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 26, 1846.]\n\n‘_Nor is it very long to wait_’—Alas!—My note went two hours ago to cross\nout the application of that phrase, and now it _is_ very long to wait,\n... all the days to Friday. Tell me, dearest, if you think it wise, at\nleast, to make such an unhappy arrangement, ... considering, you know,\nMr. Kenyon and my brothers. It ought to be wise, _I_ think ... it is so\nunhappy and disappointing. Consider what I am without you all this long\ndreary while; and how little ever so much sense of wisdom can console\nanybody.\n\nFriday will come however,—and I may as well go on to tell you that Mrs.\nJameson came yesterday. ‘Anything settled?’ she asked; as she walked into\nthe room. She looked at me with resolute, enquiring eyes. I wonder if she\never approaches to the divination of something like the truth—_not_ the\ntruth, but like it. Either she must see indistinctly ‘something new and\nstrange,’ or attribute to me a strange delight in the mysterious. She\nhalf promised to see me again before she leaves England, and begged me to\nwrite and tell her all whenever I shall have it in my power to make the\ncommunication. Affectionate she was, as always.\n\nTo-day I have seen nobody, except Mr. Boyd for a little, after driving\nthrough street upon street, where I might have met you if I had been\nhappy enough. Albemarle Street ... were you _there_? I sate there, in the\ncarriage, opposite to the York Hotel, while Henrietta paid her visit to\nold Lady Bolingbroke, a full half hour ... Flush and I—Flush staring out\nof the window, and I ... doing what I generally do in this room, do you\nask what it was? At the end of some twenty minutes, a boy passed, who\nhad the impertinence to look full at Flush and whistle, whereupon Flush\ngrowled, and appealed to me with two immense eyes ... both seeming to say\n‘I hope you observe how I am insulted.’ So my reverie was broken in the\nmiddle—but being better tempered, rather, than Flush, or having larger\nresources, I did not growl, but took your latest letter out instead,\nwhich lasted for the whole remainder of the time. Then at Mr. Boyd’s ...\noh, I must tell you ... he began to tell me some romantic compliments\nof several young ladies who desired to be disguised in servant’s\naccoutrements, just to open the door to me (to have a good stare, I\nsuppose) or, in good earnest, to be my maid! (to go with us to Pisa,\ndearest ... how would you like _that_?—Seriously now _do_ just calculate\nthe wonderful good fortune of such a person, in falling upon two lions\ninstead of one—nay, on a great wild forest-lion, this time, in addition\nto the little puny lioness of the original bargain!) Well!—but when Mr.\nBoyd had done his report, I asked naturally, ‘And what am I to say to\nall this?’ ‘Why you are to say that you will be goodnatured, and give\nsomebody pleasure at the cost of no pain to yourself, and go to the room\ndown-stairs and speak three words to Miss Smith who is there, waiting.’\nImagine anybody having a Miss Smith ready in the drawing-room to let out\nupon one! Imagine _me_ too (to be less abstract) walking in to that same\nMiss Smith, ... to the effect of—! ‘Here I am! just come to be looked at.\nIs it at all what you expected, Miss Smith’?\n\nThe worst was, that dear Mr. Boyd would have set it down to a species of\nmalignancy, if I had refused—so I took my courage up with both hands, and\nremembering that I had seen two or three times, years ago, the stepmother\nof the said Miss Smith, I thought I might enquire after her with a sort\nof propriety. And I got through it somehow. ‘Will you let me shake hands\nwith you and ask how Mrs. Smith is? Does she remember me, I wonder? I\nam Elizabeth Barrett.’—‘Is it possible? Ah! I thought you were one of\nyour sisters at first! Dear me! Why how much better, you must be, to be\nsure!—Oh dear me, what an illness you have had! Ah, quite shut up so\nlong! How very, very interesting, to be sure.’—If Flush had swallowed her\nup in the middle, I might have forgiven him, to be sure. So interesting\ntoo, that catastrophe would have been! But you shall not set me down as a\nsavage—it was all kindness on her side, of course—but one may be savage\nto a _situation_ ... (which is just the way with me, ...) without being a\nborn barbarian woman.\n\nAs to Miss Martineau, the expression which sounds so rampant with\nconceit, may yet be the plainest proof of a mere instinct of\nself-preservation. If three Smiths would be mob enough to mob _me_ to\ndeath (and they may make a mob, as three fine days, a summer!), let\nus have some feeling for _her_, exposed, from various causes, to the\nthirties ... at the lowest comparative computation.\n\nFor Ossian, you admit the _nucleus_. Which is only like your Ba, dearest\n... you will not stand higher as an Ossianic critic unless you believe\nthe verbal authenticity, ‘nothing extenuating.’ The cushion of the\narmchair! _My_ place of deposit used to be between the mattresses of my\ncrib—a little mahogany crib with cane sides to it. You were like Lord\nByron (another point of likeness!) in imitating Ossian, but you were\nstill earlier at the work than he was.\n\nIt is very well to ascertain the prices by the steamers; though my\nexpectation is that you will find them higher than you fancy them.\n_Nineteen guineas_ was the charge last year, as far as Gibraltar only.\nThen, if you charmed ever so eloquently with the voice of the charmer,\nyou never, as a passenger, would induce those people to diminish the\nrate, because of our being _three_; and a female servant is charged for\nat the higher rate ... if not the highest. Altogether the expenses will\nbe, out of all comparison, beyond that of the passage through France\n... see if it will not. Ten pounds, as far as the travelling goes, seem\nto cover everything, in going from hence to Leghorn ... to Pisa ...\ntaking Rouen and Orleans—and meaning of course, for one person. And if\nthe advantages are, as you describe, besides ... why should we forego\nthem? _Is_ the fatigue so much greater? If there are more changes and\nshiftings, there is also more absolute rest—and the rivers are smoother\nthan the seas. Still, it is well to consider—and there are good reasons\non each side, worthy of consideration.\n\nSo much more I had to say—I break off suddenly, being benighted. How you\nwrite to me! how you wrote to me on Sunday and yesterday! How I wish for\ntwo hearts to love you with, and two lives to give to you, and two souls\nto bear the weight worthily of all you have given to _me_. But if one\nheart and one life will do, ... they are yours ... I cannot give them\nagain.\n\nBeloved, if your mother should be ill, we must not think of your leaving\nher, surely?\n\nMay God bless you, dearest beloved.\n\n I am your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 26, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I _do_ think it will be only prudent to stay away till Friday\nfor those reasons. Oh, how I feel _what_ a Ba, mine is ... how truly\npeerless a lady ... when I find instinctively at this minute while I\nwrite, that the proper course will be to seem as little affected by\nthis enforced absence as possible ... that knowing my love she would\nunderstand any comfort I take from the eventful good of the arrangement—I\nhave not to dwell on the present sorrow of it, lest she disbelieve me! I\nam your very own, dearest dearest, with you or away from you. Both your\nnotes came together just now ... how can I thank and love you enough?\nI might have guessed that at the end you would thank _me_ for my own\nletters ... that is your ‘trick of fence,’ discovered, remember! But when\nyou read the ‘red-leaved tablets of the heart’ ... then be satisfied ...\n‘praise,’ nothing in me to you can deserve.\n\nI have learned all particulars about the steamer. There are only two\nclasses of passengers ... _Servants_ being the second. The first pay,\nfor the voyage to Leghorn 21_l._—the second, 14_l._ 5_s._ all expenses\nincluded except during the stay at Genoa. No reduction ‘it is feared’\ncould be made in the case of so small a party—but by booking early, a\nseparate cabin might be secured, at no additional expense. In the event\nof any obstacle, the passage paid for may be postponed till the departure\nof the next, or any future vessel of the company. Now, you see, these\nrates, though moderate, I think—(the ordinary term of the passage to\n_Genoa_ is eleven days)—are yet considerably above those of the other\nmethod by at least 20_l._, I should say. The voyage is long, supremely\ntiresome, and in all respects so much less interesting than the French\nroute, that the whole scheme _can_ only be constructed for those to whom\nany other mode of travel is impossible. The one question to be asked\ntherefore is ... are you really convinced that you need not be treated\nas one of these? And on further consideration, there arise not a few\ndoubts as to whether the sea-voyage be not the more _difficult_ of the\ntwo—the roughness is all between here and Gibraltar—and in the case of\n_that_ affecting you more seriously than we hope, there would be no\npossibility of escaping from the ship—whereas, should you be indisposed\non the other route, we can stop at once and stay for any period. Then,\nthe ‘shiftings’ are only three or four, and probably accompanied by no\nvery great fatigue beyond the _notion_ that a shifting there _is_. Above\nall, you would get the first of the sea in a little experiment, soon\nmade and over,—so that if it proved unfavourable to you there might be\nan end of the matter at once. So that after all, the cheaper journey may\nbe the safer. But all does _not_ rest with you _quite_, as I was going\nto say ... all my life is bound up with the success of this measure ...\ntherefore, think and decide, my Ba!\n\nWould there be an advantage in Mrs. Jameson accompanying us—to Orleans,\nat least? Would the circumstances of our marriage alter her desire, do\nyou think? She has wished to travel with _me_, also—she must suspect\nthe truth—I doubt whether it is not in such cases as hers, where no\nresponsibility is involved, whether it is not better policy, as well\nas the more graceful, to communicate what is sure to be discovered—so\ngetting thanks and sympathy instead of neither. All is for you to\nconsider.\n\nAnd now, dearest, I will revert, in as few words as I can, to the account\nyou gave me, a short time since, of your income. At the beginning, if\nthere had been the necessity I supposed, I should have proposed to myself\nthe attainment of something like such an amount, by my utmost efforts,\nbefore we could marry. We could not under the circumstances begin with\nless—so as to be free from horrible contingencies,—not the least of which\nwould be the application for assistance afterward. After we marry, nobody\nmust hear of us. In spite of a few misgivings at first I am not proud, or\nrather, am proud in the right place. I am utterly, exclusively proud of\nyou—and though I should have gloried in working myself to death to prove\nit, and shall be as ready to do so at any time a necessity shall exist,\nyet at present I shall best serve you, I think, by the life by your side,\nwhich we contemplate. I hope and believe, that by your side I shall\naccomplish something to justify God’s goodness and yours—and, looking\nat the matter in a worldly light, I see not a few reasons for thinking\nthat unproductive as the kind of literature may be, which I should aim\nat producing, yet, by judicious management, and profiting by certain\nfavourable circumstances,—I shall be able to realise an annual sum quite\nsufficient for every purpose—at least in Italy.\n\nAs I never calculated on such a change in my life, I had the less\nrepugnance to my father’s generosity, that I knew that an effort at some\ntime or other might furnish me with a few hundred pounds which would\nsoon cover my very simple expenses. If we are poor, it is to my father’s\ninfinite glory, who, as my mother told me last night, as we sate alone,\n‘conceived such a hatred to the slave-system in the West Indies,’ (where\nhis mother was born, who died in his infancy), that he relinquished\nevery prospect,—supported himself, while there, in some other capacity,\nand came back, while yet a boy, to his father’s profound astonishment\nand rage—one proof of which was, that when he heard that his son was a\nsuitor to _her_, my mother—he benevolently waited on her uncle to assure\nhim that his niece would be thrown away on a man so evidently born to be\nhanged!—those were his words. My father on his return had the intention\nof devoting himself to art, for which he had many qualifications and\nabundant love—but the quarrel with his father,—who married again and\ncontinued to hate him till a few years before his death,—induced him to\ngo at once and consume his life after a fashion he always detested. You\nmay fancy, I am not ashamed of him.\n\nI told my mother, who told _him_. They have never been used to interfere\nwith, or act for me—and they trust me. If you care for any love, purely\nlove,—you will have theirs—they give it you, whether you take it or\nno. You will understand, therefore, that I would not _accept_ even the\n100_l._ we shall want: I said ‘you shall lend it me—I will pay it back\nout of my first literary earnings—I take it, because I do not want\nto sell my copyrights, or engage myself to write a play, or any other\nnuisance. Surely I can get fifty pounds next year, and the other fifty in\ndue course!’\n\nSo, dearest, we shall have plenty for the journey—and you have only to\ndetermine the when and the how. Oh, the time! Bless you, ever dearest! I\nlove you with all my heart and soul—\n\n R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, August 27, 1846.]\n\n‘_If I care for any love_’—‘_whether I take it or no._’ Now ought I not\nto reproach you a little, for bearing to write such words of me, when\nyou could not but think all the while, that I should feel a good deal in\nreading what you wrote beside? Will you tell me that you did not know I\nshould be glad and grateful for _tolerance_ even?—the least significance\nof the kinder feeling affecting me _beyond_, perhaps, what you could know\nof me. I am bound to them utterly.\n\nAnd if it is true, as it is true, that they have much to pardon and\noverlook in me, ... and among the rest, the painful position imposed on\nyou by my miserable necessities, ... they yet never shall find me, I\ntrust, unworthy of them and you by _voluntary_ failures, and, least of\nall, by failures of dutiful affection towards themselves—‘IF THEY CARE\nFOR ANY LOVE.’\n\nFor the rest of what you tell me, it is all the purest kindness—and\nyou were perfectly, perfectly right in taking so, and as a loan, which\nwe ought, I think, to return when our hands are free, without waiting\nfor the completion of other projects. By living quietly and simply,\nwe shall surely have enough—and more than enough. Then among other\nresources is Blackwood. I calculated once that without unpleasant\nlabour, with scarcely an effort, I could make a hundred a year by\nmagazine-contributions—and this, without dishonour either. It does\n‘fugitive poems,’ observe, no harm whatever, to let them fly through a\nperiodical before they alight on their tree to sing. Then _you_ will send\nperhaps the sweepings of your desk to Blackwood, to alternate with my\nsendings! Shall we do _that_, when we sit together on the ragged edge of\nearthquake chasms, in the midst of the ‘sulphurous vapour.’ I, afraid? No\nindeed—I think I should never be afraid, if you were near enough. Only\nthat you never must go away in _boats_. But there is time enough for such\ncompacts.\n\nAs to the sea voyage, _that_ was _your_ scheme, and not mine, from\nthe beginning: and your account of the expenses, if below my fear ...\n(although I believe that ‘servants’ do not mean ‘female servants’ and\nthat the latter are subject to additional charges), yet seems to me to\nleave the Rhone and Saône route as preferable as ever. And do you mark,\ndear dearest, that supposing me to be unfit for the short railroad\npassage from Rouen to Paris and from Paris to Orleans, I must be just\nas unfit for the journey to Southampton, which is necessary to the\nsea-voyage. Then ... supposing me to be unfit for the river-passage, I\nmust be still more unfit for the sea. So don’t suppose _either_. I am\nstronger than you fancy. I shall shut my eyes and think of you when there\nis too much noise and confusion,—the things which try me most,—and it\nwill be easy to find a quiet room and to draw down the blinds and take\nrest, I suppose, ... which one might in vain long for in that crowded\nsteamer at sea. Therefore, dearest, if I am to think and decide, I have\ndecided ... let us go through France. And let us go quick, quick, and not\nstop anywhere within hearing of England ... not stop at Havre, nor at\nRouen, nor at Paris—_that_ is how _I_ decide. May God help us, and smooth\nthe way before and behind. May your father indeed be able to love me a\nlittle, for _my_ father will never love me again.\n\nFor _you_ ... you will ‘serve me best’ and serve me only, by being\nhappy not away from me. When I shall have none but you, if I can feel\nmyself not too much for you,—not something you would rather leave—then\nyou will have ‘served’ me all you can. But this is more perhaps than\nyou can—these things do not depend on the will of a man—that he should\npromise to do them. I speak simply for myself, and of what would give me\na full contentment. Do not fancy that there is a _doubt_ in the words of\nit. I cannot doubt now of your affection for me. Dearest, I _cannot_. Yet\nyou make me uneasy often through this extravagance of over-estimation;\nforcing me to contract ‘obligations to pay’ which I look at in speechless\ndespair—And here is a penny.\n\nOf Mrs. Jameson, let me write to-morrow—I am benighted and must close. On\nFriday we shall meet at last, surely; and then it will be all the happier\nin proportion to the vexation. Dearest, love me—\n\n I am your own—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 27, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I am to write to you of Mrs. Jameson. First, as to telling her\n... will it not be an embarrassment both to her and ourselves? If she\ncannot say ‘I knew nothing of this,’ she bears the _odium_ of confidante\nand _adviser_ perhaps —who shall explain the distinction to others?\nAnd to Mr. Kenyon, will it not seem as if we had trusted her more than\nhim—and though there is a broad distinction too between their cases,\nwho shall explain _that_ to him so quickly and nicely that he shall\nnot receive the shock of a painful impression? Consider a little—She\nis so _in medias res_—so in the way of all the conversation and the\nquestionings. But it shall be as you like and think best. I am too\nnervous perhaps.\n\nAs for the travelling, she sets out between the seventh and tenth of\nSeptember, a century before our æra, you know—but if she goes to Italy\nand is not too angry with me, we might certainly meet her in Paris or at\nOrleans ... take her up at Orleans, and go on together. That is, if you\nlike it too. She would be pleased, I daresay, if it were proposed—and\nwe might be kind in proposing it—and something I might say to her, if\nyou liked it, on the condition of her not changing her mind. Certainly\nI do agree with you that she must have _some ideas_—she is not without\nimagination, and the suggestions are abundant,—though nothing points to\nyou, mind!—if she could possibly think me capable of loving anyone else\nin the world, with you in it.\n\nI had a letter to-day ... with a proposition to write ballads and other\nlyrics in order to the civilisation of the colonies ... especially\nAustralia. It appears that a Mr. Angus Fife has a scheme on foot nearly,\nabout sending missionary ballad-singers among the natives, and that I\nam invited to write some of them, or to _be_ invited—for nothing is\nspecified yet. Now what do you think of _that_? One should take one’s\nmythology from the Kangaroos, I suppose.\n\nThen a book of ‘serious poems’ is to be brought out in Edinburgh and\ncontributions are desired so very politely that nobody can quite refuse.\n\nI write to you of anything but what is in my thoughts. Your letter of\nyesterday took hold of me and will not let me go—it all seems too earnest\nfor the mere dream I have been dreaming all this while—is it not a dream\n... or what? And something I said in _my_ letter, which was wrong to say\nand I am sorry to think of—forgive me _that_, ever beloved—but you have\nforgiven, I know. May God bless you, and not take from _me_ my blessing\nin you.\n\n I am your very own BA.\n\nWe are going out in the carriage and shall post this note. You will come\nto-morrow unless you hear more? Is it a compact?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday,\n [Post-mark, August 27, 1846.]\n\nThe post’s old fault, is it not, this letter that does not come? I have\nwaited till nearly the time of the next arrival, 3 o’clock, and perhaps\nI begin writing now because I have observed that sometimes the letter\ncomes just as I am trying hardest to resign myself. So may it be now, or\npresently!\n\nDearest, I did not thank you yesterday for the accounts of your visit and\ndrive ... I always love you for such accounts; you know, I might _like_,\nwe will say, a Miss Campbell, while she was in the very act of speaking\nGreek to Mr. Kenyon’s satisfaction, or making verses, or putting them\ninto action—but there would be no following her about the streets, and\nthrough bazaars, and into houses, and loving the walking and standing and\nsitting and companionship with Flush! I shall be satisfied to the full\nif you only live in my sight,—cross the room in which I sit,—not to say,\nsit down by me there,—always supposing that you also, for your part, seem\nhappy and contented,—or at least could not become more so by leaving me.\nBut I do believe you will be happy.\n\nAnd here the letter comes! See, what I tell you does now fill my life\nwith gladness,—_that_, the counterpart of that, you promise me shall\nmake _you_ glad too! My very own, entirely beloved Ba, there is no\nexaggeration, no overestimation—the case does not admit of any, indeed!\nIf a man tells you he owns a peerless horse, the horse may go lame and\nthe estimation sink upon that experience—but if I think, as I do, that\nthe Elgin Horse is peerless (despite his ewe-neck) nothing further can\ntouch it, nor change me. One of my comparisons! All I want to express is,\nthat I love _you_, dearest, with a love that seems to separate you from\nyour very qualities—the essential from its accidents. But you must wait\nto know—wait a life, perhaps.\n\nI used those words you object to—(in your true way), because you\nshall love nothing connected with me for conventional reasons—and if\nI understated the amount of kind feeling which you might be led to\nreturn for theirs, be assured that I also expressed in the simplest\nand coldest terms possible my father and mother’s affection for you. I\ntold you, they _believe_ me ... therefore, know in some measure what\nyou are to me. They are both entirely affectionate and generous. My\nfather is tender-hearted to a fault. I have never known much more of\nthose circumstances in his youth than I told you, in consequence of his\ninvincible repugnance to allude to the matter—and I have a fancy, to\naccount for some peculiarities in him, which connects them with some\nabominable early experience. Thus,—if you question him about it, he shuts\nhis eyes involuntarily and shows exactly the same marks of loathing that\nmay be noticed while a piece of cruelty is mentioned ... and the _word_\n‘blood,’ even, makes him change colour. To all women and children _he_\nis ‘chivalrous’ ... as you called his unworthy son! There is no service\nwhich the ugliest, oldest, crossest woman in the world might not exact\nof him. But I must leave off; to-morrow I do really see you at last,\ndearest! God bless you ever for your very own R.\n\nThe France-route seems in nearly every way the best—perhaps in every\nway—let it be as you have decided. Nothing is said in this letter,\nnothing answered, mind ... time presses so!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "_Thursday Night._\n [August 27, 1846.]\n\nHere is the bad news going to you as fast as bad news _will_ go! for\nyou ‘do really (NOT) see me to-morrow,’ Robert,—there is no chance of\nit for such ‘too, two’ wise people as we are! In the first place Mr.\nKenyon never paid his visit to-day and will do it to-morrow instead; and\nsecondly, and while I was gloomily musing over this ‘great fact,’ arrives\nthe tidings of my uncle and aunt Hedley’s being at Fenton’s Hotel for\ntwo days from this evening ... so that not only Friday perishes, but\neven Saturday, unless there should be a change in their plans. We shall\nhave them here continually; and there would neither be safety nor peace\nif we attempted a meeting. So let us take patience, dearest beloved,\nand let me feel you loving me through the distance. It is only for a\nshort time, to bear these weeks without our days in them; and presently\nyou will have too much of me perhaps,—ah, the ungrateful creature, who\nstops in the middle of the sentence, thunderstruck in the tenderest\npart of her conscience! So instead, I go on to say that certainly I\nshall be happy with you, as long as my ‘sitting in the room’ does not\nmake you less happy—certainly I shall be happy with you. I thought once\nthat the capacity of happiness was destroyed in me, but you have _made_\nit over again,—God has permitted you! And while you love me _so_ ...\n_essentially_, as you describe, and apart from supposed and suppositious\nqualities ... I will take courage and hope, and believe that such a love\nmay be enough for the happiness of us both—enough for yours even.\n\nYour father is worthy to be your father, let you call yourself his\n‘unworthy son’ ever so. The noblest inheritance of sons is to have such\nthoughts of their fathers, as you have of yours—the privilege of such\nthoughts, the faith in such virtues and the gratitude for such affection.\nYou have better than the silver or the gold, and you can afford to leave\nthose to less happy sons. And your mother—Scarcely I was a woman when\nI lost _my_ mother—dearest as she was, and very tender, (as yours even\ncould be), and of a nature harrowed up into some furrows by the pressure\nof circumstances: for we lost more in her than she lost in life, my dear\ndearest mother. A sweet, gentle nature, which the thunder a little turned\nfrom its sweetness—as when it turns milk. One of those women who never\ncan resist; but, in submitting and bowing on themselves, make a mark, a\nplait, within,—a sign of suffering. Too womanly she was—it was her only\nfault. Good, good, and dear—and refined too!—she would have admired and\nloved you,—but I can only tell you so, for she is gone past us all into\nthe place of the purer spirits. God had to take her, before He could\nbless her enough.\n\nNow I shall not write any more to-night. You had my note to-day—the note\nwritten this morning? I went out in the carriage, and we drove to one or\ntwo shops and up the Uxbridge Road, and I was utterly dull. Shall I not\nreally see you before Monday? It seems impossible to bear. Let us hope at\nany rate, for Saturday.\n\nHow could such an idea enter your head, pray, as that about selling\nyour copyrights? That would have been travelling at the price of blood,\nand I never should have agreed to it. I shall be able to bring you a\nfew pennies, I hope; only it would not be enough for the journey, what\n_I_ could bring, under the circumstances of imprisonment. When we are\nfree, we ought to place our money somewhere on the railroads, where the\npercentage will be better—which will not disturb the simplicity of our\nway of life, you know, though it will give us more liberty in living.\n\nNow I expect to hear your decision about Mrs. Jameson—I expect to hear\nfrom you of yourself, though, most and chiefest—tell me how you are, and\nhow your mother is. Dearest, _promise_ me not to say to your family any\nfoolishness about me—remember what the recoil will be, and understand\nthat I must suffer in proportion to all the over-praises. It quite\nfrightens me to think of it! And then, again, I laugh to myself at your\nexcellent logic of comparison, between Miss Campbell and me; and how\nyou did not care for walking the bazaars and looking at the dolls with\nher; to the discredit of the whole class of Miss Campbells ... whereas,\nwith ME!! &c. No wonder that your father should give you books of logic\nto study, books on the ‘right use of reason,’ if you do not understand\nthat I am not better than she, except by your loving me better; that the\ncause is not in her or me, but in you only. Can it indeed be so true that\npeople, when they love other people, never see them at all? Yet it seems\nto me that I see _you_ clearly, discern you entirely and thoroughly—which\nmakes me love you profoundly. But you ... without seeing me at all, you\nlove _me_ ... which does as well, I think—so I am your very own.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, August 28, 1846.]\n\nI was beginning to dress, hours before the proper time, through the\nconfidence of seeing you _now_,—after the letter which came early in the\nmorning,—when this new letter changes everything. It just strikes me,\nwhat a comfort it is that whenever such a disappointment is inevitable,\nyour hand or voice announces it, and not another’s—no second person bids\nme stay away for good reasons I must take in trust, leaving me to deal\nwith the innumerable fancies that arise—on the contrary, you contrive\nthat, with the one misfortune, twenty kindnesses shall reach me—can I be\nvery sorry _now_, for instance, that you tell me _why_ it is, and how it\naffects you and how it will affect me in the end? Dear Ba, if you will\nnot believe in the immortality of love, do think the poor thought that\nwhen love shall end, gratitude will begin!\n\nI altogether agree with you—it is best to keep away—we cannot be too\ncautious now at the ‘end of things.’ I am prepared for difficulties\nenough, without needing to cause them by any rashness or wilfulness of\nmy own. I really expect, for example, that out of the various plans of\nthese sympathising friends and relations some one will mature itself\nsufficiently to be directly proposed to you, for your acceptance or\nrefusal contingent on your father’s approbation; the shortness of the\nremaining travelling season serving to compel a speedy development. Or\nwhat if your father, who was the first to propose, or at least talk\nabout, a voyage to Malta or elsewhere, when you took no interest in the\nmatter comparatively, and who perhaps chiefly found fault with last\nyear’s scheme from its not originating with himself ... what if he should\nagain determine on some such voyage now that you are apparently as\nobedient to his wishes as can be desired? Would it be strange, not to say\nimprobable, if he tells you some fine morning that your passage is taken\nto Madeira, or Palermo? Because, all the attempts in the world cannot\nhide the truth from the mind, any more than all five fingers before the\neyes keep out the sun at noon-day: you see a red through them all—and\nyour father must see your improved health and strength, and divine the\nopinion of everybody round him as to the simple proper course for the\ncomplete restoration of them. Therefore be prepared, my own Ba!\n\nIn any case—I trust in you wholly.\n\nThere is nothing to decide upon, with respect to Mrs. Jameson—the reasons\nfor not sharing that confidence with her are irrefragable. I only thought\nof you, dearest, who have to bear her all but direct enquiries. You know,\n_I_ undergo nothing of the kind. Any such arrangement as that of taking\nher up at Orleans would be very practicable. I rejoice in your desire\n(by the way) of going rapidly on, stopping nowhere, till we reach our\nappointed place—because that spirit _helps_ the body wonderfully—and, in\nthis case, exactly corresponds with mine. Above all, I should hate to be\nseen at Paris by anybody a few days only after our adventure—Chorley will\nbe there, and the Arnoulds,—for _one_ party!\n\nWhat could it be, you thought should make you ‘sorry,’ in that letter of\nyesterday, love? What was I to ‘forgive’? Certainly you are unforgiven\nhitherto, for the best of reasons.\n\nAnd assure yourself, dearest, that I have told my family nothing that\ncan possibly mislead them. Remember that I have the advantage of knowing\nthose I speak to,—their tastes and understandings, and notions of what\nis advantageous and what otherwise. I spoke the simple truth about your\nheart—of your mind they knew something already—I explained your position\nwith respect to your father ... unfortunately, a very few plain words do\nthat ... I mean, a few facts, such as the parish register could supply\n... sufficiently to exonerate you and me.\n\nAs to my copyrights, I never meant to sell them—it would be\nfoolish—because, since some little time, and in consequence of the\nestablishment of the fact that my poems, even in their present\ndisadvantageous form, without advertisement, and unnoticed by the\ninfluential journals—do somehow manage to pay their expenses, I have\nhad one direct offer to print a new edition,—and there are reasons for\nthinking, two or three booksellers, that I know, would come to terms.\nSmith & Elder, for instance, wrote to offer to print any poem about\nItaly, in any form, with any amount of advertisements, on condition of\nsharing profits ... taking all risk off my hands ... concluding with more\nthan a hint that if that proposition was not favourable enough, they\nwould try and agree to any reasonable demand.\n\nBecause Moxon is the ‘slowest’ of publishers, and if one of his books\ncan only contrive to pay its expenses, you may be sure that a more\nenterprising brother of the craft would have sent it into a second or\nthird edition—yet Moxon’s slow self even, anticipates success for the\nnext venture. Now the fact is, not having really cared about anything\nexcept not losing too much money, I have taken very little care of my\nconcerns in that way—not calling on Moxon for months together. But\nall will be different now— and I shall look into matters, and turn my\nexperience to account, such as it is.\n\nWell,—I am yours, _you_ are mine, dearest Ba! I love you, I think,\n_perceptibly_ more in these latter days! Is this absence contrived on\npurpose to prove how foolishly I said that I loved you the more from\nseeing you the oftener? Ah, you reconcile all extremes, destroy the force\nof all logic-books, my father’s or mine—_that_ was true, but this is also\ntrue (logical or no) that I now love you through not seeing you,—loving\nmore, as I desire more to be with you, my best, dearest wife that will\nbe! (_I_ could not help writing it—why should it sound sweeter than ‘Ba’?)\n\n Your very own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Evening.\n [Post-mark, August 29, 1846.]\n\nWill you come, dearest, after all? Judge for both of us. The Hedleys go\nto-morrow morning and we shall not see them after to-night when they\nare dining here—but Mr. Kenyon has not paid his visit, and _may_ come\nto-morrow, or _may_ take Sunday, which he is fond of doing—is it worth\nwhile to be afraid of Mr. Kenyon? What do you think? I leave it to your\nwisdom which is the greatest. Perhaps he may not come till _Monday_—yet\n_he may_.\n\nDearest, I have had all your thoughts by turns, or most of them ... and\neach one has withered away without coming to bear fruit. Papa seems\nto have no more idea of my living beyond these four walls, than of a\njourney to Lapland. I confess that I thought it possible he might propose\nthe country for the summer, or even Italy for the winter, in a ‘late\nremark’—but no, ‘nothing’ and there is not a possibility of either word,\nas I see things. My brothers ‘wish that something could be arranged’—a\nwish which I put away quietly as often as they bring it to me. And for\nmy uncle and aunt, they have been talking to me to-day—and she with her\nusual acuteness in such matters, observing my evasion, said, ‘Ah Ba, you\nhave arranged your plans more than you would have us believe. But you\nare right not to tell us—indeed I would rather not hear. Only _don’t be\nrash_—_that_ is my only advice to you.’\n\nI thought she had touched the truth, and wondered—but since then, from\nanother of her words, I came to conclude that she imagined me about to\naccept the convoy of Henrietta and Captain Cook! She said in respect\nto them—‘I only say that your father’s consent ought to be _asked_, as\na form of respect to him.’ Which, in their case should be, I think—and\nshould also in ours, but for the peculiar position of one of us. My uncle\nurged me to keep firm and go to Italy, and my aunt, though she would not\nadvise, she said, yet thought that I ‘ought to go,’ and that to live on\nin this fashion in this room was lamentable to contemplate. Both of them\napproved of the French route, and urged me to go to them in Paris—‘And,’\nsaid my uncle kindly, ‘when once we _have_ you, we shall not bear to part\nwith you, I think.’\n\n(Do you really imagine, by the way, that to appear in Paris for one\nhalf-minute, to a single soul, could be less detestable to me than to\nyou? I shall take care that nobody belonging to me there shall hear of\nmy being within a hundred miles—and why need we stay in Paris the half\nminute? Not unless you pause to demand an audience of Mr. Chorley at the\nBarrière des Étoiles.)\n\nWhile we were talking, Papa came into the room. My aunt said, ‘How well\nshe is looking’—‘Do you think so?’ he said. ‘Why, do not _you_ think so?\nDo you pretend to say that you see no surprising difference in her?’—‘Oh,\nI don’t know,’ he went on to say. ‘She is mumpish, I think.’ Mumpish!\n\n‘She does not talk,’ resumed he—\n\n‘Perhaps she is nervous’—my aunt apologised—I said not one word ... When\nbirds have their eyes out, they are apt to be mumpish.\n\nMumpish! The expression proved a displeasure. Yet I am sure that I\nhave shown as little sullenness as was possible. To be very talkative\nand vivacious under such circumstances as those of mine, would argue\ninsensibility, and was certainly beyond my power.\n\nI told her gently afterwards that she had been wrong in speaking of me at\nall—a wrong with a right intention,—as all her wrongness must be. She was\nvery sorry to have done it, she said, and looked sorry.\n\nPoor Papa!—Presently I shall be worse to him than ‘mumpish’ even. But\n_then_, I hope, he will try to forgive me, as I have forgiven him, long\nago.\n\nMy own beloved—do you know that your letter caught me in the act of\nwondering whether the absence would do me harm with you, according to\nthat memorable theory. And so in the midst came the solution of the\ndoubt—you do _not_ love me less. Nay, you love me more—ah, but if you say\nso, I am capable of wishing not to see you for a month added to the week!\nFor did I not once confess to you that I loved your love as much as I\nloved you ... or very, very, very nearly as much? Not precisely so much.\n_Confiteor tibi_—but I will sing a penitential psalm low to myself and\ndo the act of penance by seeing you to-morrow if you choose to come,—and\nthen you shall absolve me and give me the _Benedicite_, which, _if_ you\ncome, you cannot keep back, because it comes with you of necessity.\n\nNot a word of your head, nor of your mother! You should come I think,\nto-morrow, if only to say it. Yet let us be wise to the end. Be _you_\nwise to the end, and decide between Saturday and Monday. And I, for my\npart, promise to go to Italy, only with _you_—do not be afraid.\n\nAnd for your poetry, I believe in it as ‘_golden water_’—and the ‘singing\ntree’ does not hide it from me with all the overdropping branches and\nleaves. In fact, the chief inconvenience we are likely to suffer from, in\nthe way of income, is the having _too much_. Don’t you think so? But in\nthat case, we will buy an island of our own in one of those purple seas,\nand inherit the sun—or perhaps the shadow ... of Calypso’s cave.\n\nSo do not be uneasy, dearest!—not even lest I should wish to spend three\nweeks in Paris, to show myself at the Champs Elysées and the opera, and\ngather a little glory after what you happily call ‘our adventure.’\n\nOur adventure, indeed! But it is _you_ who are adventuring in the\nmatter,—and as any Red Cross Knight of them all, whom you exceed in their\nchivalry proper.\n\nChiappino little knew how right he was, when he used to taunt me with my\n‘New Cross Knight.’ He did—Ah! Even if he had talked of ‘Rosie Cross,’ he\nwould not have been so far wide—the magic ‘saute aux yeaux.’\n\nAnd now, will you come to-morrow, I wonder, or not? The answer is in you.\n\nAnd I am your own, ever and as ever!\n\nAnd you thought I was dying with a desire to tell Mrs. Jameson!!—_I!_", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, August 31, 1846.]\n\nI have just come from the vestry of Paddington chapel, and bore it very\nwell, and saw nobody except one woman. Arabel went with me, and during\nthe singing we escaped and stood outside the door. Now, _that_ is over;\nand the next time I shall care less. It was a rambling sermon, which I\ncould hear distinctly through the open door, quite wanting in coherence,\nbut with good and touching things in it, the more touching that they came\nfrom a preacher whose life is known to us—from Mr. Stratten, for whom I\nhave the greatest respect, though he never looked into Shakespeare till\nhe was fifty, and shut the book quickly, perhaps, afterward. He is the\nvery ideal of his class; and, with some of the narrow views peculiar to\nit, has a heart of miraculous breadth and depth; loving further than\nhe can see, pitying beyond what he can approve, having in him a divine\nChristian spirit, the ‘love of love’ in the most expansive form. How that\nman is beloved by his congregation, the members of his church, by his\nchildren, his friends, is wonderful to see—for everybody seems to love\nhim _from afar_, as a man is loved who is of a purer nature than others.\nThere is that reverence in the love—and yet no fear. His children have\nbeen encouraged and instructed to speak aloud before him on religion\nand other subjects in all freedom of conscience—he turns to his little\ndaughter seriously ‘to hear what she thinks.’ The other day his eldest\nson, whom he had hoped to see succeed him at Paddington, determined to\nenter the Church of England: his wife became quite ill with grief about\nit, and to himself perhaps it was a trial, a disappointment. With the\nutmost gentleness and tenderness however, he desired him to take time for\nthought and act according to his conscience.—I believe for my part that\nthere never was a holier man ... ‘except those bonds’ ... never a man\nwho more resolutely trod under his feet every form of evil and selfish\npassion when it was once recognized—and looked to God and the Truth with\na direct aspiration. Once I could not help writing to put our affairs\ninto his hands to settle them for us—but _that_ would be wrong—because\nPapa would forbid Arabel’s going to the chapel or communicating with his\nfamily, and it would be depriving her of a comfort she holds dear—oh no.\nAnd besides, you are wise in taking the other view.\n\nThink of our waiting day after day to fall into the net so, yesterday!\nHow I was provoked and vexed—but more for you, dearest dearest, than for\nme—much more for you. As for me I _saw you_, which was joy enough, let\nthe hours be ever so clipped of their natural proportions—and then, you\nknow, you were obliged to go soon, whether Mr. Kenyon had come or not\ncome. After you were gone, nothing was said, and nothing asked, and it\nis delightful to have heard of those intended absences one after another\ntill far into October: which will secure us from future embarrassments.\nSee if he means to put us to the question!—not such a thing is in his\nthoughts.\n\nAnd I said what you ‘would not have believed of me’! Have you\nforgiven me, beloved—for saying what you would not have believed of\nme,—understanding that I did not mean it very seriously, though I proved\nto be capable of saying it? Seriously, I don’t want to make unnecessary\ndelays. It is a horrible position, however I may cover it with your roses\nand the thoughts of you—and far worse to myself than to you, inasmuch\nthat what is painful to you once a week, is to me so continually. To hear\nthe voice of my father and meet his eye makes me shrink back—to talk\nto my brothers leaves my nerves all trembling ... and even to receive\nthe sympathy of my sisters turns into sorrow and fear, lest they should\nsuffer through their affection for me. How I can look and sleep as well\nas I do, is a miracle exactly like the rest—or would be, if the love were\nnot the deepest and strongest thing of all, and did not hold and possess\nme overcomingly. I feel myself to be yours notwithstanding every other\ninfluence, and being yours, cannot but be happy by you. Ah—let people\ntalk as they please of the happiness of early youth! Mrs. Jameson did,\nthe other day, when she wished kindly to take her young niece with her to\nthe Continent, that she might enjoy what in a few years she could not so\nmuch enjoy. There is a sort of blind joy common perhaps to such times—a\nblind joy which blunts itself with its own leaps and bounds; peculiar to\na time of comparative ignorance and inexperience of evil:—but I for my\npart, with all the capacity for happiness which I had from the beginning,\nI look back and listen to my whole life, and feel sure of what I have\nalready told you, ... that I am _happier now than I ever was before_\n... infinitely happier now, through you ... infinitely happier; even\nnow in this position I have just called ‘horrible.’ When I hear you say\nfor instance, that you ‘love me _perceptibly_ more’ ... why I cannot,\ncannot be more happy than when I hear you say _that_—going to Italy seems\nnothing! a vulgar walk to Primrose Hill after being caught up to the\nthird Heaven! I think nothing of Italy now, though I shall enjoy it of\ncourse when the time comes. I think only that you love me, that you are\nthe angel of my life,—and for the despair and desolation behind me, they\nserve to mark the hour of your coming,—and they _are_ behind, as Italy\nis _before_. Never can you feel for me, Robert, as I feel for you ...\nit is not possible of course. I am yours in a way and degree which the\ntenderest of other women could not be at her will. Which you know. Why\nshould I repeat it to you? Why, except that is a reason to prove that we\ncannot, as you say, ‘ever be a common wife and husband? But I don’t think\nI was intending to give proofs of _that_—no, indeed.\n\nTo-morrow I shall hear from you. Say how your mother is, in the second\nletter if you do not in the first. May God bless you and keep you,\ndearest beloved—\n\n Your very own BA.\n\nThere is not much in the article by Mr. Chorley, but it is right and kind\nas far as it goes.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 31, 1846.]\n\nI wonder what I shall write to you, Ba—I could suppress my feelings here,\nas I do on other points, and say nothing of the hatefulness of this state\nof things which is prolonged so uselessly. There is the point—show me\none good reason, or show of reason, why we gain anything by deferring\nour departure till next week instead of to-morrow, and I will bear to\nperform yesterday’s part for the amusement of Mr. Kenyon a dozen times\nover without complaint. But if the cold plunge _must_ be taken, all\nthis shivering delay on the bank is hurtful as well as fruitless. I\n_do_ understand your anxieties, dearest—I take your fears and make them\nmine, while I put my own natural feeling of quite another kind away\nfrom us both, succeeding in _that_ beyond all expectation. There is no\namount of patience or suffering I would not undergo to relieve you from\nthese apprehensions. But if, on the whole, you really determine to act\nas we propose in spite of them,—why, a new leaf is turned over in our\njournal, an old part of our adventure done with, and a new one entered\nupon, altogether distinct from the other. Having once decided to go to\nItaly with me, the next thing to decide is on the best means of going—or\nrather, there is just this connection between the two measures, that by\nthe success or failure of the last, the first will have to be justified\nor condemned. You tell me you have decided to go—then, dearest, you will\nbe prepared to go earlier than you promised yesterday—by the end of\nSeptember at very latest. In proportion to the too probable excitement\nand painful circumstances of the departure, the greater amount of\nadvantages should be secured for the departure itself. How can I take\nyou away in even the beginning of October? We shall be a fortnight on\nthe journey—with the year, as everybody sees and says, a full month in\nadvance ... cold mornings and dark evenings already. Everybody would cry\nout on such folly when it was found that we let the favourable weather\nescape, in full assurance that the Autumn would come to us unattended by\nany one beneficial circumstance.\n\nMy own dearest, I am wholly your own, for ever, and under every\ndetermination of yours. If you find yourself unable, or unwilling to make\nthis effort, tell me so and plainly and at once—I will not offer a word\nin objection,—I will continue our present life, if you please, so far as\nmay be desirable, and wait till next autumn, and the next and the next,\ntill providence end our waiting. It is clearly not for me to pretend to\ninstruct you in your duties to God and yourself; ... enough, that I have\nlong ago chosen to accept your decision. If, on the other hand, you make\nup your mind to leave England now, you will be prepared by the end of\nSeptember.\n\nI should think myself the most unworthy of human beings if I could employ\nany arguments with the remotest show of a tendency to _frighten_ you into\na compliance with any scheme of mine. Those methods are for people in\nanother relation to you. But you love me, and, at lowest, shall I say,\nwish me well—and the fact is too obvious for me to commit any indelicacy\nin reminding you, that in any dreadful event to our journey of which\nI could accuse myself as the cause,—as of this undertaking to travel\nwith you in the worst time of year when I could have taken the best,—in\nthe case of your health being irretrievably shaken, for instance ...\nthe happiest fate I should pray for would be to live and die in some\ncorner where I might never hear a word of the English language, much\nless a comment in it on my own wretched imbecility,—to disappear and be\nforgotten.\n\nSo that must not be, for all our sakes. My family will give me to you\nthat we may be both of us happy ... but for such an end—no!\n\nDearest, do you think all this earnestness foolish and uncalled for?—that\nI might know you spoke yesterday in mere jest,—as yourself said, ‘only\nto hear what I would say’? Ah but consider, my own Ba, the way of our\nlife, as it is, and is to be—a word, a simple word from you, is not as a\nword is counted in the world—the word between us is different—I am guided\nby your will, which a word shall signify to me. Consider that just such\na word, so spoken, even with that lightness, would make me lay my life\nat your feet at any minute. Should we gain anything by my trying, if I\ncould, to deaden the sense of hearing, dull the medium of communication\nbetween us; and procuring that, instead of this prompt rising of my will\nat the first intimation from yours, the same effect should only follow\nafter fifty speeches, and as many protestations of complete serious\ndesire for their success on your part, accompanied by all kinds of acts\nand deeds and other evidences of the same?\n\nAt all events, God knows I have said this in the deepest, truest love of\nyou. I will say no more, praying you to forgive whatever you shall judge\nto need forgiveness here,—dearest Ba! I will also say, if that may help\nme,—and what otherwise I might not have said,—that I am not too well this\nmorning, and write with an aching head. My mother’s suffering continues\ntoo.\n\nMy friend Pritchard tells me that Brighton is not to be thought of\nunder ordinary circumstances as a point of departure for Havre. Its\none packet a week from Shoreham cannot get in if the wind and tide are\nunfavourable. There is the greatest uncertainty in consequence ... as\nI have heard before—while, of course, from Southampton, the departures\nare calculated punctually. He considers that the least troublesome plan,\nand the cheapest, is to go from London to Havre ... the voyage being so\narranged that the river passage takes up the day and the sea-crossing\nthe night—you reach Havre early in the morning and get to Paris by four\no’clock, perhaps, in the afternoon ... in time to leave for Orleans and\nspend the night there, I suppose.\n\nDo I make myself particularly remarkable for silliness when confronted\nby our friend as yesterday? And the shortest visit,—and comments of\neverybody. Oh, Mr. Hunter, methinks you should be of some use to me with\nthose amiable peculiarities of yours, if you would just dye your hair\nblack, take a stick in your hand, sink the clerical character you do\nsuch credit to, and have the goodness just to deliver yourself of one\nsuch epithet as _that_ pleasant one, the next time you find me on the\nsteps of No. 50, with Mr. Kenyon somewhere higher up in the building.\nIt is delectable work, this having to do with relatives and ‘freemen\nwho have a right to beat their own negroes,’ and father Zeus with his\npaternal epistles, and peggings to the rock, and immense indignation at\n‘this marriage you talk of’ which is to release his victim. Is Mr. Kenyon\nHermes?\n\n Εἰσελθέτω σε μήποθ’ ὡς ἐγὼ Διὸς\n γνώμην φοβηθεὶς θηλύνους γενήσομαι,\n καὶ λιπαρήσω τὸν μέγα στυγούμενον\n γυναικομίμοις ὑπτιάσμασιν χερῶν,\n λῦσαί με δεσμῶν τῶνδε· τοῦ παντὸς δέω.\n _Chorus of Aunts_: ἡμῖν μὲν Ἑρμῆς οὐκ ἄκαιρα φαίνεται\n λέγειν, κ.τ.λ.[6]\n\n Well, bless you in any case—\n\n Your own R.\n\n[6]\n\n [‘Oh, think no more\n That I, fear-struck by Zeus to a woman’s mind\n Will supplicate him, loathèd as he is,\n With feminine upliftings of my hands,\n To break these chains. Far from me be the thought!\n _Chorus._ Our Hermes suits his reasons to the times;\n At least I think so.’\n\n Æschylus, _Prometheus_, 1002-6, 1036-7.]", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, August 31, 1846.]\n\nHere is dearest Ba’s dearest letter, because the latest, and it is one\nof her very kisses incorporated and made manifest—so perfectly kind! And\nshould this make me ashamed of perhaps an over-earnestness in what I\nwrote yesterday? or not rather justify me to myself and to her—since it\nwas on a passing fear of losing what I hold so infinitely precious, that\nthe earnestness happened! My own Ba, you lap me over with love upon love\n... there is my first and proper love, independent of any return, and\nthere is _this_ return for what would reward itself. Do think how I must\nfeel at the most transient suggestion of failure, and parting, and an end\nto all! You cannot expect I can lie quietly and let my life of life be\ntouched. And ever, dearest, through the life which I trust is about to\nbe permitted us,—ever I shall remember where my treasure is, and turn as\nvigilantly when it is approached. Beside, I was not very well, as I told\nyou in excuse—I am much better now. Not that, upon reconsideration, I can\nalter my opinion on the proper course to take. We know all the miracles\nwrought in our favour hitherto ... are not the chances (speaking in\nthat foolish way) against our expecting more? To-day is fine, sunny and\nwarm, for instance, and looks as if cold weather were a long way off—but\nwhat are these fancies and appearances when weighed against the other\npossibility of a sudden _fall_ of the year? By six months more of days\nlike this we should gain nothing, nothing in the world, you confess—by\nthe other misfortune we lose everything perhaps.\n\nWill you have a homely illustration? There is a tree against our wall\nhere which produced weeks ago a gigantic apple—which my mother had set\nher heart on showing a cousin of mine who is learned in fruits and\ntrees. I told her, ‘You had better pluck it at once—it will fall and be\nspoiled.’ She thought the next day or two would do its cheeks good,—just\nthe next—so there it continued to hang till this morning, when she was\nabout to go out with my sister—I said ‘now is the time—you are going to\nmy aunt’s—let me pluck you the apple’—‘Oh,’ she said ‘I have been looking\nat it, trying it,—it hangs so firmly, ... not _this_ time, thank you!’\nSo she went without it, two hours ago—and just now, I turned to the tree\nwith a boding presentiment—there lay our glory, bruised in the dirt,\na sad wreck! ‘Comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love!’ Rather,\ncounsel me _through_ apples! Do you see the counsel?\n\nCome, let me not be so ungrateful to the letter, to what you have\ndone for me, as only to speak of what you are disinclined to do. I am\nvery glad you succeeded in going to the chapel, and that the result\nwas so favourable—see how the dangers disappear when one faces them!\nAnd the account of Mr. Stratten is very interesting, too—besides\ncharacteristic—do you see _how_? Find as great a saint as the world\nholds, who shall be acknowledged to be utterly disinterested, unbiassed\nby anything except truth and common justice,—a man of sense as well as\npiety—and succeed in convincing such an one of our right to do as we\npurpose,—and then—let _him_ lay the matter before your father! To no\nother use than to exasperate him against Mr. Stratten, deprive your\nsister of the privilege of seeing his family, and bring about a little\nmore pain and trouble!\n\nLet me think of something else ... of the happiness you profess to\nfeel—which it makes me entirely happy to know. I will not try and put\naway the crown you give me. I just say the obvious truth, ... even what\nI _can_ do to make you happy, according to my ability, has yet to be\nexperienced by you ... if my thoughts and wishes reach you with any\neffect at present, they will operate freelier when the obstruction is\nremoved ... that is only natural. I shall live for you, for every minute\nin your life. May God bless me with such a life, as that it may be of use\nto you ... yours it must be whether of use or not, for I am wholly your R.\n\n * * * * *\n\nHere comes my mother back ... she is a little better to-day. I am much\nbetter as I said. And you? Let me get the kiss I lost on Saturday! (I\ndined at Arnould’s yesterday with Chorley and his brother, and the\nCushmans.) Chorley goes to-night to Ostend.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Night.\n [Post-mark, September 1, 1846.]\n\nYou are better, dearest,—and so I will confess to having felt a little\ninclined to reproach you gently for the earlier letter, except that\nyou were not well when you wrote it. That you should endure painfully\nand impatiently a position unworthy of you, is the natural consequence\nof the unworthiness—and I do hold that you would be justified at this\nmoment, on the barest motives of self-respect, in abandoning the whole\nground and leaving me to Mr. Kenyon and others. What I might complain\nof, is another thing—what I might complain of is, that I have not given\nyou reason to _doubt me_ or my inclination to accede to any serious wish\nof yours relating to the step before us. On the contrary I told you in\nso many words in July, that, if you really wished to go in August rather\nthan in September, I would make no difficulty—to which you answered,\nremember, that _October or November would do as well_. Now _is_ it fair,\never dearest, that you should turn round on me so quickly, and call in\nquestion my willingness to keep my engagement for years, if ever? Can I\nhelp it, if the circumstances around us are painful to both of us? Did I\nnot keep repeating, from the beginning, that they _must_ be painful? Only\nyou could not believe, you see, until you felt the pricks. And when all\nis done, and the doing shall be the occasion of new affronts, sarcasms,\nevery form of injustice, will you be any happier then, than you are now\nthat you only imagine the possibility of them? I tremble to answer that\nquestion—even to myself—! As for myself, though I cannot help feeling\npain and fear, in encountering what is to be encountered, and though I\nsometimes fear, in addition, for _you_, lest you should overtask your\nserenity in bearing your own part in it, ... yet certainly I have never\nwavered for a moment from the decision on which all depends. I might\nfill up your quotations from ‘Prometheus,’ and say how no evil takes me\nunaware, having foreseen all from the beginning—but I have not the heart\nfor filling up quotations. I mean to say only, that I never wavered\nfrom the promise I gave freely; and that I will keep it freely at any\ntime you choose—that is, within a week of any time you choose. As to a\nlight word ... why now, dear, judge me in justice! If I had written it,\nthere might have been more wrong in it—but I spoke it lightly to show\nit was light, and in the next breath I told you that it was a jest.\nWill you not forgive me a word so spoken, Robert? will you rather set it\nagainst me as if habitually I threw to you levities in change for earnest\ndevotion?—you imply _that_ of me. Or you _seem_ to imply it—you did not\nmean, you could not, a thought approaching to unkindness,—but it looks\nlike _that_ in the letter, or _did_, this morning. And all the time, you\npretended not to know very well, ... (dearest!) ... that what you made\nup your mind to wish and ask of me, I had not in my power to say ‘no’\nto. Ah, you _knew_ that you had only to make up your mind, and to see\nthat the thing was possible. So if September shall be possible, let it\nbe September. I do not object nor hold back. To sail from the Thames has\nnot the feasibility—and listen why! All the sailing or rather steaming\nfrom London begins _early_; and I told you how out of the question it\nwas, for me to leave this house early. I could not, without involving my\nsisters. Arabel sleeps in my room, on the sofa, and is seldom out of the\nroom before nine in the morning—and for me to draw her into a ruinous\nconfidence, or to escape without a confidence at that hour, would be\nequally impossible. Now see if it is my fancy, my whim! And as for the\nexpenses, _they_ are as nearly equal as a shilling and two sixpences can\nbe—the expense of the sea-voyage from London to Havre, and of the land\nand sea voyage, through Southampton ... _or_ Brighton. But of course what\nyou say of Brighton, keeps us to Southampton, of those two routes. We\ncan go to Southampton and meet the packet ... take the river-steamer to\nRouen, and proceed as rapidly as your programme shows. You are not angry\nwith me, dearest, dearest? I did not mean any harm.\n\nMay God bless you always. _I_ am not angry either, understand, though\nI did think this morning that you were a little hard on me, just when\nI felt myself ready to give up the whole world for you at the holding\nup of a finger. And now say nothing of this. I kiss the end of the dear\nfinger; and when _it_ is ready, _I_ am ready; I will not be reproached\nagain. Being too much your own, very own\n\n BA.\n\nTell me that you keep better. And your mother?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday—3 p.m.\n [Post-mark, September 1, 1846.]\n\nDearest, when your letter kept away, all this morning, I never once\nfancied you might be angry ... I knew you must feel the love which\nproduced the fear. And I will lay to my heart the little, gentlest blame\nthat there is, in the spirit which dictated it. I know, my own Ba, your\nwords have given me the right to doubt nothing from your generosity—but\nit is not the mere bidding ... no, at the thousandth repetition—which can\nmake me help myself to all that treasure which you please to call mine: I\nshall perhaps get used to the generosity and readier to profit by it.\n\nI have not time to write much; all is divinely kind of you, and I love\nyou for forgiving me.\n\nYou could not leave at an early hour under those circumstances ... the\nmoment I become aware of them, I fully see that.\n\nAh, but, Ba, am I so to blame for not taking your diamonds, while\nyou disclaim a right over my pebbles even? May I ‘withdraw from the\nbusiness’? &c., &c.\n\nKiss me, and do not say that again—and I will say you are ‘my own,’ as I\nalways say,—my very own!\n\nAs for ‘sarcasms’ and the rest—I shall hardly do other than despise what\nwill never be said _to_ me, for the best of reasons—except where is to be\nexception. I never objected to such miserable work as that—and the other\nday, my annoyance was not at anything which _might_ be fancied, by Mr.\nKenyon or anybody else, but at what could not but be plainly seen—it was\na fact, and not a fancy, that our visit was shortened &c., &c.\n\nAll which is foolish to think of—I will think of you and a better time.\n\nYou do not tell me how you are, Ba—and I left you with a headache. Will\nyou tell me? And the post may come in earlier to-morrow,—at all events I\nwill write at length ... not in this haste. And our day? When before have\nI been without a day, a fixed day, to look forward to?\n\n Bless you, my dearest beloved—\n\n Your own R.\n\nI am pretty well to-day—not too well. My mother is no better than usual;\nwe blame the wind, with or without reason. See this scrawl! Could\nanything make me write legibly, I wonder?\n\n Ba.\n\n BA.\n\n βα.\n\n Ba, Ba, Ba.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, September 2, 1846.]\n\nHere is a distress for me, dearest! I have lost my poor Flush—_lost_ him!\nYou were a prophet when you said ‘Take care.’\n\nThis morning Arabel and I, and he with us, went in a cab to Vere Street\nwhere we had a little business, and he followed us as usual into a shop\nand out of it again, and was at my heels when I stepped up into the\ncarriage. Having turned, I said ‘Flush,’ and Arabel looked round for\nFlush—there was no Flush! He had been caught up in that moment, from\n_under_ the wheels, do you understand? and the thief must have run with\nhim and thrown him into a bag perhaps. It was such a shock to me—think\nof it! losing him in a moment, _so_! No wonder if I looked white, as\nArabel said! So she began to comfort me by showing how certain it was\nthat I should recover him for ten pounds at most, and we came home ever\nso drearily. Because _Flush_ doesn’t know that we can recover him, and\nhe is in the extremest despair all this while, poor darling Flush, with\nhis fretful fears, and pretty whims, and his fancy of being near me. All\nthis night he will howl and lament, I know perfectly,—for I fear we shall\nnot ransom him to-night. Henry went down for me directly to the captain\nof the banditti, who evidently knew all about it, said Henry,—and after\na little form of consideration and enquiry, promised to let us hear\nsomething this evening, but has not come yet. In the morning perhaps he\nwill come. Henry told him that I was resolved not to give much—but of\ncourse they will make me give what they choose—I am not going to leave\nFlush at their mercy, and they know that as well as I do. My poor Flush!\n\nWhen we shall be at Pisa, dearest, we shall be away from the London\ndog-stealers—it will be one of the advantages. Another may be that I\nmay have an opportunity of ‘forgiving’ you, which I have not had yet. I\nmight reproach you a little in my letter, and I _did_, I believe; but the\noffending was not enough for any _forgiving_ to follow—it is too grand a\nword. Also your worst is better than my best, taking it on the whole. How\nthen should I be able to _forgive_ you, my beloved, even _at Pisa_?\n\nIf we go to Southampton, we go straight from the railroad to the packet,\nwithout entering any hotel—and if we do _so_, _no_ greater expense is\nincurred than by the long water-passage from London. Also, we reach\nHavre alike in the morning, and have the day before us for Rouen, Paris\nand Orleans. Thereupon nothing is lost by losing the early hour for the\ndeparture. Then, if I accede to your _idée fixe_ about the marriage!\nOnly do not let us put a long time between that and the setting out,\nand do not you come here afterwards—let us go away as soon as possible\nafterwards at least. You are afraid for me of my suffering from the\nautumnal cold when it is yet far off—while _I_ (observe this!) while _I_\nam afraid for myself, of breaking down under quite a different set of\ncauses, in nervous excitement and exhaustion. I belong to that pitiful\norder of weak women who cannot command their bodies with their souls at\nevery moment, and who sink down in hysterical disorder when they ought\nto act and resist. Now I think and believe that I shall take strength\nfrom my attachment to you, and so go through to the end what is before\nus; but at the same time, knowing myself and fearing myself, I do desire\nto provoke the ‘demon’ as little as possible, and to be as quiet as the\nsituation will permit. Still, where things _ought_ to be done, they\nof course _must_ be done. Only we should consider whether they really\n_ought_ to be done—not for the sake of the inconvenience to me, but of\nthe consequence to both of us.\n\nDo I frighten you, ever dearest? Oh no—I shall go through it, if I keep a\nbreath of soul in me to live with. I shall go through it, as certainly as\nthat I love you. I speak only of the accessory circumstances, that they\nmay be kept as smooth as is practicable.\n\nYou are not well, my beloved—and I cannot even dream of making you\nbetter this time,—because you will think it wise for us not to meet for\nthe next few days perhaps. Mr. Kenyon will come to see me, he said,\nbefore he leaves town, and he leaves it on the fourth, fifth or sixth\nof September. This is the first. So I will not let you come to be vexed\nas last time—no, indeed. But write to me instead—and pity me for Flush.\nOh, I trust to have him back to-morrow. I had no headache, and was quite\nperfectly well this morning ... before I lost him.\n\nIs your mother able to walk? is she worse on the whole than last week\nfor instance? We may talk of September, but you cannot leave her, you\nknow, dearest, if she should be _so_ ill! it would be unkind and wrong.\n\nMore, to-morrow! But I cannot be more to-morrow, your very own—", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 2, 1846.]\n\nPoor Flush—how sorry I am for you, my Ba! But you will recover him, I\ndare say ... not, perhaps directly; the delay seems to justify their\ncharge at the end: poor fellow—was he no better than the rest of us, and\ndid all that barking and fanciful valour spend itself on such enemies as\nMr. Kenyon and myself, leaving only blandness and waggings of the tail\nfor the man with the bag? I am sure you are grieved and frightened for\nour friend and follower, that was to be, at Pisa—will you not write a\nspecial note to tell me when you get him again?\n\nFor the rest—I will urge you no more by a single word—you shall arrange\neverything henceforward without a desire on my part,—an expressed one at\nleast. Do not let our happiness be caught up from us, after poor Flush’s\nfashion—there may be no redemption from _that_ peril.\n\nThere can hardly be another way of carrying our purpose into effect than\nby that arrangement you consent to—except you choose to sacrifice a day\nand incur all costs of risk. Of course, the whole in the way and with the\nconditions that you shall determine.\n\nDo you think, Ba, I apprehend nothing from the excitement and exhaustion\nattendant on it? I altogether apprehend it,—and am therefore the more\nanxious that no greater difficulty should be superinduced than is\nabsolutely necessary. Because the first part of our adventure will\nbe dangerous in _that_ way, I want the second part to be as safe\nas possible in another. I should care comparatively little about\nwinter-travelling, even (knowing that one can take precautions)—if it\nwere to be undertaken under really propitious circumstances, and you set\nforth with so much kindness to carry away as would keep you warm for\na week or two—but the ‘winter wind that is not so unkind as &c.,’ may\nprove,—by adding its share of unkindness to the greater,—intolerable.\nNow, my last word is said, however—and a kiss follows!\n\nI thank you, dearest, for your enquiries about my mother; and for the\nsympathy, and proposal of delay. She is better this morning, I hope.\nFrom the time that my sister went to Town, she discontinued the exercise\nwhich does her such evident good—and on Monday the walk began again—with\nno great effect yesterday because of the dull weather and sharp wind ...\nshe kept at home—but this morning she is abroad, and will profit by this\nsunshine, I hope. My head will not get quite well, neither. I take both\neffects to be caused by the turn of the year.\n\nBless you, dearest—I cannot but acquiesce in your postponing our day\nfor such reasons. Only, do not misconceive those few foolish words of\nimpatience ... a great matter to bear truly! I shall be punished indeed\nif they prevent you from according to me one hour I should have otherwise\npossessed.\n\n Bless you once again, my Ba.\n\nMy mother is returned—very much better indeed. Remember Flush—to write.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 3, 1846.]\n\n‘Our friend and follower, that _was_ to be’—is _that_, then, your opinion\nof my poor darling Flush’s destiny— Ah,—I should not have been so\nquiet if I had not known differently and better. I ‘shall not recover\nhim directly,’ you think! But, dearest, I am _sure_ that I _shall_. I\nam learned in the ways of the Philistines—I knew from the beginning\nwhere to apply and how to persuade. The worst is poor Flush’s fright\nand suffering. And then, it is inconvenient just now to pay the ransom\nfor him. But we shall have time to-morrow if not to-night. Two hours\nago the chief of the Confederacy came to call on Henry and to tell him\nthat the ‘Society had the dog,’ having done us the honour of tracking us\ninto Bond Street and out of Bond Street into Vere Street where he was\nkidnapped. Now he is in Whitechapel (poor Flush). And the great man was\ngoing down there at half past seven to meet other great men in council\nand hear the decision as to the ransom exacted, and would return with\ntheir _ultimatum_. Oh, the villainy of it is excellent, and then the\nhumiliation of having to pay for your own vexations and anxieties! _Will_\nthey have the insolence, now, to make me pay ten pounds, as they said\nthey would? But I must have Flush, you know—I can’t run any risk, and\nbargain and haggle. There is a dreadful tradition in this neighbourhood,\nof a lady who did _so_ having her dog’s head sent to her in a parcel.\nSo I say to Henry—‘Get Flush back, whatever you do’—for Henry is angry\nas he may well be, and as _I_ should be if I was not too afraid ... and\ntalks police-officers against thieves, and finds it very hard to attend\nto my instructions and be civil and respectful to their captain. There he\nfound him, smoking a cigar in a room with pictures! They make some three\nor four thousand a year by their honourable employment. As to Flush’s\nfollowing anyone ‘blandly,’ never think it. ‘He was caught up and gagged\n... depend upon that. If he could have bitten, he would have bitten—if he\ncould have yelled, he would have yelled. Indeed on a former occasion the\ningenuous thief observed, that he ‘was a difficult dog to get, he was so\ndistrustful.’ They had to drag him with a string, put him into a cab,\nthey said, before. Poor Flush!\n\nDearest, I am glad that your mother is a little better—but why should the\nturn of the year make you suffer, ever dearest? I am not easy about you\nindeed. Remember not to use the shower-bath injudiciously—and remember\nto walk. _Do_ you walk enough?—it being as necessary for you as for your\nmother.\n\nAnd as for _me_ you will not say a word more to _me_, you will leave me\nto my own devices now.\n\nWhich is just exactly what you must _not_ do. Ah, why do you say so,\neven, when you must not do it? Have I refused one proposition of yours\nwhen there were not strong obstacles, that you should have finished\nwith me so, my beloved? For instance, I agreed to your plan about the\nmarrying, and I agreed to go with you to Italy in the latter part of\nSeptember—did I not? And what am I disagreeing in now? Don’t let me pass\nfor disagreeable! And don’t, above all, refuse to think for me, and\ndecide for me, or what will become of me, I cannot guess. I shall be\nworse off than Flush is now ... in his despair, at Whitechapel. Think\nof my being let loose upon a common, just when the thunder-clouds are\ngathering!! You would not be so cruel, _you_. All I meant to say was\nthat it would be wise to make the occasions of excitement as few as\npossible, for the reasons I gave you. But I shall not fail, I believe—I\nshould despise myself too much for failing—I should lose too much by the\nfailure. Then there is an amulet which strengthens the heart of one,—let\nit incline to fail ever so. Believe of me that I shall not fail, dearest\nbeloved—I shall not, if you love me enough to stand by—believe _that_\nalways.\n\nThe heart will sink indeed sometimes—as mine does to-night, I scarcely\nknow why—but even while it sinks, I do not feel that I shall fail _so_—I\ndo not. Dearest, I do not, either, ‘misconceive,’ as you desire me\nnot: I only infer that you will think it best to avoid the chance of\nmeeting Mr. Kenyon, who speaks to me, in a note received this morning, of\nintending to leave town next Monday—of coming here he does not speak,—and\nhe may come and he may not come, on any intermediate day. He wrote for a\nbook he lent me. If I do not see you until Monday, it will be hard—but\njudge! there was more of bitterness than of sweetness in the last visit.\n\nMr. Kenyon said in his note that he had seen Moxon, and that Tennyson was\n‘disappointed’ with the mountains. Is not that strange? Is it a good or a\nbad sign when people are disappointed with the miracles of nature? I am\naccustomed to fancy it a bad sign. Because a man’s imagination ought to\naggrandise, glorify, consecrate. A man sees with his mind, and mind is at\nfault when he does not see greatly, I think.\n\nMoxon sent a civil message to me about my books ‘going off regularly.’\n\nAnd now _I_ must go off—it is my turn. Do you love me to-night, dearest?\nI ask you ... through the air. I am your very own Ba.\n\nSay how you are, I beseech you, and tell me always and particularly of\nyour mother.\n\nThey are all here, gone to a picnic at Richmond.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, September 3, 1846.]\n\nI am rejoiced that poor Flush is found again, dearest—altogether rejoiced.\n\nAnd now that you probably have him by your side, I will tell you what\nI should have done in such a case, because it explains our two ways of\nseeing and meeting oppression lesser or greater. I would not have given\nfive shillings on that fellow’s application. I would have said,—and in\nentire earnestness ‘_You_ are responsible for the proceedings of your\ngang, and _you_ I mark—don’t talk nonsense to me about cutting off heads\nor paws. Be as sure as that I stand here and tell you, I will spend my\nwhole life in putting you down, the nuisance you declare yourself—and by\nevery imaginable means I will be the death of you and as many of your\naccomplices as I can discover—but _you_ I have discovered and will never\nlose sight of—now try my sincerity, by delaying to produce the dog by\nto-morrow. And for the ten pounds—see!’ Whereupon I would give them to\nthe first beggar in the street. You think I should receive Flush’s head?\nPerhaps—_so_ God allows matters to happen! on purpose, it may be, that I\nshould vindicate him by the punishment I would exact.\n\nObserve, Ba, this course ought not to be yours, because it _could_ not\nbe—it would not suit your other qualities. But all religion, right and\njustice, with me, seem implied in such a resistance to wickedness and\nrefusal to multiply it a hundredfold—for from this prompt payment of\nten pounds for a few minutes’ act of the easiest villainy, there will\nbe encouragement to—how many similar acts in the course of next month?\nAnd how will the poor owners fare who have not money enough for their\ndogs’ redemption? I suppose the gentleman, properly disgusted with such\nobstinacy, will threaten roasting at a slow fire to test the sincerity\nof attachment! No—the world would grow too detestable a den of thieves\nand oppressors that way! And this is too great a piece of indignation to\nbe expressed when one has the sick vile headache that oppresses me this\nmorning. Dearest, I am not inclined to be even as tolerant as usual. Will\nyou be tolerant, my Ba, and forgive me—till to-morrow at least—when, what\nwith physic, what with impatience, I shall be better one way or another?\n\n Ever your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, September 4, 1846.]\n\nWhen I had finished that letter this morning, dearest dearest, before I\ncould seal it, even, (my sister did it for me ... and despatched it to\nthe post at once) I became quite ill and so sick as to be forced to go\nup-stairs and throw myself on the bed. It is now six o’clock, and I feel\nbetter, and have some thoughts of breaking my fast to-day—but, first of\nall ... did whatever it may have been I wrote seem _cross_—unnecessarily\nangry, to you, dearest Ba? Because, I confess to having felt indignant\nat this sample of the evils done under the sun every day ... and as\nif it would be to no purpose though the whole world were peopled with\nBa’s, instead of just Wimpole Street; as they would be just so many\nmore soft cushions for the villainously-disposed to run pins into at\ntheir pleasure. Donne says that ‘Weakness invites, but silence _feasts_\noppression.’ And it is horrible to fancy how all the oppressors in\ntheir several ranks may, if they choose, twitch back to them by the\nheartstrings after various modes the weak and silent whose secret they\nhave found out. No one should profit by those qualities in me, at least.\nHaving formed a resolution, I would keep it, I hope, through fire and\nwater, and the threatener of any piece of rascality, who (as commonly\nhappens) should be without the full heart to carry it into effect, should\npay me exactly the same for the threat ... which had determined my\nconduct once and for ever. But in this particular case, I ought to have\ntold you (unless you divined it, as you might) that I would give all I\nam ever to be worth in the world to get back your Flush for you—for your\ninterest is not _mine_, any more than the lake is the river that goes to\nfeed it,—mine is only made to feed yours—I am yours, as we say—as I feel\nmore and more every minute.\n\nAre you not mine, too? And do you not forgive your own R?", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 4, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, you are not well—that is the first thing!—And that is\nthe thing I saw first, when, opening your letter, my eyes fell on the\nending sentence of it,—which disenchanted me in a moment from the hope\nof the day. Dearest—you have not been well for two or three days, it\nis plain,—and now you are very, very unwell—tell me if it is not so?\nI beseech you to let me hear the exact truth about you, for I am very\nuneasy, and it is dreadful to doubt about knowing the exact truth in all\nsuch cases. How everything goes against me this week! I cannot see you. I\ncannot comfort myself by knowing that you are well. And then poor Flush!\nYou must let him pass as one of the evils, and you _will_, I know; for I\nhave not got him back yet—no, indeed.\n\nI should have done it. The archfiend, Taylor, the man whom you are going\nto spend your life in persecuting (the life that belongs to me, too!),\ncame last night to say that they would accept six pounds, six guineas,\nwith half a guinea for himself, considering the trouble of the mediation;\nand Papa desired Henry to refuse to pay, and not to tell me a word about\nit—all which I did not find out till this morning. Now it is less, as\nthe money goes, than I had expected, and I was very vexed and angry, and\nwanted Henry to go at once and conclude the business—only he wouldn’t,\ntalked of Papa, and persuaded me that Taylor would come to-day with a\nlower charge. He has not come—I knew he would not come,—and if people\nwon’t do as I choose, I shall go down to-morrow morning myself and bring\nFlush back with me. All this time he is suffering and I am suffering.\nIt may be very foolish—I do not say it is not—or it may even be ‘awful\nsin,’ as Mr. Boyd sends to assure me—but I cannot endure to run cruel\nhazards about my poor Flush for the sake of a few guineas, or even for\nthe sake of abstract principles of justice—I cannot. _You_ say that _I_\ncannot, ... but that _you would_. You would!—Ah dearest—most pattern\nof citizens, but you _would not_—I know you better. Your theory is far\ntoo good not to fall to pieces in practice. A man may love justice\nintensely; but the love of an abstract principle is not the strongest\nlove—now is it? Let us consider a little, putting poor Flush out of the\nquestion. (You would bear, you say, to receive his head in a parcel—it\nwould satisfy you to cut off Taylor’s in return). Do you mean to say\nthat if the banditti came down on us in Italy and carried me off to the\nmountains, and, sending to you one of my ears, to show you my probable\nfate if you did not let them have ... how much may I venture to say I am\nworth? ... five or six scudi,—(is _that_ reasonable at all?) ... would\nyour answer be ‘Not so many crazie’; and would you wait, poised upon\nabstract principles, for the other ear, and the catastrophe,—as was done\nin Spain not long ago? Would you, dearest? Because it is as well to know\nbeforehand, perhaps.\n\nAh—how I am teazing you, my beloved, when you are not well. But indeed\nthat life of yours is worthy of better uses than to scourge Taylor with,\neven if _I_ should not be worth the crazie.\n\nI have seen nobody and heard nothing. I bought a pair of shoes to-day\nlined with flannel, to walk with on the bare floors of Italy in the\nwinter. Is not _that_ being practical and coming to the point? I did it\nindeed!\n\nMay God bless you. I love you always and am your own.\n\nWrite of yourself, I _do pray you_—and also, how is your mother?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Friday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 4, 1846.]\n\nYou dearest, best Ba, I will say at the beginning of the letter, and not\nat the end, this time, that I am very much better—my head clear from\npain, if a little _uncertain_—I was in the garden when your letter came.\nThe worst is, that I am really forced to go and dine out to-day—but I\nshall take all imaginable care and get away early ... and be ready to go\nand see you at a minute’s notice, should a note signify your permission\nto-morrow ... if Mr. Kenyon’s visit is over, for instance. I have to\nattribute this effect to that abstinent system of yours. Depend on it, I\nshall be well and continue well now.\n\nDear Ba, I wrote under the notion (as I said) that poor Flush was safe\nby your side; and only took that occasion to point at what I must still\nconsider the wrongness of the whole system of giving way to, instead of\nopposing, such proceedings. I think it lamentable weakness ... though I\ncan quite understand and allow for it in you,—but weakness it essentially\n_is_, as _you_ know perfectly. For see, you first put the matter in the\ngentlest possible light ... ‘who would give much time and trouble to the\ncastigation of such a fellow as _that_!’ You ask—and immediately after,\nfor another purpose, you very rightly rank this crime with that other\nenormous one, of the Spanish banditti—nay, you confess that, in this very\ncase, any such injury to Flush as you dread would give you inexpressible\ngrief. Is the threatening this outrage then so little a matter? Am I\nto think it a less matter if the same miscreant should _strike_ you in\nthe street because you would probably suffer less than by this that he\n_has_ done? There is the inevitable inconsistency of wrong reasoning in\nall this. Say, as I told you on another subject,—‘I determine to resist\nno injury whatever, to be at the disposal of any villain in the world,\ntrusting to God for protection here or recompense hereafter’—or take my\ncourse; _which_ is the easier, and in the long run, however strangely it\nmay seem, the more profitable, no one can doubt—but I take the harder—in\nall but the responsibility—which, without any cant, would be intolerable\nto me. Look at this ‘society’ with its ‘four thousand a year’—which\nunless its members are perfect fools they will go on to double and\ntreble—would this have existed if a proper stand had been made at the\nbeginning? The first silly man, woman or child who consented to pay five\nshillings, beyond the mere expense of keeping the dog (on the supposition\nof its having been found, _not_ stolen), is responsible for all the\nharm—what could the thief do but go and steal another, and ask double for\nits ransom?\n\nAnd see—dog-stealers so encouraged are the lowest of the vile—can neither\nwrite nor read, perhaps. One of the fraternity possesses this knowledge,\nhowever, and aims higher. Accordingly, instead of stealing your dog,\nhe determines to steal your character; if a guinea (at the beginning)\nransoms the one, ten pounds shall ransom the other; accordingly Mr.\nBarnard Gregory takes pen in hand and writes to some timid man, in the\nfirst instance, that unless he receives that sum, his character will\nbe blasted. The timid man takes your advice ... says that the ‘love\nof an abstract principle’ must not run him into ‘cruel hazards’ ‘for\nthe sake of a few guineas’—so he pays them—who would bother himself\nwith such vermin as Gregory? So Gregory receives his pay for his five\nminutes’ penmanship—takes down a directory, and writes five hundred\nsuch letters. Serjeant Talfourd told me, counting them on his fingers,\n‘such and such’ (naming them) cut their throats after robbing their\nfamilies, employers &c., such fled the country—such went mad ... _that_\nwas the commonest event.’ At last, even so poor a creature as the Duke\nof Brunswick, with his detestable character and painted face,—even _he_\nplucks up courage and turns on Gregory, grown by this time into a really\nformidable monster by these amiable victims to the other principle of\neasy virtue,—and the event is that this execrable ‘Abhorson’s’ trade is\nutterly destroyed—that form of atrocious persecution exists no longer. I\nam in no danger of being told, at next post delivery, that having been\n‘tracked up Vere Street, down Bond Street, &c.’ into Wimpole Street\nmy character and yours will be the subject of an article in the next\n_Satirist_ unless ...\n\nTo all of which you have a great answer—‘What should I do if _you_ were\nto be the victim?’ That my note yesterday, the second one, told you.\nI sacrifice _myself_ ... all that belongs _to me_—but there are some\ninterests which I belong to—I have no right, no more than inclination,\nin such a case, to think of myself if your safety is concerned, and as\nI could cut off a limb to save my head, so my head should fall most\nwillingly to redeem yours ... I would pay every farthing I had in the\nworld, and shoot with my own hand the receiver of it after a chase of\nfifty years—esteeming _that_ to be a very worthy recompense for the\ntrouble.\n\nBut why write all this string of truisms about the plainest thing in\nthe world? All reformers are met at the outset by such dissuasion from\ntheir efforts. ‘Better suffer the grievance and get off as cheaply as you\n[can]—You, Mahomet,—what if the Caaba _be_ only a black stone? You need\nonly bow your head as the others, and make any inward remark you like on\nthe blindness of the people. You, Hampden, have you really so little wit\nas to contest payment of a paltry 20_s._ at such risk?’\n\nAh, but here all the fuss is just about stealing a dog—two or three\nwords, and the matter becomes simply ludicrous—very easily got rid of!\nOne cannot take vengeance on the ‘great man’ with his cigar and room of\npictures and burlesque dignities of mediation! Just so, when Robert was\ninclined to be sorry for the fate of Bertha’s sister, one can fancy what\na relief and change would be operated in his feelings, if a good-natured\nfriend send him a version of his mighty crime in Lord Rochester’s funny\naccount of ‘forsaken damsels’ ... with the motto ‘Women have died ere now\nand worms have eaten them—but not for love—’ or ‘At lovers’ perjuries\nJove laughs’ why, Robert is a ‘lady-killer’ like D’Orsay! Well, enough of\nsermonizing for the present; it is impossible for me to differ with you\nand treat _that_ as a light matter ... or, what on earth would have been\nso little to wonder at, as that, loving Flush, you should determine to\nsave him at any price? If ‘Chiappino’ were to assure you, in terms that\nyou could not disbelieve, that in the event of your marrying me he would\ndestroy himself,—would you answer, as I should, ‘Do so, and take the\nconsequences,’—and think no more about the matter? I should absolutely\nleave it, as not my concern but God’s—nor should blame myself any more\nthan if the poor man, being uncertain what to do, had said ‘If a man\nfirst passes the window—yes—if a woman—no’—and I, a total stranger, had\npassed.\n\nOne word more—in all this, I labour against the execrable policy of the\nworld’s husbands, fathers, brothers, and domineerers in general. I am\nabout to marry you ... how wise, then, to encourage such a temper in you!\nsuch was that divine Griselda’s—a word rules the gentle nature—‘Do this,\nor....’\n\nMy own Ba, if I thought you could fear me, I think _I_ should have the\ncourage to give you up to-morrow!\n\nBecause _to-day_ I am altogether yours, and you are my very own—and\nto-morrow never comes, they say. Bless you, my best dearest Ba—and if you\nthink I deserve it, you shall test the excellence of those slippers on my\ncheek, (and not the flannelled side, neither), the next happy time I see\nyou ... which will be soon, soon, I trust! who am more than\n\n ever your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday.\n [Post-mark, September 5, 1846.]\n\nYou best! Was ever any in the world, in any possible world, so\nperfectly good and dear to another as you are to me! Ah! if you could\nknow how I feel to you, when you write such words as came to me this\nmorning—Dearest! It ends in that, all I can say. And yet I must say\nbesides that the idea of ‘crossness,’ of hardness, never came to me, for\none moment, from the previous letter. I just shook my head and thought\nhow you would not act it out, if _you_ had a Flush. Upon which I could\nnot follow out my argument to myself, through thinking that you were ill.\n\nYou are better now, Robert, and you promise to take care of the dinner,\nwhere you should _not_ go if I were near you. I should be ‘afraid of you’\nfar too much to let you, indeed! Such a wrong thing _that_ dinner is\n... as wrong as any dogstealer in his way ... drawing you out just when\nyou ought to be at home and quiet, if not ‘abstinent.’ When did I ever\ntell you to be abstinent, pray? You are too much so, it seems to me, in\ngeneral: and to pass the whole of that day without eating! How unwell\nyou must have been, dearest! How I long to see you and ascertain that\nyou look tolerably well! How very, very happy I should be, to be able to\nlook at you to-morrow. But no, no! Mr. Kenyon does not come, and we must\nbe wise, I suppose, and wait till the ground is clear of him, which will\nnot be till Monday. Probably he will visit me on Sunday—but the chance\nof Saturday is like the hat on a pole in gardens, set there to frighten\naway the birds. Still they may sing on the other side of the wall, not to\nbe too far from the cherries and the hope of them. Monday surely will be\na clear day. Unless Mr. Kenyon shall put off his journey just to despite\nus—who shall say?\n\nI have not Flush yet. I am to have him to-morrow morning.\n\nAnd for the Flush-argument, dear dearest, I hold that your theory is\nentirely good and undeniable. I agree with you throughout it, praising\nMahomet, praising Hampden, and classing the Taylors, Gregorys, and\nSpanish banditti all together. Also I hope I should try, at least, to\nresist with you their various iniquities—and, for instance, I do not\nthink that any Gregory in the world would draw a shilling from _me_, by a\nthreat against my own character. I should dare _that_, oh, I am confident\nI should—the indignation would be far the stronger, where I myself only\nwas involved. And even in the imaginary Chiappino-case, the selfish and\ndastardly threat would fall from me like a child’s arrow from steel. I\nbelieve so.\n\nBut Flush, poor Flush, Flush who has loved me so faithfully; have I\na right to sacrifice _him_ in his innocence, for the sake of any Mr.\nTaylor’s guilt in the world? Does not Flush’s condition assimilate to\nmy own among the banditti? for you agree that you would not, after all,\nleave me to the banditti—and I, _exactly on the same ground_, will not\nleave Flush. It seems to me that you and I are _at one_ upon the whole\nquestion,—only that _I_ am _your_ Flush, and _he_ is mine. You, if you\nwere ‘consistent’ ... dearest! ... would not redeem me on any account.\nYou do ever so much harm by it, observe—you produce catastrophe on\ncatastrophe, just for the sake of my two ears without earrings! Oh, I\nentirely agree with your principle. Evil should be resisted that it may\nfly from you.\n\nBut Flush is not to be sacrificed—nor even is Ba, it appears. So our two\nweaknesses may pardon one another, yours and mine!\n\nSome dog, shut up in a mews somewhere behind this house, has been yelling\nand moaning to-day and yesterday. How he has made me think of my poor\npoor Flush, I cannot tell you—‘Think of Flush’ he seemed to say.\n\nYes!—A blow in the street! I wish somebody _would_ propose such a thing\nto me, in exchange! I would have thanked Mr. Taylor himself for striking\nme down in the street, if the stroke had been offered as an alternative\nfor the loss of Flush. You may think it absurd—but when my dinner is\nbrought to me, I feel as if I could not (scarcely) touch it—the thought\nof poor Flush’s golden eyes is too strong in me.\n\nNot a word of your mother. She is better, I trust! And you ... may God\nkeep you better, beloved! To be parted from you so long, teaches me the\nnecessity of your presence—I am your very, very own.\n\nI was out to-day—driving along the Hampstead Road. What weather!", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Saturday.\n [Post-mark, September 5, 1846.]\n\nDearest Ba, I feel your perfect goodness at my heart—I can say nothing.\n\nNor write very much more: my head still teazes, rather than pains me.\nDon’t lay more of it to the dinner than necessary: I got my sister to\nwrite a letter deprecatory of all pressing to eat and drink and such\nmistaken hospitality—to the end that I might sit unpitied, uncondoled\nwith, and be an eyesore to nobody—which succeeded so well that I eat\nsome mutton and drank wine and water without let or molestation. Our\nparty was reduced to three, by a couple of defections—but there was an\nimmense talking and I dare say this continuance of my ailment is partly\nattributable to it. I shall be quiet now. I tell you the simple truth,\nthat you may believe—and this also believe, that it would have done me\ngreat good to go to you this morning,—if I could lean my head on your\nneck, what could pain it, dear dear Ba?\n\nI am sorry poor Flush is not back again—very sorry. But no one would hurt\nhim, be quite sure ... his mere value prevents that.\n\nShall I see you on Monday then? This is the _first time_ since we met at\nthe beginning, that a whole week, from a Sunday to a Saturday, has gone\nby without a day for us. Well—I trust you are constant ... nay you _are_\nconstant to your purpose of leaving at the end of this month. When we\nmeet next, let us talk of our business, like the grave man and woman we\nare going to become. Mr. K. will be away—how fortunate this is! We need\nimplicate nobody. And in the end the reasonableness of what we do will be\napparent to everybody—if I can show you well and happy,—which God send!\n\nKiss me as I kiss you, my own Ba. I am all one wide wonder at your loving\nnature: I can only give it the like love in return, and as much limited\nas I am limited. But I seem really to _grow_ under you,—my faculties\nextend toward yours.\n\nMay God bless you, and enable me to make you as happy as your dear\ngenerous heart will be contented to be made. I am your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 5, 1846.]\n\nDearest, I write just a few lines that you may know me for thinking of\nyou to-morrow. Flush has not come and I am going on a voyage of discovery\nmyself,—Henry being far too lukewarm. He says I may be robbed and\nmurdered before the time for coming back, in which case remember that it\nis not my fault that I do not go with you to Pisa.\n\nJust now came a kind little note from dear Mr. Kenyon, who will not come,\nhe says, Flush being away, and has set out on his travels, meaning not\nto come back for a week. So I might have seen you after all, to-day!\nMy comfort is, that it is good for you, beloved, to be quiet, and that\ncoming through the sun might have made your head suffer. How my thoughts\nare with you—how all day they never fall from you! I shall have my letter\nto-night through your dear goodness, which is a lamp hung up for me to\nlook towards. Aladdin’s, did you say? Yes, Aladdin’s.\n\nAs to being afraid of you ever—once, do you know, I was quite afraid ...\nin a peculiar sense—as when it thunders, I am afraid ... or a little\ndifferent from _that_ even—or, oh yes, _very_ different from _that_.\nNow it is changed ... the feeling is—and I am not afraid even so—except\nsometimes of losing your affection by some fault of my own—I am _not_\nafraid that it would be a fault of yours, remember. I trust you for\ngoodness to the uttermost—and I know perfectly that if you did not love\nme (_supposing_ it) you are one who would be _ashamed_ for a woman to\nfear you, as some women fear some men. For _me_, I could not, you know—I\nknew you too well and love you too perfectly, and everybody can tell what\nperfect love casts out.\n\nSo you need not have done with me for _that_ reason! Understand it.\n\nAnd if I shall not be slain by the ‘society,’ you shall be written to\nagain to-night. Ah—say in the letter _I_ am to have, that you are better!\nAnd you are to come on Monday—dear, dearest! mind _that_!\n\n Your Ba.\n\nCome back safe, but without Flush—I am to have him to-night though.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, September 7, 1846.]\n\nNot well—not well! But I shall see you with my own eyes soon after you\nread what I write to-day; so I shall not write much. Only a few words\nto tell you that Flush is found, and lying on the sofa, with one paw and\nboth ears hanging over the edge of it. Still my visit to Taylor was not\nthe successful one. My hero was not at home.\n\nI went, you know, ... did I tell you? ... with Wilson in the cab. We\ngot into obscure streets; and our cabman stopped at a public house\nto ask his way. Out came two or three men, ... ‘Oh, you want to find\nMr. Taylor, I dare say!’ (mark that no name had been mentioned!) and\ninstantly an unsolicited philanthropist ran before us to the house, and\nout again to tell me that the great man ‘wasn’t at home! but wouldn’t I\nget out?’ Wilson, in an aside of terror, entreated me not to think of\nsuch a thing—she believed devoutly in the robbing and murdering, and\nwas not reassured by the gang of benevolent men and boys who ‘lived but\nto oblige us’ all round the cab. ‘Then wouldn’t I see Mrs. Taylor,’\nsuggested the philanthropist,—and, notwithstanding my negatives, he had\nrun back again and brought an immense feminine bandit, ... fat enough to\nhave had an easy conscience all her life, ... who informed me that ‘her\nhusband might be in in a few minutes, or in so many hours—wouldn’t I\nlike to get out and wait’ (Wilson pulling at my gown, the philanthropist\nechoing the invitation of the feminine Taylor.)—‘No, I thanked them\nall—it was not necessary that I should get out, but it _was_, that Mr.\nTaylor should keep his promise about the restoration of a dog which he\nhad agreed to restore—and I begged her to induce him to go to Wimpole\nStreet in the course of the day, and not defer it any longer.’ To which,\nreplied the lady, with the most gracious of smiles—‘Oh yes certainly’—and\nindeed she _did_ believe that Taylor had left home precisely on that\nbusiness—poising her head to the right and left with the most easy\ngrace—‘She was sure that Taylor would give his very best attention....’\n\nSo, in the midst of the politeness, we drove away, and Wilson seemed to\nbe of opinion that we had escaped with our lives barely. Plain enough it\nwas, that the gang was strong there. The society ... the ‘Fancy’ ... had\ntheir roots in the ground. The faces of those men!—\n\nI had not been at home long, when Mr. Taylor did actually come—desiring\nto have six guineas confided to his honour!! ... and promising to\nbring back the dog. I sent down the money, and told them to trust the\ngentleman’s honour, as there seemed no other way for it—and while the\nbusiness was being concluded, in came Alfred, and straightway called our\n‘honourable friend’ (meeting him in the passage) a swindler and a liar\nand a thief. Which no gentleman could bear, of course. Therefore with\nreiterated oaths he swore, ‘as he hoped to be saved, we should never see\nour dog again’—and rushed out of the house. Followed a great storm. I was\nvery angry with Alfred, who had no business to risk Flush’s life for the\nsake of the satisfaction of trying on names which fitted. Angry I was\nwith Alfred, and terrified for Flush,—seeing at a glance the probability\nof his head being cut off as the proper vengeance! and down-stairs I went\nwith the resolution of going again myself to Mr. Taylor’s in Manning\nStreet, or Shoreditch [or] wherever it was, and saving the victim at any\nprice. It was the evening, getting dusk—and everybody was crying out\nagainst me for being ‘quite mad’ and obstinate, and wilful—I was called\nas many names as Mr. Taylor. At last, Sette said that _he_ would do it,\npromised to be as civil as I could wish, and got me to be ‘in a good\nhumour and go up to my room again.’ And he went instead of me, and took\nthe money and fair words, and induced the ‘man of honour’ to forfeit\nhis vengeance and go and fetch the dog. Flush arrived here at eight\no’clock (at the very moment with your letter, dearest!), and the first\nthing he did was to dash up to this door, and then to drink his purple\ncup full of water, filled three times over. He was not so enthusiastic\nabout seeing me, as I expected—he seemed bewildered and frightened—and\nwhenever anyone said to him ‘Poor Flush, did the naughty men take you\naway?’ he put up his head and moaned and yelled. He has been very unhappy\ncertainly. Dirty he is, and much thinner, and continually he is drinking.\nSix guineas, was his ransom—and now I have paid twenty for him to the\ndog-stealers.\n\nArabel says that I wanted _you_ yesterday, she thought, to manage me a\nlittle. She thought I was suddenly seized with madness, to prepare to\nwalk out of the house in that state of excitement and that hour of the\nevening. But now—_was_ I to let them cut off Flush’s head?—\n\nThere! I have told you the whole history of yesterday’s adventures—and\nto-morrow I shall see you, my own dear, dear!—Only remember for my sake,\n_not_ to come if you are not fit to come. Dearest, remember not to run\nany hazards!—That dinner! which I _will_ blame, because it deserves it!\nMind not to make me be as bad as that dinner, in being the means of\nworking you harm! So I expect you to-morrow _conditionally_ ... if you\nare well enough!—and I thank you for the kind dear letter, welcome next\nto you, ... being ever and ever your own\n\n BA.\n\nI have been to the _vestry_ again to-day.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, September 7, 1846.]\n\nNo, dearest, I am not to see you to-morrow for all the happiness of the\npermission! It seems absurd, but perhaps the greater absurdity would be\na refusal to submit, under circumstances. You shall hear—I got up with\nthe old _vertiginousness_, or a little worse—and so, as I had in that\ncase determined, went to consult my doctor. He thinks he finds the root\nof the evil and can remove it, ‘if I have patience enough’—so I promised\n... expecting something worthy that preamble—whereas I am bidden go to\nbed and keep there for a day or two—from this Sunday till Wednesday\nmorning—taking nothing but a sip of medicine I can’t distinguish from\nwater, thrice a day—and _milk_ at discretion—no other food! The mild\nqueerness of it is amusing, is it not? ‘And for this fine piece of\nself-denial,’ says he, ‘you shall be quite well by the week’s end.’—‘But\nmay I go to town on Wednesday?’—‘Yes.’—\n\nNow, Ba, my own Ba, you know how often I have to sorrowfully disclaim\nall the praises your dearest kindness would attach to me; this time, if\nyou will praise me a little for obeying you, I will take the praise—for\nthe truth of truths is, that I said at once to myself—‘have I a right to\navoid anything which promises to relieve Her from this eternal account of\naches and pains?’ So here am I writing, leaning on my elbow, in bed,—as\nI never wrote before I think—and perhaps my head is a little better, or\nI fancy so. Mind, I may read, or write,—only in bed I must lie, because\nthere is some temperature to be kept up in the skin, or some other cause\nas good—‘for reasons, for reasons.’\n\n‘The milk,’ answers Ba, is exactly to correct the superabundant gall of\nbitterness which overflowed lately about Flush. So it is, my own Ba—and\nfor Flush, the victim of a principle, he is just saved from a sickness by\ncakes I meditated as a joy-offering on his safe return. Will you, among\nthe other kisses, give him one for me? And save yet another for your own\nR.\n\nHow I shall need your letters, dearest!", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 7, 1846.]\n\nEver, ever dearest, how was it that without presentiment of evil I got\nup this morning in the good spirits of ‘_our_ days,’ hoping to see you,\nbelieving to see you, and feeling that it would be greater happiness than\nusual? The sight of your letter, even, did not provoke the cloud—_that_\nwas only the lesser joy, I thought, preceding the greater! And smiling\nto myself I was, both last night and this morning, at your phrase about\nthe ‘business’ to be talked by the ‘grave man and woman’; understanding\nyour precaution against all unlawful jesting!—jesters forbidden in the\nprotocol! And then, at last, to be made so suddenly grave and sad even!\nHow am I to be comforted, my own dearest? No way, except by your being\nreally better, really well—in order to which I shall not let you come\nas soon as Wednesday: it will not be wise for you to leave your bed for\na journey into London! Rather you should be very quiet, and keep in the\ngarden at farthest. Take care of yourself, dearest dearest, and if you\nthink of me and love me, show it in that best way. And I praise you,\npraise you,—nay, I thank you and am grateful to you for every such proof\nof love, more than for _other_ kinds of proof,—I will love you for it,\nmy beloved! Now judge—shall I be able to help thinking of you every\nmoment of the day? Could I help it, if I tried? In return, therefore,\nyou will attend to the orders, submit to the discipline—ah but, will not\nthe leaving off all food but milk weaken you out of measure? I am uneasy\nabout that milk-diet for _you_, who always seem to me to want support,\nand something to stimulate. You will promise to tell me _everything_—will\nyou, dearest?—whether better or worse, stronger or weaker, you will tell\nme? And if you should be too unwell to write, as may God forbid, your\nsister will write—she will have that great goodness? Let it be so, I\nbeseech you.\n\nBut you will be better—oh, I mean to hope stedfastly toward your being\nbetter, and toward the possibility of our meeting before the week ends.\nAnd as for this day lost, it is not of importance except in our present\nthoughts: soon you will have more than enough of me, you know. For I am\nin earnest and not a jester _au fond_, and am ready to do just as you bid\nme and think best—which I tell you now, that you may not be vexed at a\nshadow, after my own fashion. May God bless you—‘_and me in you_.’ Have\nI not leave to say _that_, too, since I feel it more than you could ...\n(more intensely ... I do not say more sincerely ...) when you used it\nfirst? My happiness and life are in you,—I am your very own\n\n BA.\n\nYour mother—how is she? Mind you get an amusing book ... something to\namuse only, and not use you. Do you know the ‘Mathilde’ of Sue? I shall\nwrite again to-night.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 7, 1846.]\n\nI had the greatest mind, when your letter came—(the most welcome of all\nletters—so much more than I could expect!)—to get up at once and be well\nin your dearest eyes or through them—but I checked myself and thought\nthat I ought to be contented with one such a letter through whole long\nweeks of annoyance, instead of one day more.\n\nI am delighted to know Flush is with you, if I am not. Did you remember\nmy petition about him? But, dearest, it _was_ very imprudent to go to\nthose disgusting wretches yourself—they have had a pretty honour without\nknowing it!\n\nHere I lie with a dizzy head—unable to read more than a page or two ...\nthere is something in the unwonted position that tires me—but whenever\nthe book is left off, I turn to the dark side of the room and see you, my\nvery own Ba,—and so I am soon better and able to try again.\n\nHow hot, and thunder-like this oppressive air! And you who are affected\nby such weather? Tell me, my dearest dearest, all you can tell me—since\nthe real lips and eyes are away.\n\nBless you, my beloved. Remember, I count upon seeing you on Wednesday at\nfarthest.\n\n Your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Night.\n [Post-mark, September 8, 1846.]\n\nHow unwell you are, dearest beloved! Ah no! It is not ‘the position that\ntires you,’ it is the illness that incapacitates you. And _you_ to think\nof getting up and coming here ... you! Now, for my sake, for both our\nsakes, you _must_ and _shall_ be patient and quiet, and remember how\nmy thoughts are with you conjuring you continually to quiet. As to the\nreading, ... you see it makes you dizzy,—and to provoke that sensation\ncannot plainly be right: and you will be right always, will you not, for\nmy sake, dearest of all? And for the coming here on Wednesday, ... no,\nno, I say again,—you ought not to do it, and you shall not: we will see\nhow you are, later in the week; but for Wednesday, certainly no. That\nviolent transition from the bed to the omnibus would be manifestly wrong.\nAlso I can be quite satisfied without seeing you, if I may but hear of\nyour being well again. I wonder to-day how yesterday I was impatient\nabout not having seen you so long. Oh, be well, be well, dearest! There\nis no need of your being ill to prove to me how I love you entirely, how\nI love you only!\n\nFor Flush, I did your commission, kissing the top of his head: then I\ntook the kiss back again because it seemed too good for him _just now_.\nAnd you shall not say that you ‘are glad _he_ is with me if _you_ are\nnot’? It is more to Flush’s disadvantage, that phrase is than all your\ntheories which pretended to leave him with the dogstealers. How can I be\nglad of anyone’s being with me if you are not? And how should _you_ be\nglad for anything, if _I_ am not? Flush and I know our logic better than\nto accept that congratulation of yours, with the spike pricking us out of\nit.\n\nSo hot, indeed, to-day! If you thought of me, I thought of you, through\nit all. This close air cannot be good for you while you are shut up. But\n_I_ have not been shut up. I went out in the carriage and bought a pair\nof boots for Italy, besides the shoes—because, you see, we shall have\nsuch long walks in the forest after the camels, and it won’t do to go\nin one’s slippers. Does not _that_ sound like ‘a grave woman?’ You need\nnot make laws against the jesters, after all! You need only be well!\nAnd, gravely, quite gravely, is it not likely that going to Italy, that\ntravelling, and putting an end to all the annoyances which lately have\ngrown up out of our affairs, will do you good, substantial good, in this\nchief matter of your health? It seems so to me sometimes. You are always\nwell, you say, in Italy, and when you get there once again. But in the\nmeanwhile, try to be a little better, my own dearest! I cannot write to\nyou except about you to-night. The subject is too near me—I am under the\nshadow of the wall, and cannot see over it. To-morrow I shall hear more,\nand _trust to you_ to tell me the whole, unmutilated truth. May God bless\nyou, as _I_ would, _I_ in my weakness! For the best blessing on your\npart, love your own\n\n BA.\n\nAnd do not tire yourself with writing. The least line—three words—I\nbeseech you not to let me do you harm.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 8, 1846.]\n\nDo you think your wishes, much less your blessings, fall to the\nground, my own Ba? Here is your letter, and here am I writing to you,\n‘clothed and in my proper’ room My doctor bade me ‘get up and do as\nI pleased’—and the perfect pleasure is to say, I may indeed see you\nto-morrow, dearest, dearest! Can you look as you look in this letter? So\nentirely my own, and yet,—what should never be my own, by right ... such\na treasure to one so little worthy!\n\nI have only a few minutes to say this,—the dressing and talking having\ntaken up the time. To-morrow shall repay me!\n\nThe lightness, slight uneasiness of the head, continues, though the\ngeneral health is much better, it seems.\n\nDo you doubt I shall be well in Italy? But I must leave off. Bless you as\nyou have blessed me, my best, dearest Ba, me who am your very own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 9, 1846.]\n\nI write a word to say, ... dearest, do not run any risk about coming\nto-morrow. I mean, ... unless you are sure that the noise and exertion\nwill not be too much for you,—unless, when the moment comes for setting\noff, you feel equal to it ... now, I do beseech you, very dear, not to\npersist in coming because you have said that you will come—I beseech you.\nListen. At three o’clock I shall expect you doubtfully; at half-past\nthree, the doubt will be the strongest; and at a quarter to four, I shall\nhave said to myself cheerfully, that you were wise and good and had\ndetermined to stay at home. In that case, I shall have a line from you by\nfive or six! Understand all this, and let it have the right influence and\nno more. Of course if I could see you without harm to yourself, and so to\nme, it would be a _great happiness_: it even makes me happy to think of,\nas a bare possibility, at this distance off! I am happy by your letter,\ntwice over, indeed—once, for _that_ reason, ... and again, for the\nthought of your being in some respects better. At the same time I do not\nsee why your wise man did not follow his plan to the end. It looks as if\nhe did not think you better essentially because of it. Ah well, I shall\nsee with my eyes to-morrow—_perhaps_ I shall: and I shall see in a dream\nto-night more certainly.\n\nThis shall go at once, though, that it may reach you in time in the\nmorning. How I thank you for the precious note! You are so much too good\nto me, that your being also too _dear_ is an excusable consequence—or\nwould be, if it were possible. I write nonsense, I believe,—but it is\nhalf for gladness ... and half ... for what makes me your own\n\n BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Wednesday Night.\n [Post-mark, September 10, 1846.]\n\nDearest, you are a prophet, I suppose—there can be no denying it. This\nnight, an edict has gone out, and George is to-morrow to be on his way to\ntake a house for a month either at Dover, Reigate, Tunbridge, ... Papa\ndid ‘not mind which,’ he said, and ‘you may settle it among you!!’ but he\n‘must have this house empty for a month in order to its cleaning’—we are\nto go therefore and not delay.\n\nNow!—what _can_ be done? It is possible that the absence may be longer\nthan for a month, indeed it is probable—for there is much to do in\npainting and repairing, here in Wimpole Street, more than a month’s work\nthey say. Decide, after thinking. I am embarrassed to the utmost degree,\nas to the best path to take. If we are taken away on Monday ... what then?\n\nOf course I decline to give any opinion and express any preference,—as\nto places, I mean. It is not for my sake that we go:—if _I_ had been\nconsidered at all, indeed, we should have been taken away earlier, ...\nand not certainly now, when the cold season is at hand. And so much the\nbetter it is for me, that I have not, obviously, been thought of.\n\nTherefore decide! It seems quite too soon and too sudden for us to set\nout on our Italian adventure now—and perhaps even we could not compass—\n\nWell—but you must think for both of us. It is past twelve and I have just\na moment to seal this and entrust it to Henrietta for the morning’s post.\n\n More than ever beloved, I am\n\n Your own BA.\n\nI will do as you wish—understand.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Thursday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 10, 1846.]\n\nWhat do you expect this letter will be about, my own dearest? Those\nwhich I write on the mornings after our days seem naturally to _answer_\nany strong point brought out in the previous discourse, and not then\ncompletely disposed of ... so they generally run in the vile fashion of a\ndisputatious ‘last word’; ‘one word yet’—do not they? Ah, but you should\nremember that never does it feel so intolerable,—the barest fancy of a\npossibility of losing you—as when I have just seen you and heard you and,\nalas—left you for a time; on these occasions, it seems so horrible—that\nif the least recollection of a fear of yours, or a doubt ... anything\nwhich might be nursed, or let grow quietly into a serious obstacle to\nwhat we desire—if _that_ rises up threateningly,—do you wonder that I\nbegin by attacking _it_? There are always a hundred deepest reasons for\ngratitude and love which I could write about, but which my after life\nshall prove I never have forgotten ... still, that very after-life\ndepends perhaps on the letter of the morning reasoning with you, teazing,\ncontradicting. Dearest Ba, I do not tell you that I am justified in\nplaguing you thus, at any time ... only to get your pardon, if I can, on\nthe grounds—the true grounds.\n\nAnd this pardon, if you grant it, shall be for the past offences, not\nfor any fresh one I mean to commit now. I will not add one word to those\nspoken yesterday about the extreme perilousness of delay. You _give_ me\nyourself. Hitherto, from the very first till this moment, the giving hand\nhas been advancing steadily—it is not for me to grasp it lest it stop\nwithin an inch or two of my forehead with its crown.\n\nI am going to Town this morning, and will leave off now.\n\nWhat a glorious dream; through nearly two years—without a single interval\nof blankness,—much less, bitter waking!\n\nI may say _that_, I suppose, safely through whatever befalls!\n\nAlso I will ever say, God bless you, my dearest dearest,—my perfect angel\nyou have been! While I am only your R.\n\nMy mother is deeply gratified at your present.\n\n * * * * *\n\n12 o’clock. On returning I find your note,\n\n‘I will do as you wish—understand’—then I understand you are in earnest.\nIf you _do_ go on Monday, our marriage will be impossible for another\nyear—the misery! You see what we have gained by waiting. We must be\n_married directly_ and go to Italy. I will go for a licence to-day and\nwe can be married on Saturday. I will call to-morrow at 3 and arrange\neverything with you. We can leave from Dover &c., _after_ that,—but\notherwise, impossible! Inclose the ring, or a substitute—I have not a\nminute to spare for the post.\n\n Ever your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "4 p.m. Thursday.\n [Post-mark, September 10, 1846.]\n\nI broke open your sealed letter and added the postscript just now. The\npost being thus saved, I can say a few words more leisurely.\n\nI will go to-morrow, I think, and not to-day for the licence—there are\nfixed hours I fancy at the office—and I might be too late. I will also\nmake the arrangement with my friend for Saturday, if we should want\nhim,—as we shall, in all probability—it would look suspiciously to be\nunaccompanied. We can arrange to-morrow.\n\nYour words, first and last, have been that you ‘would not fail me’—you\nwill not.\n\nAnd the marriage over, you can take advantage of circumstances and\ngo early or late in the week, as may be practicable. There will be\nfacilities in the general packing &c.,—your own measures may be taken\nunobserved. Write short notes to the proper persons,—promising longer\nones, if necessary.\n\nSee the _tone_ I take, the way I write to _you_ ... but it is all through\nyou, in the little brief authority you give me,—and in the perfect\nbelief of your truth and firmness—indeed, I do not consider this an\nextraordinary occasion for proving those qualities—this conduct of your\nfather’s is quite characteristic.\n\nOtherwise, too, the departure with its bustle is not unfavourable.\nIf you hesitated, it would be before a little hurried shopping and\nletter-writing! I expected it, and therefore spoke as you heard\nyesterday. _Now your_ part must begin. It may as well begin and end,\nboth, _now_ as at any other time. I will bring you every information\npossible to-morrow.\n\nIt seems as if I should insult you if I spoke a word to confirm you, to\nbeseech you, to relieve you from your promise, if you claim it.\n\n God bless you, prays your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Thursday.\n [Post-mark, September 11, 1846.][7]\n\nDearest, I write one word, and have one will which is yours. At the\nsame time, do not be precipitate—we shall not be taken away on Monday,\nno, nor for several days afterward. George has simply gone to look for\nhouses—going to Reigate first.\n\nOh yes—come to-morrow. And then, you shall have the ring ... soon enough\nand safer.\n\nNot a word of how you are!—_you_ so good as to write me that letter\nbeyond compact, yet not good enough, to say how you are! Dear, dearest\n... take care, and keep yourself unhurt and calm. I shall not fail to\nyou—I do not, I will not. I will act by your decision, and I wish you to\ndecide. I was yours long ago, and though you give me back my promise at\nthis eleventh hour, ... you generous, dear unkind! ... you know very well\nthat you can do as well without it. So take it again for my sake and not\nyour own.\n\nI cannot write, I am so tired, having been long out. Will not this dream\nbreak on a sudden? Now is the moment for the breaking of it, surely.\n\nBut come to-morrow, come. Almost everybody is to be away at Richmond, at\na picnic, and we shall be free on all sides.\n\n Ever and ever your BA.\n\n[7] [The envelope of this letter is endorsed by R.B. ‘Saturday, Septr.\n12, 1846, ¼11—11¼ A.M. (91).’ This is the record of his marriage with\nE.B.B. in Marylebone Church. The number 91 indicates that it was the\nninety-first of their meetings, a record of which was always endorsed\nby Robert Browning on the letters received by him from Miss Barrett.]", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "1 p.m. Saturday.\n [Post-mark, September 12, 1846.]\n\nYou will only expect a few words—what will those be? When the heart is\nfull it may run over, but the real fulness stays within.\n\nYou asked me yesterday ‘if I should repent?’ Yes—my own Ba,—I could\nwish all the past were to do over again, that in it I might somewhat\nmore,—never so little more, conform in the outward homage to the inward\nfeeling. What I have professed ... (for I have performed nothing) seems\nto fall short of what my first love required even—and when I think of\n_this_ moment’s love ... I could repent, as I say.\n\nWords can never tell you, however,—form them, transform them anyway,—how\nperfectly dear you are to me—perfectly dear to my heart and soul.\n\nI look back, and in every one point, every word and gesture, every\nletter, every _silence_—you have been entirely perfect to me—I would not\nchange one word, one look.\n\nMy hope and aim are to preserve this love, not to fall from it—for which\nI trust to God who procured it for me, and doubtlessly can preserve it.\n\nEnough now, my dearest, dearest, own Ba! You have given me the highest,\ncompletest proof of love that ever one human being gave another. I am all\ngratitude—and all pride (under the proper feeling which ascribes pride to\nthe right source) all pride that my life has been so crowned by you.\n\nGod bless you prays your very own R.\n\nI will write to-morrow of course. Take every care of _my life_ which is\nin that dearest little hand; try and be composed, my beloved.\n\nRemember to thank Wilson for me.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Saturday. Sept. 12.—4½ p.m.\n [Post-mark, September 12, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, I write a word that you may read it and know how all is\nsafe so far, and that I am not slain downright with the day—oh, _such\na day_! I went to Mr. Boyd’s directly, so as to send Wilson home the\nfaster—and was able to lie quietly on the sofa in his sitting-room\ndown-stairs, before he was ready to see me, being happily engaged with a\nmedical councillor. Then I was made to talk and take Cyprus wine,—and,\nmy sisters delaying to come, I had some bread and butter for dinner,\nto keep me from looking too pale in their eyes. At last they came, and\nwith such grave faces! Missing me and Wilson, they had taken fright,—and\nArabel had forgotten at first what I told her last night about the fly.\nI kept saying, ‘What nonsense, ... what fancies you do have to be sure,’\n... trembling in my heart with every look they cast at me. And so, to\ncomplete the bravery, I went on with them in the carriage to Hampstead\n... as far as the heath,—and talked and looked—now you shall praise me\nfor courage—or rather you shall love me for the love which was the root\nof it all. How necessity makes heroes—or heroines at least! For I did not\nsleep all last night, and when I first went out with Wilson to get to the\nfly-stand in Marylebone Street I staggered so, that we both were afraid\nfor the fear’s sake,—but we called at a chemist’s for sal volatile and\nwere thus enabled to go on. I spoke to her last night, and she was very\nkind, very affectionate, and never shrank for a moment. I told her that\nalways I should be grateful to her.\n\nYou—how are you? how is your head, ever dearest?\n\nIt seems all like a dream! When we drove past that church again, I and my\nsisters, there was a cloud before my eyes. Ask your mother to forgive me,\nRobert. If _I_ had not been there, _she_ would have been there, perhaps.\n\nAnd for the rest, if either of us two is to suffer injury and sorrow for\nwhat happened there to-day—I pray that it may all fall upon _me_! Nor\nshould I suffer the most pain _that_ way, as I know, and God knows.\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nWas I very uncourteous to your cousin? So kind, too, it was in him!\nCan there be the least danger of the newspapers? Are those books ever\nexamined by penny-a-liners, do you suppose?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Sunday.\n [Post-mark, September 14, 1846.]\n\nMy own beloved, if ever you should have reason to complain of me in\nthings voluntary and possible, all other women would have a right to\ntread me underfoot, I should be so vile and utterly unworthy. There is my\nanswer to what you wrote yesterday of wishing to be better to me ... you!\nWhat could be better than lifting me from the ground and carrying me into\nlife and the sunshine? I was yours rather by right than by gift (yet by\ngift also, my beloved!); for what you have saved and renewed is surely\nyours. All that I am, I owe you—if I enjoy anything now and henceforth,\nit is through you. You know this well. Even as _I_, from the beginning,\nknew that I had no power against you, ... or that, if I _had_, it was for\nyour sake.\n\nDearest, in the emotion and confusion of yesterday morning, there was yet\nroom in me for one thought which was not a feeling—for I thought that,\nof the many, many women who have stood where I stood, and to the same\nend, not one of them all perhaps, not one perhaps, since that building\nwas a church, has had reasons strong as mine, for an absolute trust and\ndevotion towards the man she married,——not one! And then I both thought\nand felt, that it was only just, for them, ... those women who were less\nhappy, ... to have that affectionate sympathy and support and presence of\ntheir nearest relations, parent or sister ... which failed to _me_, ...\nneeding it less through being happier!\n\nAll my brothers have been here this morning, laughing and talking, and\ndiscussing this matter of the leaving town,—and in the room, at the same\ntime, were two or three female friends of ours, from Herefordshire—and\nI did not _dare_ to cry out against the noise, though my head seemed\nsplitting in two (one half for each shoulder), I had such a morbid fear\nof exciting a suspicion. Treppy too being one of them, I promised to go\nto see her to-morrow and dine in her drawing-room if she would give me,\nfor dinner, some bread and butter. It was like having a sort of fever.\nAnd all in the midst, the bells began to ring. ‘What bells are those?’\nasked one of the provincials. ‘Marylebone Church bells’ said Henrietta,\nstanding behind my chair.\n\nAnd now ... while I write, having escaped from the great din, and sit\nhere quietly,—comes ... who do you think?—Mr. Kenyon.\n\nHe came with his spectacles, looking as if his eyes reached to their\nrim all the way round; and one of the first words was, ‘_When did you\nsee Browning?_’ And I think I shall make a pretension to presence of\nmind henceforward; for, though _certainly_ I changed colour and he saw\nit, I yet answered with a tolerably quick evasion, ... ‘He was here on\nFriday’—and leapt straight into another subject, and left him gazing\nfixedly on my face. Dearest, he saw something, but not all. So we talked,\ntalked. He told me that the ‘Fawn of Sertorius,’ (which I refused to cut\nopen the other day,) was ascribed to Landor—and he told me that he meant\nto leave town again on Wednesday, and would see me once before then. On\nrising to go away, he mentioned your name a second time ... ‘When do you\nsee Browning again?’ To which I answered that I did not know.\n\nIs not _that_ pleasant? The worst is that all these combinations of\nthings make me feel so bewildered that I cannot make the necessary\narrangements, as far as the letters go. But I must break from the\ndream-stupor which falls on me when left to myself a little, and set\nabout what remains to be done.\n\nA house near Watford is thought of now—but, as none is concluded on,\nthe removal is not likely to take place in the middle of the week even,\nperhaps.\n\nI sit in a dream, when left to myself. I cannot believe, or understand.\nOh! but in all this difficult, embarrassing and painful situation, I\nlook over the palms to Troy—I feel happy and exulting to belong to you,\npast every opposition, out of sight of every will of man—none can put us\nasunder, now, at least. I have a right now openly to love you, and to\nhear other people call it _a duty_, when I do, ... knowing that if it\nwere a sin, it would be done equally. Ah—_I_ shall not be first to leave\noff _that_—see if I shall! May God bless you, ever and ever dearest!\nBeseech for me the indulgence of your father and mother, and ask your\nsister to love me. I feel so as if I had slipped down over the wall into\nsomebody’s garden—I feel ashamed. To be grateful and affectionate to them\nall, while I live, is all that I can do, and it is too much a matter of\ncourse to need to be promised. Promise it however for your very own Ba\nwhom you made so happy with the dear letter last night. But say in the\nnext how you are—and how your mother is.\n\nI did hate so, to have to take off the ring! You will have to take the\ntrouble of putting it on again, some day.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Sunday Afternoon.\n [Post-mark, September 14, 1846.]\n\nThank you a thousand times for the note, my own Ba. I welcomed it as I\nnever yet welcomed even _your_ notes; entirely kind to write, and write\n_so_! Oh, I know the effort you made, the pain you bore for my sake! I\ntell you, once and for ever, your proof of love to me is _made_ ... I\n_know_ love, my dearest dearest: my whole life shall be spent in trying\nto furnish such a proof of _my_ affection; such a perfect proof,—and\nperhaps vainly spent—but I will endeavour with God’s help. Do you feel\nwhat I mean, dearest? How you have dared and done all this, under my very\neyes, for my only sake? I believed you would be capable of it—what then?\nWhat is a belief? My own eyes have seen—my heart will remember!\n\nDearest, nothing needs _much_ trouble you farther: take your own time and\nopportunity. I confide in your judgment—(for I am not going to profess\nconfidence in _you_!)—I am sure you will see and act for the best. My\npreparations are made; I have only to await your desires. I will not ask\nto see you, for instance—though of course a word brings me as usual to\nyou—your will is altogether my will.\n\nThe first obvious advantage of our present relation, I will take. You are\nmine—your generosity has given to me my utmost claim upon your family—so\nfar as I am concerned, putting aside my sympathy with you, there is\nnothing more they _can_ give me: so, I will say, perhaps a little less\nreservedly than I could have brought myself to say before, that there\nis no conceivable submission I will refuse, nor possible satisfaction I\nwill hesitate to make to those feelings I have been forced to offend, if\nby any means I may preserve, for _you_, so much of their affection as\nyou have been accustomed to receive; I do not require anything beyond\n_toleration_ for myself ... I will cheerfully accept as the truest\nkindness to me, a continuance of kindness _to you_. You know what I would\nhave done to possess you:—now that I _do_ possess you, I renew the offer\nto _you_ ... judge with what earnest purpose of keeping my word! I do not\nthink ... nor do you think ... that any personal application, directly\nor by letter, would do any good—it might rather add to the irritation we\napprehend: but my consent is given beforehand to any measure you shall\never consider proper. And your father may be sure that while I adore\nhis daughter it will be impossible for me, under any circumstances,\nto be wanting in the utmost respect for, and observance of, himself.\nUnderstand, with the rest, why I write this, Ba. To your brothers and\nsisters I am bound for ever,—by every tie of gratitude: _they_ may\nacquiesce more easily ... comprehending more, perhaps, of the dear\ntreasure you are, they will forgive my ambition of gaining it. I will\nwrite to Mr. Kenyon. You will probably have time to write all the letters\nrequisite.\n\nDo not trouble yourself with more than is strictly necessary—you can\nsupply all wants at Leghorn or Pisa. Let us be as unencumbered with\nluggage as possible.\n\nWhat is your opinion about the advertisements? If our journey is\ndelayed for a few days, we had better omit the _date_, I think. And the\n_cards_? I will get them engraved if you will direct me. The simplest\nform of course:—and the last (or among the last) happens to be also the\nsimplest, consisting merely of the words ‘Mr. and Mrs. R.B.’ on _one_\ncard—with the usual ‘at home’ in a corner. How shall we manage _that_,\nby the way? Could we put ‘In Italy for a year?’ There is precedent\nfor it—Sir—Fellows’ (what is the traveller’s name?)—_his_ were thus\nsubscribed. By which means we should avoid telling people absolutely,\nthat they need never come and see us. Choose your own fashion, my Ba, and\ntell me how many you require.\n\nI only saw my cousin for a few minutes afterward—he came up in a cab\nimmediately—he understood all there was need he should. _You_ to be\n‘uncourteous’ to anybody! no, no—sweetest! But I will thank him as you\nbid, knowing the value of Ba’s thanks! For the prying penny-a-liners ...\nwhy, trust to Providence—we must! I do not apprehend much danger....\n\nDearest, I woke this morning _quite well_—quite free from the sensation\nin the head. I have not woke _so_, for two years perhaps—what have you\nbeen doing to me?\n\nMy father and mother and sister love you thoroughly—my mother said this\nmorning, in my room, ‘If I were as I have been, I would try and write\nto her’—I said, ‘I will tell her what I know you feel.’ She is much\nbetter—(I hear her voice while I write ... below the open window). Poor\nPritchard came home from the country on Friday _night_—late—and posted\nhere immediately—he was vexed to be made understand that there was some\nway in which he might have served me and did not. It was kind, very kind\nof Wilson.\n\nI will leave off—to resume to-morrow. Bless you, my very own, only Ba—my\npride, and joy, and utter comfort. I kiss you and am ever your own.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 14, 1846.]\n\nYou go on to comfort me, love—bless you for it. I collect from the letter\nthat you are recovering from the pain and excitement; that is happy! I\nwaited to hear from you, my own Ba, and will only write a word—then go\nout—_think_.\n\nDo you feel _so_, through the anxieties and trouble of this situation?\nYou take my words from me—_I_ ‘exult’ in the irrevocability of this\nprecious bestowal of yourself on me—come what will my life has borne\nflower and fruit—it is a glorious, successful, felicitous life, I thank\nGod and you.\n\nAll has been for the best, you will see, even in these apparently\nuntoward circumstances—this particular act was _precipitated_ by\nthem, certainly—but it is done, and well done. Does it not simplify\nour arrangements that this is _done_? And surely there was every\njustification for the precipitancy in that proposed journey, and\nuncertain return,—(in Winter to a freshly-painted house!) But every\nmoment of my life brings fresh proof to me of the intervention of\nProvidence. How the _natural_ course would have embarrassed us!—any\nconsultation with you respecting your own feelings on a removal at\npresent—any desire to gratify them....\n\nWill not Mr. Kenyon understand at least? Would it not be well to\nascertain his precise address in the country,—so as to send your letter\nthere, before the newspaper reaches him,—or any other person’s version?\nI will send you my letter to accompany yours—just a few words to explain\nwhy he was not consulted—(by _me_) ... what is strictly _my own_ part to\nbe excused. What do you intend to do about Mrs. Jameson? I only want to\nknow in the case of our mutual friends, of course, so as to avoid the\nnecessity of going over the same ground in our letters.\n\nI confided my approaching marriage to that kind old Pritchard, lest he\nshould be too much wounded—if his surprise was considerable, his delight\nkept due proportion. You may depend on his secrecy—I need not say, I\nmentioned the fact _simply_ ... without a word about any circumstances.\nIf your father could be brought to allow the matter to pass as\n_indifferent_ to him ... what he did not choose to interfere with,\nhowever little he approved it,—we should be fortunate? Perhaps pride, if\nno kinder feeling, may induce him to that.\n\nMy family all love you, dearest—you cannot conceive my father\nand mother’s childlike faith in goodness—and my sister is very\nhigh-spirited, and quick of apprehension—so as to seize the true point\nof the case at once. I am in great hopes you will love them all, and\nunderstand them. Last night, I asked my father, who was absorbed over\nsome old book, ‘if he should not be glad to see his new daughter?’—to\nwhich he, starting, replied ‘Indeed I _shall_!’ with such a fervour as\nto make my mother laugh—not abated by his adding, ‘And how I should be\nglad of her seeing Sis!’ his other daughter, Sarianna, to wit—who was at\nchurch.\n\nTrifles, trifles, only commended to your dear, affectionate heart. Do\nyou confide in me, Ba? Well, you _shall_!—in my love, in my pride, in\nmy heart’s purposes; but not in anything else. Give me your counsel at\nall times, beloved: I am wholly open to your desires, and teaching, and\ndirection. Try what you can make of me,—if you can in any way justify\nyour choice to the world. So _I_ would gladly counsel you on any point!\nSee how I read lectures about Flush! Only give a kiss before beginning,\nand promise me another upon my profiting,—and I shall be twice blessed\nbeside the profit. So, _my_ counsel being done, here begin the kisses,\nyou dear dear Ba of mine. Bless you ever, Ba! I continue _quite well_—is\nit not strange ... or _is_ it? And my mother is better decidedly. When\nshe comes back from town (where she and my sister are caring for me) I\nwill tell her what you bade me promise to give her—in return for what she\nhas long given you. Good-bye, my own—very own Ba, from your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 14, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, this one word goes to you to say about Mr. Kenyon’s\nletter—oh, do not send any letter, dearest, till we are out of hearing of\nthe answer. It terrifies me to think of your sending a letter, perhaps,\nwithout delay. Do let no letter nor intimation be given till the very\nlast. Remember that I shall be _killed_—it will be so infinitely worse\nthan you can have an idea.\n\nAfterwards—yes!—you will, for my sake forget some natural pride, as\nI, for yours, have forgotten some as natural apprehensiveness. That\nkindness, I expected from you, ... and now accept ... thanking you,\ndearest. In the meanwhile, there seems to remain the dreadful danger of\nthe newspapers—we must trust, as you say.\n\nYour mother’s goodness touches me very deeply. I am grateful to her and\nto all your family, beyond any power of mine to express my feelings. Let\nme be silent therefore, instead of trying.\n\nAs to the important business of the cards, you know I have heard the\nwhole theory of etiquette lately on that subject, and you must not think\nof putting any ‘_At home_’ anywhere, or any other thing in the place of\nit. A Fellows is an authority in Asia Minor, but for the _minora_ of the\ncards, not at all. Put simply the names, as you say, on one card, only\nwithout abbreviation or initial, and no intimation of address, which is\nnot necessary, and would be under our circumstances quite wrong. Then I\nhad better perhaps send you a list of names and addresses. But for this,\nenough time.\n\nThey hasten me—I must go. Not from the thought however of you ... being\nyour very own Ba.\n\nI shall write of course in the evening again.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Monday Evening.\n [Post-mark, September 15, 1846.]\n\nFirst, God is to be thanked for this great joy of hearing that you are\nbetter, my ever dearest—it is a joy that floats over all the other\nemotions. Dearest, I am so glad! I had feared that excitement’s telling\non you quite in another way. When the whole is done, and we have left\nEngland and the talkers thereof behind our backs, you will be well,\nsteadfastly and satisfactorily, I do trust. In the meantime, there seems\nso much to do, that I am frightened to look towards the heaps of it. As\nto accoutrements, everything has been arranged as simply as possible that\nway—but still there are necessities—and the letters, the letters! I am\nparalysed when I think of having to write such words as ... ‘Papa, I am\nmarried; I hope you will not be too displeased.’ Ah, poor Papa! You are\ntoo sanguine if you expect any such calm from him as an assumption of\nindifference would imply. To the utmost, he will be angry,—he will cast\nme off as far from him. Well—there is no comfort in such thoughts. How I\nfelt to-night when I saw him at seven o’clock, for the first time since\nFriday, and the event of Saturday! He spoke kindly too, and asked me how\nI was. Once I heard of his saying of me that I was ‘the purest woman\nhe ever knew,’—which made me smile at the moment, or laugh I believe,\noutright, because I understood perfectly what he meant by _that_—viz—that\nI had not troubled him with the iniquity of love affairs, or any\nimpropriety of seeming to think about being married. But now the whole\nsex will go down with me to the perdition of faith in any of us. See the\neffect of my wickedness!—‘Those women!’\n\nBut we will submit, dearest. I will put myself under his feet, to be\nforgiven a little, ... enough to be taken up again into his arms. I\nlove him—he is my father—he has good and high qualities after all: he\nis my father _above_ all. And _you_, because you are so generous and\ntender to me, will let me, you say, and help me to try to win back the\nalienated affection—for which, I thank you and bless you,—I did not thank\nyou enough this morning. Surely I may say to him, too, ... ‘With the\nexception of this act, I have submitted to the least of your wishes all\nmy life long. Set the life against the act, and forgive me, for the sake\nof the daughter you once loved.’ Surely I may say _that_,—and then remind\nhim of the long suffering I have suffered,—and entreat him to pardon the\nhappiness which has come at last.\n\nAnd _he_ will wish in return, that I had died years ago! For the storm\nwill come and endure. And at last, perhaps, he will forgive us—it is my\nhope.\n\nI accede to all you say of Mr. Kenyon. I will ask him for his address\nin the country, and we will send, when the moment comes, our letters\ntogether.\n\nFrom Mrs. Jameson I had the letter I enclose, this morning, (full of\nkindness—is it not?) and another really as kind from Miss Bayley, who\nbegs me, if I cannot go to Italy, to go to Hastings and visit her. To\nboth I must write at some length. Will _you_ write to Mrs. Jameson,\nbesides what I shall write? And what are we to say as to travelling?\nAs she is in Paris, perhaps we may let her have the solution of our\nproblem sooner than the near people. May we? shall we? Yet we dare not, I\nsuppose, talk too historically of what happened last Saturday. It is like\nthe dates in the newspaper—advertisements, which we must eschew, as you\nobserve.\n\nOther things, too, you observe, my beloved, which are altogether out\nof date. In your ways towards me, you have acted throughout too much\n‘the woman’s part,’ as that is considered. You loved me because I was\nlower than others, that you might be generous and raise me up:—very\ncharacteristic for a woman (in her ideal standard) but quite wrong for a\nman, as again and again I used to signify to you, Robert—but you went on\nand did it all the same. And now, you still go on—you persist—you will\nbe the woman of the play, to the last; let the prompter prompt ever so\nagainst you. You are to do everything I like, instead of my doing what\n_you_ like, ... and to ‘honour and obey’ _me_, in spite of what was in\nthe vows last Saturday,—is _that_ the way of it and of you? and are vows\nto be kept _so_, pray? after that fashion? Then, _don’t_ put ‘at home’ at\nthe corner of the cards, dearest! It is my command!\n\nAnd forgive the inveterate jesting, which jests with eyes full of tears.\nI love you—I bless God for you. You are too good for me, as always I\nknew. I look up to you continually.\n\nIt is best, I continue to think, that you should not come here—best\nfor _you_, because the position, if you were to try it, would be less\ntolerable than ever—and best for both of us, that in case the whole truth\nwere ever discovered (I mean, of the previous marriage) we might be able\nto call it simply an act in order to security. I don’t know how to put my\nfeeling into words, but I do seem to feel that it would be better, and\nless offensive to those whom we offend at any rate, to avoid all possible\nremark on this point. It seems better to a sort of instinct I have.\n\nThen, if I see you—farewell, the letter-writing. Oh no—there will be time\nenough when we are on the railway!—We shall talk then.\n\nAh—you say such things to me! Dearest, dearest_est_!—And you do not\nstart at that word, ‘Irrevocable,’ as I have had fancies that you might,\nwhen the time came!’ But you may recover, by putting out your hand, all\nyou have given me, ... nearly all. I never, never, being myself, could\nwillingly vex you, torment you. If I approach to it, you will tell me. I\nwill confide in you, to that end also. Dearest.\n\nAnd your father’s goodness, and the affectionateness of them all. When\nthey shall have learnt most that I am not worthy of you, they will have\nlearnt besides that I can be grateful to _them_ and you. Certainly I am\ncapable, I hope, of loving them all, well and with appreciation. And then\n... imagine the comfort I take to the deepest of my heart from these\nhands held out to me! For your sake! Yes, for your sake entirely!—and,\nso, the more dearly comforting to\n\n Your very own BA.\n\nThere is still difficulty about the house. They think of Tunbridge Wells.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Tuesday Morning.\n [Post-mark, September 15, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, could you think me capable of such a step? I forget what I\nexactly said in the first letter, but in the second, which you have\nreceived by this, I know there is mention made of _your_ account which\nis to accompany mine. You never quite understood, I think, my feeling\nabout Mr. Kenyon and desire to tell him earlier. In the first place, at\nthe very _beginning_, he seemed to stand (as he did) in closer connection\nwith you than any other person I could communicate with,—therefore to\nrepresent, in some degree, your dear self in the worldly sense, and be\nable to impose on me any conditions &c. which your generous nature might\nbe silent on, and my ignorance and excitement overlook: then there was\nanother reason, the natural one, of our own ... _his_ friendship, rather,\nfor me, and the circumstance of his having in a manner introduced me to\nyour acquaintance,—at all events, facilitated my introduction,—and so\nbeing after a fashion responsible in some degree for my conduct. These\ntwo reasons, added to a general real respect for his circumspection and\nsagacity, and a desire to make both of them instruct me in the way of\ndoing you good. But you effectually convinced me that in neither case\nwould the benefit derivable balance the certain injury, or at least,\nannoyance, to himself—while you showed me that I should not be so truly\nserving you, as I had intended, by the plans I used to turn over in my\nmind.\n\nIn brief, it was written that your proof of love and trust to me was to\nbe complete, the _completest_—and I could not but be proud and submit—and\na few words will explain the mere sin against friendship. I quite, quite\nfeel as you feel, nor ever had the least intention of writing ... that\nis, of sending any letter,—till the very last. Be sure of it.\n\nFor the cards, I have just given orders, as you desire and as I entirely\nagree. The notion of a word about our _not being in England_ was only a\nfancy for your family’s sake—just to save people’s application to _them_,\nto know what had become of us—and I had heard Mr. Kenyon commend the\nconsiderateness of those ‘Lydian measures’ ... albeit there was ... or\nnarrowly escaped being—an awful oversight of the traveller’s which would\nhave made him the sad hero of a merry story for ever ... as I will tell\nyou some day. If you will send the addresses, at any time, that trouble\nwill be over. In all these mighty matters, be sure I shall never take the\nleast step without consulting you—will you draw up the advertisement,\nplease? I will supply the clergyman’s name &c. &c.\n\nI shall not see one friend more before I leave with you. So that nobody\nneeds divine that since the 12th, we have not been at Margate—seeking\n‘food for the mind’—\n\n 11¾ A.M.\n\nDearest, I agree to all—I will not see you, for those reasons. I think,\nas you may, that it will be a point in excuse of the precipitancy that a\nremoval was threatened for ‘next Monday perhaps’ ... which, finding us\nunprepared, would have been ruinous. Say all you would have me say to\nyour father,—no concession shall be felt by the side of your love. I will\nwrite a few words to Mrs. J.—her kindness is admirable and deserves the\nattention. For the _date_,—you will have seen the precautions I take,—I\nhope to see nobody now; but I don’t know that it will be necessary to\nsuppress it in the advertisement, if we can leave England by the end of\nthe week, as I hope ... do you not hope, too? For I see announcements,\nin to-day’s _Times_, of marriages on the 8th and 9th and our silence on\nthat particular might be only the beginning of some mystery ... as if it\nhad happened half a year ago, for instance. Beside, your relations will\nexamine the register. All rests with you, however—and _will_ rest, Ba! I\nshall ask you to do no more of my business that I can manage myself but\nwhere I can _not_ manage ... why, then you shall think for me,—that is my\ncommand!\n\nI suppose when a man buys a spinning-machine he loses dignity because\nhe lets _it_ weave stockings,—does not keep on with his clumsy fingers!\nNo, I will retain my honours, be certain,—you shall say, _Ego et rex\nmeus_ like Wolsey—or rather, like dear, dear Ba—like yourself I will ever\n_worship_! See the good of taking up arms against me out of that service!\nIf you ‘honour and obey’ me, ‘with my body I thee worship’—my best,\ndearest, sweetest Ba, and that I have avowed thus ‘irrevocably’—is the\nheart’s delight of your own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Tuesday.\n [Post-mark, September 16, 1846.]\n\nDearest, you were in the right as usual, and I in a fright as sometimes.\nI took a mere fancy into my head about your writing to Mr. Kenyon. To-day\nhe came, and I did not see him—on the ground of a headache, which, though\nreal, was not really sufficient of itself to keep me from seeing him, if\nI had not distrusted my self-control—so I did not see him. To-morrow he\ngoes away. His letters will of course be made to follow him, and we may\neasily precede the newspapers by a day or two.\n\nAs for the advertisements, you quite amuse me by telling me to compose\nan advertisement. How should I know better than you, dearest, or as\nwell even? All I intermeddle with willingly is the matter of the\ndate—although there is something in what you say about the mystery, and\nthe idea of our being six months married—still it is our disquieted\nconscience that gives us such thoughts—and when the advertisement\nappears and the cards come out so very properly, people will not have\nenough imagination to apprehend a single mystery in the case: and the\nomission of the date will not be so singular ... will it? On the other\nhand I apprehend evil from the date of the marriage being known. One of\nmy brothers may be sent to examine the register, but would not betray\nthe fact in question, _I think_, to my father; would not, I am certain,\nwillingly give cause for additional irritation against me. But if the\ndate be publicly announced, Papa must know it, and most of my personal\nfriends will be sure to know it. I have written letters and seen people\nsince the twelfth ... Mr. Kenyon on Sunday, Miss Bordman on Monday.\nMoreover Papa would be exposed to unpleasant observations—he going\nevery day among his City friends, and on Saturday among the rest. What\nquantities of good reasons, ... till you are tired of them and me!\n\nWould you put it this way.... At such a church, by such a minister,\nRobert Browning Esquire, of New Cross, author of ‘Paracelsus,’ to\nElizabeth Barrett, eldest daughter of Edward Moulton Barrett Esquire of\nWimpole Street. Would you put it so? I do not understand really, ... and\nwhether you should be specified as the author of ‘Paracelsus’ ... but,\nfor _me_, it ought to be, I think, simply as I have written it. Oh, and\nI forgot to tell you that what we did on Saturday is quite _invalid_, so\nthat you may give me up now if you like—it isn’t too late. You gave me a\nwrong name—_Moulton_ is no Christian name of mine. Moulton Barrett is our\nfamily name; Elizabeth Barrett, my Christian name—Behold and see!\n\nI will send the list if I can have time to-night to write it—but the\nhaste, the hurry—do you think, when in your right mind, of getting away\nthis week? Think of the work before us! Next Monday is the day fixed for\nthe general departure to a house taken at Little Bookham or Hookham ...\nwhat is it? Well—we must think. Tell me when you want me to go. I might\ngo from the new house, perhaps. But you will think, dearest, and tell me.\nTell me first, though, how your head continues or begins again ... for I\nfear that the good news is too sudden to last long—I fear.\n\nThankful, thankful I shall be when we are gone out of reach of evil,\nwhen I shall have heard that my poor dearest Papa is only angry with me,\nand not sorry because of me, and that Henrietta and Arabel are not too\nmiserable. They come between me and the thought of you often—but I do\nnot, for _that_, love you less—oh no. You are best and dearest in saying\nwhat you say—only, observe, there is not any practicable ‘concession’ now\nfor you. All you can do now, is what you will do ... in being tolerant,\nand gentle, for my sake. My own dearest, I am your\n\n BA.\n\nThe list to-morrow.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "Wednesday.\n [Post-mark, September 16, 1846.]\n\nEver dearest, you are right about the date ... so it shall be—and so the\nadvertisement shall run, save and except the avowal of ‘Paracelsus’ ...\nI avow _you_, and to add another title of honour would succeed no better\nthan in Dalhousie’s case, who was ‘God of War and Lieutenant-general\nto the Earl of Mar.’ I wanted the description &c. of your father. What\na strange mistake I made—(but as for invalidation, oh no!)—I save your\nevery word and then apply them thus! (In to-day’s _Times_ is a notice\nwithout a date ... not looking at all singular. It is far better).\n\nIt is absolutely for yourself to decide on the day and the mode—if for\nno other reason, because I am quite ready, and shall have no kind of\ndifficulty; while you have every kind. Make the arrangements that promise\nmost comfort to yourself. Observe the packets and alter the route if\nnecessary. There is one from Brighton to Dieppe every day, for instance\n... but then the getting to Rouen! The Havre-boat leaves Southampton,\n_Wednesdays_ and _Saturdays_—and Portsmouth, _Mondays_ and _Thursdays_.\nThe boat from London, Thursdays and Saturdays at 9 A.M.\n\nI do not know where ‘Bookham’ is—you must decide ... I am sure you will\nbe anxious to get away.\n\nThe business of the letters will grow less difficult when once begun—see\nif it will not! and in these four or five days whole epics might be\nwritten, much more letters. Have you arranged all with Wilson? Take, of\ncourse, the simplest possible wardrobe &c.—so as to reduce our luggage\nto the very narrowest compass. The expense—(beside the common sense of a\nlittle luggage)—is considerable—every ounce being paid for. Let us treat\nour journey as a mere journey—we can return for what else we want, or\nget it sent, or procure it abroad. I shall take just a portmanteau and\ncarpet bag. I think the fewer books we take the better; they take up\nroom—and the wise way always seemed to me to read in rooms at home, and\nopen one’s eyes and _see_ abroad. A critic somewhere mentioned _that_\nas my characteristic—were two other poets he named placed in novel\ncircumstances ... in a great wood, for instance, Mr. Trench would begin\nopening books to see how woods were treated of ... the other man would\nset to writing poetry forthwith, from his old stock of associations, on\nthe new impulse—and R.B. would sit still and learn how to write after! A\npretty compliment, I thought that!—But seriously there must be a great\nlibrary at Pisa ... (with that university!) and abroad they are delighted\nto facilitate such matters ... I have read in a chamber of the Doges’\npalace at Venice painted all over by Tintoretto, walls and ceiling—and\nat Rome there is a library with a learned priest always kept ready ‘to\nsolve any doubt that may arise!’ Murray’s book you have, I think? Any\nguide-books &c.\n\nBe sure, dearest, I will do my utmost to conciliate your father:\nsometimes I could not but speak impatiently to you of him ... that was\nwhile you were in his direct power—now there is no _need_ of a word in\nany case ... I shall be silent if the _worst imaginable_ happens; and if\nanything better, most grateful. You do not need to remind me he is your\nfather ... I shall be proud to say _mine_ too. Then, he said _that_ of\nyou—for which I love him—love the full prompt justice of that ascription\nof ‘perfect purity’—it is another voice responding to mine, confirming\nmine.\n\nGood-bye, dearest dearest; I continue _quite_ well ... I thank God, as\nyou do, and see his hand in it. My poor mother suffers greatly, but is no\nworse ... rather, better I hope. They (all here) will leave town for some\nquiet place at the beginning of October for some three weeks at least.\nDear, kind souls they are.\n\nKiss me as I kiss you, dearest Ba. I can bring you no flowers but I pluck\nthis bud and send it with all affectionate devotion.\n\n Your own\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 17, 1846.]\n\nDearest, the general departure from this house takes place on Monday—and\nthe house at Little Bookham is six miles from the nearest railroad, and\na mile and a half from Leatherhead where a coach runs. Now you are to\njudge. Certainly if I go with you on Saturday I shall not have half the\nletters written—you, who talk so largely of epic poems, have not the\nleast imagination of my state of mind and spirits. I began to write a\nletter to Papa this morning, and could do nothing but cry, and looked\nso pale thereupon, that everybody wondered what could be the matter.\nOh—quite well I am now, and I only speak of myself in that way to show\nyou how the inspiration is by no means sufficient for epic poems. Still,\nI may certainly write the necessary letters, ... and do the others on\nthe road ... could I, do you think? I would rather have waited—indeed\nrather—only it may be difficult to leave Bookham ... yet _possible_—so\ntell me what you would have me do.\n\nWilson and I have a light box and a carpet bag between us—and I will be\ndocile about the books, dearest. Do you take a desk? Had I better not, I\nwonder?\n\nThen for box and carpet bag.... Remember that we cannot take them out of\nthe house with us. We must send them the evening before—Friday evening,\nif we went on Saturday ... and where? Have you a friend anywhere, to\nwhose house they might be sent, or could they go direct to the railroad\noffice—and what office? In that case they should have your name on them,\nshould they not?\n\nNow think for me, ever dearest—and tell me what you do not tell me ...\nthat you continue better. Ah no—you are ill again—or you would not wait\nto be told to tell me. And the dear, dear little _bud_!—I shall keep it\nto the end of my life, if you love me so long, ... or _not_, sir! I thank\nyou, dearest.\n\nYour mother!—I am very, very sorry. Would it be better and kinder to wait\non _her_ account?—tell me that too.\n\nYes, they are perfectly kind. We must love them well:—and _I_ shall, I am\nsure.\n\nMr. Kenyon sends the ‘Fawn,’ _which IS Landor’s Fawn_, and desires me to\nsend it to you when I have done with it. As if I could read a word! He\ndirects me to write to him to Taunton, Somersetshire. May God bless you,\nbeloved.\n\nNo more to-night from your very own\n\n BA.\n\nAre not passengers allowed to carry a specific proportion of luggage?\nWhat do you mean then, by paying for every ounce? As to Dieppe, the\ndiligence would be more fatiguing than the river, and, without strong\nreasons, one would prefer of course the Havre plan. Still I am not afraid\nof either. Think.\n\nYou might put in the newspaper ... of Wimpole Street and Jamaica, or\n... and Cinnamon Hill, Jamaica. That is right and I thought of it at\nfirst—only stopped ... seeming to wish to have as little about poor Papa\nas possible. Do as you think best now.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 17, 1846.]\n\nMy only sweetest, I will write just a word to catch the earlier\npost,—time pressing. Bless you for all you suffer ... I _know_ it though\nit would be very needless to call your attention to the difficulties. I\nknow much, if not all, and can only love and admire you,—not help, alas!\n\nSurely these difficulties will multiply, if you go to Bookham—the way\nwill be to leave at once. The letters may easily be written during the\njourney ... at Orleans, for example. But now,—you propose _Saturday_\n... nothing leaves Southampton according to _to-day’s_ advertisement,\ntill _Tuesday_ ... the days seemed changed to _Tuesdays_ and _Fridays_.\nTo-morrow at 8¼ P.M. and Friday the 22, 10¼. Provoking! I will go to\ntown directly to the railway office and enquire particularly—getting the\ntime-table also. Under these circumstances, we have only the choice of\nDieppe (as needing the shortest diligence-journey)—or the Sunday morning\nHavre-packet, at 9 A.M.—which you do not consider practicable: though it\nwould, I think, take us the quickliest out of all the trouble. I will\nlet you know all particulars in a note to-night ... it shall reach you\nto-night.\n\nIf we went from London only, the luggage could be sent here or in any\ncase, perhaps ... as one fly will carry them with me and mine, and save\npossibility of delay.\n\nI am _very_ well, dearest dearest—my mother no worse, better, perhaps—she\nis out now. Our staying and getting into trouble would increase her\nmalady.\n\nAs you leave it to me,—the name, and ‘Wimpole St.’ will do. Jamaica\nsounds in the wrong direction, does it not? and the other place is\ndistinctive enough.\n\nTake no desk ... I will take a large one—take nothing you can leave—but\nsecure letters &c. I will take out a passport. Did you not tell me\nroughly at how much you estimated our expenses for the journey? Because\nI will take about _that_ much, and get Rothschild’s letter of credit for\nLeghorn. One should avoid carrying money about with one.\n\nAll this in such haste! Bless you, my dearest dearest Ba\n\n Your R.\n\nAll was right in the licence, and Certificate and Register—the whole name\nis there, E.B.M.B. The clergyman made the mistake in not having the _two_\nnames, but all runs right to _read_ ... the essential thing.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "5 o’clock.\n [Post-mark, September 17, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba, I believe, or am sure the mistake has been mine—in the flurry\nI noted down the departures from _Havre_—instead of _Southampton_. You\nmust either be at the Vauxhall Station by _four_ o’clock—so as to arrive\nin 3 hours and a half at Southampton and leave by 8¼ P.M.—or must go by\nthe Sunday Boat,—or _wait_ till Tuesday. Dieppe is impossible, being too\nearly. You must decide—and let me know directly. To-morrow _is_ too\nearly—yet one ... that is, _I_—could manage.\n\n Ever your own, in all haste\n\n R.B.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "7½—Thursday\n [Post-mark, September 18, 1846.]\n\nMy own Ba—forgive my mistaking! I had not enough confidence in my own\ncorrectness. The advertisement of the Tuesday and Friday Boats is of the\nSouth of England Steam Company. The Wednesday and Saturday is that of\nthe _South Western_. There must be then _two_ companies, because on the\nSouthampton Railway Bill it is expressly stated that there are departures\nfor Havre on all four days. Perhaps you have seen my blunder. In that\ncase, you can leave by 1-2½ as you may appoint—\n\n Your R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 18, 1846.]\n\nDearest take this word, as if it were many. I am so tired—and then it\nshall be the right word.\n\nSunday and Friday are impossible. On Saturday I will go to you, if you\nlike—with half done, ... nothing done ... scarcely. Will you come for me\nto Hodgson’s? or shall I meet you at the station? At what o’clock should\nI set out, to be there at the hour you mention?\n\nAlso, for the boxes ... we cannot carry them out of the house, you\nknow, Wilson and I. They must be sent on Friday evening to the Vauxhall\nstation, ‘to be taken care of.’ Will the people keep them carefully?\nOught someone to be spoken to beforehand? If we sent them to New Cross,\nthey would not reach you in time.\n\nHold me my beloved—with your love. It is very hard—But Saturday seems\nthe only day for us. Tell me if you think so indeed.\n\n Your very own BA.\n\nThe boxes must have your name on them of course. Let there be no great\nhaste about sending out the cards. _Saturday_ might be mentioned in the\nadvertisement, _without_ the date—might it not?", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "[Post-mark, September 18, 1846.]\n\nDearest, here is the paper of addresses. I cannot remember, I am so\nconfused, half of them.\n\nSurely you say wrong in the hour for to-morrow. Also there is the express\ntrain. Would it not be better?\n\n Your BA.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "R.B. to E.B.B.", + "body": "11½ Friday.\n [Post-mark, September 18, 1846.]\n\nMy own best Ba. How thankful I am you have seen my blunder—I took the\nother company’s days for the South Western’s changed. What I shall write\nnow is with the tables before me (of the Railway) and a transcript from\n_to-day’s_ advertisement in the _Times_.\n\nThe packet will leave to-morrow evening, from the Royal Pier, Southampton\nat _nine_. We leave Nine Elms, Vauxhall, at _five_—to arrive at _eight_.\nDoors close _five_ minutes before. I will be at Hodgson’s _from_\nhalf-past three to _four precisely_ when I shall hope you can be ready.\nI shall go to Vauxhall, apprise them that luggage is coming (yours) and\nsend _mine_ there—so that we both shall be unencumbered and we can take a\ncab or coach from H’s.\n\nNever mind your scanty preparations ... we can get everything at\nLeghorn,—and the new boats carry parcels to Leghorn on the 15th of every\nmonth, remember—so can bring what you may wish to send for.\n\nI enclose a letter to go with yours. The cards as you choose—they are\nhere—we can write about them from Paris or elsewhere. The advertisement,\nas you advise. All shall be cared for.\n\nGod bless and strengthen you, my ever dearest dearest—I will not trust\nmyself to speak of my feelings for you—worship well belongs to such\nfortitude. One struggle more—if all the kindness on your part brought\na strangely insufficient return, is it not possible that this step may\nproduce all you can hope? Write to me one word more. Depend on me. I go\nto Town about business.\n\n Your own, own R.", + "author": "Robert Browning", + "recipient": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + }, + { + "heading": "E.B.B. to R.B.", + "body": "Friday Night.\n [Post-mark, September 19, 1846.]\n\nAt from half-past three to four, then—four will not, I suppose, be too\nlate. I will not write more—_I cannot._ By to-morrow at this time, I\nshall have _you_ only, to love me—my beloved!\n\nYou _only_! As if one said _God only_. And we shall have _Him_ beside, I\npray of Him.\n\nI shall send to your address at New Cross your Hanmer’s poems—and the two\ndear books you gave me, which I do not like to leave here and am afraid\nof hurting by taking them with me. Will you ask _our_ Sister to put the\nparcel into a drawer, so as to keep it for us?\n\nYour letters to me I take with me, let the ‘ounces’ cry out aloud, ever\nso. I _tried_ to leave them, and I could not. That is, they would not be\nleft: it was not my fault—I will not be scolded.\n\nIs this my last letter to you, ever dearest? Oh—if I loved you less ... a\nlittle, little less.\n\nWhy I should tell you that our marriage was invalid, or ought to be; and\nthat you should by no means come for me to-morrow. It is dreadful ...\ndreadful ... to have to give pain here by a voluntary act—for the first\ntime in my life.\n\nRemind your mother and father of me affectionately and gratefully—and\nyour Sister too! Would she think it too bold of me to say _our_ Sister,\nif she had heard it on the last page?\n\nDo you pray for me to-night, Robert? Pray for me, and love me, that I may\nhave courage, feeling both—\n\n Your own\n\n BA.\n\nThe boxes are _safely sent_. Wilson has been perfect to me. And _I_ ...\ncalling her ‘timid,’ and afraid of her timidity! I begin to think that\nnone are so bold as the timid, when they are fairly roused.\n\n[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF LETTER OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT\n\n(See Vol. I., p. 443)]\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n=Transcriber’s Note:= Volume 1 is available as Project Gutenberg\neBook #16182. Unfortunately, the page numbers were not preserved in\nthat volume.\n\n\n Acton, Cardinal, i. 149\n\n Adams, Mrs., i. 555\n\n Ælian, i. 371, 377, 540; ii. 196, 202\n\n Æschylus, i. 15, 31ff., 34, 35ff., 38ff., 45, 61, 88, 171, 313\n\n Alfieri, Vittorio, i. 53\n\n Andersen, Hans Christian (‘The Dane’), i. 53, 161;\n his ‘Improvisatore,’ i. 45, 50, 52, 54;\n his ‘Only a Fiddler,’ i. 154, 160\n\n Angelico, Fra, i. 196\n\n Apuleius, E.B.B.’s translations from, i. 168\n\n Arnould, Joseph (afterwards Sir), ii. 102, 115, 412, 466, 487\n\n Asolo, i. 113\n\n ‘Athenæum,’ the, i. 155, 161, 166, 288, 323, 326, 389, 395, 412, 416,\n 542, 558, 572; ii. 33, 35, 102, 158, 176, 307, 343, 421\n\n Australia (proposals for E.B.B. to write ballads, &c. for), ii. 481\n\n ‘Autography,’ i. 317, 319, 323; ii. 188\n\n\n Babbage, C., i. 24\n\n Bacon, Lord, i. 481, 485\n\n Bailey, P. J., his ‘Festus,’ i. 375, 384\n\n Balzac, H. de, ii. 35, 91, 93, 107, 113\n\n Barrett, Alfred, brother of E.B.B., i. 193, 195; ii. 177\n\n Barrett, Arabel, sister of E.B.B., i. 101, 193, 216, 219, 330, 542;\n ii. 329, 334 and passim\n\n Barrett, Charles John (‘Stormie’) brother of E.B.B., i. 219, 417,\n 575; ii. 109, 111, 408, 458\n\n Barrett, Edward (‘Bro’), brother of E.B.B., his death, i. 175ff.\n\n Barrett, Edward Moulton, father of E.B.B., i. 123, 131, 141, 167,\n 175, 190, 192, 213, 218, 235, 241ff., 409, 506, 530; ii. 26,\n 109, 152, 270, 293, 332, 334, 340, 342, 384, 450, 487, 489, 551\n\n Barrett, Elizabeth Barrett:\n on poetic composition, i. 21\n on her translation of ‘Prometheus Bound,’ i. 31\n proposes to write a ‘novel’ or ‘romance’ poem, i. 32, 151, 154, 271\n project of writing a drama (‘Psyché Apocalypté’) with R. H. Horne,\n i. 61\n American appreciation, i. 115, 307; ii. 152, 166, 184, 429\n proposals for wintering abroad, i. 131ff., 135, 167, 190, 209ff.,\n 218, 225, 229, 234ff., 241\n religious views, i. 145; ii. 429\n on George Sand, i. 165\n on the death of her brother Edward, i. 175ff.\n references to her dangerous illness, i. 43, 176; ii. 26\n American publishers, i. 188, 189, 258, 260\n on her pet name ‘Ba,’ i. 192, 195, 342, 345\n her portrait, i. 195; ii. 12, 19\n requests R.B.’s autograph for a friend, i. 227\n on R.B.’s poetry, i. 268ff.; ii. 491\n sends a ring and lock of hair to R.B., i. 308, 309\n opinions on French fiction, i. 341; ii. 102\n on women’s position and married life, i. 351ff.; ii. 424\n early reading, i. 406\n French verses, i. 405\n on R.B.’s letters, i. 418, 423, 486, 493; ii. 18\n on the publication of letters, i. 484\n on autograph collectors, i. 535\n on the difficulties of her engagement with R.B., ii. 33, 78, 81,\n 122, 141, 220, 222, 228, 230, 233, 336, 341, 374, 378, 383,\n 385, 396, 416, 458, 464, 494\n on artistic Bohemianism, ii. 30\n on the curiosity of strangers, their visits, letters &c., ii. 31,\n 73, 169, 423, 472\n on duelling, ii. 40ff., 45, 53ff.\n on Raffael’s portrait, ii. 149\n plans for going to Italy with R.B., ii. 208, 210, 275, 278ff., 288,\n 320, 379, 391, 417, 473, 479, 481, 490, 502ff., 506, 511\n proposal for her to visit New Cross, ii. 226, 231\n her money affairs, ii. 229, 235, 365, 368, 400ff., 408, 476\n visit to the Great Western Railway, ii. 234, 435\n visit to Mr. Rogers’ picture gallery, ii. 251, 262\n visits to H. S. Boyd described, ii. 259, 282\n on the death of B. R. Haydon, ii. 265, 271;\n on Horne’s verses on Haydon, ii. 299;\n bequest of his MSS. to E.B.B., ii. 304ff., 307, 309ff., 315ff.,\n 322ff., 326\n on women and politics, ii. 283\n her visit to Finchley, ii. 444, 447, 452\n ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’s’ offer to print her lyrics, ii. 459, 466,\n 478\n visit to church, and the effect of music on her, ii. 460, 468, 492\n proposal to write ballads &c. for Australia, ii. 481\n her marriage, ii. 539 _n._, 541\n\n Barrett, Elizabeth Barrett, works:\n ‘Bertha in the Lane,’ i. 10, 148, 271\n ‘Catarina to Camoens,’ i. 148, 425\n ‘The Cry of the Children,’ proposals for musical setting, i. 524,\n 537\n ‘A Drama of Exile,’ i. 10, 19\n ‘An Essay on Mind,’ i. 129, 132, 134, 136, 383\n ‘Lady Geraldine’s Courtship,’ i. 32, 149, 162, 271\n ‘Past and Future,’ i. 282\n ‘Poems,’ 2 vols. 1844, i. 9, 189, 281; ii. 285;\n American edition, i. 186, 187\n ‘Rhyme of the Duchess May,’ i. 10\n ‘The Romaunt of Margret,’ i. 383\n ‘The Romaunt of the Page,’ i. 10\n ‘The Seraphim,’ i. 130, 189, 383\n ‘Two Sketches,’ i. 193.\n ‘The Vision of Fame,’ i. 132\n ‘A Vision of Poets,’ i. 147, 383\n ‘Wine of Cyprus,’ ii. 443, 446, 448\n Translations from Bion, Theocritus, Apuleius, Nonnus, i. 168,\n 170ff., 497, ii. 8;\n from Homer, i. 579, ii. 8, 22, 25, 69, 139, 161;\n from Æschylus i. 31, 34, 76, 140, 142, 149, 151, ii. 459;\n from Pietro d’Abano, i. 462\n\n Barrett, George, brother of E.B.B., i. 192, 196, 216, 219, 229, 235,\n 241, 289, 319, 322, 404, 439, 444, 492, 496, 500; ii. 115, 441\n\n Barrett, Henrietta, sister of E.B.B., i. 128, 193, 331, 408, 433,\n 437, 516; ii. 141, 334, 387, 490 and passim\n\n Barrett, Henry, brother of E.B.B., i. 158\n\n Barrett, Lizzie, cousin of E.B.B., i. 522; ii. 245\n\n Barrett, Mary (E.B.B.’s mother), ii. 484\n\n Barrett, Octavius (‘Occy’) brother of E.B.B., his illness, i. 236ff.,\n 241ff., 247ff., 265\n\n Barrett, Sam, cousin of E.B.B., i. 522\n\n Bartoli, his ‘Simboli,’ i. 539, 541, 545\n\n Bayley, Miss, i. 300, 303, 304; ii. 22, 109, 111, 114, 120, 137, 196,\n 552;\n her plans for taking E.B.B. to Italy, ii. 191, 198, 208, 244\n\n Beethoven, i. 533; ii. 153;\n his ‘Fidelio,’ i. 161\n\n Benjamin of Tudela, R., i. 153\n\n Bennet, Miss Georgiana, ii. 73, 80, 110, 225, 329, 369\n\n Bennett, W. C., ii. 106, 124, 330, 366, 389\n\n Bevan, Mr., ii. 334\n\n Bezzi, Mr., ii. 139, 191\n\n ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ i. 23; ii. 459, 466, 478\n\n Blake, William, ii. 319\n\n Blessington, Lady, i. 157\n\n Boccaccio, Giovanni, i. 45, 393\n\n Boyd, Hugh Stuart, i. 100, 236, 342; ii. 259, 261, 282, 407, 442,\n 443, 446, 459, 471, 541\n\n Bremer, Miss, ii. 119\n\n ‘British Quarterly,’ the, i. 268\n\n Browne, Sir Thomas, ii. 52, 53\n\n Browning, Miss, i. 147, 153, 189, 519; ii. 165, 168, 204, 412, 566\n\n Browning, Mrs., senior, i. 147; ii. 456, 483, 500\n\n Browning, R., senior, i. 28, 147, 496; ii. 427, 549;\n his drawings for R.B.’s poems, i. 415, 434;\n his early life, ii. 477, 483, 484\n\n Browning, Robert:\n Mr. Kenyon’s offer of introduction to Miss Barrett, i. 2, 281\n on E.B.B.’s poems, i. 9, 147\n helps Carlyle with his ‘Cromwell,’ i. 16\n on the attitude of the public towards his work, i. 17ff.\n first visit to E.B.B., i. 72 _n._\n account of the ‘bora’ at Trieste, i. 126\n on ‘The Flight of the Duchess,’ i. 138\n on George Sand, i. 163\n baptised at an Independent Chapel, i. 147\n reference to his visit to St. Petersburg, i. 155\n on dramatic poetry and novels, i. 155, 161\n on reading law with Basil Montagu, i. 199\n his early life, i. 200, 349\n on the performance of ‘Every Man in his Humour,’ i. 212, 217\n his portrait in the ‘New Spirit of the Age,’ i. 316; ii. 219\n sends a lock of hair to E.B.B., i. 304, 332\n his visit to R. H. Horne, i. 366ff.\n on R. H. Horne’s ‘Ballad Romances,’ i. 370\n French verses, i. 420\n on a proposal of a journey to St. Petersburg, i. 489, 507\n on music, i. 543\n plants rose-trees, ii. 10\n thoughts for future work, i. 457; ii. 25, 390\n on duelling, ii. 33, 46ff., 58\n on the rearrangement of his poems, ii. 71\n on French romance, ii. 107\n his birthday, ii. 136\n at the Royal Literary Fund Dinner, ii. 143, 145, 148, 151, 158\n proposal to write a long poem, ii. 176, 181\n ‘Mr. Forster’s “Strafford,”’ ii. 215\n meets a phrenologist, ii. 216, 219\n on his engagement with E.B.B., ii. 227\n proposes to seek Government employment, ii. 229, 232, 236, 248\n on the death of B. R. Haydon, ii. 264, 268, 318ff.\n plans for his marriage, ii. 269, 376\n on Parliament, ii. 281\n on his name, ii. 285, 286\n on Italian post offices, ii. 110, 289\n on Horne’s verses on Haydon’s death, ii. 303\n on Haydon’s bequest of MSS. to E.B.B., ii. 307, 315ff., 326\n on strangers’ letters, ii. 330\n his dream on Haydon, ii. 331\n on E.B.B.’s letters, i. 296, 420; ii. 8, 249, 420, 436\n on E.B.B.’s religious opinions, ii. 436\n on Lord Byron, ii. 455\n final preparations for their journey to Italy, ii. 465ff., 475,\n 495ff., 537, 555, 559 and ff.\n early compositions in imitation of Ossian, ii. 469\n his marriage, ii. 539 _n._\n his family’s attitude towards E.B.B., ii. 547, 549\n\n Browning, Robert, works:\n ‘Bells and Pomegranates,’ i. 9, 13, 99, 132, 135, 144, 148, 320,\n 361; ii. 429;\n see also ‘Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,’ ‘Luria,’ and ‘A Soul’s\n Tragedy’\n meaning of the phrase, i. 248, 250, 575; ii. 2, 67\n ‘The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed’s Church,’ i. 134, 253,\n 278\n ‘The Blot in the Scutcheon,’ i. 324\n ‘The Boy and the Angel,’ (‘Theocrite,’ ‘Angel and Child’), i. 134,\n 261\n ‘Claret and Tokay’ (Nationality in Drinks’), i. 131, 135\n ‘Colombe’s Birthday,’ ii. 456, 468\n ‘Count Gismond,’ i. 177\n Dante, translation from, i. 348, 355\n ‘Dramatic Romances and Lyrics,’ (‘Bells and Pomegranates’ No.\n VII.), i. 59, 66\n proof of, i. 259, 260, 261, 262\n its publication, i. 265, 266, 267\n E.B.B. on, i. 268ff.\n to C. Mathews, i. 320\n Mr. Kenyon on, i. 274\n Mr. Fox on, i. 277, 278\n noticed in the ‘Examiner,’ i. 286\n noticed in the ‘New Monthly,’ i. 360\n noticed in the ‘Athenæum,’ i. 412, 416\n ‘Earth’s Immortalities,’ i. 261\n ‘The Englishman in Italy,’ (‘England in Italy,’ ‘Fortú,’ ‘Sorrento\n Lines,’) i. 253, 268, 269, 278\n ‘The Flight of the Duchess,’ i. 55, 58ff., 63, 76, 97, 104ff., 113,\n 115, 120, 122, 124, 129, 131, 135, 139, 148, 149ff., 245, 253,\n 261, 274, 277; ii. 91\n An Elementary French Book, i. 208\n ‘Garden Fancies,’ i. 134\n ‘The Glove,’ i. 261, 278\n ‘Home Thoughts from Abroad’ (‘Spring Song’), i., 229ff.\n ‘Home Thoughts from the Sea,’ i. 253\n ‘How we brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix,’ (‘The Ride’) i.\n 274, 278ff.\n ‘The Italian in England,’ (‘Italy in England’) i. 160, 278\n ‘The Laboratory,’ i. 135\n ‘The Lost Leader,’ i. 253\n ‘The Lost Mistress,’ i. 253, 269\n ‘Luria: a Tragedy’ (‘Bells and Pomegranates’ No. VIII.), i. 18, 22,\n 26, 30, 58, 60, 80, 84, 85, 261, 272, 426, 470, 474; ii. 2, 13,\n 21, 369\n E.B.B. on, i. 276ff., 286, 313, 354, 359ff., 421ff., 462, 471, 545,\n 579; ii. 77\n proof of, ii. 12, 17\n dedication of, ii. 12, 19, 44, 66ff.\n publication of, ii. 66\n Mr. Kenyon on, ii. 82\n Carlyle on, ii. 90\n Mr. Chorley on, ii. 92\n noticed in the ‘Examiner,’ ii. 108, 412\n ‘Night and Morning,’ i. 261\n ‘Only a Player Girl,’ i. 155, 160\n ‘Paracelsus,’ i. 63, 208, 246, 323, 327, 382, 395\n ‘Pauline,’ i. 388, 393, 399, 402, 405, 420, 423\n reviewed by J. S. Mill, i. 29, 33\n ‘Pictor Ignotus,’ i. 253, 278\n Pietro d’Abano, Translation from, i. 462, 466\n ‘Pippa Passes,’ i. 12, 22, 24, 28, 100; ii. 349\n ‘Saul,’ i. 59, 60, 76, 179, 183, 191, 261, 278, 326\n Blue lilies in, i. 527, 558, 561\n ‘Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister,’ i. 22\n ‘Song,’ i. 261\n ‘Sordello,’ i. 134, 193, 247, 348, 457, 472\n ‘A Soul’s Tragedy,’ (‘Bells and Pomegranates’ No. VIII.), i. 26,\n 30, 97, 470, 474; ii. 16, 34, 67, 92\n E.B.B. on, i. 545; ii. 13ff., 17, 34, 77\n publication of, ii. 66\n Mr. Kenyon on, ii. 83\n Mr. Chorley on, ii. 92\n noticed in the ‘Examiner,’ ii. 108\n\n Buckingham, Mr., i. 564, 565, 570, 576\n\n Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, afterwards first Lord Lytton, i. 246\n his ‘Alice,’ i. 161\n his ‘Ernest Maltravers,’ i. 161, 166\n his ‘Last Days of Pompeii,’ i. 156\n\n Bunn, Alfred, i. 572; ii. 136\n\n Bunyan, J., ii. 37\n\n Burdett-Coutts, Miss, i. 564\n\n Burges, George, i. 168, 170, 171, 497, 548, 554\n\n Burns, R., i. 481\n\n Bury, Lady Charles, her ‘Reminiscences,’ i. 228\n\n Butler, Mrs. (Fanny Kemble), her poems, ii. 27, 38, 389, 391\n\n Butler, Samuel, his ‘Hudibras’ quoted, i. 568\n\n Byron, Lady, i. 130\n\n Byron, Lord, i. 126; ii. 455, 464, 473\n\n\n Calderon, i. 66\n\n ‘Cambridge Advertiser,’ the, ii. 28\n\n Campbell, Miss, ii. 171, 172, 174ff., 179, 184\n\n Campbell, Thomas, ii. 286\n\n Carlyle, Mrs., i. 194, 238; ii. 252, 255\n\n Carlyle, Thomas, i. 25, 27, 29, 30, 32, 151, 152, 158, 194, 260, 316,\n 457, 459; ii. 8, 80, 81, 84, 90, 92, 98, 160, 185, 238, 277\n ‘Oliver Cromwell,’ i. 16, 25, 450; ii. 2, 286\n\n Cerutti’s Italian Grammar, i. 468\n\n Cervantes’ ‘Don Quixote,’ i. 46\n\n Chambers, Dr., i. 123, 125, 158, 176, 186, 188, 189; ii. 255\n\n Chapman, George, i. 98, 337\n\n Chaucer, Geoffrey, i. 160, 267, 337, 393, 429\n\n Chesterfield, Lord, i. 529; ii. 105\n\n Chorley, H. F., i. 45, 107, 108, 144, 148, 154, 288, 295, 298, 315,\n 388, 394ff., 400, 482, 486, 492, 496, 548, 555ff., 573; ii. 92,\n 102, 107, 131, 135, 346, 349, 351, 353, 411, 437, 441, 443,\n 456, 487\n his ‘Pomfret,’ i. 273, 279, 283, 291, 292\n\n ‘Christus Patiens,’ i. 171\n\n Cimarosa, D., i. 544\n\n Claude le Jeune, i. 543, 545\n\n Clayton, John, i. 529\n\n Cokers, the Misses, ii. 178, 184\n\n Cocks, Lady Margaret, ii. 127, 131, 242\n\n Colburn, Henry, i. 200\n\n Coleridge, S. T., i. 280, 337, 366; ii. 83, 456\n\n Colonna, Vittoria, i. 116\n\n Compton, Lord, ii. 28, 29\n\n Cook, Surtees, Captain, i. 424, 439, 516, 541; ii. 354, 355, 387, 490\n\n Corelli, A., i. 544\n\n Crashaw, Richard, i. 337\n\n Cushman, Miss, i. 154, 160, 395, 446\n\n\n ‘Daily News,’ i. 403, 409, 424; ii. 28, 135, 177, 299, 339\n\n Dante, i. 53, 55, 56, 57, 116, 309, 348, 355, 576; ii. 277\n\n Darwin, Erasmus, i. 383\n\n De Lamennais, L’Abbé, ii. 108\n\n De Musset, Alfred, ii. 108\n\n Dickens, Charles, i. 69, 217, 260, 394, 444; ii. 116, 122, 135\n his ‘Cricket on the Hearth,’ i. 345, 355\n his ‘Pictures from Italy,’ ii. 168, 169\n\n Diderot, Denis, i. 114, 118\n\n Dilke, C. W., i. 396; ii. 135, 177\n\n D’Israeli, Benjamin, his ‘Sybil,’ i. 124\n his ‘Vivian Grey,’ i. 52, 53ff., 56\n\n Domett, Alfred, i. 17, 296, 531; ii. 351\n\n Donne, Dr. John, i. 27, 145, 196, 420, 440; ii. 116\n\n D’Orsay, Count, ii. 135, 138\n\n Dowland, John, i. 545\n\n Doyle, John (‘H. B.,’) ii. 432\n\n Drayton, M., his ‘Nymphidia,’ i. 373\n\n Dryden, John, i. 23\n\n Dulwich Galleries, the two, i. 518, 523, 525, 528\n\n Dumas, Alexander, ii. 103, 346\n his ‘Monte Cristo,’ ii. 215, 340\n\n\n Eagles, Mr., ii. 374, 453\n\n Elliotson, Dr., i. 118\n\n Etty, William, ii. 189, 191\n\n Euripides, i. 21\n\n ‘Examiner,’ the, i. 288, 323, 375, 466; ii. 106, 107, 108, 412\n\n\n Ferrers case, the, i. 492\n\n Fife, Angus, ii. 481\n\n Fisher, Miss Emma, i. 383\n\n Ford, J., i. 337\n\n Forster, John, i. 217, 245, 268, 293, 294, 295, 298, 300, 323, 375,\n 395, 403; ii. 67, 82, 106, 107, 108, 111, 215, 241, 305, 309,\n 312, 316, 365, 374\n\n Forsyth, Joseph, quoted, ii. 279\n\n Fox, Mrs., ii. 347\n\n Fox, W. J., i. 277, 504, 556\n\n Fletcher, J., i. 373\n\n Florence, ii. 196, 255\n\n Flush, Miss Barrett’s dog, i. 54, 150, 167, 236, 263ff., 549; ii.\n 321, 325, 357;\n the loss of, 505-528 passim\n\n French and English criticisms on foreign books, i. 558, 567\n\n Fuller, Miss Margaret Sarah (afterwards Mme. Ossoli), i. 375\n\n Fuseli, H., i. 66\n\n\n Garrow, Miss, i. 157, 289\n\n Gill, Rev. Thomas Hornblower, i. 576; ii. 3\n\n Godwin, William, i. 196\n\n Goethe, J. W., i. 273; ii. 52, 313, 315, 451\n\n Grey, Lord, ii. 414\n\n Gurney, A., i. 74, 568\n\n\n Hahn-Hahn, the Countess, ii. 213, 251, 252, 256, 263, 268\n\n Hall, Robert, i. 514\n\n Hall, Spencer, i. 246\n\n Handel, G. F., i. 543\n\n Hanmer, Sir John, i. 288, 294, 398, 532\n\n Harness, Rev. William, i. 375\n\n Haworth, Miss, ii. 172\n\n Haydon, B. R., i. 86; ii. 366;\n his death, ii. 264, 265ff., 268, 271ff., 318ff.;\n bequest of his MSS. to E.B.B., ii. 304, 307, 315ff., 322ff., 326\n Horne’s verses on his death, ii. 299, 300, 303, 339\n\n Hazlitt, William, i. 337; ii. 252\n\n Heaton, Miss, ii. 127, 133, 155, 157, 170, 172\n\n Hedley, Arabella, her marriage, ii. 195, 304, 362, 393, 395, 430\n\n Hedley, Mrs., i. 85, 109ff., 192; ii. 332, 334, 388\n\n Hedley, Robert, ii. 238, 287, 321, 344\n\n Hemans, Charles (son of Mrs. Hemans), i. 116\n\n Heraud, John Abraham, i. 388, 393, 573\n\n Hood, Thomas, i. 58, 63, 459\n\n ‘Hood’s Magazine,’ i. 59, 131, 133, 134ff.\n\n Horne, R. H., i. 7, 12, 28, 32, 61, 62, 65, 82, 95, 96, 120, 121,\n 266, 268, 270, 315, 364ff., 393; ii. 394, 403, 407, 412\n and Miss Mitford, i. 465ff., 468ff., 473\n verses on the death of B. R. Haydon, ii. 299, 300, 303, 339\n ‘Ballad Romances,’ i. 369ff., 372ff., 380ff., 386\n his ‘Cosmo de Medici,’ i. 66, 373\n ‘Death of Marlowe,’ i. 373\n ‘Gregory VII.,’ i. 66\n ‘New Spirit of the Age,’ i. 69\n ‘Orion,’ i. 373\n\n Howitt, Mary, i. 45, 56, 160; ii. 119, 124\n\n Howitt, Richard, i. 246\n\n Howitt, William, ii. 118, 121, 124\n\n Hugo, Victor, his portrait, ii. 346, 359\n\n Hume, David, quoted, ii. 329\n\n Hunt, Leigh, i. 126, 171, 228, 337, 366, 367, 393; ii. 314\n his translation of lines on Pulci, i. 461, 466\n\n Hunter, Mary, i. 227, 230\n\n Hunter, Mr., ii. 498\n\n\n Jameson, Mrs., i. 116, 130, 150, 174, 312, 500, 516, 518; ii. 4, 11,\n 27, 69, 72, 130, 137, 144, 149, 155, 158, 161, 196, 220, 245,\n 250, 262, 288, 289, 290, 301, 344, 374, 457, 462, 471, 476,\n 480, 485, 552\n her etchings, ii. 8ff., 56, 139\n plan for taking E.B.B. to Italy, ii. 191, 270, 287, 370, 405ff.\n\n Janin, Jules, i. 558; ii. 346\n\n Jerrold, Douglas, i. 217, 444\n\n Jones, Commodore, ii. 143, 169, 185\n\n Jonson, Ben, performance of ‘Every Man in his Humour,’ i. 212, 216,\n 217ff.\n\n Junius, ii. 171, 174\n\n\n Kean, Charles, i. 200\n\n Kean, Edmund, i. 78\n\n Keats, John, i. 14, 18, 194, 238, 245, 366, 391; ii. 151, 314\n\n Keats, John, his ‘Eve of St. Agnes,’ i. 194\n\n Kelly, Mr. Fitzroy, i. 200, 211, 492\n\n Kemble, Fanny. _See_ Mrs. Butler\n\n Kenyon, John, i. 2, 4, 6, 9, 21, 48, 134, 143, 188, 307, 361ff., 449,\n 484, 486, 542; ii. 62ff., 82, 166, 212, 234, 270, 282, 309,\n 365, 370, 373, 380, 386, 414, 434, 452, 554, and passim\n\n Kinglake, A. W., ii. 135\n\n\n La Cava, ii. 289, 292, 320, 322, 325\n\n Lamb, Charles, i. 337, 396, 452\n\n ‘Lancet,’ the, i. 246\n\n Landelle, ii. 115\n\n Landor, Walter Savage, i. 20, 131, 283, 289, 295, 298, 300, 363; ii.\n 44, 81, 83, 85, 187, 200, 212, 241, 309, 313, 314, 372, 374,\n 421, 453\n his ‘Count Julian,’ i. 566, 567\n his ‘Dialogue between Tasso and his Sister,’ ii. 261, 264\n his ‘Pentameron,’ i. 131\n verses to Robert Browning, i. 286ff., 320, 497; ii. 244\n\n Lawes, Henry, i. 545\n\n ‘League,’ the, ii. 105, 111, 112\n\n Lee, Nathaniel, i. 518\n\n Leech, John, i. 217\n\n Lewis, ‘Monk,’ i. 228\n\n Londonderry, Lady, i. 196\n\n Longfellow, H. W., ii. 137\n\n Longman, Mr., ii. 366\n\n Lough, John Graham, ii. 194, 196, 214, 218, 220, 222, 225, 455\n\n Lowell, J. R.: his ‘Conversations on some of the Old Poets,’ i.\n 336ff., 343ff.\n\n Lytton, Sir Edward. _See_ Bulwer\n\n\n Machiavelli, N., i. 302, 310; ii. 215\n\n Mackay, Charles, i. 388, 395, 400\n\n Maclise, David, i. 218; ii. 307\n\n Malherbe, i. 258\n\n Manners, Lord John, i. 389\n\n Marc-Antonio’s etchings, ii. 144, 149\n\n Markham, Mrs., i. 344\n\n Marlowe, Christopher, i. 97\n\n Martineau, Harriet, i. 112, 114, 116, 246, 263, 316, 359, 363, 375,\n 431, 441, 469, 481; ii. 69, 283, 453, 462\n her letter on Wordsworth, i. 464, 478ff., 490\n\n Mathews, Cornelius, i. 307, 320, 324, 345, 497; ii. 429, 437, 442\n\n Matthew, Father, i. 78\n\n Medwin, Capt. Thomas, his ‘Conversations of Lord Byron,’ i. 228\n\n ‘Methodist Quarterly,’ the, ii. 152, 177\n\n Mill, John Stuart, i. 29, 33, 78\n\n Milner, Mrs., ii. 74\n\n Milnes, R. Monckton (afterwards Lord Houghton), i. 532, 535; ii. 135,\n 248, 409\n\n Milton, John, i. 45, 194; ii. 263\n\n Mitford, Miss M. R., i. 12, 23, 61, 69, 85, 86, 96, 107, 108, 109,\n 110, 111, 147, 160, 263, 455, 456, 459, 486, 492, 500; ii. 22,\n 27, 243, 288, 291, 316, 359, 415, 441\n on R. H. Horne, i. 465ff., 468ff., 473\n\n Molière, i. 189\n\n Monod, Rev. A., ii. 460ff.\n\n Montagu, Basil, i. 199\n\n Montagu, Lady Mary, her ‘Septennial Act,’ ii. 138\n\n Montagu, Mrs., i. 532\n\n Montaigne, Michel de, i. 131\n\n Montefiore, Sir Moses, i. 489, 504, 510, 515, 526\n\n Moore, Thomas, ii. 378;\n his ‘Life and Letters of Byron,’ ii. 455\n\n ‘Morning Chronicle,’ the, i. 298, 389\n\n Moxon, Edward, i. 18, 116, 188, 235, 238, 266, 293, 298, 324, 474,\n 532; ii. 118, 122, 151, 285, 337, 374, 488, 512\n on reviewers, ii. 343\n\n\n Napoleon I., i. 24, 200, 239\n\n ‘New Monthly Magazine’ (Colburn’s), i. 52, 54, 70, 120, 361\n\n ‘New Quarterly Review,’ i. 377, 381\n\n Northampton, Lord, i. 496\n\n Norton, Hon. Mrs., i. 48, 51, 368 _n._; ii. 309, 401\n\n\n O’Connell, D., ii. 42\n\n Osgood, Mrs., ii. 133\n\n Ossian, ii. 89, 259, 283, 459, 469, 473\n\n Ovid, i. 271\n\n\n Padua, i. 196\n\n Paine, Mrs., ii. 31, 74, 83, 85, 369\n\n Palmella, the Duke of, i. 229, 231, 241\n\n Patmore, Coventry, ii. 135\n\n Peel, Sir Robert, ii. 266, 271, 281\n\n ‘People’s Journal,’ the, i. 547, 555; ii. 124\n\n Pietro d’Abano, i. 461, 466\n\n Pisa, i. 189, 193, 196, 200, 209, 232, 236, 254, 258; ii. 464\n\n Plato, i. 472, 541\n\n Poe, Edgar A., i. 308, 386, 402, 446, 570; ii. 133, 220\n dedication of his poems to E.B.B., i. 431\n his ‘Raven,’ i. 542\n\n Polidoro, i. 28; ii. 153\n\n Polk, President, ii. 98\n\n Porta, J. Baptista, i. 501\n\n Possagno, i. 126\n\n Powell, T., i. 393, 397, 572, 573; ii. 157\n\n Priessnitz, i. 246\n\n Pritchard, Captain, ii. 39, 83, 346, 498, 547\n\n Procter, B. W., i. 312, 496, 500; ii. 133, 255, 428\n\n Procter, Mrs. B. W., ii. 62, 70, 72, 76, 135, 213, 327\n\n Purchas, J., i. 358\n\n Pusey, Dr., ii. 347\n\n\n Quarles, Francis, i. 419; ii. 189, 447\n\n ‘Quarterly Review,’ the, i. 20, 294, 311, 314\n\n Quintilian, i. 36\n\n\n Rabelais, François de, i. 47\n\n Rachel, Mlle., ii. 328, 341, 346, 412\n\n Ravenna, ii. 234, 252, 255\n\n Reade, J. Edmund, ii. 286, 372, 374, 378\n\n ‘Retrospective Review,’ i. 344, 345, 382\n\n Reybaud, Mme. Charles, i. 558\n\n Robinson, Crabb, i. 484\n\n Rogers, Samuel, i. 86ff., 196; ii. 251ff., 262, 263\n\n Ronsard, Peter, i. 262, 271\n\n Rossini, G. A., i. 544\n\n Royal Society’s soirée, i. 496\n\n Russell, Henry, i. 524, 537\n\n\n Sand, George, i. 117, 119, 161, 165; ii. 102, 107, 349, 352\n her ‘Comtesse de Rudolstadt,’ i. 165\n her ‘Consuelo,’ i. 118, 155, 162ff., 165\n her ‘Leila,’ i. 117\n her ‘Spiridion,’ i. 100\n\n Schiller, Friedrich, i. 395\n\n Schmitz, Dr. Leonhard, i. 171\n\n Severn, Joseph, ii. 151\n\n Sévigné, Mme. de, i. 258\n\n Shakespeare, William, i. 23, 43, 66, 100, 373; ii. 87\n\n Shakespeare, William, ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ i. 15\n\n Shaw, Sir James, ii. 154\n\n Shelley, Mrs., i. 186, 196, 227, 287\n\n Shelley, P. B., i. 38, 57, 66, 97, 116, 196, 215, 323, 327, 366, 480,\n 567; ii. 79, 151, 153, 255, 314\n his ‘Cenci,’ i. 229\n his ‘Marianne’s Dream,’ i. 215\n his ‘Prometheus Unbound,’ i. 229\n his ‘St. Irvyne, or the Rosicrucian,’ i. 226, 228\n\n Shirley, James, quoted, ii. 175\n\n Sidney, Sir Philip, i. 23\n\n Sigourney, Mrs., i. 344\n\n Simpson, Mr., i. 70ff.; ii. 32\n\n Smith, Elder & Co., ii. 488\n\n Smith, Rev. Sydney, i. 59; ii. 366\n\n Socrates, i. 540, 541\n\n Sorrento, i. 196\n\n Soulié, Frédéric, i. 341; ii. 107\n his ‘Sept Jours au Château,’ ii. 103\n\n Southey, Robert, ii. 456\n\n Stael, Mme. de, i. 339\n\n Stanfield, Clarkson, i. 217\n\n Starke, Mrs., quoted, ii. 280\n\n ‘Statesman,’ the, ii. 172, 174, 175, 185, 192, 199\n\n Stewart, Dugald, i. 169; ii. 27\n\n Stilling, Heinrich (autobiography of), i. 112\n\n Stratten, Rev. James, ii. 492, 501\n\n Sue, Eugène, ii. 441, 531\n\n\n Talfourd, Mr. Serjeant, i. 321, 393, 441, 573; ii. 82, 305, 307, 310,\n 312, 316, 321, 365\n his ‘Ion,’ i. 317ff., 319, 323\n\n Tasso, T., i. 5; ii. 261, 264\n\n Tennyson, Alfred, i. 19, 24, 27, 69, 100, 238, 245, 260, 316, 320,\n 383, 404, 444, 446; ii. 82, 115ff., 122, 135, 151, 177, 229,\n 337, 512\n his ‘Morte d’Arthur,’ i. 97\n his ‘Œnone,’ i. 97\n\n Thackeray, W. M., i. 260; ii. 409, 428, 432\n\n Thiers, M., i. 344\n\n Thomson, Miss, i. 168, 171ff., 497, 500; ii. 8, 22\n\n Thucydides, i. 171\n\n Tieck, i. 462\n\n ‘Times,’ the, i. 246, 248; ii. 343\n\n Titian, i. 6\n\n Trepsack, Miss (‘Treppy’), ii. 201, 209, 211, 407, 422, 432\n\n Trieste, i. 126\n\n Trollope, Mrs., i. 112\n\n Tuckermann, H., his ‘Thoughts on the Poets,’ ii. 184\n\n\n Vasari, G., i. 575\n\n Venables, George Stovin, i. 404; ii. 115\n\n Vidocq, i. 113, 117\n\n Voltaire, i. 410, 485, 494\n\n\n Wales, Prince of (afterwards George IV.), i. 48\n\n Warburton, Eliot, i. 288, 294, 398; ii. 374\n\n Ward, R. P., his ‘Tremaine,’ i. 505\n\n Watts, Dr. Isaac, i. 200\n\n Whately, Archbishop, i. 112; ii. 395\n\n White, Dr., i. 496\n\n White, Henry Kirke, i. 29\n\n Widdicombe, Harry, ii. 432, 437\n\n Wilkie, David, i. 87\n\n Wilson, Miss Barrett’s maid, i. 178, 477; ii. 355, 359, 541, 567\n\n Wilson, Professor (‘Christopher North’), i. 23\n\n Wordsworth, William, i. 74, 86, 87, 316, 363, 464ff., 484, 486; ii.\n 48, 63, 75, 76, 83, 118, 313, 456\n Miss Martineau’s letter on, i. 464, 478ff.\n\n Wordsworth, William, _junr._, i. 548, 554; ii. 118\n\n Wylie, Sir James, i. 155, 161\n\nPRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON\n\n\n\n\nWORKS OF\n\nELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.\n\n\n=THE POEMS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.= New and Cheaper Edition.\nComplete in 1 volume, with Portrait and Facsimile of the MS. of ‘A Sonnet\nfrom the Portuguese.’ Large crown 8vo. bound in cloth, gilt top, 7_s._\n6_d._\n\n ⁂ =This Edition is uniform with the Two-Volume Edition of\n Robert Browning’s Complete Works.=\n\n=THE POETICAL WORKS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.= Uniform Edition. Six\nVolumes, in set binding, small crown 8vo. 5_s._ each.\n\n _This Edition is uniform with the 17-Volume Edition of Mr.\n Robert Browning’s Works. It contains the following Portraits\n and Illustrations_:—\n\n Portrait of Elizabeth Barrett Moulton-Barrett at the age of nine.\n Coxhoe Hall, County of Durham.\n Portrait of Elizabeth Barrett Moulton-Barrett in early youth.\n Portrait of Mrs. Browning, Rome, February 1859.\n Hope End, Herefordshire.\n Sitting Room of Casa Guidi, Florence.\n ‘May’s Love’—Facsimile of Mrs. Browning’s Handwriting.\n Portrait of Mrs. Browning, Rome, March 1859.\n Portrait of Mrs. Browning, Rome, 1861.\n The Tomb of Mrs. Browning in the Cemetery at Florence.\n\n=AURORA LEIGH.= With an Introduction by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE, and a\nFrontispiece. 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With\nPortrait, and Steel Engraving of Mr. Browning’s Study in De Vere Gardens.\nSecond Edition. Crown 8vo. 12_s._ 6_d._\n\n London: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place.\n\n\n\n\nNEW EDITION OF W. M. THACKERAY’S WORKS.\n\n\nIn 13 Volumes, Large crown 8vo. cloth, gilt top, 6_s._ each.\n\n_THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION_ OF W. M. THACKERAY’S COMPLETE WORKS.\n\nTHIS NEW AND REVISED EDITION COMPRISES ADDITIONAL MATERIAL and HITHERTO\nUNPUBLISHED LETTERS, SKETCHES, and DRAWINGS.\n\n_Derived from the Author’s Original Manuscripts and Note-Books._\n\nAND EACH VOLUME INCLUDES A MEMOIR, IN THE FORM OF AN INTRODUCTION,\n\nBy Mrs. RICHMOND RITCHIE.\n\nCONTENTS OF THE VOLUMES:—\n\n 1. =VANITY FAIR.= With 20 Full-page Illustrations, 11 Woodcuts,\n a Facsimile Letter, and a new Portrait.\n\n 2. =PENDENNIS.= With 20 Full-page Illustrations and 10 Woodcuts.\n\n 3. =YELLOWPLUSH PAPERS, &c.= With 24 Full-page Reproductions of\n Steel Plates by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK, 11 Woodcuts, and a Portrait\n of the Author by MACLISE.\n\n 4. =THE MEMOIRS OF BARRY LYNDON: THE FITZBOODLE PAPERS=, &c.\n With 16 Full-page Illustrations by J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., LUKE\n FILDES, A.R.A., and the Author, and 14 Woodcuts.\n\n 5. =SKETCH BOOKS:—THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK; THE IRISH SKETCH BOOK;\n NOTES OF A JOURNEY FROM CORNHILL TO GRAND CAIRO=, &c. With 16\n Full-page Illustrations, 39 Woodcuts, and a Portrait of the\n Author by MACLISE.\n\n 6. =CONTRIBUTIONS TO ‘PUNCH’ &c.= With 20 Full-page\n Illustrations, 26 Woodcuts, and an Engraving of the Author from\n a Portrait by SAMUEL LAURENCE.\n\n 7. =THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND; and THE LECTURES.= With 20\n Full-page Illustrations by GEORGE DU MAURIER, F. BARNARD, and\n FRANK DICKSEE, R.A., and 11 Woodcuts.\n\n 8. =THE NEWCOMES.= With 20 Full-page Illustrations by RICHARD\n DOYLE and 11 Woodcuts.\n\n 9. =CHRISTMAS BOOKS, &c.= With 97 Full-page Illustrations, 122\n Woodcuts, and a Facsimile Letter.\n\n 10. =THE VIRGINIANS.= With 20 Full-page Illustrations, 6\n Woodcuts, a Photogravure, and a new Portrait.\n\n 11. =THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP; and A SHABBY GENTEEL STORY.=\n With 24 Full-page Illustrations by FREDERICK WALKER and the\n Author, 6 Woodcuts, a Facsimile of MS., and 2 Facsimile Letters.\n\n 12. =LOVEL THE WIDOWER; ROUNDABOUT PAPERS; DENIS DUVAL, &c.=\n With 20 Full-page and 11 Text Illustrations by FREDERICK\n WALKER, A.R.A., CHARLES KEENE, and the AUTHOR, and 2 pages of\n MS. in facsimile.\n\n 13. =BALLADS AND MISCELLANIES.= With 35 Full-page Illustrations\n by the AUTHOR, GEORGE CRUIKSHANK and JOHN LEECH, 35 Woodcuts, 3\n Portraits of Thackeray’s Ancestors, an Engraving of the Author\n from a Drawing by SAMUEL LAURENCE, and a Photogravure, from a\n Drawing by CHINNERY, of Thackeray at the age of 3, with his\n Father and Mother. The volume also contains a Life of Thackeray\n by LESLIE STEPHEN and a Bibliography. [_On April 15._\n\n=The Bookman.=—‘In her new biographical edition Mrs. Richmond Ritchie\ngives us precisely what we want. The volumes are a pleasure to hold and\nto handle. They are just what we like our ordinary every-day Thackeray\nto be. And prefixed to each of them we have all that we wish to know, or\nhave any right to know, about the author himself; all the circumstances,\nletters, and drawings which bear upon the work.’\n\n⁂_A Prospectus of the Edition, with specimen pages, will be sent post\nfree on application._\n\nLondon: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place.", + "author": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", + "recipient": "Robert Browning", + "source": "The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, Vol. 2", + "period": "1845–1846" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/burns_clarinda.json b/letters/burns_clarinda.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ffe1cd --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/burns_clarinda.json @@ -0,0 +1,482 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "Letter I", + "body": "_Thursday Evening_ [_Dec_. 6_th_, 1787].\n\nMADAM,--I had set no small store by my tea-drinking tonight, and have\nnot often been so disappointed. Saturday evening I shall embrace the\nopportunity with the greatest pleasure. I leave this town this day\nse'ennight, and, probably, for a couple of twelvemonths; but must ever\nregret that I so lately got an acquaintance I shall ever highly esteem,\nand in whose welfare I shall ever be warmly interested.\n\nOur worthy common friend, in her usual pleasant way, rallied me a good\ndeal on my new acquaintance, and in the humour of her ideas I wrote some\nlines, which I inclose you, as I think they have a good deal of poetic\nmerit: and Miss Nimmo tells me you are not only a critic, but a poetess.\nFiction, you know, is the native region of poetry; and I hope you will\npardon my vanity in sending you the bagatelle as a tolerably off-hand\n_jeu-d'esprit_. I have several poetic trifles, which I shall gladly\nleave with Miss Nimmo, or you, if they were worth house room; as there\nare scarcely two people on earth by whom it would mortify me more to be\nforgotten, though at the distance of ninescore miles.--I am, Madam, with\nthe highest respect, your very humble servant,\n\nROBERT BURNS.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter II", + "body": "_Saturday Evening, Dec_. 8_th_, 1787.\n\nI can say with truth, Madam, that I never met with a person in my life\nwhom I more anxiously wished to meet again than yourself. To-night I was\nto have had that very great pleasure; I was intoxicated with the idea,\nbut an unlucky fall from a coach has so bruised one of my knees, that I\ncan't stir my leg; so if I don't see you again, I shall not rest in my\ngrave for chagrin. I was vexed to the soul I had not seen you sooner; I\ndetermined to cultivate your friendship with the enthusiasm of religion;\nbut thus has Fortune ever served me. I cannot bear the idea of leaving\nEdinburgh without seeing you. I know not how to account for it--I am\nstrangely taken with some people, nor am I often mistaken. You are a\nstranger to me; but I am an odd being: some yet unnamed feelings,\nthings, not principles, but better than whims, carry me farther than\nboasted reason ever did a philosopher. Farewell! every happiness be\nyours! ROBERT BURNS.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter III", + "body": "_Dec_. 12, 1787.\n\nI stretch a point indeed, my dearest Madam, when I answer your card on\nthe rack of my present agony. Your friendship, Madam! By heavens, I was\nnever proud before. Your lines, I maintain it, are poetry, and good\npoetry; mine were indeed partly fiction and partly a friendship, which,\nhad I been so blest as to have met with you in time, might have led\nme--god of love only knows where. Time is too short for ceremonies. I\nswear solemnly, in all the tenor of my former oath, to remember you in\nall the pride and warmth of friendship until I cease to be! To-morrow,\nand every day till I see you, you shall hear from me. Farewell! May you\nenjoy a better night's repose than I am likely to have. R. B.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter IV", + "body": "_Thursday, Dec_. 20, 1787.\n\nYour last, my dear Madam, had the effect on me that Job's situation had\non his friends when they sat down seven days and seven nights astonished\nand spake not a word. \"Pay my addresses to a married woman!\" I started\nas if I had seen the ghost of him I had injured. I recollected my\nexpressions; some of them were indeed in the law phrase \"habit and\nrepute,\" which is being half guilty. I cannot possibly say, Madam,\nwhether my heart might not have gone astray a little; but I can declare\nupon the honour of a poet that the vagrant has wandered unknown to me. I\nhave a pretty handsome troop of follies of my own, and, like some other\npeople's, they are but undisciplined blackguards; but the luckless\nrascals have something like honour in them--they would not do a\ndishonest thing.\n\nTo meet with an unfortunate woman, amiable and young, deserted and\nwidowed by those who were bound by every tie of duty, nature, and\ngratitude to protect, comfort and cherish her; add to all, when she is\nperhaps one of the first of lovely forms and noble minds--the mind, too,\nthat hits one's taste as the joys of Heaven do a saint--should a faint\nidea, the natural child of imagination, thoughtfully peep over the\nfence--were you, my friend, to sit in judgment, and the poor, airy\nstraggler brought before you, trembling, self-condemned, with artless\neyes, brimful of contrition, looking wistfully on its judge--you could\nnot, my dear Madam, condemn the hapless wretch to death without benefit\nof clergy? I won't tell you what reply my heart made to your raillery of\nseven years, but I will give you what a brother of my trade says on the\nsame allusion:--\n\n The patriarch to gain a wife,\n Chaste, beautiful, and young,\n Served fourteen years a painful life,\n And never thought it long.\n\n O were you to reward such cares,\n And life so long would stay,\n Not fourteen but four hundred years\n Would seem but as a day.[62]\n\nI have written you this scrawl because I have nothing else to do, and\nyou may sit down and find fault with it, if you have no better way of\nconsuming your time. But finding fault with the vagaries of a poet's\nfancy is much such another business as Xerxes chastising the waves of\nHellespont.\n\nMy limb now allows me to sit in some peace: to walk I have yet no\nprospect of, as I can't mark it to the ground.\n\nI have just now looked over what I have written, and it is such a chaos\nof nonsense that I daresay you will throw it into the fire and call me\nan idle, stupid fellow; but, whatever you may think of my brains,\nbelieve me to be, with the most sacred respect and heart-felt esteem, my\ndear Madam, your humble Servant, ROBT. BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 62: Tom D'Urfey's Songs.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter V", + "body": "_Friday Evening_, 28_th December_ 1787.\n\nI beg your pardon, my dear \"Clarinda,\" for the fragment scrawl I sent\nyou yesterday. I really do not know what I wrote. A gentleman, for whose\ncharacter, abilities, and critical knowledge I have the highest\nveneration, called in just as I had begun the second sentence, and I\nwould not make the porter wait. I read to my much-respected friend\nseveral of my own bagatelles, and, among others, your lines, which I had\ncopied out. He began some criticisms on them as on the other pieces,\nwhen I informed him they were the work of a young lady in this town,\nwhich, I assure you, made him stare. My learned friend seriously\nprotested that he did not believe any young woman in Edinburgh was\ncapable of such lines; and if you know anything of Professor Gregory,\nyou will neither doubt of his abilities nor his sincerity. I do love\nyou, if possible, still better for having so fine a taste and turn for\npoesy. I have again gone wrong in my usual unguarded way, but you may\nerase the word, and put esteem, respect, or any other tame Dutch\nexpression you please in its place. I believe there is no holding\nconverse, or carrying on correspondence, with an amiable woman, much\nless a _gloriously amiable fine woman_, without some mixture of that\ndelicious passion, whose most devoted slave I have more than once had\nthe honour of being. But why be hurt or offended on that account? Can no\nhonest man have a prepossession for a fine woman, but he must run his\nhead against an intrigue? Take a little of the tender witchcraft of\nlove, and add to it the generous, the honourable sentiments of manly\nfriendship, and I know but _one_ more delightful morsel, which few, few\nin any rank ever taste. Such a composition is like adding cream to\nstrawberries; it not only gives the fruit a more elegant richness, but\nhas a deliciousness of its own.\n\nI inclose you a few lines I composed on a late melancholy occasion. I\nwill not give above five or six copies of it in all, and I should be\nhurt if any friend should give any copies without my consent.\n\nYou cannot imagine, Clarinda (I like the idea of Arcadian names in a\ncommerce of this kind), how much store I have set by the hopes of your\nfuture friendship. I do not know if you have a just idea of my\ncharacter, but I wish you to see me as _I am_. I am, as most people of\nmy trade are, a strange Will-o'-Wisp being: the victim, too frequently,\nof much imprudence and many follies. My great constituent elements are\n_pride_ and _passion_. The first I have endeavoured to humanise into\nintegrity and honour; the last makes me a devotee to the warmest degree\nof enthusiasm, in love, religion, or friendship--either of them, or all\ntogether, as I happen to be inspired. 'Tis true, I never saw you but\nonce; but how much acquaintance did I form with you in that once? Do not\nthink I flatter you, or have a design upon you, Clarinda; I have too\nmuch pride for the one, and too little cold contrivance for the other;\nbut of all God's creatures I ever could approach in the beaten way of my\nacquaintance, you struck me with the deepest, the strongest, the most\npermanent impression. I say the most permanent, because I know myself\nwell, and how far I can promise either on my prepossessions or powers.\nWhy are you unhappy? And why are so many of our fellow-creatures,\nunworthy to belong to the same species with you, blest with all they can\nwish? You have a hand all benevolent to give-why were you denied the\npleasure? You have a heart formed--gloriously formed--for all the most\nrefined luxuries of love:-why was that heart ever wrung? O Clarinda!\nshall we not meet in a state, some yet unknown state of being, where the\nlavish hand of plenty shall minister to the highest wish of benevolence;\nand where the chill north-wind of prudence shall never blow over the\nflowery fields of enjoyment? If we do not, man was made in vain! I\ndeserved most of the unhappy hours that have lingered over my head; they\nwere the wages of my labour: but what unprovoked demon, malignant as\nhell, stole upon the confidence of unmistrusting busy Fate, and dashed\nyour cup of life with undeserved sorrow?\n\nLet me know how long your stay will be out of town; I shall count the\nhours till you inform me of your return. Cursed _etiquette_ forbids your\nseeing me just now; and so soon as I can walk I must bid Edinburgh\nadieu. Lord! why was I born to see misery which I cannot relieve, and to\nmeet with friends whom I cannot enjoy? I look back with the pang of\nunavailing avarice on my loss in not knowing you sooner: all last\nwinter, these three months past, what luxury of intercourse have I not\nlost! Perhaps, though,'twas better for my peace. You see I am either\nabove, or incapable of dissimulation. I believe it is want of that\nparticular genius. I despise design, because I want either coolness or\nwisdom to be capable of it. I am interrupted. Adieu! my dear Clarinda!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VI", + "body": "_Thursday, Jan_. 3, 1788.\n\nYou are right, my dear Clarinda: a friendly correspondence goes for\nnothing, except one writes his or her undisguised sentiments. Yours\nplease me for their instrinsic merit, as well as because they are\n_yours_, which I assure you, is to me a high recommendation. Your\nreligious sentiments, Madam, I revere. If you have, on some suspicious\nevidence, from some lying oracle, learned that I despise or ridicule so\nsacredly important a matter as real religion, you have, my Clarinda,\nmuch misconstrued your friend. \"I am not mad, most noble Festus!\" Have\nyou ever met a perfect character? Do we not sometimes rather exchange\nfaults, than get rid of them? For instance, I am perhaps tired with, and\nshocked at a life too much the prey of giddy inconsistencies and\nthoughtless follies; by degrees I grow sober, prudent, and statedly\npious--I say statedly, because the most unaffected devotion is not at\nall inconsistent with my first character--I join the world in\ncongratulating myself on the happy change. But let me pry more narrowly\ninto this affair. Have I, at bottom, any thing of a sacred pride in\nthese endowments and emendations? Have I nothing of a presbyterian\nsourness, an hypocritical severity, when I survey my less regular\nneighbours? In a word, have I missed all those nameless and numberless\nmodifications of indistinct selfishness, which are so near our own eyes,\nthat we can scarcely bring them within the sphere of our vision, and\nwhich the known spotless cambric of our character hides from the\nordinary observer?\n\nMy definition of worth is short; truth and humanity respecting our\nfellow-creatures; reverence and humility in the presence of that Being,\nmy Creator and Preserver, and who, I have every reason to believe, will\none day be my Judge. The first part of my definition is the creature of\nunbiassed instinct; the last is the child of after reflection. Where I\nfound these two essentials I would gently note and slightly mention any\nattendant flaws--flaws, the marks, the consequences of human nature.\n\nI can easily enter into the sublime pleasures that your strong\nimagination and keen sensibility must derive from religion, particularly\nif a little in the shade of misfortune; but I own I cannot, without a\nmarked grudge, see Heaven totally engross so amiable, so charming a\nwoman, as my friend Clarinda; and should be very well pleased at _a\ncircumstance_ that would put it in the power of somebody (happy\nsomebody!) to divide her attention, with all the delicacy and tenderness\nof an earthly attachment.\n\nYou will not easily persuade me that you have not a grammatical\nknowledge of the English language. So far from being inaccurate, you are\nelegant beyond any woman of my acquaintance, except one,--whom I\nwish you knew.\n\nYour last verses to me have so delighted me, that I have got an\nexcellent old Scots air that suits the measure, and you shall see them\nin print in the Scots _Musical Museum_, a work publishing by a friend of\nmine in this town. I want four stanzas, you gave me but three, and one\nof them alluded to an expression in my former letter; so I have taken\nyour two first verses, with a slight alteration in the second, and have\nadded a third, but you must help me to a fourth. Here they are; the\nlatter half of the first stanza would have been worthy of Sappho; I am\nin raptures with it.\n\n Talk not of Love, it gives me pain,\n For Love has been my foe:\n He bound me with an iron chain,\n And sunk me deep in woe.\n\n But Friendship's pure and lasting joys\n My heart was formed to prove:\n There welcome, win and wear the prize,\n But never talk of Love.\n\n Your friendship much can make me blest,\n O why that bliss destroy!\n [only]\n Why urge the odious one request,\n [will]\n You know I must deny.\n\nThe alteration in the second stanza is no improvement, but there was a\nslight inaccuracy in your rhyme. The third I only offer to your choice,\nand have left two words for your determination. The air is \"The banks of\nSpey,\" and is most beautiful.\n\nTo-morrow evening I intend taking a chair, and paying a visit at Park\nPlace to a much-valued old friend.[63] If I could be sure of finding you\nat home (and I will send one of the chairmen to call), I would spend\nfrom five to six o'clock with you, as I go past. I cannot do more at\nthis time, as I have something on my hand that hurries me much. I\npropose giving you the first call, my old friend the second, and Miss\nNimmo as I return home. Do not break any engagement for me, as I will\nspend another evening with you at any rate before I leave town.\n\nDo not tell me that you are pleased, when your friends inform you of\nyour faults. I am ignorant what they are; but I am sure they must be\nsuch evanescent trifles, compared with your personal and mental\naccomplishments, that I would despise the ungenerous narrow soul, who\nwould notice any shadow of imperfections you may seem to have, any other\nway than in the most delicate agreeable raillery. Coarse minds are not\naware how much they injure the keenly feeling tie of bosom friendship,\nwhen, in their foolish officiousness, they mention what nobody cares for\nrecollecting. People of nice sensibility, and generous minds, have a\ncertain intrinsic dignity, that fires at being trifled with, or lowered,\nor even too nearly approached.\n\nYou need make no apology for long letters; I am even with you. Many\nhappy new years to you, charming Clarinda! I can't dissemble, were it to\nshun perdition. He who sees you as I have done, and does not love you,\ndeserves to be damn'd for his stupidity! He who loves you, and would\ninjure you, deserves to be doubly damn'd for his villany! Adieu.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\nP.S. What would you think of this for a fourth stanza?\n\n Your thought, if love must harbour there,\n Conceal it in that thought,\n Nor cause me from my bosom tear\n The very friend I sought.\n\n [Footnote 63: Probably Mr. Nicol, who lived in Buccleuch Pend, a\n short distance from Clarinda's residence.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VII", + "body": "_Saturday Noon_ [_5th January_].\n\nSome days, some nights, nay, some _hours_, like the \"ten righteous\npersons in Sodom,\" save the rest of the vapid, tiresome, miserable\nmonths and years of life. One of these hours my dear Clarinda blest me\nwith yesternight.\n\n One well-spent hour,\n In such a tender circumstance for friends,\n Is better than an age of common time!\n\nTHOMSON.\n\nMy favourite feature in Milton's Satan is his manly fortitude in\nsupporting what cannot be remedied--in short, the wild broken fragments\nof a noble exalted mind in ruins. I meant no more by saying he was a\nfavourite hero of mine.\n\nI mentioned to you my letter to Dr. Moore, giving an account of my life:\nit is truth, every word of it; and will give you a just idea of the man\nwhom you have honoured with your friendship. I am afraid you will hardly\nbe able to make sense of so torn a piece. Your verses I shall muse on,\ndeliciously, as I gaze on your image in my mind's eye, in my heart's\ncore: they will be in time enough for a week to come. I am truly happy\nyour headache is better. O, how can pain or evil be so daringly\nunfeeling, cruelly savage, as to wound so noble a mind, so lovely\na form!\n\nMy little fellow is all my namesake. Write me soon. My every, strongest\ngood wishes attend you, Clarinda!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\nI know not what I have written--I am pestered with people around me.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VIII", + "body": "_Jan. 8, 1788, Tuesday Night._\n\nI am delighted, charming Clarinda, with your honest enthusiasm for\nreligion. Those of either sex, but particularly the female, who are\nlukewarm in that most important of all things, \"O my soul, come not thou\ninto their secrets!\" I feel myself deeply interested in your good\nopinion, and will lay before you the outlines of my belief. He who is\nour Author and Preserver, and will one day be our Judge, must be (not\nfor his sake in the way of duty, but from the native impulse of our\nhearts), the object of our reverential awe and grateful adoration: He is\nAlmighty and all-bounteous, we are weak and dependent; hence prayer and\nevery other sort of devotion. \"He is not willing that any should perish,\nbut that all should come to everlasting life;\" consequently it must be\nin every one's power to embrace his offer of \"everlasting life;\"\notherwise he could not, in justice, condemn those who did not. A mind\npervaded, actuated, and governed by purity, truth, and charity, though\nit does not merit heaven, yet is an absolute necessary prerequisite,\nwithout which heaven can neither be obtained nor enjoyed; and, by divine\npromise, such a mind shall never fail of attaining \"everlasting life;\"\nhence the impure, the deceiving, and the uncharitable extrude themselves\nfrom eternal bliss, by their unfitness for enjoying it. The Supreme\nBeing has put the immediate administration of all this, for wise and\ngood ends known to himself, into the hands of Jesus Christ, a great\npersonage, whose relation to him we cannot comprehend, but whose\nrelation to us is a guide and Saviour; and who, except for our own\nobstinacy and misconduct, will bring us all, through various ways, and\nby various means, to bliss at last.\n\nThese are my tenets, my lovely friend; and which I think cannot well be\ndisputed. My creed is pretty nearly expressed in the last clause of\nJamie Dean's grace, an honest weaver in Ayrshire,--\"Lord, grant that we\nmay lead a gude life; for a gude life maks a gude end, at least it\nhelps weel!\"\n\nI am flattered by the entertainment you tell me you have found in my\npacket. You see me as I have been, you know me as I am, and may guess at\nwhat I am likely to be. I too may say, \"Talk not of love,\" etc., for\nindeed he has \"plunged me deep in woe!\" Not that I ever saw a woman who\npleased unexceptionably, as my Clarinda elegantly says, \"in the\ncompanion, the friend, and the mistress.\" _One_ indeed I could\nexcept--_One_, before passion threw its mists over my discernment, I\nknew--_the_ first of women! Her name is indelibly written in my heart's\ncore--but I dare not look in on it--a degree of agony would be the\nconsequence. Oh! thou perfidious, cruel, mischief-making demon, who\npresidest over that frantic passion--thou mayest, thou dost poison my\npeace, but thou shalt not taint my honour. I would not, for a single\nmoment, give an asylum to the most distant imagination, that would\nshadow the faintest outline of a selfish gratification, at the expense\nof her whose happiness is twisted with the threads of my existence.--May\nshe be as happy as she deserves! and if my tenderest, faithfullest\nfriendship, can add to her bliss, I shall at least have one solid mine\nof enjoyment in my bosom! _Don't guess at these ravings_!\n\nI watched at our front window to-day, but was disappointed. It has been\na day of disappointments. I am just risen from a two hours' bout after\nsupper, with silly or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common\nwith me but the Port.--_One!_--Tis now \"witching time of night;\" and\nwhatever is out of joint in the foregoing scrawl, impute it to\nenchantments and spells; for I can't look over it, but will seal it up\ndirectly, as I don't care for to-morrow's criticisms on it.\n\nYou are by this time fast asleep, Clarinda; may good angels attend and\nguard you as constantly and faithfully as my good wishes do.\n\n Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,\n Shot forth peculiar graces.\n\nJohn Milton, I wish thy soul better rest than I expect on my own pillow\nto-night! O for a little of the cart-horse part of human nature! Good\nnight, my dearest Clarinda!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *\n\nIX\n\n_Thursday Noon_, 10_th January_ 1788.\n\nI am certain I saw you, Clarinda; but you don't look to the proper\nstorey for a poet's lodging--\n\n Where speculation roosted near the sky.\n\nI could almost have thrown myself over for vexation. Why didn't you look\nhigher? It has spoiled my peace for this day. To be so near my charming\nClarinda; to miss her look while it was searching for me--I am sure the\nsoul is capable of disease, for mine has convulsed itself into an\ninflammatory fever.\n\nYou have converted me, Clarinda. (I shall love that name while I live:\nthere is heavenly music in it.) Booth and Amelia I know well.[64] Your\nsentiments on that subject, as they are on every subject, are just and\nnoble. \"To be feelingly alive to kindness, and to unkindness,\" is a\ncharming female character.\n\nWhat I said in my last letter, the powers of fuddling sociality only\nknow for me. By yours, I understand my good star has been partly in my\nhorizon, when I got wild in my reveries. Had that evil planet, which has\nalmost all my life shed its baleful rays on my devoted head, been, as\nusual, in my zenith, I had certainly blabbed something that would have\npointed out to you the dear object of my tenderest friendship, and, in\nspite of me, something more. Had that fatal information escaped me, and\nit was merely chance, or kind stars, that it did not, I had been undone!\n\nYou would never have written me, except perhaps _once_ more! O, I could\ncurse circumstances, and the coarse tie of human laws, which keeps fast\nwhat common sense would loose, and which bars that happiness itself\ncannot give--happiness which otherwise Love and Honour would warrant!\nBut hold--I shall make no more \"hair-breadth 'scapes.\"\n\nMy friendship, Clarinda, is a life-rent business. My likings are both\nstrong and eternal. I told you I had but one male friend: I have but two\nfemale. I should have a third, but she is surrounded by the\nblandishments of flattery and courtship. The name I register in my\nheart's core is _Peggy Chalmers_. Miss Nimmo can tell you how divine she\nis. She is worthy of a place in the same bosom with my Clarinda. That is\nthe highest compliment I can pay her.\n\nFarewell, Clarinda! Remember\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 64: See Fielding's _Amelia_.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter X", + "body": "_Saturday Morning_, 12_th January_.\n\nYour thoughts on religion, Clarinda, shall be welcome. You may perhaps\ndistrust me, when I say 'tis also my favourite topic; but mine is the\nreligion of the bosom. I hate the very idea of a controversial divinity;\nas I firmly believe, that every honest upright man, of whatever sect,\nwill be accepted of the Deity. If your verses, as you seem to hint,\ncontain censure, except you want an occasion to break with me, don't\nsend them. I have a little infirmity in my disposition, that where I\nfondly love, or highly esteem, I cannot bear reproach.\n\n\"Reverence thyself\" is a sacred maxim, and I wish to cherish it. I think\nI told you Lord Bolingbroke's saying to Swift--\"Adieu, dear Swift, with\nall thy faults I love thee entirely; make an effort to love me with all\nmine.\" A glorious sentiment, and without which there can be no\nfriendship! I do highly, very highly, esteem you indeed, Clarinda--you\nmerit it all! Perhaps, too, I scorn dissimulation! I could fondly love\nyou: judge then what a maddening sting your reproach would be. \"O! I\nhave sins to _Heaven_ but none to _you!_\" With what pleasure would I\nmeet you to-day, but I cannot walk to meet the fly. I hope to be able to\nsee you on _foot_ about the middle of next week.\n\nI am interrupted--perhaps you are not sorry for it, you will tell\nme--but I won't anticipate blame. O Clarinda! did you know how dear to\nme is your look of kindness, your smile of approbation! you would not,\neither in prose or verse, risk a censorious remark.\n\n Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,\n That tends to make one worthy man my foe!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XI", + "body": "_Saturday_, _Jan_. 12, 1788.\n\nYou talk of weeping, Clarinda! Some involuntary drops wet your lines as\nI read them. _Offend me_, my dearest angel! You cannot offend me, you\nnever offended me! If you had ever given me the least shadow of offence\nso pardon me, God, as I forgive Clarinda! I have read yours again; it\nhas blotted my paper. Though I find your letter has agitated me into a\nviolent headache, I shall take a chair and be with you about eight. A\nfriend is to be with us to tea on my account, which hinders me from\ncoming sooner. Forgive, my dearest Clarinda, my unguarded expressions.\nFor Heaven's sake, forgive me, or I shall never be able to bear my own\nmind. Your unhappy Sylvander.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XII", + "body": "_Monday Evening_, 11 _o'clock_, 14_th January_.\n\nWhy have I not heard from you, Clarinda? To-day I expected it; and\nbefore supper when a letter to me was announced, my heart danced with\nrapture: but behold, 'twas some fool, who had taken it into his head to\nturn poet, and made me an offering of the first-fruits of his nonsense.\n\"It is not poetry, but prose run mad.\" Did I ever repeat to you an\nepigram I made on a Mr. Elphinstone,[65] who has given a translation of\nMartial, a famous Latin poet? The poetry of Elphinstone can only equal\nhis prose notes. I was sitting in a merchant's shop of my acquaintance,\nwaiting somebody; he put Elphinstone into my hand, and asked my opinion\nof it; I begged leave to write it on a blank leaf, which I did,--\n\n TO MR. ELPHINSTONE.\n\n O thou, whom poesy abhors!\n Whom prose has turned out of doors!\n Heardst thou yon groan? proceed no further!\n 'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther!\n\nI am determined to see you, if at all possible, on Saturday evening.\nNext week I must sing--\n\n The night is my departing night,\n The morn's the day I maun awa;\n There's neither friend nor foe o' mine\n But wishes that I were awa!\n What I hae done for lack o' wit,\n I never, never can reca';\n I hope ye're a' my friends as yet,\n Gude night, and joy be wi' you a'!\n\nIf I could see you sooner, I would be so much the happier; but I would\nnot purchase the _dearest gratification_ on earth, if it must be at your\nexpense in worldly censure, far less inward peace!\n\nI shall certainly be ashamed of thus scrawling whole sheets of\nincoherence. The only _unity_ (a sad word with poets and critics!) in my\nideas, is CLARINDA. There my heart \"reigns and revels.\"\n\n What art thou, Love? whence are those charms,\n That thus thou bear'st an universal rule?\n For thee the soldier quits his arms,\n The king turns slave, the wise man fool.\n In vain we chase thee from the field,\n And with cool thoughts resist thy yoke:\n Next tide of blood, alas! we yield;\n And all those high resolves are broke!\n\nI like to have quotations for every occasion They give one's ideas so\npat, and save one the trouble of finding expression adequate to one's\nfeelings. I think it is one of the greatest pleasures attending a poetic\ngenius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, loves, etc., an embodied\nform in verse, which, to me, is ever immediate ease. Goldsmith says\nfinely of his Muse--\n\n Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe;\n Thou foundst me poor at first, and keep'st me so.\n\nMy limb has been so well to-day, that I have gone up and down stairs\noften without my staff. To-morrow I hope to walk once again on my own\nlegs to dinner. It is only next street.--Adieu. Sylvander.\n\n [Footnote 65: A native of Edinburgh, and a schoolmaster in London. He\n was a friend of Samuel Johnson]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIII", + "body": "_Tuesday Evening_, _Jan_. 15.\n\nThat you have faults, my Clarinda, I never doubted; but I knew not where\nthey existed, and Saturday night made me more in the dark than ever. O\nClarinda! why will you wound my soul, by hinting that last night must\nhave lessened my opinion of you? True, I was \"behind the scenes with\nyou;\" but what did I see? A bosom glowing with honour and benevolence; a\nmind ennobled by genius, informed and refined by education and\nreflection, and exalted by native religion, genuine as in the climes of\nheaven: a heart formed for all the glorious meltings of friendship,\nlove, and pity. These I saw--I saw the noblest immortal soul creation\never showed me.\n\nI looked long, my dear Clarinda, for your letter; and am vexed that you\nare complaining. I have not caught you so far wrong as in your idea,\nthat the commerce you have with _one_ friend hurts you, if you cannot\ntell every tittle of it to _another_. Why have so injurious a suspicion\nof a good God, Clarinda, as to think that Friendship and Love, on the\nsacred inviolate principles of Truth, Honour, and Religion! can be\nanything else than an object of His divine approbation.\n\nI have mentioned in some of my former scrawls, Saturday evening next. Do\nallow me to wait on you that evening. Oh, my angel! how soon must we\npart! and when can we meet again! I look forward on the horrid interval\nwith tearful eyes! What have I lost by not knowing you sooner. I fear, I\nfear my acquaintance with you is too short, to make that _lasting_\nimpression on your heart I could wish.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIV", + "body": "_Saturday Morning_, 19_th Jan_\n\nThere is no time, my Clarinda, when the conscious thrilling chords of\nLove and Friendship give such delight, as in the pensive hours of what\nour favourite Thomson calls, \"philosophic melancholy.\" The sportive\ninsects, who bask in the sunshine of prosperity; or the worms that\nluxuriantly crawl amid their ample wealth of earth, they need no\nClarinda: they would despise Sylvander--if they durst. The family of\nMisfortune, a numerous group of brothers and sisters! they need a\nresting place to their souls: unnoticed, often condemned by the\nworld--in some degree, perhaps, condemned by themselves, they feel the\nfull enjoyment of ardent love, delicate tender endearments, mutual\nesteem and mutual reliance.\n\nIn this light I have often admired religion. In proportion as we are\nwrung with grief, or distracted with anxiety, the ideas of a\ncompassionate Deity, an Almighty Protector, are doubly dear.\n\n '_Tis this_, my friend, that streaks our morning bright;\n '_Tis this_ that gilds the horrors of our night.'\n\nI have been this morning taking a peep through, as Young finely says,\n\"the dark postern of time long elaps'd;\" and, you will easily\nguess,'twas a rueful prospect. What a tissue of thoughtlessness,\nweakness, and folly! My life reminded me of a ruined temple; what\nstrength, what proportion in some parts! what unsightly gaps, what\nprostrate ruin in others! I kneeled down before the Father of mercies,\nand said, \"Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and\nam no more worthy to be called thy son!\" I rose, eased and strengthened.\nI despise the superstition of a fanatic, but I love the religion of a\nman. \"The future,\" said I to myself, \"is still before me;\" there let me\n\n on reason build resolve,\n That column of true majesty in man!\n\n\"I have difficulties many to encounter,\" said I; \"but they are not\nabsolutely insuperable; and where is firmness of mind shown but in\nexertion? mere declamation is bombast rant.\" Besides, wherever I am, or\nin whatever situation I may be--\n\n 'Tis nought to me:\n Since God is ever present, ever felt,\n In the void waste as in the city full;\n And where He vital breathes, there must be joy!\n\n\n_Saturday night--half after Ten_.\n\nWhat luxury of bliss I was enjoying this time yesternight! My ever\ndearest Clarinda, you have stolen away my soul; but you have refined,\nyou have exalted it; you have given it a stronger sense for virtue, and\na stronger relish for piety. Clarinda, first of your sex, if ever I am\nthe veriest wretch on earth to forget you, if ever your lovely image is\neffaced from my soul,\n\n May I be lost, no eye to weep my end;\n And find no earth that's base enough to bury me!\n\nWhat trifling silliness is the childish fondness of the every-day\nchildren of the world! 'tis the unmeaning toying of the younglings of\nthe fields and forests; but where Sentiment and Fancy unite their\nsweets, where Taste and Delicacy refine, where Wit adds the flavour, and\nGood Sense gives strength and spirit to all, what a delicious draught is\nthe hour of tender endearment! Beauty and Grace, in the arms of Truth\nand Honour, in all the luxury of mutual love.\n\nClarinda, have you ever seen the picture realised? Not in all its very\nrichest colouring.\n\nLast night, Clarinda, but for one slight shade, was the glorious\npicture.\n\n Innocence\n Look'd gaily smiling on; while rosy Pleasure\n Hid young Desire amid her flowery wreath,\n And pour'd her cup luxuriant; mantling high,\n The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss!\n\nClarinda, when a poet and poetess of Nature's making, two of Nature's\nnoblest productions! when they drink together of the same cup of Love\nand Bliss--attempt not, ye coarser stuff of human nature, profanely to\nmeasure enjoyment ye never can know! Good night, my dear Clarinda!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *\n\nXV\n\n_Sunday Night_, 20_th January_.\n\nThe impertinence of fools has joined with a return of an old\nindisposition, to make me good for nothing to-day. The paper has lain\nbefore me all this evening, to write to my dear Clarinda, but--\n\n Fools rush'd on fools, as waves succeed to waves.\n\nI cursed them in my soul; they sacrilegiously disturbed my meditations\non her who holds my heart. What a creature is man! A little alarm last\nnight and to-day, that I am mortal, has made such a revolution on my\nspirits! There is no philosophy, no divinity, comes half so home to the\nmind. I have no idea of courage that braves heaven. 'Tis the wild\nravings of an imaginary hero in bedlam. I can no more, Clarinda; I can\nscarcely hold up my head; but I am happy you do not know it, you would\nbe so uneasy.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n\n_Monday Morning_.\n\nI am, my lovely friend, much better this morning on the whole; but I\nhave a horrid languor on my spirits.\n\n Sick of the world, and all its joys,\n My soul in pining sadness mourns;\n Dark scenes of woe my mind employs,\n The past and present in their turns.\n\nHave you ever met with a saying of the great, and like wise good Mr.\nLocke, author of the famous _Essay on the Human Understanding_? He wrote\na letter to a friend, directing it, \"not to be delivered till after my\ndecease;\" it ended thus--\"I know you loved me when living, and will\npreserve my memory now I am dead. All the use to be made of it is, that\nthis life affords no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of\nhaving done well, and the hopes of another life. Adieu! I leave my best\nwishes with you. J. LOCKE.\"\n\nClarinda, may I reckon on your friendship for life? I think I may. Thou\nAlmighty Preserver of men! thy friendship, which hitherto I have too\nmuch neglected, to secure it shall, all the future days and nights of my\nlife, be my steady care! The idea of my Clarinda follows--\n\n Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,\n Where, mix'd with God's, her lov'd idea lies.\n\nBut I fear that inconstancy, the consequent imperfection of human\nweakness. Shall I meet with a friendship that defies years of absence,\nand the chances and changes of fortune? Perhaps \"such things are;\" _one\nhonest_ man[65a] I have great hopes from that way: but who, except a\nromance writer, would think on a _love_ that could promise for life, in\nspite of distance, absence, chance, and change; and that, too, with\nslender hopes of fruition? For my own part, I can say to myself in both\nrequisitions, \"Thou art the man!\" I dare, in cool resolve I dare,\ndeclare myself that friend, and that lover. If womankind is capable of\nsuch things, Clarinda is. I trust that she is; and I feel I shall be\nmiserable if she is not. There is not one virtue which gives worth, or\none sentiment which does honour to the sex, that she does not possess\nsuperior to any woman I ever saw; her exalted mind, aided a little\nperhaps by her situation, is, I think, capable of that nobly-romantic\nlove-enthusiasm.\n\nMay I see you on Wednesday evening, my dear angel? The next Wednesday\nagain will, I conjecture, be a hated day to us both. I tremble for\ncensorious remark, for your sake, but, in extraordinary cases, may not\nusual and useful precaution be a little dispensed with? Three evenings,\nthree swift-winged evenings, with pinions of down, are all the past; I\ndare not calculate the future. I shall call at Miss Nimmo's to-morrow\nevening;'twill be a farewell call.\n\nI have wrote out my last sheet of paper, so I am reduced to my last\nhalf-sheet. What a strange mysterious faculty is that thing called\nimagination! We have no ideas almost at all of another world; but I have\noften amused myself with visionary schemes of what happiness might be\nenjoyed by small alterations--alterations that we can fully enter into,\nin this present state of existence. For instance, suppose you and I,\njust as we are at present; the same reasoning powers, sentiments, and\neven desires; the same fond curiosity for knowledge and remarking\nobservation in our minds; and imagine our bodies free from pain, and the\nnecessary supplies for the wants of nature at all times, and easily,\nwithin our reach: imagine further, that we were set free from the laws\nof gravitation, which bind us to this globe, and could at pleasure fly,\nwithout inconvenience, through all the yet unconjectured bounds of\ncreation, what a life of bliss would we lead, in our mutual pursuit of\nvirtue and knowledge, and our mutual enjoyment of friendship and love!\n\nI see you laughing at my fairy fancies, and calling me a voluptuous\nMahometan; but I am certain I would be a happy creature, beyond anything\nwe call bliss here below; nay, it would be a paradise congenial to you\ntoo. Don't you see us, hand in hand, or rather, my arm about your lovely\nwaist, making our remarks on Sirius, the nearest of the fixed stars; or\nsurveying a comet, flaming innoxious by us, as we just now would mark\nthe passing pomp of a travelling monarch; or in a shady bower of Mercury\nor Venus, dedicating the hour to love, in mutual converse, relying\nhonour, and revelling endearment, whilst the most exalted strains of\npoesy and harmony would be the ready spontaneous language of our souls!\nDevotion is the favourite employment of your heart; so it is of mine:\nwhat incentives then to, and powers for reverence, 'gratitude, faith,\nand hope, in all the fervours of adoration and praise to that Being,\nwhose unsearchable wisdom, power, and goodness, so pervaded, so inspired\nevery sense and feeling! By this time, I daresay, you will be blessing\nthe neglect of the maid that leaves me destitute of paper!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 65a: Alluding to Captain Brown.]\n\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVI", + "body": "[_Monday_, 21_st Jan_. 1788.]\n\n... I am a discontented ghost, a perturbed spirit. Clarinda, if ever you\nforget Sylvander, may you be happy, but he will be miserable. O what a\nfool I am in love! What an extraordinary prodigal of affection! Why are\nyour sex called the tender sex, when I have never met with one who can\nrepay me in passion? They are either not so rich in love as I am, or\nthey are niggards where I am lavish.\n\nO Thou, whose I am, and whose are all my ways! Thou seest me here, the\nhapless wreck of tides and tempests in my own bosom: do Thou direct to\nThyself that ardent love for which I have so often sought a return in\nvain from my fellow-creatures! If Thy goodness has yet such a gift in\nstore for me as an equal return of affection from her who, Thou knowest,\nis dearer to me than life, do Thou bless and hallow our bond of love and\nfriendship; watch over us in all our outgoings and incomings for good:\nand may the tie that unites our hearts be strong and indissoluble as the\nthread of man's immortal life!...\n\nI am just going to take your \"Blackbird,\"[66] the sweetest, I am sure,\nthat ever sung, and prune its wings a little.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 66: Her verses, \"To a Blackbird Singing.\"]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVII", + "body": "_Thursday Morning_, 24_th January._\n\nUnlavish Wisdom never works in vain.\n\nI have been tasking my reason, Clarinda, why a woman, who, for native\ngenius, poignant wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity of soul, and\nthe sweetest female tenderness, is without a peer, and whose personal\ncharms have few, very very few parallels, among her sex; why, or how she\nshould fall to the blessed lot of a poor _hairum scairum_ poet, whom\nFortune had kept for her particular use, to wreak her temper on whenever\nshe was in ill humour. One time I conjectured, that as Fortune is the\nmost capricious jade ever known, she may have taken, not a fit of\nremorse, but a paroxysm of whim, to raise the poor devil out of the\nmire, where he had so often and so conveniently served her as a stepping\nstone, and given him the most glorious boon she ever had in her gift,\nmerely for the maggot's sake, to see how his fool head and his fool\nheart will bear it. At other times I was vain enough to think, that\nNature, who has a great deal to say with Fortune, had given the\ncoquettish goddess some such hint as, \"Here is a paragon of female\nexcellence, whose equal, in all my former compositions, I never was\nlucky enough to hit on, and despair of ever doing so again; you have\ncast her rather in the shades of life; there is a certain Poet of my\nmaking; among your frolics it would not be amiss to attach him to this\nmasterpiece of my hand, to give her that immortality among mankind,\nwhich no woman, of any age, ever more deserved, and which few rhymsters\nof this age are better able to confer.\"\n\n\n_Evening_, 9 _o'clock._\n\nI am here, absolutely unfit to finish my letter--pretty hearty after a\nbowl, which has been constantly plied since dinner till this moment. I\nhave been with Mr. Schetki, the musician, and he has set it[66a]\nfinely.----I have no distinct ideas of anything, but that I have drunk\nyour health twice to-night, and that you are all my soul holds dear in\nthis world.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 66a: \"Clarinda, Mistress of my Soul, etc.\"--See Poems.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVIII", + "body": "[_Friday, Jan_. 25.]\n\nClarinda, my life, you have wounded my soul. Can I think of your being\nunhappy, even though it be not described in your pathetic elegance of\nlanguage, without being miserable? Clarinda, can I bear to be told from\nyou that you \"will not see me to-morrow night\"--that you \"wish the hour\nof parting were come?\" Do not let us impose on ourselves by sounds. If\nin the moment of tender endearment I perhaps trespassed against the\nletter of decorum's law I appeal even to you whether I ever sinned in\nthe very least degree against the spirit of her strictest statute. But\nwhy, my love, talk to me in such strong terms?--every word of which cuts\nme to the very soul. You know a hint, the slightest signification of\nyour wish is to me a sacred command. Be reconciled, my angel, to your\nGod, yourself, and me: and I pledge you Sylvander's honour--an oath I\ndaresay you will trust without reserve--that you shall never more have\nreason to complain of his conduct. Now, my love, do not wound our next\nmeeting with any averted looks or restrained caresses. I have marked the\nline of conduct, a line I know exactly to your taste, and which I will\ninviolably keep; but do not you shew the least inclination to make\nboundaries. Seeming distrust where you know you may confide is a cruel\nsin against sensibility. \"Delicacy, you know, it was, which won me to\nyou at once--take care you do not loosen the dearest, most sacred tie\nthat unites us.\" Clarinda, I would not have stung _your_ soul, I would\nnot have bruised _your_ spirit, as that harsh, crucifying _\"Take Care\"_\ndid mine--no, not to have gained Heaven! Let me again appeal to your\ndear self, if Sylvander, even when he seemingly half-transgressed the\nlaws of decorum, if he did not shew more chastened trembling, faltering\ndelicacy than the many of the world do in keeping these laws?\n\nO Love and Sensibility, ye have conspired against my peace! I love to\nmadness and I feel to torture! Clarinda, how can I forgive myself that I\nhave ever touched a single chord in your bosom with pain! Would I do it\nwillingly? Would any consideration, any gratification make me do so? Oh,\ndid you love like me, you would not, you could not, deny or put off a\nmeeting with the man who adores you--who would die a thousand deaths\nbefore he would injure you; and who must soon bid you a long farewell!\n\nI had proposed bringing my bosom friend, Mr. Ainslie, to-morrow evening\nat his strong request to see you, as he has only time to stay with us\nabout ten minutes for an engagement. But I shall hear from you--this\nafternoon, for mercy's sake! for till I hear from you I am wretched. O\nClarinda, the tie that binds me to thee is intwisted, incorporated with\nmy dearest threads of life!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIX", + "body": "[_Sat_., 26 _Jan_.]\n\nI was on the way, _my Love_, to meet you (I never do things by halves),\nwhen I got your card. Mr. Ainslie goes out of town to-morrow morning, to\nsee a brother of his who is newly arrived from France. I am determined\nthat he and I shall call on you together; so, look you, lest I should\nnever see to-morrow, we will call on you to-night; Mary and you may put\noff tea till about seven; at which time, in the Galloway phrase, \"an the\nbeast be to the fore, and the branks bide hale,\" expect the humblest of\nyour humble servants, and his dearest friend. We propose staying only\nhalf-an-hour, \"for ought we ken.\" I could suffer the lash of misery\neleven months in the year, were the twelfth to be composed of hours like\nyesternight. You are the soul of my enjoyment: all else is of the stuff\nof stocks and stones.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XX", + "body": "_Sunday Noon, Jan_. 27_th_.\n\nI have almost given up the excise idea. I have been just now to wait on\na great person, Miss----'s friend, ----. Why will great people not only\ndeafen us with the din of their equipage, and dazzle us with their\nfastidious pomp, but they must also be so very dictatorially wise? I\nhave been questioned like a child about my matters, and blamed and\nschooled for my inscription on Stirling window. Come Clarinda-Come!\ncurse me Jacob, and come defy me Israel!\n\n_Sunday Night_.\n\nI have been with Miss Nimmo; she is indeed a good soul, as my Clarinda\nfinely says. She has reconciled me in a good measure to the world with\nher friendly prattle.\n\nSchetki has sent me the song set to a fine air of his composing. I have\ncalled the song \"Clarinda.\" I have carried it about in my pocket and\nhummed it over all day.\n\n_Monday Morning_.\n\nIf my prayers have any weight in heaven, this morning looks in on you\nand finds you in the arms of Peace, except where it is charmingly\ninterrupted by the ardours of devotion. I find so much serenity of soul,\nso much positive pleasure, so much fearless daring toward the world when\nI warm in devotion, or feel the glorious sensation of a consciousness of\nAlmighty friendship, that I am sure I shall soon be an honest\nenthusiast.\n\n How are Thy Servants blest, O Lord,\n How sure is their defence!\n\nI am, my dear madam, yours, SYLVANDER.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXI", + "body": "_Tuesday Morning_, 29_th January_.\n\nI cannot go out to-day, my dearest love, without sending you half a\nline, by way of a sin-offering; but, believe me, 'twas the sin of\nignorance. Could you think that I _intended_ to hurt you by any thing I\nsaid yesternight? Nature has been too kind to you for your happiness,\nyour delicacy, your sensibility. O why should such glorious\nqualifications be the fruitful source of woe! You have \"murdered sleep\"\nto me last night. I went to bed, impressed with an idea that you were\nunhappy; and every start I closed my eyes, busy Fancy painted you in\nsuch scenes of romantic misery, that I would almost be persuaded you\nwere not well this morning.\n\n If I unweeting have offended,\n Impute it not.\n But while we live\n But one short hour perhaps, between us two,\n Let there be peace.\n\nIf Mary is not gone by this reaches you, give her my best compliments.\nShe is a charming girl, and highly worthy of the noblest love.\n\nI send you a poem to read, till I call on you this night, which will be\nabout nine. I wish I could procure some potent spell, some fairy charm,\nthat would protect from injury, or restore to rest that bosom-chord,\n\"tremblingly alive all o'er,\" on which hangs your peace of mind. I\nthought, vainly, I fear, thought that the devotion of love--love strong\nas even you can feel--love guarded, invulnerably guarded, by all the\npurity of virtue, and all the pride of honour; I thought such a love\nwould make you happy--shall I be mistaken? I can no more for hurry.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXII", + "body": "_Sunday Morning_, 3_rd February_.\n\nI have just been before the throne of my God, Clarinda; according to my\nassociation of ideas, my sentiments of love and friendship, I next\ndevote myself to you. Yesternight I was happy--happiness \"that the world\ncannot give.\" I kindle at the recollection; but it is a flame where\ninnocence looks smiling on, and honour stands by, a sacred guard. Your\nheart, your fondest wishes, your dearest thoughts, these are yours to\nbestow; your person is unapproachable by the laws of your country; and\nhe loves not as I do, who would make you miserable.\n\nYou are an angel, Clarinda; you are surely no mortal that \"the earth\nowns.\" To kiss your hand, to live on your smile, is to me far more\nexquisite bliss than the dearest favours that the fairest of the sex,\nyourself excepted, can bestow.\n\n_Sunday Evening_.\n\nYou are the constant companion of my thoughts. How wretched is the\ncondition of one who is haunted with conscious guilt, and trembling\nunder the idea of dreaded vengeance! and what a placid calm, what a\ncharming secret enjoyment it gives, to bosom the kind feelings of\nfriendship and the fond throes of love! Out upon the tempest of anger,\nthe acrimonious gall of fretful impatience, the sullen frost of louring\nresentment, or the corroding poison of withered envy! They eat up the\nimmortal part of man! If they spent their fury only on the unfortunate\nobjects of them, it would be something in their favour; but these\nmiserable passions, like traitor Iscariot, betray their lord and master.\n\nThou Almighty Author of peace, and goodness, and love! do thou give me\nthe social heart that kindly tastes of every man's cup! Is it a draught\nof joy?--warm and open my heart to share it with cordial unenvying\nrejoicing! Is it the bitter potion of sorrow?--melt my heart with\nsincerely sympathetic woe! Above all, do thou give me the manly mind\nthat resolutely exemplifies, in life and manners, those sentiments which\nI would wish to be thought to possess! The friend of my soul--there may\nI never deviate from the firmest fidelity and most active kindness!\nClarinda, the dear object of my fondest love; there may the most sacred\ninviolate honour, the most faithful kindling constancy, ever watch and\nanimate my every thought and imagination!\n\nDid you ever meet with the following lines spoken of Religion, your\ndarling topic?--\n\n _'Tis this_, my friend, that streaks our morning bright;\n _'Tis this_ that gilds the horrors of our night;\n When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few,\n When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;\n 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,\n Disarms affliction, or repels its dart:\n Within the breast bids purest rapture rise,\n Bids smiling Conscience spread her cloudless skies.[67]\n\nI met with these verses very early in life, and was so delighted with\nthem that I have them by me, copied at school.\n\nGood night and sound rest, my dearest Clarinda!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 67: From Hervey's _Meditations_.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIII", + "body": "_Thursday Night, Feb_. 7, 1788.\n\nIt is perhaps rather wrong to speak highly to a friend of his letter; it\nis apt to lay one under a little restraint in their future letters, and\nrestraint is the death of a friendly epistle. But there is one passage\nin your last charming letter, Thomson or Shenstone never exceeded nor\noften came up to. I shall certainly steal it, and set it in some future\npoetic production, and get immortal fame by it. 'Tis when you bid the\nScenes of Nature remind me of Clarinda. Can I forget you, Clarinda? I\nwould detest myself as a tasteless, unfeeling, insipid, infamous\nblockhead! I have loved women of ordinary merit whom I could have loved\nfor ever. You are the first, the only unexceptionable individual of the\nbeauteous sex that I ever met with: and never woman more entirely\npossessed my soul. I know myself, and how far I can depend on passions,\nwell. It has been my peculiar study.\n\nI thank you for going to Myers.[68] Urge him, for necessity calls, to\nhave it done by the middle of next week, Wednesday at latest. I want it\nfor a breast-pin, to wear next my heart. I propose to keep sacred set\ntimes, to wander in the woods and wilds for meditation on you. Then, and\nonly then, your lovely image shall be produced to the day, with a\nreverence akin to devotion....\n\nTo-morrow night shall not be the last. Good-night! I am perfectly\nstupid, as I supped late yesternight.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 68: Miniature painter.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIV", + "body": "_Wednesday, 13th February_.\n\nMy ever dearest Clarinda,--I make a numerous dinner party wait me, while\nI read yours and write this. Do not require that I should cease to love\nyou, to adore you in my soul--'tis to me impossible--your peace and\nhappiness are to me dearer than my soul: name the terms on which you\nwish to see me, to correspond with me, and you have them--I must love,\npine, mourn, and adore in secret--this you must not deny me; you will\never be to me\n\n Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,\n Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart!\n\nI have not patience to read the puritanic scrawl. Damn'd sophistry! Ye\nheavens! thou God of nature! thou Redeemer of mankind! ye look down with\napproving eyes on a passion inspired by the purest flame, and guarded by\ntruth, delicacy, and honour; but the half-inch soul of an unfeeling,\ncold-blooded, pitiful presbyterian bigot,[69] cannot forgive anything\nabove his dungeon bosom and foggy head.\n\nFarewell; I'll be with you to-morrow evening--and be at rest in your\nmind--I will be yours in the way you think most to your happiness! I\ndare not proceed--I love, and will love you, and will with joyous\nconfidence approach the throne of the Almighty Judge of men, with your\ndear idea, and will despise the scum of sentiment, and the mist of\nsophistry. SYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 69: Rev. Mr. Kemp, Clarinda's spiritual adviser.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXV", + "body": "_Wednesday Midnight [Feb. 13]._\n\nMADAM,-After a wretched day I am preparing for a sleepless night. I am\ngoing to address myself to the Almighty Witness of my actions, some\ntime, perhaps very soon, my Almighty Judge. I am not going to be the\nadvocate of passion: be Thou my inspirer and testimony, O God, as I\nplead the cause of truth!\n\nI have read over your friend's[70] haughty dictatorial letter: you are\nanswerable only to your God in such a matter. Who gave any\nfellow-creature of yours (one incapable of being your judge because not\nyour peer) a right to catechise, scold, undervalue, abuse, and\ninsult--wantonly and inhumanly to insult you thus? I do not even _wish_\nto deceive you, Madam. The Searcher of hearts is my witness how dear you\nare to me; but though it were possible you could be still dearer to me,\nI would not even kiss your hand at the expense of your conscience. Away\nwith declamation! let us appeal to the bar of commonsense. It is not\nmouthing everything sacred; it is not vague ranting assertions; it is\nnot assuming, haughtily and insultingly, the dictatorial language of a\nRoman pontiff, that must dissolve a union like ours. Tell me, Madam--Are\nyou under the least shadow of an obligation to bestow your love,\ntenderness, caresses, affections, heart and soul, on Mr. M'Lehose, the\nman who has repeatedly, habitually, and barbarously broken through every\ntie of duty, nature, and gratitude to you? The laws of your country,\nindeed, for the most useful reasons of policy and sound government, have\nmade your person inviolate; but, are your heart and affections bound to\none who gives not the least return of either to you? You cannot do it:\nit is not in the nature of things: the common feelings of humanity\nforbid it. Have you then a heart and affections which are no man's\nright? You have. It would be absurd to suppose the contrary. Tell me\nthen, in the name of common-sense, can it be wrong, is such a\nsupposition compatible with the plainest ideas of right and wrong, that\nit is improper to bestow the heart and these affections on\nanother--while that bestowing is not in the smallest degree hurtful to\nyour duty to God, to your children, to yourself, or to society at large?\n\nThis is the great test; the consequences: let us see them. In a widowed,\nforlorn, lonely condition, with a bosom glowing with love and\ntenderness, yet so delicately situated that you cannot indulge these\nnobler feelings.... [_cetera desunt_.]\n\n[Footnote 70: Rev. Mr. Kemp.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVI", + "body": "_Thurs., 14 Feb_.\n\n\"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan!\" I have suffered,\nClarinda, from your letter. My soul was in arms at the sad perusal; I\ndreaded that I had acted wrong. If I have robbed you of a friend,[71]\nGod forgive me!\n\nBut, Clarinda, be comforted: let me raise the tone of our feelings a\nlittle higher and bolder. A fellow-creature who leaves us, who spurns us\nwithout a just cause, though once our bosom friend--up with a little\nhonest pride--let them go! How shall I comfort you, who am the cause of\nthe injury? Can I wish that I had never seen you, that we had never met?\nNo! I never will. But have I thrown you friendless? There is almost\ndistraction in that thought.\n\nFather of mercies! against Thee often have I sinned: through Thy grace I\nwill endeavour to do so no more! She who, Thou knowest, is dearer to me\nthan myself, pour Thou the balm of peace into her past wounds, and hedge\nher about with Thy peculiar care, all her future days and nights.\nStrengthen her tender noble mind, firmly to suffer, and magnanimously to\nbear! Make me worthy of that friendship she honours me with. May my\nattachment to her be pure as devotion, and lasting as immortal life! O\nAlmighty Goodness, hear me! Be to her at all times, particularly in the\nhour of distress or trial, a Friend and Comforter, a Guide and Guard.\n\n How are Thy servants blest, O Lord,\n How sure is their defence!\n Eternal Wisdom is their guide,\n Their help, Omnipotence!\n\nForgive me, Clarinda, the injury I have done you! Tonight I shall be\nwith you; as indeed I shall be ill at ease till I see you.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 71: Her minister.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVII", + "body": "_Thursday, 14th Feb., Two o'clock_.\n\nI just now received your first letter of yesterday, by the careless\nnegligence of the penny-post. Clarinda, matters are grown very serious\nwith us; then seriously hear me, and hear me, Heaven--I met you, my dear\nNancy, by far the first of womankind, at least to me; I esteemed, I\nloved you at first sight; the longer I am acquainted with you the more\ninnate amiableness and worth I discover in you. You have suffered a\nloss, I confess, for my sake: but if the firmest, steadiest, warmest\nfriendship; if every endeavour to be worthy of your friendship; if a\nlove, strong as the ties of nature, and holy as the duties of\nreligion--if all these can make anything like a compensation for the\nevil I have occasioned you, if they be worth your acceptance, or can in\nthe least add to your enjoyment--so help Sylvander, ye Powers above, in\nhis hour of need, as he freely gives these all to Clarinda!\n\nI esteem you, I love you as a friend; I admire you, I love you as a\nwoman, beyond any one in all the circle of creation; I know I shall\ncontinue to esteem you, to love you, to pray for you, nay, to pray for\nmyself for your sake.\n\nExpect me at eight. And believe me to be ever, my dearest Madam, yours\nmost entirely, SYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVIII", + "body": "_February 15th, 1788_.\n\nWhen matters, my love, are desperate, we must put on a desperate face--\n\n On reason build resolve,\n That column of true majesty in man.\n\nOr, as the same author finely says in another place--\n\n Let thy soul spring up,\n And lay strong hold for help on Him that made thee.\n\nI am yours, Clarinda, for life. Never be discouraged at all this. Look\nforward; in a few weeks I shall be somewhere or other out of the\npossibility of seeing you: till then I shall write you often, but visit\nyou seldom. Your fame, your welfare, your happiness are dearer to me\nthan any gratification whatever. Be comforted, my love! the present\nmoment is the worst; the lenient hand of Time is daily and hourly either\nlightening the burden, or making us insensible to the weight. None of\nthese friends, I mean Mr.---- and the other gentleman, can hurt your\nworldly support; and for their friendship, in a little time you will\nlearn to be easy, and, by and by, to be happy without it. A decent means\nof livelihood in the world, an approving God, a peaceful conscience, and\none firm, trusty friend--can anybody that has these be said to be\nunhappy? These are yours.\n\nTo-morrow evening I shall be with you about eight; probably for the last\ntime till I return to Edinburgh. In the meantime, should any of these\ntwo unlucky friends question you respecting me, whether I am the man, I\ndo not think they are entitled to any information. As to their jealousy\nand spying, I despise them.--Adieu, my dearest Madam!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIX", + "body": "GLASGOW, _Monday Evening, 9 o'clock, 18th Feb. 1788._\n\nThe attraction of love, I find, is in an inverse proportion to the\nattraction of the Newtonian philosophy. In the system of Sir Isaac, the\nnearer objects are to one another, the stronger is the attractive force;\nin my system, every mile-stone that marked my progress from Clarinda,\nawakened a keener pang of attachment to her. How do you feel, my love?\nIs your heart ill at ease? I fear it.--God forbid that these persecutors\nshould harass that peace, which is more precious to me than my own. Be\nassured I shall ever think of you, muse on you, and, in my moments of\ndevotion, pray for you. The hour that you are not in all my\nthoughts--\"be that hour darkness! let the shadows of death cover it! let\nit not be numbered in the hours of the day!\"\n\n When I forget the darling theme,\n Be my tongue mute! my fancy paint no more!\n And, dead to joy, forget, my heart, to beat!\n\nI have just met with my old friend, the ship captain;[72] guess my\npleasure--to meet you could alone have given me more. My brother\nWilliam, too, the young saddler, has come to Glasgow to meet me; and\nhere are we three spending the evening.\n\nI arrived here too late to write by post; but I'll wrap half a dozen\nsheets of blank paper together, and send it by the fly, under the name\nof a parcel. You shall hear from me next post town. I would write you a\nlong letter, but for the present circumstance of my friend.\n\nAdieu, my Clarinda! I am just going to propose your health by way of\ngrace-drink. SYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 72: Richard Brown, whom he first knew at Irvine.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXX", + "body": "CUMNOCK, _2nd March_ 1788.\n\nI hope, and am certain, that my generous Clarinda[73] will not think my\nsilence, for now a long week, has been in any decree owing to my\nforgetfulness. I have been tossed about through the country ever since I\nwrote you; and am here, returning from Dumfries-shire, at an inn, the\npost office of the place, with just so long time as my horse eats his\ncorn, to write you. I have been hurried with business and dissipation\nalmost equal to the insidious decree of the Persian monarch's mandate,\nwhen he forbade asking petition of God or man for forty days. Had the\nvenerable prophet been as throng as I, he had not broken the decree, at\nleast not thrice a day.\n\nI am thinking my farming scheme will yet hold. A worthy intelligent\nfarmer, my father's friend and my own, has been with me on the spot: he\nthinks the bargain practicable. I am myself, on a more serious review of\nthe lands, much better pleased with them. I won't mention this in\nwriting to any body but you and Ainslie. Don't accuse me of being\nfickle: I have the two plans of life before me, and I wish to adopt the\none most likely to procure me independence. I shall be in Edinburgh next\nweek. I long to see you: your image is omnipresent to me; nay, I am\nconvinced I would soon idolatrise it most seriously; so much do absence\nand memory improve the medium through which one sees the much-loved\nobject. To-night, at the sacred hour of eight, I expect to meet you--at\nthe Throne of Grace. I hope, as I go home tonight, to find a letter from\nyou at the post office in Mauchline. I have just once seen that dear\nhand since I left Edinburgh--a letter indeed which much affected me.\nTell me, first of womankind! will my warmest attachment, my sincerest\nfriendship, my correspondence, will they be any compensation for the\nsacrifices you make for my sake! If they will, they are yours. If I\nsettle on the farm I propose, I am just a day and a half's ride from\nEdinburgh. We will meet--don't you say, \"perhaps too often!\"\n\nFarewell, my fair, my charming Poetess! May all good things ever attend\nyou! I am ever, my dearest Madam, yours, SYLVANDER.\n\n [Footnote 73: The letter about the 23rd of February seems to be\n wanting.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXI", + "body": "MAUCHLINE, 6 _Mar_.\n\nI own myself guilty, Clarinda; I should have written you last week; but\nwhen you recollect, my dearest Madam, that yours of this night's post is\nonly the third I have got from you, and that this is the fifth or sixth\nI have sent to you, you will not reproach me, with a good grace, for\nunkindness. I have always some kind of idea, not to sit down to write a\nletter except I have time and possession of my faculties, so as to do\nsome justice to my letter; which at present is rarely my situation. For\ninstance, yesterday I dined at a friend's at some distance; the savage\nhospitality of this country spent me the most part of the night over the\nnauseous potion in the bowl: this day--sick--headache--low\nspirits--miserable--fasting, except for a draught of water or small\nbeer: now eight o'clock at night--only able to crawl ten minutes walk\ninto Mauchline to wait the post, in the pleasurable hope of hearing from\nthe mistress of my soul.\n\nBut, truce with all this! When I sit down to write to you, all is\nharmony and peace. A hundred times a day do I figure you, before your\ntaper, your book, or work laid aside, as I get within the room. How\nhappy have I been! and how little of that scantling portion of time,\ncalled the life of man, is sacred to happiness! much less transport!\n\nI could moralise to-night like a death's head.\n\n O what is life, that thoughtless wish of all!\n A drop of honey in a draught of gall.\n\nNothing astonishes me more, when a little sickness clogs the wheels of\nlife, than the thoughtless career we run in the hour of health. \"None\nsaith, where is God, my Maker, that giveth songs in the night; who\nteacheth us more knowledge than the beasts of the field, and more\nunderstanding than the fowls of the air.\"\n\nGive me, my Maker, to remember thee! Give me to act up to the dignity of\nmy nature! Give me to feel \"another's woe;\" and continue with me that\ndear-loved friend that feels with mine!\n\nThe dignified and dignifying consciousness of an honest man, and the\nwell-grounded trust in approving Heaven, are two most substantial\nfoundations of happiness.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXII", + "body": "MOSSGIEL, _7th March_ 1788.\n\nClarinda, I have been so stung with your reproach for unkindness, a sin\nso unlike me, a sin I detest more than a breach of the whole Decalogue,\nfifth, sixth, seventh and ninth articles excepted, that I believe I\nshall not rest in my grave about it, if I die before I see you. You have\noften allowed me the head to judge, and the heart to feel, the influence\nof female excellence.\n\nWas it not blasphemy, then, against your own charms, and against my\nfeelings, to suppose that a short fortnight could abate my passion? You,\nmy love, may have your cares and anxieties to disturb you, but they are\nthe usual recurrences of life; your future views are fixed, and your\nmind in a settled routine. Could not you, my ever dearest Madam, make a\nlittle allowance for a man, after long absence, paying a short visit to\na country full of friends, relations, and early intimates? Cannot you\nguess, my Clarinda, what thoughts, what cares, what anxious forebodings,\nhopes and fears, must crowd the breast of the man of keen sensibility,\nwhen no less is on the tapis than his aim, his employment, his very\nexistence, through future life!\n\nNow that, not my apology, but my defence is made, I feel my soul respire\nmore easily. I know you will go along with me in my justification--would\nto Heaven you could in my adoption too! I mean an adoption beneath the\nstars--an adoption where I might revel in the immediate beams of\n\n Her, the bright sun of all her sex.\n\nI would not have you, my dear Madam, so much hurt at Miss Nimmo's\ncoldness. 'Tis placing yourself below her, an honour she by no means\ndeserves. We ought, when we wish to be economists in happiness--we\nought, in the first place, to fix the standard of our own character; and\nwhen, on full examination, we know where we stand, and how much ground\nwe occupy, let us contend for it as property; and those who seem to\ndoubt, or deny us what is justly ours, let us either pity their\nprejudices, or despise their judgment. I know, my dear, you will say\nthis is self-conceit; but I call it self-knowledge. The one is\ntheoverweening opinion of a fool, who fancies himself to be what he\nwishes himself to be thought; the other is the honest justice that a man\nof sense, who has thoroughly examined the subject, owes to himself.\nWithout this standard, this column in our own mind, we are perpetually\nat the mercy of the petulance, the mistakes, the prejudices, nay, the\nvery weakness and wickedness of our fellow-creatures.\n\nI urge this, my dear, both to confirm myself in the doctrine, which, I\nassure you, I sometimes need; and because I know that this causes you\noften much disquiet. To return to Miss Nimmo: she is most certainly a\nworthy soul, and equalled by very, very few, in goodness of heart. But\ncan she boast more goodness of heart than Clarinda? Not even prejudice\nwill dare to say so. For penetration and discernment, Clarinda sees far\nbeyond her: to wit, Miss Nimmo dare make no pretence; to Clarinda's wit,\nscarcely any of her sex dare make pretence. Personal charms, it would be\nridiculous to run the parallel. And for conduct in life, Miss Nimmo was\nnever called out, either much to do or to suffer; Clarinda has been\nboth; and has performed her part, where Miss Nimmo would have sunk at\nthe bare idea.\n\nAway, then, with these disquietudes! Let us pray with the honest weaver\nof Kilbarchan--\"Lord, send us a gude conceit o' oursel!\" Or, in the\nwords of the auld sang,\n\n Who does me disdain, I can scorn them again,\n And I'll never mind any such foes.\n\nThere is an error in the commerce of intimacy[74] ...\n\nway of exchange, have not an equivalent to give us; and, what is still\nworse, have no idea of the value of our goods. Happy is our lot indeed,\nwhen we meet with an honest merchant, who is qualified to deal with us\non our own terms; but that is a rarity. With almost everybody we must\npocket our pearls, less or more, and learn in the old Scotch phrase--\"To\ngie sic like as we get.\" For this reason one should try to erect a kind\nof bank or store-house in one's own mind; or, as the Psalmist says, \"We\nshould commune with our own hearts, and be still.\" This is exactly\n\n [Footnote 74: The MS. is so worn as to be indecipherable.]\n\n [MS. dilapidated.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXIII", + "body": "EDINBURGH, 18_th March_ 1788.\n\nI am just hurrying away to wait on the great man, Clarinda; but I have\nmore respect on my own peace and happiness than to set out without\nwaiting on you; for my imagination, like a child's favourite bird, will\nfondly flutter along with this scrawl till it perch on your bosom I\nthank you for all the happiness of yesterday--the walk delightful, the\nevening rapture. Do not be uneasy today, Clarinda. I am in rather better\nspirits today, though I had but an indifferent night. Care, anxiety, sat\non my spirits. All the cheerfulness of this morning is the fruit of some\nserious, important ideas that lie, in their realities, beyond the dark\nand narrow house. The Father of mercies be with you, Clarinda. Every\ngood thing attend you!\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXIV", + "body": "_Friday_ 9 [_p.m_., 21_st March_ 1788].\n\nI am just now come in, and have read your letters. The first thing I did\nwas to thank the Divine Disposer of events that he has had such\nhappiness in store for me as the connexion I have with you. Life, my\nClarinda, is a weary, barren path; and woe be to him or her that\nventures on it alone! For me, I have my dearest partner of my soul.\nClarinda and I will make out our pilgrimage together. Wherever I am, I\nshall constantly let her know how I go on, what I observe in the world\naround me, and what adventures I meet with. Would it please you, my\nlove, to get every week, or every fortnight at least, a packet of two or\nthree sheets of remarks, nonsense, news, rhymes and old songs? Will you\nopen with satisfaction and delight a letter from a man who loves you,\nwho has loved you, and who will love you to death, through death, and\nfor ever? O Clarinda! what do I owe to heaven for blessing me with such\na piece of exalted excellence as you! I call over your idea, as a miser\ncounts over his treasure. Tell me, were you studious to please me last\nnight? I am sure you did it to transport.\n\nHow rich am I who have such a treasure as you! You know me; you know how\nto make me happy, and you do it most effectually. God bless you with\n\"long life, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend!\" Tomorrow night,\naccording to your own direction, I shall watch the window--'tis the star\nthat guides me to Paradise. The great relish to all is that honour, that\ninnocence, that Religion are the witnesses and guarantees of our\naffection, Adieu, Clarinda! I am going to remember you in my prayers.\n\nSYLVANDER.\n\n * * * *\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.\n\n\nLETTERS.\n\n(_General Correspondence Resumed_.)\n\n * * * * *\n\nLXXXIV.--To MR. GAVIN HAMILTON.\n\n[_April_ 1788] MOSSGIEL, _Friday Morning_.\n\nThe language of refusal is to me the most difficult language on earth,\nand you are the man in the world, excepting one of Right Hon.\ndesignation, to whom it gives me the greatest pain to hold such\nlanguage. My brother has already got money,[75] and shall want nothing\nin my power to enable him to fulfil his engagement with you; but to be\nsecurity on so large a scale, even for a brother, is what I dare not do,\nexcept I were in such circumstances of life as that the worst that might\nhappen could not greatly injure me.\n\nI never wrote a letter which gave me so much pain in my life, as I know\nthe unhappy consequences:--I shall incur the displeasure of a gentleman\nfor whom I have the highest respect and to whom I am deeply\nobliged.--I am etc.\n\nROBERT BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 75: Altogether £180. Gilbert is meant, and the business\n referred to was renewal of lease of Mossgiel, the poet to be\n cautioner.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nLXXXV.--To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S., EDINBURGH.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 7_th April_ 1788.\n\nI have not delayed so long to write you, my much respected friend,\nbecause I thought no further of my promise. I have long since given up\nthat formal kind of correspondence where one sits down irksomely to\nwrite a letter, because he is in duty bound to do so.\n\nI have been roving over the country, as the farm[76] I have taken is\nforty miles from this place, hiring servants and preparing matters; but\nmost of all, I am earnestly busy to bring about a revolution in my own\nmind. As, till within these eighteen months, I never was the wealthy\nmaster of ten guineas, my knowledge of business is to learn. Add to\nthis, my late scenes of idleness and dissipation have enervated my mind\nto an alarming degree. Skill in the sober science of life is my most\nserious, and hourly study. I have dropped all conversation and all\nreading (prose reading) but what tends in some way or other to my\nserious aim. Except one worthy young fellow[77] I have not a single\ncorrespondent in Edinburgh. You have indeed kindly made me an offer of\nthat kind. The world of wits, the _gens comme-il-faut_, which I lately\nleft, and in which I never again will intimately mix--from that port,\nSir, I expect your gazette, what the _beaux esprits_ are saying, what\nthey are doing, and what they are singing. Any sober intelligence from\nmy sequestered life is all you have to expect from me. I have scarcely\nmade a single distich since I saw you. When I meet with an old Scots air\nthat has any facetious idea in its name, I have a peculiar pleasure in\nfollowing out that idea for a verse or two.\n\nI trust this will find you in better health than I did the last time I\ncalled for you. A few lines from you, directed to me, at Mauchline, were\nit but to let me know how you are, will settle my mind a good deal. Now,\nnever shun the idea of writing me because, perhaps, you may be out of\nhumour or spirits. I could give you a hundred good consequences\nattending a dull letter; one, for example, and the remaining ninety-nine\nsome other time--it will always serve to keep in countenance, my much\nrespected Sir, your obliged friend and humble servant, R. B.\n\n [Footnote 76: Ellisland, near Dumfries.]\n\n [Footnote 77: Robert Ainslie, W.S.]\n\n * * * *\n\nLXXXVI.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 28_th April_ 1788.\n\nMADAM,--Your powers of reprehension must be great indeed, as I assure\nyou they make my heart ache with penitential pangs, even though I was\nreally not guilty. As I commence farming at Whitsunday, you will easily\nguess I must be pretty busy; but that is not all. As I got the offer of\nthe Excise business without solicitation, and as it costs me only six\nmonths' attendance for instructions, to entitle me to a commission\n--which commission lies by me, and at any future period, on my simple\npetition, can be resumed--I thought five-and-thirty pounds a-year was no\nbad _dernier ressort_ for a poor poet, if Fortune in her jade tricks\nshould kick him down from the little eminence to which she has lately\nhelped him up.\n\nFor this reason, I am at present attending these instructions, to have\nthem completed before Whitsunday. Still, Madam, I prepared with the\nsincerest pleasure to meet you at the Mount, and came to my brother's on\nSaturday night, to set out on Sunday; but for some nights preceding I\nhad slept in an apartment, where the force of the winds and rains was\nonly mitigated by being sifted through numberless apertures in the\nwindows, walls, etc. In consequence I was on Sunday, Monday, and part of\nTuesday, unable to stir out of bed, with all the miserable effects of a\nviolent cold.\n\nYou see, Madam, the truth of the French maxim, _le vrai n'est pas\ntoujours le vrai-semblable;_ your last was so full of expostulation, and\nwas something so like the language of an offended friend, that I began\nto tremble for a correspondence, which I had with grateful pleasure set\ndown as one of the greatest enjoyments of my future life.\n\nYour books have delighted me; Virgil, Dryden, and Tasso were all equally\nstrangers to me; but of this more at large in my next. R. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nLXXXVII.--To MR. JAMES SMITH, AVON PRINTFIELD, LINLITHGOW.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _April_ 28_th_, 1788.\n\nBeware of your Strasburgh, my good Sir! Look on this as the opening of a\ncorrespondence, like the opening of a twenty-four gun battery!\n\nThere is no understanding a man properly, without knowing something of\nhis previous ideas; that is to say, if the man has any ideas; for I know\nmany who, in the animal-muster, pass for men, that are the scanty\nmasters of only one idea on any given subject, and by far the greatest\npart of your acquaintances and mine can barely boast of ideas,\n1.25--1.5--1.75 (or some such fractional matter); so to let you a little\ninto the secrets of my pericranium, there is, you must know, a certain\nclean-limbed, handsome, bewitching young hussy of your acquaintance, to\nwhom I have lately and privately given a matrimonial title to my corpus.\n\n Bode a robe and wear it,\n Bode a pock and bear it,\n\nsays the wise old Scots adage! I hate to presage ill-luck; and as my\ngirl has been doubly kinder to me than even the best of women usually\nare to their partners of our sex, in similar circumstances, I reckon on\ntwelve times a brace of children against I celebrate my twelfth\nwedding-day: these twenty-four will give me twenty-four gossipings,\ntwenty-four christenings (I mean one equal to two), and I hope, by the\nblessing of the God of my fathers, to make them twenty-four dutiful\nchildren to their parents, twenty-four useful members of society, and\ntwenty-four approved servants of their God....\n\n\"Light's heartsome,\" quo' the wife when she was stealing sheep. You see\nwhat a lamp I have hung up to lighten your paths, when you are idle\nenough to explore the combinations and relations of my ideas. 'Tis now\nas plain as a pike-staff, why a twenty-four gun battery was a metaphor I\ncould readily employ.\n\nNow for business. I intend to present Mrs. Burns with a printed shawl,\nan article of which I dare say you have variety: 'tis my first present\nto her since I have irrevocably called her mine, and I have a kind of\nwhimsical wish to get her the first said present from an old and\nmuch-valued friend of hers and mine, a trusty Trojan, on whose\nfriendship I count myself possessed of as a life-rent lease.\n\nLook on this letter as a \"beginning of sorrows;\" I will write you till\nyour eyes ache reading nonsense.\n\nMrs. Burns ('tis only her private designation) begs her best compliments\nto you. R. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nLXXXVIII--To PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 3_rd May_ 1788.\n\nSIR,--I enclose you one or two more of my bagatelles. If the fervent\nwishes of honest gratitude have any influence with that great unknown\nBeing who frames the chain of causes and events, prosperity and\nhappiness will attend your visit to the Continent, and return you safe\nto your native shore.\n\nWherever I am, allow me, Sir, to claim it as my privilege to acquaint\nyou with my progress in my trade of rhymes; as I am sure I could say it\nwith truth, that, next to my little fame, and the having it in my power\nto make life more comfortable to those whom nature has made dear to me,\nI shall ever regard your countenance, your patronage, your friendly good\noffices, as the most valued consequence of my late success in life.\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nLXXXIX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 4_th May_ 1788.\n\nMADAM,--Dryden's Virgil has delighted me. I do not know whether the\ncritics will agree with me, but the Georgics are to me by far the best\nof Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing entirely new to me, and has\nfilled my head with a thousand fancies of emulation; but, alas! when I\nread the Georgics, and then survey my own powers, 'tis like the idea of\na Shetland pony, drawn up by the side of a thorough-bred hunter, to\nstart for the plate. I own I am disappointed in the AEneid. Faultless\ncorrectness may please, and does highly please, the lettered critic; but\nto that awful character T have not the most distant pretensions. I do\nnot know whether I do not hazard my pretensions to be a critic of any\nkind, when I say that I think Virgil, in many instances, a servile\ncopier of Homer. If I had the Odyssey by me, I could parallel many\npassages where Virgil has evidently copied, but by no means improved,\nHomer. Nor can I think there is anything of this owing to the\ntranslators; for, from everything I have seen of Dryden, I think him, in\ngenius and fluency of language, Pope's master. I have not perused Tasso\nenough to form an opinion: in some future letter you shall have my ideas\nof him; though I am conscious my criticisms must be very inaccurate and\nimperfect, as there I have ever felt and lamented my want of learning\nmost. R. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nXC.--To MR. SAMUEL BROWN, KIRKOSWALD.\n\nMOSSGIEL, 4_th May_ 1788.\n\nDEAR UNCLE,--This, I hope, will find you and your conjugal yoke-fellow\nin your good old way. I am impatient to know if the Ailsa[78] fowling be\ncommenced for this season yet, as I want three or four stones of\nfeathers, and I hope you will bespeak them for me. It would be a vain\nattempt for me to enumerate the various transactions I have been engaged\nin since I saw you last; but this know--I engaged in a smuggling trade,\nand no poor man ever experienced better returns, two for one: but as\nfreight and delivery have turned out so dear, I am thinking of taking\nout a license and beginning in fair trade. I have taken a farm, on the\nborders of the Nith, and in imitation of the old patriarchs, get\nmen-servants and maid-servants, and flocks and herds, and beget sons and\ndaughters.--Your obedient nephew,\n\nROBERT BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 78: A well-known rock in the Firth of Clyde, frequented by\n innumerable sea-fowl.]\n\n * * * *\n\nXCI.--To MR. JAMES JOHNSON, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 25_th May_ 1788.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--I am really uneasy about that money which Mr. Creech owes\nme per note in your hand, and I want it much at present, as I am\nengaging in business pretty deeply both for myself and my brother. A\nhundred guineas can be but a trifling affair to him, and'tis a matter of\nmost serious importance to me.[79] To-morrow I begin my operations as a\nfarmer, and so God speed the plough!\n\nI am so enamoured of a certain girl.... To be serious, I found I had a\nlong and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my hands;\nand though pride and seeming justice were murderous king's advocates on\nthe one side, yet humanity, generosity, and forgiveness were such\npowerful, such irresistible counsel on the other, that a jury of all\nendearments and new attachments brought in a unanimous verdict of _not\nguilty_. And the panel, be it known unto all whom it concerns, is\ninstalled and instated into all the rights, privileges, etc., that\nbelong to the name, title, and designation of wife.\n\n [Footnote 79: Creech paid the amount five days after the date of this\n letter.]\n\n * * * *\n\nXCII.--To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _May_ 26_th_, 1788.\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND,--I am two kind letters in your debt; but I have been\nfrom home, and horridly busy, buying and preparing for my farming\nbusiness, over and above the plague of my Excise instructions, which\nthis week will finish.\n\nAs I flatter my wishes that I foresee many future years' correspondence\nbetween us, 'tis foolish to talk of excusing dull epistles! a dull\nletter may be a very kind one. I have the pleasure to tell you that I\nhave been extremely fortunate in all my buyings and bargainings\nhitherto, Mrs. Burns not excepted; which title I now avow to the world.\nI am truly pleased with this last affair. It has indeed added to my\nanxieties for futurity, but it has given a stability to my mind and\nresolutions unknown before; and the poor girl has the most sacred\nenthusiasm of attachment to me, and has not a wish but to gratify my\nevery idea of her deportment. I am interrupted. Farewell! my dear\nSir. R. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nXCIII.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\n27_th_ _May _1788.\n\nMADAM,--I have been torturing my philosophy to no purpose to account for\nthat kind partiality of yours, which has followed me, in my return to\nthe shade of life, with assiduous benevolence. Often did I regret, in\nthe fleeting hours of my late will-o'-wisp appearance, that \"here I had\nno continuing city;\" and, but for the consolation of a few solid\nguineas, could almost lament the time that a momentary acquaintance with\nwealth and splendour put me so much out of conceit with the sworn\ncompanions of my road through life--insignificance and poverty.\n\nThere are few circumstances relating to the unequal distribution of the\ngood things of this life that give me more vexation (I mean in what I\nsee around me) than the importance the opulent bestow on their trifling\nfamily affairs, compared with the very same things on the contracted\nscale of a cottage. Last afternoon I had the honour to spend an hour or\ntwo at a good woman's fireside, where the planks that composed the floor\nwere decorated with a splendid carpet, and the gay table sparkled with\nsilver and china. 'Tis now about term-day, and there has been a\nrevolution among those creatures who, though in appearance partakers,\nand equally noble partakers, of the same nature with Madame, are from\ntime to time--their nerves, their sinews, their health, strength,\nwisdom, experience, genius, time, nay, a good part of their very\nthoughts--sold for months and years, not only to the necessities, the\nconveniences, but the caprices of the important few. We talked of the\ninsignificant creatures; nay, notwithstanding their general stupidity\nand rascality, did some of the poor devils the honour to commend them.\nBut light be the turf upon his breast who taught \"Reverence thyself!\" We\nlooked down on the unpolished wretches, their impertinent wives, and\nclouterly brats, as the lordly bull does on the little dirty ant-hill,\nwhose puny inhabitants he crushes in the carelessness of his ramble, or\ntosses in the air in the wantonness of his pride.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nXCIV.--TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MR. DUNLOP'S, HADDINGTON.\n\nELLISLAND, 13_th June_ 1788.\n\n Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,\n My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;\n Still to my friend it turns with ceaseless pain,\n And drags, at each remove, a lengthen'd chain.\n GOLDSMITH.\n\nThis is the second day, my honoured friend, that I have been on my farm.\nA solitary inmate of an old smoky spence; far from every object I love,\nor by whom I am beloved; nor any acquaintance older than yesterday,\nexcept Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride on; while uncouth cares and\nnovel plans hourly insult my awkward ignorance and bashful inexperience.\nThere is a foggy atmosphere native to my soul in the hour of care;\nconsequently the dreary objects seem larger than the life. Extreme\nsensibility, irritated and prejudiced on the gloomy side by a series of\nmisfortunes and disappointments, at that period of my existence when the\nsoul is laying in her cargo of ideas for the voyage of life, is, I\nbelieve, the principal cause of this unhappy frame of mind.\n\n The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?\n Or what need he regard his _single_ woes?\n\nYour surmise, Madam, is just: I am indeed a husband.\n\nI found a once much-loved and still much-loved female, literally and\ntruly cast out to the mercy of the naked elements--but there is no\nsporting with a fellow-creature's happiness or misery.... The most\nplacid good-nature and sweetness of disposition; a warm heart,\ngratefully devoted with all its powers to love me; vigorous health and\nsprightly cheerfulness, set off to the best advantage by a more than\ncommon handsome figure--these, I think, in a woman may make a good wife\nthough she should never have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old\nand New Testaments, nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a penny\npay wedding.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nXCV.-TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.\n\nELLISLAND, _June 14th_, 1788.\n\nThis is now the third day, my dearest Sir, that I have sojourned in\nthese regions; and during these three days you have occupied more of my\nthoughts than in three weeks preceding: in Ayrshire I have several\nvariations of friendship's compass, here it points invariably to the\npole. My farm gives me a good many uncouth cares and anxieties, but I\nhate the language of complaint. Job, or some one of his friends, says\nwell--\"Why should a living man complain?\"\n\nI have lately been much mortified with contemplating an unlucky\nimperfection in the very framing and construction of my soul; namely, a\nblundering inaccuracy of her olfactory organs in hitting the scent of\ncraft or design in my fellow-creatures. I do not mean any compliment to\nmy ingenuousness, or to hint that the defect is in consequence of the\nunsuspicious simplicity of conscious truth and honour: I take it to be,\nin some way or other, an imperfection in the mental sight; or, metaphor\napart, some modification of dulness. In two or three instances lately, I\nhave been most shamefully out.\n\nI have all along, hitherto, in the warfare of life, been bred to arms\namong the light horse--the piquet-guards of fancy; a kind of hussars and\nHighlanders of the brain; but I am firmly resolved to sell out of these\ngiddy battalions, who have no ideas of a battle but fighting the foe, or\nof a siege but storming the town. Cost what it will, I am determined to\nbuy in among the grave squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or the\nartillery corps of plodding contrivance.\n\nWhat books are you reading, or what is the subject of your thoughts,\nbesides the great studies of your profession? You said something about\nreligion in your last. I don't exactly remember what it was, as the\nletter is in Ayrshire; but I thought it not only prettily said, but\nnobly thought. You will make a noble fellow if once you were married. I\nmake no reservation of your being well-married; you have so much sense,\nand knowledge of human nature, that though you may not realise perhaps\nthe ideas of romance, yet you will never be ill-married.\n\nWere it not for the terrors of my ticklish situation respecting\nprovision for a family of children, I am decidedly of opinion that the\nstep I have taken is vastly for my happiness.[80] As it is, I look to\nthe Excise scheme as a certainty of maintenance; a maintenance!--luxury\nto what either Mrs. Burns or I were born to. Adieu.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 80: This alludes to his marriage.]\n\n * * * *\n\nXCVI.-TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.\n\nELLISLAND, _30th June_ 1788.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--I just now received your brief epistle; and, to take\nvengeance on your laziness, I have, you see, taken a long sheet of\nwriting-paper, and have begun at the top of the page, intending to\nscribble on to the very last corner.\n\nI am vexed at that affair of the ..., but dare not enlarge on the\nsubject until you send me your direction, as I suppose that will be\naltered on your late master and friend's death.[81] I am concerned for\nthe old fellow's exit, only as I fear it may be to your disadvantage in\nany respect--for an old man's dying, except he have been a very\nbenevolent character, or in some particular situation of life that the\nwelfare of the poor or the helpless depended on him, I think it an event\nof the most trifling moment to the world. Man is naturally a kind,\nbenevolent animal, but he is dropped into such a needy situation here in\nthis vexatious world, and has such a hungry, growling, multiplying pack\nof necessities, appetites, passions, and desires about him, ready to\ndevour him for want of other food, that in fact he must lay aside his\ncares for others that he may look properly to himself. You have been\nimposed upon in paying Mr. Miers for the profile of a Mr. H. I did not\nmention it in my letter to you, nor did I ever give Mr. Miers any such\norder. I have no objection to lose the money, but I will not have any\nsuch profile in my possession.\n\nI desired the carrier to pay you, but as I mentioned only 15s. to him, I\nwill rather inclose you a guinea-note. I have it not, indeed, to spare\nhere, as I am only a sojourner in a strange land in this place; but in a\nday or two I return to Mauchline, and there I have the bank-notes\nthrough the house like salt permits.\n\nThere is a great degree of folly in talking unnecessarily of one's\nprivate affairs. I have just now been interrupted by one of my new\nneighbours, who has made himself absolutely contemptible in my eyes, by\nhis silly, garrulous pruriency. I know it has been a fault of my own,\ntoo; but from this moment I abjure it as I would the service of hell!\nYour poets, spendthrifts, and other fools of that kidney, pretend,\nforsooth, to crack their jokes on prudence; but'tis a squalid vagabond\nglorying in his rags. Still, imprudence respecting money matters is much\nmore pardonable than imprudence respecting character, I have no\nobjection to prefer prodigality to avarice, in some few instances; but I\nappeal to your observation if you have not met, and often met, with the\nsame disingenuousness, the same hollow-hearted insincerity, and\ndisintegritive depravity of principle, in the hackneyed victims of\nprofusion, as in the unfeeling children of parsimony. I have every\npossible reverence for the much talked-of world beyond the grave, and I\nwish that which piety believes, and virtue deserves, may be all matter\nof fact. But in things belonging to, and terminating in this present\nscene of existence, man has serious and interesting business on hand.\nWhether a man shall shake hands with welcome in the distinguished\nelevation of respect, or shrink from contempt in the abject corner of\ninsignificance: whether he shall wanton under the tropic of plenty, at\nleast enjoy himself in the comfortable latitude of easy convenience, or\nstarve in the arctic circle of dreary poverty; whether he shall rise in\nthe manly consciousness of a self-approving mind, or sink beneath a\ngalling load of regret and remorse--these are alternatives of the\nlast moment.\n\nYou see how I preach. You used occasionally to sermonise too; I wish you\nwould, in charity, favour me with a sheet full in your own way. I admire\nthe close of a letter Lord Bolingbroke writes to Dean Swift:--\"Adieu,\ndear Swift! with all thy faults I love thee entirely: make an effort to\nlove me with all mine!\" Humble servant, and all that trumpery, is now\nsuch a prostituted business, that honest friendship, in her sincere way,\nmust have recourse to her primitive, simple--farewell!\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 81: Samuel Mitchelson, W.S., with whom young Ainslie served\n his apprenticeship.]\n\n * * * *\n\nXCVII--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _July_ 10_th_, 1788.\n\nMY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,--Yours of the 24th June is before me. I found\nit, as well as another valued friend--my wife, waiting to welcome me to\nAyrshire: I met both with the sincerest pleasure.\n\nWhen I write you, Madam, I do not sit down to answer every paragraph of\nyours, by echoing every sentiment, like the faithful Commons of Great\nBritain in Parliament assembled, answering a speech from the best of\nkings! I express myself in the fulness of my heart, and may, perhaps, be\nguilty of neglecting some of your kind inquiries; but not from your very\nodd reason, that I do not read your letters. All your epistles, for\nseveral months, have cost me nothing except a swelling throb of\ngratitude, or a deep-felt sentiment of veneration.\n\nWhen Mrs. Burns, Madam, first found herself \"as women wish to be who\nlove their lords,\" as I loved her nearly to distraction, we took steps\nfor a private marriage. Her parents got the hint; and not only forbade\nme her company and their house, but, on my rumoured West Indian voyage,\ngot a warrant to put me in jail, till I should find security in my\nabout-to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky reverse of fortune. On\nmy _éclatant_ return to Mauchline, I was made very welcome to visit my\ngirl. The usual consequences began to betray her; and, as I was at that\ntime laid up a cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned, literally turned,\nout of doors, and I wrote to a friend to shelter her till my return,\nwhen our marriage was declared. Her happiness or misery were in my\nhands, and who could trifle with such a deposit?\n\nTo jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger. My preservative\nagainst the first is the most thorough consciousness of her sentiments\nof honour and her attachment to me; my antidote against the last is my\nlong and deep-rooted affection for her. I can easily _fancy_ a more\nagreeable companion for my journey of life; but, upon my honour, I have\nnever _seen_ the individual instance.\n\nIn household matters, of aptness to learn and activity to execute, she\nis eminently mistress; and during my absence in Nithsdale, she is\nregularly and constantly apprentice to my mother and sisters in their\ndairy, and other rural business.\n\nThe muses must not be offended when I tell them, the concerns of my wife\nand family will, in my mind, always take the _pas_; but I assure them\ntheir ladyships will ever come next in place.\n\nYou are right that a bachelor state would have insured me more friends;\nbut, from a cause you will easily guess, conscious peace in the\nenjoyment of my own mind, and unmistrusting confidence in approaching my\nGod, would seldom have been of the number.\n\nCircumstanced as I am, I could never have got a female partner for life\nwho could have entered into my favourite studies, relished my favourite\nauthors, etc., without probably entailing on me at the same time\nexpensive living, fantastic caprice, perhaps apish affectation, with all\nthe other blessed boarding-school acquirements, which (_pardonnez moi_,\n_Madame_) are sometimes to be found among females of the upper ranks,\nbut almost universally pervade the misses of the would-be gentry.[82]\n\nI like your way in your churchyard lucubrations. Thoughts that are the\nspontaneous result of accidental situations, either respecting health,\nplace, or company, have often a strength, and always an originality,\nthat would in vain be looked for in fancied circumstances, and studied\nparagraphs. For me, I have often thought of keeping a letter, in\nprogression by me, to send you when the sheet was written out. Now I\ntalk of sheets, I must tell you, my reason for writing to you on paper\nof this kind is my pruriency of writing to you at large. A page of post\nis on such a dis-social, narrow-minded scale, that I cannot abide it;\nand double letters, at least in my miscellaneous reverie manner, are a\nmonstrous tax in a close correspondence. R. B.\n\n [Footnote 82: In Burns's private memoranda are these words:--\"I am\n more and more pleased with the step I took respecting my Jean. A\n wife's head is immaterial compared with her heart; and Virtue's (for\n wisdom, what poet pretends to it?) 'ways are ways of pleasantness,\n and all her paths are peace.'\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nXCVIII.--To MR. PETER HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.\n\nMY DEAR HILL,--I shall say nothing to your mad present--you have so long\nand often been of important service to me, and I suppose you mean to go\non conferring obligations until I shall not be able to lift up my face\nbefore you. In the meantime, as Sir Roger de Coverley, because it\nhappened to be a cold day in which he made his will, ordered his\nservants great-coats for mourning, so, because I have been this week\nplagued with an indigestion, I have sent you by the carrier a fine old\newe-milk cheese.[83]\n\nIndigestion is the devil: nay, 'tis the devil and all. It besets a man\nin every one of his senses. I lose my appetite at the sight of\nsuccessful knavery, and sicken to loathing at the noise and nonsense of\nself-important folly. When the hollow-hearted wretch takes me by the\nhand, the feeling spoils my dinner; the proud man's wine so offends my\npalate that it chokes me in the gullet; and the _pulvilised_, feathered,\npert coxcomb, is so disgustful in my nostril that my stomach turns.\n\nIf ever you have any of these disagreeable sensations, let me prescribe\nfor you patience, and a bit of my cheese. I know that you are no niggard\nof your good things among your friends, and some of them are in much\nneed of a slice. There, in my eye, is our friend Smellie; a man\npositively of the first abilities and greatest strength of mind, as well\nas one of the best hearts and keenest wits that I have ever met with;\nwhen you see him, as, alas! he too is smarting at the pinch of\ndistressful circumstances, aggravated by the sneer of contumelious\ngreatness--a bit of my cheese alone will not cure him, but if you add a\ntankard of brown stout, and superadd a magnum of bright Oporto, you will\nsee his sorrows vanish like the morning mist before the summer sun.\n\nCandlish, the earliest friend, except my only brother, that I have on\nearth, and one of the worthiest fellows that ever any man called by the\nname of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese would help to rid him of some\nof his superabundant modesty, you would do well to give it him.\n\nDavid,[84] with his _Courant_, comes, too, across my recollection, and I\nbeg you will help him largely from the said ewe-milk cheese, to enable\nhim to digest those bedaubing paragraphs with which he is eternally\nlarding the lean characters of certain great men in a certain great\ntown. I grant you the periods are very well turned; so, a fresh egg is a\nvery good thing, but when thrown at a man in a pillory, it does not at\nall improve his figure, not to mention the irreparable loss of the egg.\n\nMy facetious friend Dunbar, I would wish also to be a partaker: not to\ndigest his spleen, for that he laughs off, but to digest his last\nnight's wine at the last field-day of the Crochallan corps.[85]\n\nAmong our common friends I must not forget one of the dearest of\nthem--Cunningham. The brutality, insolence, and selfishness of a world\nunworthy of having such a fellow as he is in it, I know sticks in his\nstomach, and if you can help him to anything that will make him a little\neasier on that score, it will be very obliging.\n\nAs to honest John Sommerville, he is such a contented, happy man, that I\nknow not what can annoy him, except, perhaps, he may not have got the\nbetter of a parcel oif modest anecdotes which a certain poet gave him\none night at supper, the last time the said poet was in town.\n\nThough I have mentioned so many men of law, I shall have nothing to do\nwith them professedly--the faculty are beyond my prescription. As to\ntheir clients, that is another thing; God knows they have much\nto digest!\n\nThe clergy I pass by; their profundity of erudition, and their\nliberality of sentiment, their total want of pride, and their\ndetestation of hypocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as to place them\nfar, far above either my praise or censure.\n\nI was going to mention a man of worth, whom I have the honour to call\nfriend--the Laird of Craigdarroch; but I have spoken to the landlord of\nthe King's Arms Inn here, to have at the next county meeting a large\newe-milk cheese on the table, for the benefit of the Dumfriesshire\nWhigs, to enable them to digest the Duke of Queensberry's late\npolitical conduct.\n\nI have just this moment an opportunity of a private hand to Edinburgh,\nas perhaps you would not digest double postage.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 83: In return for some valuable books.]\n\n [Footnote 84: Printer of the _Edinburgh Evening Courant_.]\n\n [Footnote 85: A club of boon companions.]\n\n * * * * * * *\n\nXCIX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _August_ 2_nd_, 1788.\n\nHONOURED MADAM,--Your kind letter welcomed me, yesternight, to Ayrshire.\nI am, indeed, seriously angry with you at the quantum of your luckpenny;\nbut, vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help laughing very heartily at\nthe noble lord's apology for the missed napkin.\n\nI would write you from Nithsdale, and give you my direction there, but I\nhave scarce an opportunity of calling at a post-office once in a\nfortnight. I am six miles from Dumfries, am scarcely ever in it myself,\nand, as yet, have little acquaintance in the neighbourhood. Besides, I\nam now very busy on my farm, building a dwelling-house; as at present I\nam almost an evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have scarce \"where to\nlay my head.\"\n\nThere are some passages in your last that brought tears in my eyes. \"The\nheart knoweth its own sorrows, and a stranger intermeddleth not\ntherewith.\" The repository of these \"sorrows of the heart\" is a kind of\n_sanctum sanctorum_: and'tis only a chosen friend, and that, too, at\nparticular, sacred times, who dares enter into them:--\n\n Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords\n That nature finest strung.\n\nYou will excuse this quotation for the sake of the author. Instead of\nentering on this subject farther, I shall transcribe you a few lines I\nwrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman in my Nithsdale\nneighbourhood. They are almost the only favour the muses have conferred\non me in that country.[86]\n\nSince I am in the way of transcribing, the following were the production\nof yesterday as I jogged through the wild hills of New Cumnock. I intend\ninserting them, or something like them, in an epistle I am going to\nwrite to the gentleman on whose friendship my Excise hopes depend, Mr.\nGraham of Fintray, one of the worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen,\nnot only of this country, but, I will dare to say it, of this age. The\nfollowing are just the first crude thoughts \"unhousel'd, unanointed,\nunanneal'd:\"[87]--\n\nHere the muse left me. I am astonished at what you tell me of Anthony's\nwriting me. I never received it. Poor fellow I you vex me much by\ntelling me that he is unfortunate. I shall be in Ayrshire ten days from\nthis date. I have just room for an old Roman FAREWELL.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 86: Lines written in Friar's Carse Hermitage.]\n\n [Footnote 87: First Epistle to Robert Graham.]\n\n * * * * * * *\n\nC.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, 16_th August_ 1788.\n\nI am in a fine disposition, my honoured friend, to send you an elegiac\nepistle; and want only genius to make it quite Shenstonian:--\n\n Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn?\n Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky?\n\nMy increasing cares in this, as yet, strange country--gloomy\nconjectures in the dark vista of futurity--consciousness of my own\ninability for the struggle of the world--my broadened mark to misfortune\nin a wife and children;--I could indulge these reflections, till my\nhumour should ferment into the most acid chagrin, that would corrode the\nvery thread of life.\n\nTo counterwork these baneful feelings, I have sat down to write to you;\nas I declare upon my soul I always find that the most sovereign balm for\nmy wounded spirit.\n\nI was yesterday at Mr. Miller's to dinner, for the first time. My\nreception was quite to my mind: from the lady of the house quite\nflattering. She sometimes hits on a couplet or two, _impromptu_. She\nrepeated one or two to the admiration of all present. My suffrage as a\nprofessional man was expected: I for once went agonising over the belly\nof my conscience. Pardon me, ye, my adored household gods, independence\nof spirit, and integrity of soul! In the course of conversation,\n_Johnsorfs Musical Museum_, a collection of Scottish songs with the\nmusic, was talked of. We got a song on the harpsichord, beginning\n\n Raving winds around her blowing.\n\nThe air was much admired: the lady of the house asked me whose were the\nwords. \"Mine, Madam--they are indeed my very best verses;\" she took not\nthe smallest notice of them! The old Scottish proverb says well, \"King's\ncaff is better than ither folks' corn.\" I was going to make a New\nTestament quotation about \"casting pearls,\" but that would be too\nvirulent, for the lady is actually a woman of sense and taste.\n\nAfter all that has been said on the other side of the question, man is\nby no means a happy creature. I do not speak of the selected few,\nfavoured by partial heaven, whose souls are tuned to gladness amidst\nriches and honours, and prudence and wisdom. I speak of the neglected\nmany, whose nerves, whose sinews, whose days are sold to the minions\nof fortune.\n\nIf I thought you had never seen it, I would transcribe for you a stanza\nof an old Scottish ballad, called \"The Life and Age of Man;\"\nbeginning thus:--\n\n 'Twas in the sixteenth hundred year\n Of God and fifty-three\n Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear,\n As writings testifie.\n\nI had an old grand-uncle, with whom my mother lived a while in her\ngirlish years; the good old man, for such he was, was long blind ere he\ndied, during which time his highest enjoyment was to sit down and cry,\nwhile my mother would sing the simple old song of \"The Life and Age\nof Man.\"\n\nIt is this way of thinking; it is these melancholy truths, that make\nreligion so precious to the poor, miserable children of men. If it is a\nmere phantom, existing only in the heated imagination of enthusiasm,\n\n What truth on earth so precious as the lie?\n\nMy idle reasonings sometimes make me a little sceptical, but the\nnecessities of my heart always give the cold philosophisings the lie.\nWho looks for the heart weaned from earth; the soul affianced to her\nGod; the correspondence fixed with heaven; the pious supplication and\ndevout thanksgiving, constant as the vicissitudes of even and morn; who\nthinks to meet with these in the court, the palace, in the glare of\npublic life? No; to find them in their precious importance and divine\nefficacy, we must search among the obscure recesses of disappointment,\naffliction, poverty, and distress.\n\nI am sure, dear Madam, you are now more than pleased with the length of\nmy letters. I return to Ayrshire middle of next week: and it quickens my\npace to think that there will be a letter from you waiting me there. I\nmust be here again very soon for my harvest.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCI.--To MR. BEUGO, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, 9_th Sept._ 1788.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--There is not in Edinburgh above the number of the graces\nwhose letters would have given so much pleasure as yours of the 3rd\ninstant, which only reached me yesternight.\n\nI am here on my farm, busy with my harvest; but for all that most\npleasurable part of life called SOCIAL COMMUNICATION, I am here at the\nvery elbow of existence. The only things that are to be found in this\ncountry, in any degree of perfection, are stupidity and canting. Prose\nthey only know in graces, prayers, etc., and the value of these they\nestimate, as they do their plaiding webs, by the ell! As for the muses,\nthey have as much an idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet. For my old,\ncapricious, but good-natured hussy of a muse,\n\n By banks of Nith I sat and wept\n When Coila I thought on,\n In midst thereof I hung my harp\n The willow trees upon.\n\nI am generally about half my time in Ayrshire with my \"darling Jean,\"\nand then I, at lucid intervals, throw my horny fist across my\nbecobwebbed lyre, much in the same manner as an old wife throws her hand\nacross the spokes of her spinning-wheel.\n\nI will send you the \"Fortunate Shepherdess\" as soon as I return to\nAyrshire, for there I keep it with other precious treasure. I shall send\nit by a careful hand, as I would not for anything it should be mislaid\nor lost. I do not wish to serve you from any benevolence, or other grave\nChristian virtue; 'tis purely a selfish gratification of my own feelings\nwhenever I think of you.\n\nIf your better functions would give you leisure to write me, I should be\nextremely happy; that is to say, if you neither keep nor look for a\nregular correspondence. I hate the idea of being obliged to write a\nletter. I sometimes write a friend twice a week; at other times once\na quarter.\n\nI am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in making the author you\nmention place a map of Iceland, instead of his portrait, before his\nworks; 'twas a glorious idea.\n\nCould you conveniently do me one thing?--whenever you finish any head, I\nshould like to have a proof copy of it. I might tell you a long story\nabout your fine genius; but, as what everybody knows cannot have escaped\nyou, I shall not say one syllable about it.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCII.--To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRAY.\n\nSIR,--When I had the honour of being introduced to you at Athole House,\nI did not think so soon of asking a favour of you. When Lear, in\nShakespeare, asked Old Kent why he wished to be in his service, he\nanswers, \"Because you have that in your face which I would fain call\nmaster.\" For some such reason, Sir, do I now solicit your patronage. You\nknow, I dare say, of an application I lately made to your Board to be\nadmitted an officer of the Excise. I have, according to form, been\nexamined by a supervisor, and today I gave in his certificate, with a\nrequest for an order for instructions. In this affair, if I succeed, I\nam afraid I shall but too much need a patronising friend. Propriety of\nconduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as an officer, I dare\nengage for; but with anything like business, except manual labour, I am\ntotally unacquainted.\n\nI had intended to have closed my late appearance on the stage of life in\nthe character of a country farmer; but, after discharging some filial\nand fraternal claims, I find I could only fight for existence in that\nmiserable manner, which I have lived to see throw a venerable parent\ninto the jaws of a jail, whence death, the poor man's last and often\nbest friend, rescued him.\n\nI know, Sir, that to need your goodness, is to have a claim on it; may\nI, therefore, beg your patronage to forward me in this affair, till I be\nappointed to a division, where, by the help of rigid economy, I will try\nto support that independence so dear to my soul, but which has been too\noften so distant from my situation.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * * *\n\nCII.--To His WIFE, AT MAUCHLINE.\n\nELLISLAND, _Friday_, 12_th Sep._ 1788.\n\nMY DEAR LOVE,--I received your kind letter with a pleasure which no\nletter but one from you could have given me. I dreamed of you the whole\nnight last; but alas! I fear it will be three weeks yet ere I can hope\nfor the happiness of seeing you. My harvest is going on. I have some to\ncut down still, but I put in two stacks to-day, so I'm as tired as\na dog.\n\nYou might get one of Gilbert's sweet-milk cheeses, and send it to.... On\nsecond thoughts I believe you had best get the half of Gilbert's web of\ntable linen and make it up; though I think it damnable dear, but it is\nno outlaid money to us, you know. I have just now consulted my old\nlandlady about table linen, and she thinks I may have the best for two\nshillings a yard; so, after all, let it alone till I return; and some\nday soon I will be in Dumfries and ask the price there. I expect your\nnew gowns will be very forward or ready to make, against I be home to\nget the _baiveridge._[88]\n\nI have written my long-thought-on letter to Mr. Graham, the Commissioner\nof Excise; and have sent a sheetful of poetry besides.\n\n [Footnote 88: On her first appearance in public in a new dress a\n young woman was subject to this tax, if claimed by the young man who\n happened first to meet her. ]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCIV.--To Miss CHALMERS, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, NEAR DUMFRIES, _Sept_. 16_th_, 1788.\n\nWhere are you? and how are you? and is Lady Mackenzie recovering her\nhealth? for I have had but one solitary letter from you. I will not\nthink you have forgot me, Madam and, for my part,\n\n When thee, Jerusalem, I forget,\n Skill part from my right hand!\n\n\"My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless as that sea.\" I do\nnot make my progress among mankind as a bowl does among its\nfellows-rolling through the crowd without bearing away any mark or\nimpression, except where they hit in hostile collision.\n\nI am here, driven in with my harvest-folks by bad weather; and as you\nand your sister once did me the honour of interesting yourselves much _à\nl' egard de moi_, I sit down to beg the continuation of your goodness. I\ncan truly say that, all the exterior of life apart, I never saw two\nwhose esteem flattered the nobler feelings of my soul--I will not say\nmore, but so much, as Lady Mackenzie and Miss Chalmers. When I think of\nyou--hearts the best, minds the noblest of human kind--unfortunate even\nin the shades of life--when I think I have met with you, and have lived\nmore of real life with you in eight days than I can do with almost\nanybody I meet with in eight years--when I think on the improbability\nof meeting you in this world again--I could sit down and cry like a\nchild! If ever you honoured me with a place in your esteem, I trust I\ncan now plead more desert. I am secure against that crushing grip of\niron poverty, which, alas! is less or more fatal to the native worth and\npurity of, I fear, the noblest souls; and a late important step in my\nlife has kindly taken me out of the way of those ungrateful iniquities,\nwhich, however overlooked in fashionable licence, or varnished in\nfashionable phrase, are indeed but lighter and deeper shades\nof villainy.\n\nShortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I married \"my Jean.\" This was\nnot in consequence of the attachment of romance, perhaps; but I had a\nlong and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery in my\ndetermination, and I durst not trifle with so important a deposit. Nor\nhave I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish\nmanners, and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the\nmultiform curse of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the\nhandsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and\nthe kindest heart in the county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her\ncreed, that I am _le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnête homme_ in the\nuniverse; although she scarcely ever in her life, except the Scriptures\nof the old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David in metre, spent\nfive minutes together on either prose or verse. I must except also from\nthis last a certain late publication of Scots poems, which she has\nperused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the country, as she has (O\nthe partial lover! you will cry) the finest \"wood note wild\" I ever\nheard. I am the more particular in this lady's character, as I know she\nwill henceforth have the honour of a share in your best wishes. She is\nstill at Mauchline, as I am building my house; for this hovel that I\nshelter in, while occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that\nblows, and every shower that falls; and I am only preserved from being\nchilled to death, by being suffocated with smoke. I do not find my farm\nthat pennyworth I was taught to expect, but I believe, in time, it may\nbe a saving bargain. You will be pleased to hear that I have laid aside\nthe idle _éclat_, and bind every day after my reapers.\n\nTo save me from that horrid situation of at any time\ngoing down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I\nhave taken my Excise instructions, and have my commission\nin my pocket for any emergency of fortune. If I could set\nall before your view, whatever disrespect you, in common\nwith the world, have for this business, I know you would\napprove of my idea.\n\nI will make no apology, dear Madam, for this egotistic detail; I know\nyou and your sister will be interested in every circumstance of it. What\nsignify the silly, idle gew-gaws of wealth, or the ideal trumpery of\ngreatness! When fellow-partakers of the same nature fear the same God,\nhave the same benevolence of heart, the same nobleness of soul, the same\ndetestation at everything dishonest, and the same scorn at everything\nunworthy--if they are not in the dependence of absolute beggary, in the\nname of common sense, are they not equals? And if the bias, the\ninstinctive bias of their souls run the same way, why may they not\nbe friends?\n\nWhen I may have an opportunity of sending you this, Heaven only knows.\nShenstone says, \"When one is confined idle within doors by bad weather,\nthe best antidote against _ennui_ is to read the letters of, or write\nto, one's friends;\" in that case then, if the weather continues thus, I\nmay scrawl you half a quire.\n\nI very lately--to wit, since harvest began--wrote a poem, not in\nimitation, but in the manner of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a\nshort essay, just to try the strength of my Muse's pinion in that way. I\nwill send you a copy of it, when once I have heard from you. I have\nlikewise been laying the foundation of some pretty large poetic works;\nhow the superstructure will come on, I leave to that great maker and\nmarrer of projects, time. Johnson's collection of Scots songs is going\non in the third volume; and, of consequence, finds me a consumpt for a\ngreat deal of idle metre. One of the most tolerable things I have done\nin that way, is two stanzas I made to an air a musical gentleman of my\nacquaintance composed for the anniversary of his wedding-day, which\nhappens on the seventh of November. Take it as follows:--\n\n The day returns--my bosom burns--\n The blissful day we twa did meet, etc.\n\nI shall give over this letter for shame. If I should be seized with a\nscribbling fit, before this goes away, I shall make it another letter;\nand then you may allow your patience a week's respite between the two. I\nhave not room for more than the old, kind, hearty farewell!\n\n * * * * *\n\nTo make some amends, _mes chères Mesdames_, for dragging you on to this\nsecond sheet; and to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my unstudied\nand uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe you some of my late poetic\nbagatelles; though I have, these eight or ten months, done very little\nthat way. One day, in a hermitage on the banks of Nith, belonging to a\ngentleman in my neighbourhood, who is so good as give me a key at\npleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing myself the sequestered,\nvenerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion.\n\n LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE.\n\n Thou whom chance may hither lead,\n Be thou clad in russet weed, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCV.--To MR. MORISON, WRIGHT, MAUCHLINE.\n\nEllisland, _September_ 22_nd_ 1788.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--Necessity obliges me to go into my new house, even before\nit be plastered. I will inhabit the one end until the other is finished.\nAbout three weeks more, I think, will at farthest be my time, beyond\nwhich I cannot stay in this present house. If ever you wish to deserve\nthe blessing of him that was ready to perish; if ever you were in a\nsituation that a little kindness would have rescued you from many evils;\nif ever you hope to find rest in future states of untried being-get\nthese matters of mine ready.[89] My servant will be out in the beginning\nof next week for the clock. My compliments to Mrs. Morison. --I am,\nafter all my tribulation, Dear Sir, yours,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 89: The letter refers to chairs and other articles of\n furniture which the Poet had ordered.]\n\n * * * *\n\nCVI.--To MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.\n\nMauchline, 27_th Sept_. 1788.\n\nI have received twins, dear Madam, more than once; but scarcely ever\nwith more pleasure than when I received yours of the 12th instant. To\nmake myself understood; I had wrote to Mr. Graham, enclosing my poem\naddressed to him, and the same post which favoured me with yours brought\nme an answer from him. It was dated the very day he had received mine;\nand I am quite at a loss to say whether it was most polite or kind.\n\nYour criticisms, my honoured benefactress, are truly the work of a\nfriend. They are not the blasting depredations of a canker-toothed,\ncaterpillar critic; nor are they the fair statement of cold\nimpartiality, balancing with unfeeling exactitude the _pro_ and _con_ of\nan author's merits; they are the judicious observations of animated\nfriendship, selecting the beauties of the piece. I am just arrived from\nNithsdale, and will be here a fortnight. I was on horseback this morning\nby three o'clock; for between my wife and my farm is just forty-six\nmiles. As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a poetic fit,\nas follows:\n\n\"Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch's lamentation for the death of her son;\nan uncommonly promising youth of eighteen or nineteen years of age:--\n\n Fate gave the word--the arrow sped,\n And pierced my darling's heart,\"(_etc_.)\n\nYou will not send me your poetic rambles, but, you see, I am no niggard\nof mine. I am sure your impromptus give me double pleasure; what falls\nfrom your pen can neither be unentertaining in itself, nor\nindifferent to me.\n\nThe one fault you found is just: but I cannot please myself in an\nemendation.\n\nWhat a life of solicitude is the life of a parent! You interested me\nmuch in your young couple.\n\nI would not take my folio paper for this epistle, and now I repent it. I\nam so jaded with my dirty long journey, that I was afraid to drawl into\nthe essence of dulness with anything larger than a quarto, and so I must\nleave out another rhyme of this morning's manufacture.\n\nI will pay the sapientipotent George most cheerfully, to hear from you\nere I leave Ayrshire. R. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCVII--To MR. PETER HILL.\n\nMauchline, 1_st October_ 1788.\n\nI have been here in this country about three days, and all that time my\nchief reading has been the \"Address to Lochlomond\" you were so obliging\nas to send to me. Were I impanneled one of the author's jury, to\ndetermine his criminality respecting the sin of poesy, my verdict should\nbe \"Guilty! A poet of nature's making!\" It is an excellent method for\nimprovement, and what I believe every poet does, to place some favourite\nclassic author in his walks of study and composition before him as a\nmodel. Though your author had not mentioned the name, I could have, at\nhalf a glance, guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my brother-poet\nforgive me if I venture to hint that his imitation of that immortal bard\nis, in two or three places, rather more servile than such a genius as\nhis required:--_e.g._\n\n To soothe the maddening passions all to peace.\n ADDRESS.\n To soothe the throbbing passions into peace.\n THOMSON.\n\nI think the \"Address\" is in simplicity, harmony, and elegance of\nversification, fully equal to the \"Seasons.\" Like Thomson, too, he has\nlooked into nature for himself: you meet with no copied description. One\nparticular criticism I made at first reading; in no one instance has he\nsaid too much. He never flags in his progress, but, like a true poet of\nnature's making, kindles in his course. His beginning is simple and\nmodest, as if distrustful of the strength of his passion; only, I do not\naltogether like--\n\n Truth,\n The soul of every song that's nobly great.\n\nFiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. Perhaps I am\nwrong: this may be but a prose criticism. Is not the phrase, in line 7,\npage 6, \"Great lake,\" too much vulgarised by every-day language for so\nsublime a poem?\n\n Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song,\n\nis perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a comparison with other\nlakes is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader's ideas must\nsweep the\n\n Winding margin of a hundred miles.\n\nThe perspective that follows mountains blue--the imprisoned billows\nbeating in vain--the wooded isles--the digression on the\nyew-tree--\"Benlomond's lofty, cloud-envelop'd head,\" etc., are\nbeautiful. A thunder-storm is a subject which has been often tried, yet\nour poet, in his grand picture, has interjected a circumstance, so far\nas I know, entirely original in\n\n the gloom\n Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire.\n\nIn his preface to the Storm, \"the glens how dark between,\" is noble\nhighland landscape! The \"rain ploughing the red mould,\" too, is\nbeautifully fancied. \"Benlomond's lofty, pathless top,\" is a good\nexpression; and the surrounding view from it is truly great: the\n\n silver mist,\n Beneath the beaming sun,\n\nis well described; and here he has contrived to enliven his poem with a\nlittle of that passion which bids fair, I think, to usurp the modern\nmuses altogether. I know not how far this episode is a beauty on the\nwhole, but the swain's wish to carry \"some faint idea of the vision\nbright,\" to entertain her \"partial listening ear,\" is a pretty thought.\nBut, in my opinion, the most beautiful passages in the whole poem are\nthe fowls crowding, in wintry frosts, to Lochlomond's \"hospitable\nflood;\" their wheeling round; their lighting, mixing, diving, etc.; and\nthe glorious description of the sportsman. This last is equal to\nanything in the \"Seasons.\" The idea of \"the floating tribes distant\nseen, far glistering to the moon,\" provoking his eye as he is obliged to\nleave them, is a noble ray of poetic genius.\n\nThe \"howling winds,\" the \"hideous roar\" of \"the white cascades,\" are all\nin the same style.\n\nI forget that while I am thus holding forth, with the heedless warmth of\nan enthusiast, I am perhaps tiring you with nonsense. I must, however,\nmention that the last verse of the sixteenth page is one of the most\nelegant compliments I have ever seen. I must likewise notice that\nbeautiful paragraph beginning \"The gleaming lake,\" etc. I dare not go\ninto the particular beauties of the last two paragraphs, but they are\nadmirably fine, and truly Ossianic. I must beg your pardon for this\nlengthened scrawl. I had no idea of it when I began--I should like to\nknow who the author is; but, whoever he be, please present him with my\ngrateful thanks for the entertainment he has afforded me.[90]\n\nA friend of mine desired me to commission for him two books, _Letters on\nthe Religion essential to Man_, a book you sent me before; and _The\nWorld Unmasked, or the Philosopher the greatest Cheat_. Send me them by\nthe first opportunity. The Bible you sent me is truly elegant; I only\nwish it had been in two volumes. R. B.\n\n [Footnote 90: The poem, entitled \"An Address to Lochlomond,\" is said\n to have been written by one of the masters of the High School of\n Edinburgh.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCVIIL--To THE EDITOR OF THE \"STAR\".\n\n_November_ 8_th_, 1788.\n\nSir,--Notwithstanding the opprobrious epithets with which some of our\nphilosophers and gloomy sectarians have branded our nature--the\nprinciple of universal selfishness, the proneness to all evil, they have\ngiven us--still, the detestation in which inhumanity to the distressed,\nor insolence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, shows that they are\nnot natives of the human heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind who\nis undone, the bitter consequence of his follies or his crimes--who\nbut sympathises with the miseries of this ruined profligate brother? We\nforget the injuries, and feel for the man.\n\nI went, last Wednesday, to my parish church, most cordially to join in\ngrateful acknowledgment to the AUTHOR OF ALL GOOD for the consequent\nblessings of the glorious Revolution. To that auspicious event we owe no\nless than our liberties, civil and religious; to it we are likewise\nindebted for the present Royal Family, the ruling features of whose\nadministration have ever been mildness to the subject, and tenderness of\nhis rights.\n\nBred and educated in revolution principles, the principles of reason and\ncommon sense, it could not be any silly political prejudice which made\nmy heart revolt at the harsh, abusive manner in which the reverend\ngentleman mentioned the House of Stuart, and which, I am afraid, was too\nmuch the language of the day. We may rejoice sufficiently in our\ndeliverance from past evils, without cruelly raking up the ashes of\nthose whose misfortune it was, perhaps as much as their crime, to be the\nauthors of those evils; and we may bless GOD for all His goodness to us\nas a nation, without, at the same time, cursing a few ruined, powerless\nexiles, who only harboured ideas, and made attempts, that most of us\nwould have done, had we been in their situation.\n\n\"The bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart\" may be said with propriety\nand justice, when compared with the present Royal Family, and the\nsentiments of our days; but is there no allowance to be made for the\nmanners of the times? Were the royal contemporaries of the Stuarts more\nattentive to their subjects' rights? Might not the epithets of \"bloody\nand tyrannical\" be, with at least equal justice, applied to the House of\nTudor, of York, or any other of their predecessors?\n\nThe simple state of the case, Sir, seems to be this:--At that period,\nthe science of government, the knowledge of the true relation between\nking and subject, was, like other sciences and other knowledge, just in\nits infancy, emerging from dark ages of ignorance and barbarity.\n\nThe Stuarts only contended for prerogatives which they knew their\npredecessors enjoyed, and which they saw their contemporaries enjoying;\nbut these prerogatives were inimical to the happiness of a nation and\nthe rights of subjects.\n\nIn this contest between prince and people, the consequence of that light\nof science which had lately dawned over Europe, the monarch of France,\nfor example, was victorious over the struggling liberties of his people:\nwith us, luckily, the monarch failed, and his unwarrantable pretensions\nfell a sacrifice to our rights and happiness. Whether it was owing to\nthe wisdom of leading individuals, or to the justling of parties, I\ncannot pretend to determine; but, likewise, happily for us, the kingly\npower was shifted into another branch of the family, who, as they owed\nthe throne solely to the call of a free people, could claim nothing\ninconsistent with the covenanted terms which placed them there.\n\nThe Stuarts have been condemned and laughed at, for the folly and\nimpracticability of their attempts in 1715, and 1745. That they failed,\nI bless GOD; but cannot join in the ridicule against them. Who does not\nknow that the abilities or defects of leaders and commanders are often\nhidden, until put to the touchstone of exigency; and that there is a\ncaprice of fortune, an omnipotence in particular accidents and\nconjunctures of circumstances, which exalt us as heroes, or brand us as\nmadmen, just as they are for or against us?\n\nMan, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, inconsistent being: who would\nbelieve, Sir, that in this our Augustan age of liberality and\nrefinement, while we seem so justly sensible and jealous of our rights\nand liberties, and animated with such indignation against the very\nmemory of those who would have subverted them--that a certain people\nunder our national protection should complain, not against our monarch\nand a few favourite advisers, but against our WHOLE LEGISLATIVE BODY,\nfor similar oppression, and almost in the very same terms, as our\nforefathers did of the House of Stuart! I will not, I cannot, enter into\nthe merits of the cause; but I dare say the American Congress, in 1776,\nwill be allowed to be as able and enlightened as the English Convention\nwas in 1688; and that their posterity will celebrate the centenary of\ntheir deliverance from us, as duly and sincerely, as we do ours from the\noppressive measures of the wrong-headed House of Stuart.\n\nTo conclude, Sir; let every man who has a tear for the many miseries\nincident to humanity, feel for a family illustrious as any in Europe,\nand unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and let every Briton (and\nparticularly every Scotsman) who ever looked with reverential pity on\nthe dotage of a parent, cast a veil over the fatal mistake of the Kings\nof his forefathers.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCIX.--TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS.\n\nMAUCHLINE, 13_th November_ 1788.\n\nMadam,--I had the very great pleasure of dining at Dunlop yesterday. Men\nare said to flatter women because they are weak, if it is so, poets must\nbe weaker still; for Misses R. and K. and Miss G. M'K., with their\nflattering attentions, and artful compliments, absolutely turned my\nhead. I own they did not lard me over as many a poet does his patron,\nbut they so intoxicated me with their sly insinuations and delicate\ninnuendos of compliment, that if it had not been for a lucky\nrecollection, how much additional weight and lustre your good opinion\nand friendship must give me in that circle, I had certainly looked upon\nmyself as a person of no small consequence. I dare not say one word how\nmuch I was charmed with the Major's friendly welcome, elegant manner,\nand acute remark, lest I should be thought to balance my orientalisms of\napplause over-against the finest heifer in Ayrshire, which he made me a\npresent of to help and adorn my farm-stock. As it was on hallow-day, I\nam determined annually as that day returns, to decorate her horns with\nan ode of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.\n\nSo soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I will take the first\nconveniency to dedicate a day, or perhaps two, to you and friendship,\nunder the guarantee of the Major's hospitality. There will soon be three\nscore and ten miles of permanent distance between us; and now that your\nfriendship and friendly correspondence is entwisted with the\nheart-strings of my enjoyment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy\nday of \"the feast of reason and the flow of soul.\"\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCX.--TO DR. BLACKLOCK.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _November_ 15_th_, 1788.\n\nReverend and dear Sir,--As I hear nothing of your motions, but that you\nare, or were, out of town, I do not know where this may find you, or\nwhether it will find you at all. I wrote you a long letter, dated from\nthe land of matrimony, in June; but either it had not found you, or,\nwhat I dread more, it found you or Mrs. Blacklock in too precarious a\nstate of health and spirits to take notice of an idle packet.\n\nI have done many little things for Johnson since I had the pleasure of\nseeing you; and I have finished one piece, in the way of Pope's \"Moral\nEpistles;\" but, from your silence, I have everything to fear, so I have\nonly sent you two melancholy things, which I tremble to fear may too\nwell suit the tone of your present feelings.\n\nIn a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to Nithsdale; till then, my\ndirection is at this place; after that period, it will be at Ellisland,\nnear Dumfries. It would extremely oblige me, were it but half a line, to\nlet me know how you are, and where you are. Can I be indifferent to the\nfate of a man to whom I owe so much--a man whom I not only esteem,\nbut venerate?\n\nMy warmest good wishes and most respectful compliments to Mrs.\nBlacklock, and Miss Johnson, if she is with you.\n\nI cannot conclude without telling you that I am more and more pleased\nwith the step I took respecting \"my Jean.\" Two things, from my happy\nexperience, I set down as apophthegms in life,--a wife's head is\nimmaterial, compared with her heart; and \"Virtue's (for wisdom, what\npoet pretends to it?) ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths\nare peace.\" Adieu!\n\nR. B.[91]\n\n [Footnote 91: Here follow \"The mother's lament for the loss of her\n son,\" and the song beginning \"The lazy mist hangs from the brow of\n the hill.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXI.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, 17_th December_ 1788.\n\nMy dear honoured friend,--Yours, dated Edinburgh, which I have just\nread, makes me very unhappy. \"Almost blind and wholly deaf\" are\nmelancholy news of human nature; but when told of a much-loved and\nhonoured friend, they carry misery in the sound. Goodness on your part,\nand gratitude on mine, began a tie which has gradually entwisted itself\namong the dearest chords of my bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your\nlate and present ailing habit and shattered health. You miscalculate\nmatters widely, when you forbid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt\nmy worldly concerns. My small scale of farming is exceedingly more\nsimple and easy than what you have lately seen at Moreham Mains. But, be\nthat as it may, the heart of the man and the fancy of the poet are the\ntwo grand considerations for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty\ndunghills are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul\nimmortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I\nshould not have been plagued with any ideas superior to breaking of\nclods and picking up grubs; not to mention barn-door cocks of mallards,\ncreatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you\ncontinue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to\neither of us; but if I hear you are got so well again as to be able to\nrelish conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my\nthreatenings good. I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr, and, by\nall that is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and see you.\n\nYour meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow and\nfriend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the world! They\nspoil these \"social offsprings of the heart.\" Two veterans of the \"men\nof the world\" would have met with little more heart-workings than two\nold hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, \"Auld\nlang syne,\" exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which\nhas often thrilled through my soul. You know I am an enthusiast in old\nScotch song. I shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I\nsuppose Mr. Kerr[92] will save you the postage.\n\n Should auld acquaintance be forgot?\n\nLight be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired poet who composed\nthis glorious fragment! There is more of the fire of native genius in it\nthan in half a dozen of modern English Bacchanalians! Now I am on my\nhobbyhorse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas, which please\nme mightily:--\n\n Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 92: Postmaster in Edinburgh.]\n\n * * * *\n\nCXII.--TO MR. JOHN TENNANT.\n\n_December_ 22_nd_, 1788.\n\nI yesterday tried my cask of whisky for the first time, and I assure you\nit does you great credit. It will bear five waters, strong: or six\nordinary toddy. The whisky of this country is a most rascally liquor;\nand, by consequence, only drunk by the most rascally part of the\ninhabitants. I am persuaded, if you once get a footing here, you might\ndo a great deal of business, in the way of consumpt; and should you\ncommence distiller again, this is the native barley country. I am\nignorant if, in your present way of dealing, you would think it worth\nyour while to extend your business so far as this country-side. I write\nyou this on the account of an accident, which I must take the merit of\nhaving partly designed too. A neighbour of mine, a John Currie, miller,\nin Carse Mill--a man who is, in a word, a very good man, even for a £500\nbargain--he and his wife were in my house the time I broke open the\ncask. They keep a country public-house and sell a great deal of foreign\nspirits, but all along thought that whisky would have degraded their\nhouse. They were perfectly astonished at my whisky, both for its taste\nand strength; and, by their desire, I write you to know if you could\nsupply them with liquor of an equal quality, and what price. Please\nwrite me by first post, and direct to me at Ellisland, near Dumfries. If\nyou could take a jaunt this way yourself, I have a spare spoon, knife,\nand fork, very much at your service. My compliments to Mrs. Tennant, and\nall the good folks in Glenconnel and Barguharrie.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXIII.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _New-year-day Morning_, 1789.\n\nThis, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, and would to God that I came\nunder the Apostle James's description!--_the prayer of a righteous man\navaileth much_. In that case, Madam, you should welcome in a year full\nof blessings: everything that obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and\nself-enjoyment should be removed, and every pleasure that frail humanity\ncan taste, should be yours. I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that\nI approve of set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of\ndevotion, for breaking in on that habituated routine of life and\nthought, which is so apt to reduce our existence to a kind of instinct,\nor even sometimes, and with some minds, to a state very little superior\nto mere machinery.\n\nThis day; the first Sunday of May; a breezy blue-skyed noon some time\nabout the beginning, and a hoary morning and calm sunny day about the\nend of autumn; these, time out of mind, have been with me a kind\nof holiday.\n\nI believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the _Spectator_ \"The\nVision of Mirza,\" a piece that struck my young fancy before I was\ncapable of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables: \"On the fifth\nday of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I\nalways _keep holy_, after having washed myself, and offered up my\nmorning devotions, I ascended the high hill of Bagdat, in order to pass\nthe rest of the day in meditation and prayer.\"\n\nWe know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or structure of\nour souls, so cannot account for those seeming caprices in them, that\none should be particularly pleased with this thing, or struck with that,\nwhich, on minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary impression.\nI have some favourite flowers in spring, among which are the\nmountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild brier-rose, the\nbudding birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with\nparticular delight. I never hear the loud, solitary whistle of the\ncurlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey\nplovers, in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of soul\nlike the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to\nwhat can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like the\nÆolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident? Or\ndo these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod? I\nown myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important\nrealities--a God that made all things--man's immaterial and immortal\nnature--and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXIV.-TO DR. MOORE, LONDON.\n\nELLISLAND, 4_th Jan._ 1789.\n\nSir,--As often as I think of writing to you, which has been three or\nfour times every week these six months, it gives me something so like\nthe idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering at a conversation with the\nRhodian Colossus, that my mind misgives me, and the affair always\nmiscarries somewhere between purpose and resolve. I have at last got\nsome business with you, and business letters are written by the\nstyle-book. I say my business is with you, Sir, for you never had any\nwith me, except the business that benevolence has in the mansion\nof poverty.\n\nThe character and employment of a poet were formerly my pleasure, but\nare now my pride. I know that a very great deal of my late éclat was\nowing to the singularity of my situation, and the honest prejudice of\nScotsmen; but still, as I said in the preface to my first edition, I do\nlook upon myself as having some pretensions from nature to the poetic\ncharacter. I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the\nMuses' trade, is a gift bestowed by Him \"who forms the secret bias of\nthe soul;\" but I as firmly believe that _excellence_ in the profession\nis the fruit of industry, labour, attention, and pains. At least I am\nresolved to try my doctrine by the test of experience. Another\nappearance from the press I put off to a very distant day, a day that\nmay never arrive--but poesy I am determined to prosecute with all my\nvigour. Nature has given very few, if any, of the profession, the\ntalents of shining in every species of composition. I shall try (for\nuntil trial it is impossible to know) whether she has qualified me to\nshine in any one. The worst of it is, by the time one has finished a\npiece, it has been so often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye,\nthat one loses in a good measure the powers of critical discrimination.\nHere the best criterion I know is a friend--not only of abilities to\njudge, but with good-nature enough, like a prudent teacher with a young\nlearner, to praise perhaps a little more than is exactly just, lest the\nthin-skinned animal fall into that most deplorable of all poetic\ndiseases--heart-breaking despondency of himself. Dare I, Sir, already\nimmensely indebted to your goodness, ask the additional obligation of\nyour being that friend to me? I inclose you an essay of mine in a walk\nof poesy to me entirely new; I mean the epistle addressed to R. G.,\nEsq., or Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq., a gentleman of uncommon worth,\nto whom I lie under very great obligations. The story of the poem, like\nmost of my poems, is connected with my own story, and to give you the\none, I must give you something of the other. I cannot boast of Mr.\nCreech's ingenuous fair dealing to me. He kept me hanging about\nEdinburgh from the 7th August 1787 until the 13th April 1788 before he\nwould condescend to give a statement of affairs; nor had I got it even\nthen, but for an angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his pride. \"I\ncould\" not a \"tale,\" but a detail \"unfold\"; but what am I that should\nspeak against the Lord's anointed Bailie of Edinburgh?[93]\n\nI believe I shall, in whole, £100 copyright included, clear about £400,\nsome little odds; and even part of this depends upon what the gentleman\nhas yet to settle with me. I give you this information, because you did\nme the honour to interest yourself much in my welfare. I give you this\ninformation, but I give it to yourself only, for I am still much in the\ngentleman's mercy. Perhaps I injure the man in the idea I am sometimes\ntempted to have of him--God forbid I should. A little time will try, for\nin a month I shall go to town to wind up the business, if possible.\n\nTo give the rest of my story in brief, I have married \"my Jean,\" and\ntaken a farm; with the first step I have every day more and more reason\nto be satisfied; with the last, it is rather the reverse. I have a\nyounger brother, who supports my aged mother, another still younger\nbrother, and three sisters, in a farm. On my last return from Edinburgh\nit cost me about £180 to save them from ruin.\n\nNot that I have lost so much--I only interposed between my brother and\nhis impending fate by the loan of so much. I give myself no airs on\nthis, for it was mere selfishness on my part; I was conscious that the\nwrong scale of the balance was pretty heavily charged, and I thought\nthat throwing a little filial piety and fraternal affection into the\nscale in my favour, might help to smooth matters at the _grand\nreckoning_. There is still one thing would make my circumstances quite\neasy--I have an excise officer's commission, and I live in the midst of\na country division. My request to Mr. Graham, who is one of the\ncommissioners of excise, was, if in his power, to procure me that\ndivision. If I were very sanguine, I might hope that some of my great\npatrons might procure me a treasury warrant for supervisor,\nsurveyor-general, etc.\n\nThus, secure of a livelihood, \"to thee, sweet poetry, delightful\nmaid,\"[94] I would consecrate my future days.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 93: Creech; remarkable for his reluctance to settle\n accounts.]\n\n [Footnote 94: Goldsmith's \"Deserted Village.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXV.--TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.\n\nELLISLAND, _January_ 6_th_, 1789.\n\nMany happy returns of the season to you, my dear Sir! May you be\ncomparatively happy, up to your comparative worth among the sons of men;\nwhich wish would, I am sure, make you one of the most blessed of the\nhuman race.\n\nI do not know if passing a \"Writer to the Signet\" be a trial of\nscientific merit, or a mere business of friends and interest. However it\nbe, let me quote you my two favourite passages, which, though I have\nrepeated them ten thousand times, still they rouse my manhood and steel\nmy resolution like inspiration.\n\n On Reason build resolve.\n That column of true majesty in man.\n\n YOUNG.\n\n Hear, Alfred, hero of the slate,\n Thy genius heaven's high will declare;\n The triumph of the truly great,\n Is never, never to despair!\n Is never to despair!\n\n MASQUE OF ALFRED.\n\nI grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle for bread, business,\nnotice, and distinction, in common with hundreds. But who are they? Men\nlike yourself, and of that aggregate body your compeers, seven-tenths of\nthem come short of your advantages, natural and accidental; while two of\nthose that remain, either neglect their parts, as flowers blooming in a\ndesert, or misspend their strength like a bull goring a bramble bush.\n\nBut to change the theme: I am still catering for Johnson's publication;\nand among others, I have brushed up the following old favourite song a\nlittle, with a view to your worship. I have only altered a word here and\nthere; but if you like the humour of it, we shall think of a stanza or\ntwo to add to it. R. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXVI.--TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.\n\nELLISLAND, 20_th Jan_. 1789.\n\nSir,--The inclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh, a few days after I\nhad the happiness of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for the\nContinent. I have now added a few more of my productions, those for\nwhich I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece inscribed to R.\nG., Esq., is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Graham, of Fintry, accompanying\na request for his assistance in a matter to me of very great moment. To\nthat gentleman I am already doubly indebted; for deeds of kindness of\nserious import to my dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the\ndelicate feelings of sensibility. This poem is a species of composition\nnew to me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as\nyou will see by the \"Poet's Progress.\" These fragments, if my design\nsucceed, are but a small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall\nbe the work of my utmost exertions, ripened by years; of course I do not\nwish it much known. The fragment beginning \"A little upright, pert,\ntart,\" etc., I have not shown to man living, till I now send it you. It\nforms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which,\nif it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This\nparticular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at\nportrait-sketching; but, lest idle conjecture should pretend to point\nout the original, please to let it be for your single, sole inspection.\n\nNeed I make any apology for this trouble, to a gentleman who has treated\nme with such marked benevolence and peculiar kindness; who has entered\ninto my interests with so much zeal, and on whose critical decisions I\ncan so fully depend? A poet as I am by trade, these decisions are to me\nof the last consequence. My late transient acquaintance among some of\nthe mere rank and file of greatness, I resign with ease; but to the\ndistinguished champions of genius and learning, I shall be ever\nambitious of being known. The native genius and accurate discernment in\nMr. Stewart's critical strictures; the justness (iron justice, for he\nhas no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr. Gregory's\nremarks, and the delicacy of Professor Dalzel's taste, I shall\never revere.\n\nI shall be in Edinburgh some time next month.--I have the honour to be,\nSir, your highly obliged, and very humble servant, R. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXVII.--TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN, SAUGHTON MILLS.\n\nELLISLAND, 23_rd Jan_. 1789.\n\nI must take shame and confusion of face to myself, my dear friend and\nbrother Farmer, that I have not written you much sooner. The truth is I\nhave been so tossed about between Ayrshire and Nithsdale that, till now\nI have got my family here, I have had time to think of nothing except\nnow and then a stanza or so as I rode along. Were it not for our\ngracious monarch's cursed tax of postage I had sent you one or two\npieces of some length that I have lately done. I have no idea of the\n_Press_. I am more able to support myself and family, though in a\nhumble, yet an independent way; and I mean, just at my leisure, to pay\ncourt to the tuneful sisters in the hope that they may one day enable me\nto carry on a work of some importance. The following are a few verses\nwhich I wrote in a neighbouring gentleman's _hermitage_ to which he is\nso good as let me have a key.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXVIII.--To BISHOP GEDDES, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, _3rd Feb_. 1789.\n\nVENERABLE FATHER,--As I am conscious that wherever I am, you do me the\nhonour to interest yourself in my welfare, it gives me pleasure to\ninform you, that I am here at last, stationary in the serious business\nof life, and have now not only the retired leisure, but the hearty\ninclination, to attend to those great and important questions,--what I\nam? where I am? and for what I am destined.\n\nIn that first concern, the conduct of the man, there was ever but one\nside on which I was habitually blameable, and there I have secured\nmyself in the way pointed out by nature and nature's God. I was sensible\nthat, to so helpless a creature as a poor poet, a wife and family were\nincumbrances, which a species of prudence would bid him shun; but when\nthe alternative was, being at eternal warfare with myself, on account of\nhabitual follies, to give them no worse name, which no general example,\nno licentious wit, no sophistical infidelity, would, to me, ever\njustify, I must have been a fool to have hesitated, and a madman to have\nmade another choice. Besides, I had in \"my Jean\" a long and much-loved\nfellow-creature's happiness or misery among my hands, and who could\ntrifle with such a deposit?\n\nIn the affair of a livelihood, I think myself tolerably secure: I have\ngood hopes of my farm, but should they fail, I have an excise\ncommission, which, on my simple petition, will, at any time, procure me\nbread. There is a certain stigma affixed to the character of an excise\nofficer, but I do not pretend to borrow honour from my profession; and\nthough the salary be comparatively small, it is luxury to anything that\nthe first twenty-five years of my life taught me to expect.\n\nThus, with a rational aim and method in life, you may easily guess, my\nreverend and much-honoured friend, that my characteristical trade is not\nforgotten. I am, if possible, more than ever an enthusiast to the Muses.\nI am determined to study man and nature, and in that view incessantly;\nand to try if the ripening and corrections of years can enable me to\nproduce something worth preserving.\n\nYou will see in your book, which I beg your pardon for detaining so\nlong, that I have been tuning my lyre on the banks of Nith. Some large\npoetic plans that are floating in my imagination, or partly put in\nexecution, I shall impart to you when I have the pleasure of meeting\nwith you; which, if you are then in Edinburgh, I shall have about the\nbeginning of March.\n\nThat acquaintance, worthy Sir, with which you were pleased to honour me,\nyou must still allow me to challenge; for, with whatever unconcern I\ngive up my transient connection with the merely great, I cannot lose the\npatronising notice of the learned and good without the bitterest regret.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXIX.--TO MR. JAMES BURNESS.\n\nELLISLAND, _9th Feb_. 1789.\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--Why I did not write to you long ago is what, even on the\nrack, I could not answer. If you can in your mind form an idea of\nindolence, dissipation, hurry, cares, change of country, entering on\nuntried scenes of life, all combined, you will save me the trouble of a\nblushing apology. It could not be want of regard for a man for whom I\nhad a high esteem before I knew him--an esteem which has much increased\nsince I did know him; and this caveat entered, I shall plead guilty to\nany other indictment with which you shall please to charge me.\n\nAfter I parted from you, for many months my life was one continued scene\nof dissipation. Here at last I am become stationary, and have taken a\nfarm and--a wife.\n\nThe farm is beautifully situated on the Nith, a large river that runs by\nDumfries, and falls into the Solway frith. I have gotten a lease of my\nfarm as long as I please; but how it may turn out is just a guess, and\nit is yet to improve and inclose, etc.; however, I have good hopes of my\nbargain on the whole.\n\nMy wife is my Jean, with whose story you are partly acquainted. I found\nI had a much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery among my hands,\nand I durst not trifle with so sacred a deposit. Indeed, I have not any\nreason to repent the step I have taken, as I have attached myself to a\nvery good wife, and have shaken myself loose of every bad failing.\n\nI have found my book a very profitable business, and with the profits of\nit I have begun life pretty decently. Should fortune not favour me in\nfarming, as I have no great faith in her fickle ladyship, I have\nprovided myself in another resource, which, however some folks may\naffect to despise it, is still a comfortable shift in the day of\nmisfortune. In the hey-day of my fame, a gentleman, whose name at least\nI daresay you know, as his estate lies somewhere near Dundee, Mr.\nGraham, of Fintry, one of the commissioners of Excise, offered me the\ncommission of an excise officer. I thought it prudent to accept the\noffer; and, accordingly, I took my instructions, and have my commission\nby me. Whether I may ever do duty, or be a penny the better for it, is\nwhat I do not know; but I have the comfortable assurance that, come\nwhatever ill fate will, I can, on my simple petition to the Excise\nBoard, get into employ.\n\nWe have lost poor uncle Robert this winter. He has long been very weak,\nand with very little alteration on him; he expired 3rd January.\n\nHis son William has been with me this winter, and goes in May to be an\napprentice to a mason. His other son, the eldest, John, comes to me I\nexpect in summer. They are both remarkably stout young fellows, and\npromise to do well. His only daughter, Fanny, has been with me ever\nsince her father's death, and I purpose keeping her in my family till\nshe is woman grown, and fit for better service. She is one of the\ncleverest girls, and has one of the most amiable dispositions I have\never seen.\n\nAll friends in this country and Ayrshire are well. Remember me to all\nfriends in the north. My wife joins me in compliments to Mrs. B. and\nfamily.--I am ever, my dear cousin, yours sincerely,\n\nR. B.[95]\n\n [Footnote 95: \"Fanny Burns, the Poet's relation, merited all the\n commendations he has here bestowed. I remember her while she lived at\n Ellisland, and better still as the wife of Adam Armour, the brother\n of bonnie Jean.\"--CUNNINGHAM.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXX.-To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, 4_th March_ 1789.\n\nHere am I, my honoured friend, returned safe from the capital. To a man\nwho has a home, however humble or remote--if that home is like mine, the\nscene of domestic comfort--the bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a\nbusiness of sickening disgust.\n\n Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate you!\n\nWhen I must skulk into a corner, lest the rattling equipage of some\ngaping blockhead should mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to\nexclaim--\"What merits has he had, or what demerit have I had, in some\nstate of pre-existence, that he is ushered into this state of being with\nthe sceptre of rule, and the key of riches in his puny fist, and I am\nkicked into the world, the sport of folly, or the victim of pride?\" I\nhave read somewhere of a monarch (in Spain I think it was) who was so\nout of humour with the Ptolemean system of astronomy, that he said, had\nhe been of the Creator's council, he could have saved him a great deal\nof labour and absurdity. I will not defend this blasphemous speech; but\noften, as I have glided with humble stealth through the pomp of Princes\nStreet, it has suggested itself to me, as an improvement on the present\nhuman figure, that a man, in proportion to his own conceit of his\nconsequence in the world, could have pushed out the longitude of his\ncommon size, as a snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw out a\nperspective. This trifling alteration, not to mention the prodigious\nsaving it would be in the tear and wear of the neck and limb-sinews of\nmany of his majesty's liege-subjects, in the way of tossing the head and\ntip-toe strutting, would evidently turn out a vast advantage, in\nenabling us at once to adjust the ceremonials in making a bow, or making\nway to a great man, and that too within a second of the precise\nspherical angle of reverence, or an inch of the particular point of\nrespectful distance, which the important creature itself requires, as a\nmeasuring-glance at its towering altitude would determine the affair\nlike instinct.\n\nYou are right, Madam, in your idea of poor Mylne's poem, which he has\naddressed to me. The piece has a good deal of merit, but it has one\ngreat fault--it is, by far, too long. Besides, my success has encouraged\nsuch a shoal of ill-spawned monsters to crawl into public notice, under\nthe title of Scottish Poets, that the very term Scottish Poetry borders\non the burlesque. When I write to Mr. Carfrae, I shall advise him rather\nto try one of his deceased friend's English pieces. I am prodigiously\nhurried with my own matters, else I would have requested a perusal of\nall Mylne's poetic performances, and would have offered his friends my\nassistance in either selecting or correcting what would be proper for\nthe press. What it is that occupies me so much, and perhaps a little\noppresses my present spirits, shall fill up a paragraph in some future\nletter. In the meantime, allow me to close this epistle with a few lines\ndone by a friend of mine.... I give you them, that, as you have seen the\noriginal, you may guess whether one or two alterations I have ventured\nto make in them, be any real improvement.\n\n Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws,\n Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause,\n Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream,\n And all you are, my charming Rachel, seem.\n Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose,\n Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows,\n Fair as the fairest of each lovely kind,\n Your form shall be the image of your mind;\n Your manners shall so true your soul express,\n That all shall long to know the worth they guess;\n Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love,\n And even sick'ning envy must approve.[96]\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 96: These lines are Mrs. Dunlop's own, addressed to her\n daughter.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXI.--TO MRS. M'LEHOSE (FORMERLY CLARINDA).\n\nELLISLAND, _Mar. 9th_, 1789.\n\nMadam,--The letter you wrote me to Heron's carried its own answer. You\nforbade me to write you unless I was willing to plead guilty to a\ncertain indictment you were pleased to bring against me. As I am\nconvinced of my own innocence, and, though conscious of high imprudence\nand egregious folly, can lay my hand on my breast and attest the\nrectitude of my heart, you will pardon me, Madam, if I do not carry my\ncomplaisance so far as humbly to acquiesce in the name of \"Villain\"\nmerely out of compliment to your opinion, much as I esteem your judgment\nand warmly as I regard your worth.\n\nI have already told you, and I again aver it, that, at the time alluded\nto, I was not under the smallest moral tie to Mrs. Burns; nor did I, nor\ncould I, then know all the powerful circumstances that omnipotent\nnecessity was busy laying in wait for me. When you call over the scenes\nthat have passed between us, you will survey the conduct of an honest\nman struggling successfully with temptations the most powerful that ever\nbeset humanity, and preserving untainted honour in situations where the\nausterest virtue would have forgiven a fall; situations that, I will\ndare to say not a single individual of all his kind, even with half his\nsensibility and passion, could have encountered without ruin; and I\nleave you, Madam, to guess how such a man is likely to digest an\naccusation of \"perfidious treachery.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nWhen I shall have regained your good opinion, perhaps I may venture to\nsolicit your friendship; but, be that as it may, the first of her sex I\never knew shall always be the object of my warmest good wishes.\n\nROBT. BURNS.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXIL--TO DR. MOORE.\n\nELLISLAND, _23rd March_ 1789.\n\nSir,--The gentleman who will deliver you this is a Mr. Nielson, a worthy\nclergyman in my neighbourhood, and a very particular acquaintance of\nmine. As I have troubled him with this packet, I must turn him over to\nyour goodness, to recompense him for it in a way in which he much needs\nyour assistance, and where you can effectually serve him. Mr. Nielson is\non his way for France, to wait on his Grace of Queensberry, on some\nlittle business of a good deal of importance to him, and he wishes for\nyour instructions respecting the most eligible mode of travelling, etc.,\nfor him, when he has crossed the channel. I should not have dared to\ntake this liberty with you, but that I am told, by those who have the\nhonour of your personal acquaintance, that to be a poor honest Scotsman\nis a letter of recommendation to you, and that to have it in your power\nto serve such a character, gives you much pleasure.\n\nThe inclosed ode is a compliment to the memory of the late Mrs. Oswald\nof Auchencruive. You probably knew her personally, an honour of which I\ncannot boast; but I spent my early years in the neighbourhood, and among\nher servants and tenants. I know that she was detested with the most\nheartfelt cordiality. However, in the particular part of her conduct\nwhich roused my poetic wrath, she was much less blameable. In January\nlast, on my road to Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie Whigham's, in\nSanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and\nthe grim evening and howling wind were ushering in a night of snow and\ndrift. My horse and I were both much fatigued with the labours of the\nday, and just as my friend the Bailie and I were bidding defiance to the\nstorm, over a smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late\ngreat Mrs. Oswald, and poor I am forced to brave all the horrors of the\ntempestuous night, and jade my horse, my young favourite horse, whom I\nhad just christened Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, through the\nwildest moors and hills of Ayrshire, to New Cumnock, the next inn. The\npowers of poesy and prose sink under me, when I would describe what I\nfelt. Suffice it to say, that when a good fire at New Cumnock had so far\nrecovered my frozen sinews, I sat down and wrote the inclosed ode.\n\nI was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally with Mr. Creech; and I\nmust own, that at last, he has been amicable and fair with me.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXIII.--To HIS BROTHER, MR. WILLIAM BURNS.\n\nISLE, March 25th 1789.\n\nI have stolen from my corn-sowing this minute to write a line to\naccompany your shirt and hat, for I can no more. Your sister Nannie\narrived yesternight, and begs to be remembered to you. Write me every\nopportunity--never mind postage. My head, too, is as addle as an egg\nthis morning, with dining abroad yesterday. I received yours by the\nmason. Forgive me this foolish looking scrawl of an epistle.--I am ever,\nmy dear William, yours,\n\nR. B.\n\nP.S.--If you are not then gone from Longtown, I'll write you a long\nletter by this day se'ennight. If you should not succeed in your tramps,\ndon't be dejected, or take any rash step--return to us in that case, and\nwe will court Fortune's better humour. Remember this, I charge you.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXIV.--To MR. HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, _2nd April_ 1789.\n\nI will make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus (God forgive me for murdering\nlanguage!) that I have sat down to write you on this vile paper.\n\nIt is economy, Sir; it is that cardinal virtue, prudence; so I beg you\nwill sit down, and either compose or borrow a panegyric. If you are\ngoing to borrow, apply to[97] ... to compose, or rather to compound,\nsomething very clever on my remarkable frugality; that I write to one of\nmy most esteemed friends on this wretched paper, which was originally\nintended for the venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to take dirty\nnotes in a miserable vault of an ale-cellar.\n\nO Frugality! thou mother of ten thousand blessings--thou cook of fat\nbeef and dainty greens!--thou manufacturer of warm Shetland hose, and\ncomfortable surtouts!--thou old housewife, darning thy decayed\nstockings with thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose!--lead me, hand\nme in thy clutching palsied fist, up those heights, and through those\nthickets, hitherto inaccessible, and impervious to my anxious, weary\nfeet:--not those Parnassian crags, bleak and barren, where the hungry\nworshippers of fame are, breathless, clambering, hanging between heaven\nand hell; but those glittering cliffs of Potosi, where the\nall-sufficient, all-powerful deity, wealth, holds his immediate court of\njoy and pleasures; where the sunny exposure of plenty, and the hot walls\nof profusion, produce those blissful fruits of luxury, exotics in this\nworld, and natives of paradise!--Thou withered sibyl, my sage\nconductress, usher me into thy refulgent, adored presence!--The power,\nsplendid and potent as he now is, was once the puling nursling of thy\nfaithful care and tender arms! Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman,\nor favourite, and adjure the god by the scenes of his infant years, no\nlonger to repulse me as a stranger, or an alien, but to favour me with\nhis peculiar countenance and protection! He daily bestows his great\nkindness on the undeserving and the worthless--assure him that I bring\nample documents of meritorious demerits! Pledge yourself for me, that,\nfor the glorious cause of lucre, I will do anything, be anything; but\nthe horse-leech of private oppression, or the vulture of public robbery!\n\nBut to descend from heroics.\n\nI want a Shakespeare; I want likewise an English dictionary,--Johnson's,\nI suppose, is best. In these and all my prose commissions, the cheapest\nis always the best for me. There is a small debt of honour that I owe\nMr. Robert Cleghorn, in Saughton Mills, my worthy friend, and your\nwell-wisher. Please give him, and urge him to take it, the first time\nyou see him, ten shillings worth of anything you have to sell, and place\nit to my account.\n\nThe library scheme that I mentioned to you is already begun under the\ndirection of Captain Riddel. There is another in emulation of it going\non at Closeburn, under the auspices of Mr. Monteith of Closeburn, which\nwill be on a greater scale than ours. Captain Riddel gave his infant\nsociety a great many of his old books, else I had written you on that\nsubject; but, one of these days, I shall trouble you with a commission\nfor \"The Monkland Friendly Society,\" a copy of _The Spectator_,\n_Mirror_, and _Lounger_, _Man of Feeling_, _Man of the World_,\n_Guthrie's Geographical Grammar_, with some religious pieces, will\nlikely be our first order.\n\nWhen I grow richer, I will write to you on gilt-post, to make amends for\nthis sheet. At present every guinea has a five guinea errand with, my\ndear Sir, your faithful, poor, but honest friend,\n\nR. B.\n\n[Footnote 97: Creech? or Ramsay of _The Courant?_]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXV.--TO MRS. M'MURDO, DRUMLANRIG.\n\nELLISLAND, _2nd May_ 1789.\n\nMadam,--I have finished the piece which had the happy fortune to be\nhonoured with your approbation; and never did little Miss, with more\nsparkling pleasure, show her applauded sampler to partial Mamma, than I\nnow send my poem to you and Mr. M'Murdo,[98] if he is returned to\nDrumlanrig. You cannot easily imagine what thin-skinned animals--what\nsensitive plants poor poets are. How do we shrink into the imbittered\ncorner of self-abasement, when neglected or condemned by those to whom\nwe look up! and how do we, in erect importance, add another cubit to our\nstature on being noticed and applauded by those whom we honour and\nrespect! My late visit to Drumlanrig has, I can tell you, Madam, given\nme a balloon waft up Parnassus, where, on my fancied elevation, I regard\nmy poetic self with no small degree of complacency. Surely with all\ntheir sins, the rhyming tribe are not ungrateful creatures--I recollect\nyour goodness to your humble guest--I see Mr. M'Murdo adding to the\npoliteness of the gentleman, the kindness of a friend, and my heart\nswells as it would burst, with warm emotions and ardent wishes! It may\nbe it is not gratitude--it may be a mixed sensation. That strange,\nshifting, doubling animal, MAN, is so generally, at best, but a\nnegative, often a worthless creature, that we cannot see real goodness\nand native worth, without feeling the bosom glow with sympathetic\napprobation. With every sentiment of grateful respect, I have the honour\nto be, Madam, your obliged and grateful humble servant,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 98: The piece beginning--There was a lass and she was\n fair.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXVI.--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\nELL ISLAND, 4_th May_ 1789.\n\nMy dear Sir,--Your _duty-free_ favour of the 25th April I received two\ndays ago; I will not say I perused it with pleasure; that is the cold\ncompliment of ceremony; I perused it, Sir, with delicious\nsatisfaction;--in short, it is such a letter, that not you, nor your\nfriend, but the legislature, by express proviso in their postage laws,\nshould frank. A letter informed with the soul of friendship is such an\nhonour to human nature, that they should order it free ingress and\negress to and from their bags and mails, as an encouragement and mark of\ndistinction to supereminent virtue.\n\nI have just put the last hand to a little poem, which I think will be\nsomething to your taste.[99] One morning lately, as I was out pretty\nearly in the fields, sowing some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a\nshot from a neighbouring plantation, and presently a poor little wounded\nhare came crippling by me. You will guess my indignation at the inhuman\nfellow who could shoot a hare at this season, when all of them have\nyoung ones. Indeed there is something in that business of destroying,\nfor our sport, individuals in the animal creation that do not injure us\nmaterially, which I could never reconcile to my ideas of virtue.\n\nLet me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful whether it would not be\nan improvement to keep out the last stanza but one altogether.\n\nCruikshank is a glorious production of the author of man. You, he, and\nthe noble Colonel[100] of the Crochallan Fencibles are to me\n\n Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart.\n\nI have got a good mind to make verses on you all, to the tune of \"_Three\nguid fellows ayont the glen_\"\n\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 99: See the poem on the \"Wounded Hare.\"]\n\n [Footnote 100: That is, William Dunbar, W.S.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXVIL--TO MR. RICHARD BROWN.\n\nMAUCHLINE, _21st May_ 1789.\n\nMy Dear Friend,--I was in the country by accident, and hearing of your\nsafe arrival, I could not resist the temptation of wishing you joy on\nyour return--wishing you would write to me before you sail\nagain--wishing that you would always set me down as your bosom\nfriend--wishing you long life and prosperity, and that every good thing\nmay attend you--wishing Mrs. Brown and your little ones as free of the\nevils of this world as is consistent with humanity--wishing you and she\nwere to make two at the ensuing lying-in, with which Mrs. B. threatens\nvery soon to favour me--wishing I had longer time to write to you at\npresent; and, finally, wishing that if there is to be another state of\nexistence, Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Burns, our little ones of both families, and\nyou and I, in some snug retreat, may make a jovial party to\nall eternity!\n\nMy direction is at Ellisland, near Dumfries.--Yours,\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXVIIL--To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.\n\nELLISLAND, _8th June_ 1789.\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND,--I am perfectly ashamed of myself when I look at the\ndate of your last. It is not that I forget the friend of my heart and\nthe companion of my peregrinations; but I have been condemned to\ndrudgery beyond sufferance, though not, thank God, beyond redemption. I\nhave had a collection of poems by a lady put into my hands to prepare\nthem for the press; which horrid task, with sowing corn with my own\nhand, a parcel of masons, wrights, plasterers, etc., to attend to,\nroaming on business through Ayrshire--all this was against me, and the\nvery first dreadful article was of itself too much for me.\n\n13th. I have not had a moment to spare from incessant toil since the\n8th. Life, my dear Sir, is a serious matter. You know by experience that\na man's individual self is a good deal, but believe me, a wife and\nfamily of children, whenever you have the honour to be a husband and a\nfather, will show you that your present and most anxious hours of\nsolitude are spent on trifles. The welfare of those who are very dear to\nus, whose only support, hope, and stay we are--this, to a generous mind,\nis another sort of more important object of care than any concerns\nwhatever which centre merely in the individual. On the other hand, let\nno young, rakehelly dog among you, make a song of his pretended liberty\nand freedom from care. If the relations we stand in to king, country,\nkindred, and friends, be anything but the visionary fancies of dreaming\nmetaphysicians; if religion, virtue, magnanimity, generosity, humanity\nand justice, be ought but empty sounds; then the man who may be said to\nlive only for others, for the beloved, honourable female, whose tender\nfaithful embrace endears life, and for the helpless little innocents who\nare to be the men and women, the worshippers of his God, the subjects of\nhis king, and the support, nay the very vital existence of his COUNTRY,\nin the ensuing age;--compare such a man with any fellow whatever, who,\nwhether he bustle and push in business among labourers, clerks,\nstatesmen; or whether he roar and rant, and drink and sing in taverns--a\nfellow over whose grave no one will breathe a single heigh-ho, except\nfrom the cobweb-tie of what is called good fellowship--who has no view\nnor aim but what terminates in himself--if there be any grovelling\nearth-born wretch of our species, a renegade to common sense, who would\nfain believe that the noble creature, man, is no better than a sort of\nfungus, generated out of nothing, nobody knows how, and soon dissipating\nin nothing, nobody knows where; such a stupid beast, such a crawling\nreptile, might balance the foregoing unexaggerated comparison, but no\none else would have the patience.\n\nForgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence. _To make you amends_, I\nshall send you soon, and more encouraging still, without any postage,\none or two rhymes of my later manufacture.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXIX.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, 21_st June_ 1789.\n\nDear Madam,--Will you take the effusions, the miserable effusions of low\nspirits, just as they flow from their bitter spring? I know not of any\nparticular cause for this worst of all my foes besetting me; but for\nsome time my soul has been beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of\nevil imaginations and gloomy presages.\n\n_Monday Evening._\n\nI have just heard Mr. Kilpatrick preach a sermon. He is a man famous for\nhis benevolence, and I revere him; but from such ideas of my Creator,\ngood Lord, deliver me! Religion, my honoured friend, is surely a simple\nbusiness, as it equally concerns the ignorant and the learned, the poor\nand the rich. That there is an incomprehensible Great Being, to whom I\nowe my existence, and that He must be intimately acquainted with the\noperations and progress of the internal machinery, and consequent\noutward deportment of this creature which He has made; these are, I\nthink, self-evident propositions. That there is a real and eternal\ndistinction between virtue and vice, and consequently, that I am an\naccountable creature; that from the seeming nature of the human mind, as\nwell as from the evident imperfection, nay, positive injustice, in the\nadministration of affairs, both in the natural and moral worlds, there\nmust be a retributive scene of existence beyond the grave; must, I\nthink, be allowed by every one who will give himself a moment's\nreflection. I will go farther, and affirm, that from the sublimity,\nexcellence, and purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all\nthe aggregated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages, though, to\n_appearance_ he, himself, was the obscurest and most illiterate of our\nspecies; therefore Jesus Christ was from God.\n\nWhatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, this\nis my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at large, or\nany individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity.\n\nWhat think you, Madam, of my creed? I trust that I have said nothing\nthat will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value almost\nnext to the approbation of my own mind.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXX.--TO MISS HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.\n\nELLISLAND, 1789.\n\nMadam,--Of the many problems in the nature of that wonderful creature,\nman, this is one of the most extraordinary--that he shall go on from day\nto day, from week to week, from month to month, or perhaps from year to\nyear, suffering a hundred times more in an hour from the impotent\nconsciousness of neglecting what he ought to do, than the very doing of\nit would cost him. I am deeply indebted to you, first, for a most\nelegant poetic compliment; then for a polite, obliging letter; and,\nlastly, for your excellent poem on the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch that\nI am! though the debts were debts of honour, and the creditor a lady, I\nhave put off and put off even the very acknowledgment of the obligation,\nuntil you must indeed be the very angel I take you for, if you can\nforgive me.\n\nYour poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I have a way whenever I\nread a book--I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a poetic one, and\nwhen it is my own property--that I take a pencil and mark at the ends of\nverses, or note on margins and odd paper, little criticisms of\napprobation or disapprobation as I peruse along. I will make no apology\nfor presenting you with a few unconnected thoughts that occurred to me\nin my repeated perusals of your poem. I want to show you that I have\nhonesty enough to tell you what I take to be truths, even when they are\nnot quite on the side of approbation; and I do it in the firm faith that\nyou have equal greatness of mind to hear them with pleasure. [Here\nfollows a list of strictures.]\n\nI had lately the honour of a letter from Dr. Moore, where he tells me\nthat he has sent me some books; they are not yet come to hand, but I\nhear they are on the way.\n\nWishing you all success in your progress in the path of fame, and that\nyou may equally escape the danger of stumbling through incautious speed,\nor losing ground through loitering neglect, I am, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXI.--To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.\n\nELLISLAND, 31st _july_ 1789.\n\nSir,--The language of gratitude has been so prostituted by servile\nadulation and designing flattery that I know not how to express myself\nwhen I would acknowledge receipt of your last letter. I beg and hope,\never-honoured \"Friend of my life and patron of my rhymes,\" that you will\nalways give me credit for the sincerest, chastest gratitude. I dare call\nthe Searcher of hearts and Author of all Goodness to witness how truly\ngrateful I am.\n\nMr. Mitchell[101] did not wait my calling on him, but sent me a kind\nletter, giving me a hint of the business; and yesterday he entered with\nthe most friendly ardour into my views and interests. He seems to think,\nand from my private knowledge I am certain he is right, that removing\nthe officer who now does, and for these many years has done, duty in the\nDivision in the middle of which I live, will be productive of at least\nno disadvantage to the revenue, and may likewise be done without any\ndetriment to him. Should the Honourable Board [of Excise] think so, and\nshould they deem it eligible to appoint me to officiate in his present\nplace, I am then at the top of my wishes. The emoluments in my office\nwill enable me to carry on, and enjoy those improvements on my farm,\nwhich but for this additional assistance, I might in a year or two have\nabandoned. Should it be judged improper to place me in this Division, I\nam deliberating whether I had not better give up my farming altogether,\nand go into the Excise whenever I can find employment. Now that the\nsalary is £50 per annum, the Excise is surely a much superior object to\na farm, which, without some foreign assistance, must for half a lease be\na losing bargain. The worst of it is--I know there are some respectable\ncharacters who do me the honour to interest themselves in my welfare and\nbehaviour, and, as leaving the farm so soon may have an unsteady,\ngiddy-headed appearance, I had better perhaps lose a little money than\nhazard their esteem.\n\nYou see, Sir, with what freedom I lay before you all my little\nmatters--little indeed to the world, but of the most important magnitude\nto me.... Were it not for a very few of our kind, the very existence of\nmagnanimity, generosity, and all their kindred virtues, would be as much\na question with metaphysicians as the existence of witchcraft. Perhaps\nthe nature of man is not so much to blame for this, as the situation in\nwhich by some miscarriage or other he is placed in this world. The poor,\nnaked, helpless wretch, with such voracious appetites and such a famine\nof provision for them, is under a cursed necessity of turning selfish in\nhis own defence. Except a few instances of original scoundrelism,\nthorough-paced selfishness is always the work of time. Indeed, in a\nlittle time, we generally grow so attentive to ourselves and so\nregardless of others that I have often in poetic frenzy looked on this\nworld as one vast ocean, occupied and commoved by innumerable vortices,\neach whirling round its centre. These vortices are the children of men.\nThe great design and, if I may say so, merit of each particular vortex\nconsists in how widely it can extend the influence of its circle, and\nhow much floating trash it can suck in and absorb.\n\nI know not why I have got into this preaching vein, except it be to show\nyou that it is not my ignorance but my knowledge of mankind which makes\nme so much admire your goodness to me.\n\nI shall return your books very soon. I only wish to give Dr. Adam Smith\none other perusal, which I will do in one or two days.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 101: A collector in the Excise.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXIL--TO DAVID SILLAR, MERCHANT, IRVINE.[102]\n\nELLISLAND, 5 _Aug_. 1789.\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I was half in thoughts not to have written to you at all,\nby way of revenge for the two damn'd business letters you sent me. I\nwanted to know all about your publications--your news, your hopes,\nfears, etc., in commencing poet in print. In short, I wanted you to\nwrite to Robin like his old acquaintance Davie, and not in the style of\nMr. Tare to Mr. Tret, as thus:--\n\n\"Mr. Tret.--Sir,--This comes to advise you that fifteen barrels of\nherrings were, by the blessing of God, shipped safe on board the _Lovely\nJanet_, Q.D.C., Duncan Mac-Leerie, master, etc.\"\n\nI hear you have commenced married man--so much the better. I know not\nwhether the nine gipsies are jealous of my lucky, but they are a good\ndeal shyer since I could boast the important relation of husband.\n\nI have got about eleven subscribers for your book.... My best\ncompliments to Mrs. Sillar, and believe me to be, dear Davie,\never yours,\n\nROBT. BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 102: This letter was first published in 1879. The original\n is probably lost, but a copy is to be found in the minute-book of the\n Irvine Burns Club. Sillar was \"Davie, a brother poet.\"]\n\n * * * *\n\nCXXXIII.--TO MR. JOHN LOGAN, OF KNOCK SHINNOCK.\n\nELLISLAND, NEAR DUMFRIES, 7_th Aug_. 1789.\n\nDear Sir,--I intended to have written you long ere now, and, as I told\nyou, I had gotten three stanzas on my way in a poetic epistle to you;\nbut that old enemy of all _good works_, the Devil, threw me into a\nprosaic mire, and for the soul of me I cannot get out of it. I dare not\nwrite you a long letter, as I am going to intrude on your time with a\nlong ballad. I have, as you will shortly see, finished \"The Kirk's\nAlarm;\" but now that it is done, and that I have laughed once or twice\nat the conceits in some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let it\nget into the public; so I send you this copy, the first that I have sent\nto Ayrshire, except some few of the stanzas, which I wrote off in embryo\nfor Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision and request that you\nwill only read it to a few of us, and do not on any account give, or\npermit to be taken, any copy of the ballad. If I could be of any service\nto Dr. M'Gill, I would do it, though it should be at a much greater\nexpense than irritating a few bigoted priests, but I am afraid serving\nhim in his present _embarras_ is a task too hard for me. I have enemies\nenow, God knows, though I do not wantonly add to the number. Still, as I\nthink there is some merit in two or three of the thoughts, I send it to\nyou as a small, but sincere testimony how much, and with what respectful\nesteem, I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble servant\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXIV.--TO MR. PETER STUART, EDITOR, LONDON.\n\n_End of Aug_. 1789.\n\nMy dear Sir,--The hurry of a farmer in this particular season, and the\nindolence of a poet at all seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for\nneglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th August.\n\n... When I received your letter I was transcribing for _The Star_ my\nletter to the magistrates of the Canongate of Edinburgh, begging their\npermission to place a tombstone over poor Fergusson. [102a] Poor\nFergusson! if there be a life beyond the grave, which I trust there is;\nand if there be a good God presiding over all nature, which I am sure\nthere is, thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world where\nworth of heart alone is distinction in the man; where riches, deprived\nof their pleasure-purchasing powers, return to their native sordid\nmatter; where titles and honours are the disregarded reveries of an idle\ndream; and where that heavy virtue, which is the negative consequence of\nsteady dulness, and those thoughtless though often destructive follies,\nwhich are the unavoidable aberrations of frail human nature, will be\nthrown into equal oblivion as if they had never been!\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 102a: A young Scottish poet of undoubted ability who\n perished miserably in Edinburgh at the age of twenty-four. He was the\n senior of Burns, who greatly admired and mourned him, by about\n eight years.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXV.--To HIS BROTHER, WILLIAM BURNS, SADDLER, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.\n\nELLISLAND, 14_th Aug_. 1789.\n\nMy Dear William,--I received your letter, and am very happy to hear that\nyou have got settled for the winter. I enclose you the two guinea-notes\nof the Bank of Scotland, which I hope will serve your need. It is,\nindeed, not quite so convenient for me to spare money as it once was,\nbut I know your situation, and, I will say it, in some respects your\nworth. I have no time to write at present, but I beg you will endeavour\nto pluck up a _little_ more of the Man than you used to have. Remember\nmy favourite quotations:\n\n On reason build resolve,\n That pillar of true majesty in man.[103]\n\nand\n\n What proves the hero truly great,\n Is never, never to despair![103a]\n\nYour mother and sisters desire their compliments. A Dieu je vous\ncommende,\n\nROBT. BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 103: From Young.]\n\n [Footnote 103a: From Thomson.]\n\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXVL--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _6th Sept_. 1789.\n\nDear Madam,--I have mentioned, in my last, my appointment to the Excise,\nand the birth of little Frank; who, by the bye, I trust will be no\ndiscredit to the honourable name of Wallace, as he has a fine manly\ncountenance, and a figure that might do credit to a liltle fellow two\nmonths older; and likewise an excellent good temper, though when he\npleases he has a pipe, only not quite so loud as the horn that his\nimmortal namesake blew as a signal to take out the pin of\nStirling bridge.\n\nI had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, and part prosaic, from your\npoetess Miss. J. Little,[104] a very ingenious, but modest composition.\nI should have written her as she requested, but for the hurry of this\nnew business. I have heard of her and her compositions in this country;\nand I am happy to add, always to the honour of her character. The fact\nis, I knew not well how to write to her: I should sit down to a sheet of\npaper that I knew not how to stain. I am no dab at fine-drawn\nletter-writing; and, except when prompted by friendship or gratitude,\nor, which happens extremely rarely, inspired by the Muse (I know not her\nname) that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when\nnecessitated to write, as I would sit down to beat hemp.\n\nSome parts of your letter of the 2oth August struck me with the most\nmelancholy concern for the state of your mind at present.\n\nWould I could write you a letter of comfort, I would sit down to it with\nas much pleasure as I would to write an epic poem of my own composition\nthat should equal the _Iliad!_ Religion, my dear friend, is the true\ncomfort. A strong persuasion in a future state of existence; a\nproposition so obviously probable, that, setting revelation aside, every\nnation and people, so far as investigation has reached, for at least\nnear four thousand years, have, in some mode or other, firmly believed\nit. In vain would we reason and pretend to doubt. I have myself done so\nto a very daring pitch; but, when I reflected that I was opposing the\nmost ardent wishes and the most darling hopes of good men, and flying in\nthe face of all human belief, in all ages, I was shocked at my\nown conduct.\n\nI know not whether I have ever sent you the following lines; or if you\nhave ever seen them; but it is one of my favourite quotations, which I\nkeep constantly by me in my progress through life, in the language of\nthe book of Job,\n\n Against the day of battle and of war--\n\nspoken of religion:\n\n 'Tis _this_, my friend, that streaks our morning bright,\n 'Tis _this_ that gilds the horror of our night,\n When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few;\n When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;\n Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,\n Disarms affliction, or repels his dart;\n Within the breast bids purest raptures rise,\n Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.\n\nI have been busy with _Zeluco_. The Doctor is so obliging as to request\nmy opinion of it; and I have been revolving in my mind some kind of\ncriticisms on novel-writing, but it is a depth beyond my research. I\nshall, however, digest my thoughts on the subject as well as I can.\n_Zeluco_ is a most sterling performance.\n\nFarewell! _A Dieu, le bon Dieu, je vous commende!_\n\n [Footnote 104: A maid servant at Loudon house.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXVIL--To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, FRIARS CARSE.\n\nELLISLAND, _16th October_ 1789.\n\nSir,--Big with the idea of this important day at Friars Carse, I have\nwatched the elements and skies, in the full persuasion that they would\nannounce it to the astonished world by some phenomena of terrific\nportent. Yesternight until a very late hour, did I wait with anxious\nhorror for the appearance of some comet firing half the sky, or aerial\narmies of sanguinary Scandinavians, darting athwart the startled\nheavens, rapid as the ragged lightning, and horrid as those convulsions\nof nature that bury nations.\n\nThe elements, however, seem to take the matter very quietly; they did\nnot even usher in this morning with triple suns and a shower of blood,\nsymbolical of the three potent heroes[105] and the mighty claret-shed of\nthe day. For me--as Thomson in his Winter says of the storm--I shall\n\"hear astonished, and astonished sing\"\n\n The WHISTLE and the man I sing,\n The man that won the whistle, etc.\n\nTo leave the heights of Parnassus and come to the humble vale of prose.\nI have some misgivings that I take too much upon me, when I request you\nto get your guest, Sir Robert Lawrie, to frank the two inclosed covers\nfor me, the one of them to Sir William Cunningham, of Robertland, Bart.,\nat Kilmarnock,--the other, to Mr. Allan Masterton, Writing-Master,\nEdinburgh. The first has a kindred claim on Sir Robert, as being a\nbrother Baronet, and likewise a keen Foxite; the other is one of the\nworthiest men in the world, and a man of real genius; so, allow me to\nsay, he has a fraternal claim on you. I want them franked for to-morrow,\nas I cannot get them to the post to-night. I shall send a servant again\nfor them in the evening. Wishing that your head may be crowned with\nlaurels to-night, and free from aches to-morrow, I have the honour to\nbe, Sir, your deeply indebted humble Servant,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 105: Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwellton, the holder of the\n Whistle, Alexander Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and Captain Riddel.\n _See_ the Poem. Burns was apparently absent.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXVIII--To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE, W.S.\n\nELLISLAND, 1_st Nov_. 1789.\n\nMy Dear Friend,--I had written you ere now, could I have guessed where\nto find you, for I am sure you have more good sense than to waste the\nprecious days of vacation time in the dirt of business and Edinburgh.\nWherever you are, God bless you, and lead you not into temptation, but\ndeliver you from evil!\n\nI do not know if I have informed you that I am now appointed to an\nExcise division, in the middle of which my house and farm lie. In this I\nwas extremely lucky. Without ever having been an expectant, as they call\ntheir journeymen excisemen, I was directly planted down to all intents\nand purposes an officer of Excise; there to flourish and bring forth\nfruits--worthy of repentance.\n\nYou need not doubt that I find several very unpleasant and disagreeable\ncircumstances in my business; but I am tired with and disgusted at the\nlanguage of complaint against the evils of life. Human existence in the\nmost favourable situations does not abound with pleasures, and has its\ninconveniences and ills: capricious foolish man mistakes these\ninconveniences and ills as if they were the peculiar property of his\nparticular situation; and hence that eternal fickleness, that love of\nchange, which has ruined, and daily does ruin many a fine fellow, as\nwell as many a blockhead, and is almost, without exception, a constant\nsource of disappointment and misery.\n\nI long to hear from you how you go on-not so much in business as in\nlife. Are you pretty well satisfied with your own exertions, and\ntolerably at ease in your internal reflections? 'Tis much to be a great\ncharacter as a lawyer, but beyond comparison more to be a great\ncharacter as a man. That you may be both the one and the other is the\nearnest wish, and that you _will_ be both is the firm persuasion of, my\ndear Sir, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXXXIX.--To MR. RICHARD BROWN, PORT-GLASGOW.\n\nELLISLAND, _4th November_ 1789.\n\nI have been so hurried, my ever dear friend, that though I got both your\nletters, I have not been able to command an hour to answer them as I\nwished; and even now, you are to look on this as merely confessing debt,\nand craving days. Few things could have given me so much pleasure as the\nnews that you were once more safe and sound on terra firma, and happy in\nthat place where happiness is alone to be found, in the fireside circle.\nMay the benevolent Director of all things peculiarly bless you in all\nthose endearing connections consequent on the tender and venerable names\nof husband and father! I have indeed been extremely lucky in getting an\nadditional income of £50 a-year, while, at the same time, the\nappointment will not cost me above £10 or £12 per annum of expenses more\nthan I must have inevitably incurred. The worst circumstance is, that\nthe Excise division which I have got is so extensive, no less than ten\nparishes to ride over; and it abounds besides with so much business,\nthat I can scarcely steal a spare moment. However, labour endears rest,\nand both together are absolutely necessary for the proper enjoyment of\nhuman existence. I cannot meet you anywhere.\n\nNo less than an order from the Board of Excise, at Edinburgh, is\nnecessary before I can have so much time as to meet you in Ayrshire. But\ndo you come, and see me. We must have a social day, and perhaps lengthen\nit out with half the night, before you go again to sea. You are the\nearliest friend I now have on earth, my brothers excepted; and is not\nthat an endearing circumstance? When you and I first met, we were at the\ngreen period of human life. The twig would easily take a bent, but would\nas easily return to its former state. You and I not only took a mutual\nbent, but, by the melancholy, though strong influence of being both of\nthe family of the unfortunate, we were entwined with one another in our\ngrowth towards advanced age; and blasted be the sacrilegious hand that\nshall attempt to undo the union! You and I must have one bumper to my\nfavourite toast, \"May the companions of our youth be the friends of our\nold age!\" Come and see me one year; I shall see you at Port-Glasgow the\nnext, and if we can contrive to have a gossiping between our two\nbed-fellows, it will be so much additional pleasure. Mrs. Burns joins me\nin kind compliments to you and Mrs. Brown. Adieu!--I am ever, my dear\nSir, yours,\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXL.--To MR. R. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.\n\n_9th December_ 1789.\n\nSir,--I have a good while had a wish to trouble you with a letter, and\nhad certainly done it long ere now, but for a humiliating something that\nthrows cold water on the resolution, as if one should say, \"You have\nfound Mr. Graham a very powerful and kind friend indeed, and that\ninterest he is so kindly taking in your concerns, you ought by\neverything in your power to keep alive and cherish.\" Now, though since\nGod has thought proper to make one powerful and another helpless, the\nconnection of obliger and obliged is all fair; and though my being under\nyour patronage is to me highly honourable, yet, Sir, allow me to flatter\nmyself that,--as a poet and an honest man you first interested yourself\nin my welfare, and principally as such still, you permit me to\napproach you.\n\nI have found the Excise business go on a great deal smoother with me\nthan I expected; owing a good deal to the generous friendship of Mr.\nMitchell, my collector, and the kind assistance of Mr. Findlater, my\nsupervisor. I dare to be honest, and I fear no labour. Nor do I find my\nhurried life greatly inimical to my correspondence with the Muses. Their\nvisits to me, indeed, and I believe to most of their acquaintance, like\nthe visits of good angels, are short and far between; but I meet them\nnow and then as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to\ndo on the banks of Ayr. I take the liberty to inclose you a few\nbagatelles, all of them the productions of my leisure thoughts in my\nexcise rides.\n\nIf you know or have ever seen Captain Grose, the antiquarian, you will\nenter into any humour that is in the verses on him. Perhaps you have\nseen them before, as I sent them to a London newspaper. Though, I dare\nsay, you have none of the solemn-league-and-covenant fire, which shone\nso conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I\nthink you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr,\nand his heretical book. God help him, poor man! Though he is one of the\nworthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the whole priesthood of the\nKirk of Scotland, in every sense of that ambiguous term, yet the poor\nDoctor and his numerous family are in imminent danger of being thrown\nout to the mercy of the winter-winds. The inclosed ballad on that\nbusiness is, I confess, too local, but I laughed myself at some conceits\nin it, though I am convinced in my conscience that there are a good many\nheavy stanzas in it too.[106]\n\nThe election ballad,[107] as you will see, alludes to the present\ncanvass in our string of boroughs. I do not believe there will be such a\nhard run match in the whole general election.\n\nI am too little a man to have any political attachments; I am deeply\nindebted to, and have the warmest veneration for, individuals of both\nparties; but a man[108] who has it in his power to be the father of a\ncountry, and who is only known to that country by the mischiefs he does\nin it, is a character that one cannot speak of with patience.\n\nSir J. J. does \"what man can do,\" but yet I doubt his fate.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 106: The Kirk's Alarm.]\n\n [Footnote 107: _The Five Carlines._]\n\n [Footnote 108: Duke of Queensbury.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLL--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _13th December_ 1789.\n\nMany thanks, dear Madam, for your sheetful of rhymes. Though at present\nI am below the veriest prose, yet from you everything pleases. I am\ngroaning under the miseries of a diseased nervous system; a system, the\nstate of which is most conducive to our happiness--or the most\nproductive of our misery. For now near three weeks I have been so ill\nwith a nervous headache, that I have been obliged for a time to give up\nmy excise-books, being scare able to lift my head, much less to ride\nonce a week over ten muir parishes. What is man? To-day, in the\nluxuriance of health, exulting in the enjoyment of existence; in a few\ndays, perhaps in a few hours, loaded with conscious painful being,\ncounting the tardy pace of the lingering moments by the repercussions of\nanguish, and refusing or denied a comforter. Day follows night, and\nnight comes after day, only to curse him with life which gives him no\npleasure; and yet the awful, dark termination of that life, is something\nat which he recoils.\n\n Tell us, ye dead; will none of you in pity\n Disclose the secret\n _What'tis you are, and we must shortly be?_\n 'Tis no matter:\n A little time will make us learn'd as you are.\n\nCan it be possible, that when I resign this frail, feverish being, I\nshall still find myself in conscious existence? When the last gasp of\nagony has announced that I am no more to those that knew me, and the few\nwho loved me; when the cold, stiffened, unconscious, ghastly corse is\nresigned into the earth, to be the prey of unsightly reptiles, and to\nbecome in time a trodden clod, shall I be yet warm in life, seeing and\nseen, enjoying and enjoyed? Ye venerable sages, and holy flamens, is\nthere probability in your conjectures, truth in your stories, of another\nworld beyond death; or are they all alike, baseless visions, and\nfabricated fables? If there is another life, it must be only for the\njust, the benevolent, the amiable, and the humane; what a flattering\nidea, then, is a world to come! Would to God I as firmly believed it, as\nI ardently wish it! There I should meet an aged parent, now at rest from\nthe many buffetings of an evil world, against which he so long and so\nbravely struggled. There should I meet the friend, the disinterested\nfriend of my early life; the man who rejoiced to see me, because he\nloved me and could serve me. Muir, thy weaknesses were the aberrations\nof human nature, but thy heart glowed with everything generous, manly,\nand noble; and if ever emanation from the All-good Being animated a\nhuman form, it was thine! There should I, with speechless agony of\nrapture, again recognise my lost, my ever dear Mary! whose bosom was\nfraught with truth, honour, constancy, and love.\n\n My Mary, dear departed shade!\n Where is thy place of heavenly rest?\n Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?\n Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?\n\nJesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters! I trust thou art no\nimpostor, and that thy revelation of blissful scenes of existence beyond\ndeath and the grave, is not one of the many impositions which time after\ntime have been palmed on credulous mankind. I trust that in thee \"shall\nall the families of the earth be blessed,\" by being yet connected\ntogether in a better world, where every tie that bound heart to heart,\nin this state of existence, shall be, far beyond our present\nconceptions, more endearing.\n\nI am a good deal inclined to think with those who maintain, that what\nare called nervous affections are in fact diseases of the mind. I cannot\nreason, I cannot think; and but to you I would not venture to write\nanything above an order to a cobbler. You have felt too much of the ills\nof life not to sympathise with a diseased wretch, who has impaired more\nthan half of any faculties he possessed. Your goodness will excuse this\ndistracted scrawl, which the writer dare scarcely read, and which he\nwould throw into the fire, were he able to write anything better, or\nindeed anything at all.\n\nRumour told me something of a son of yours, who was returned from the\nEast or West Indies. If you have gotten news from James or Anthony, it\nwas cruel in you not to let me know; as I promise you, on the sincerity\nof a man, who is weary of one world, and anxious about another, that\nscarce anything could give me so much pleasure as to hear of any good\nthing befalling my honoured friend.\n\nIf you have a minute's leisure, take up your pen in pity to LE PAUVRE\nMISERABLE.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLII.--To LADY WINIFRED M. CONSTABLE.\n\nELLISLAND, 16th DECEMBER 1789.\n\nMy Lady,--In vain have I from day to day expected to hear from Mis.\nYoung, as she promised me at Dalswinton that she would do me the honour\nto introduce me at Tinwald; and it was impossible, not from your\nLadyship's accessibility, but from my own feelings, that I could go\nalone. Lately, indeed, Mr. Maxwell, of Currachan, in his usual goodness,\noffered to accompany me, when an unlucky indisposition on my part\nhindered my embracing the opportunity. To court the notice or the tables\nof the great, except where I sometimes have had a little matter to ask\nof them, or more often the pleasanter task of witnessing my gratitude to\nthem, is what I never have done, and I trust never shall do. But with\nyour Ladyship I have the honour to be connected by one of the strongest\nand most endearing ties in the whole moral world. Common sufferings, in\na cause where even to be unfortunate is glorious--the cause of heroic\nloyalty! Though my fathers had not illustrious honours and vast\nproperties to hazard in the contest, though they left their humble\ncottages only to add so many units more to the unnoted crowd that\nfollowed their leaders, yet what they could they did, and what they had\nthey lost; with unshaken firmness and unconcealed political attachments,\nthey shook hands with Ruin for what they esteemed the cause of their\nking and their country. This language and the inclosed verses are for\nyour Ladyship's eye alone. Poets are not very famous for their prudence;\nbut as I can do nothing for a cause which is now nearly no more, I do\nnot wish to hurt myself.--I have the honour to be, my lady, your\nLadyship's obliged and obedient humble servant.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLIII.--To MR. CHARLES K. SHARPE, OF HODDAM.\n\n_Under a fictitious Signature, inclosing a Ballad, 1790 or 1791._[109]\n\nIt is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of rank and fortune, and I am a\npoor devil; you are a feather in the cap of society, and I am a very\nhobnail in his shoes; yet I have the honour to belong to the same family\nwith you, and on that score I now address you. You will perhaps suspect\nthat I am going to claim affinity with the ancient and honourable house\nof Kirkpatrick. No, no, Sir. I cannot indeed be properly said to belong\nto any house, or even any province or kingdom; as my mother, who for\nmany years was spouse to a marching regiment, gave me into this bad\nworld, aboard the packet-boat, somewhere between Donaghadee and\nPortpatrick. By our common family, I mean, Sir, the family of the Muses.\nI am a fiddler and a poet; and you, I am told, play an exquisite violin,\nand have a standard taste in the belles lettres. The other day, a\nbrother catgut gave me a charming Scots air of your composition. If I\nwas pleased with the tune, I was in raptures with the title you have\ngiven it, and, taking up the idea, I have spun it into the three stanzas\ninclosed. Will you allow me, Sir, to present you them, as the dearest\noffering that a misbegotten son of poverty and rhyme has to give? I have\na longing to take you by the hand and unburden my heart by saying, \"Sir,\nI honour you as a man who supports the dignity of human nature, amid an\nage when frivolity and avarice have, between them, debased us below the\nbrutes that perish!\" But, alas, Sir! to me you are unapproachable. It is\ntrue, the Muses baptised me in Castalian streams; but the thoughtless\ngipsies forgot to give me a name. As the sex have served many a good\nfellow, the Nine have given me a great deal of pleasure; but, bewitching\njades! they have beggared me. Would they but spare me a little of their\ncast-linen! Were it only to put it in my power to say, that I have a\nshirt on my back! But the idle wenches, like Solomon's lilies, \"they\ntoil not, neither do they spin;\" so I must e'en continue to tie my\nremnant of a cravat, like the hangman's rope, round my naked throat, and\ncoax my galligaskins to keep together their many-coloured fragments. As\nto the affair of shoes, I have given that up. My pilgrimages in my\nballad-trade, from town to town, and on your stony-hearted turnpikes\ntoo, are not what even the hide of Job's behemoth could bear. The coat\non my back is no more: I shall not speak evil of the dead. It would be\nequally unhandsome and ungrateful to find fault with my old surtout,\nwhich so kindly supplies and conceals the want of that coat. My hat,\nindeed, is a great favourite; and though I got it literally for an old\nsong, I would not exchange it for the best beaver in Britain. I was,\nduring several years, a kind of fac-totum servant to a country\nclergyman, where I picked up a good many scraps of learning,\nparticularly--in some branches of the mathematics. Whenever I feel\ninclined to rest myself on my way, I take my seat under a hedge, laying\nmy poetic wallet on the one side, and my fiddle-case on the other, and\nplacing my hat between my legs, I can by means of its brim, or rather\nbrims, go through the whole doctrine of the Conic Sections. However,\nSir, don't let me mislead you, as if I would interest your pity. Fortune\nhas so much forsaken me, that she has taught me to live without her;\nand, amid all my rags and poverty, I am as independent, and much more\nhappy than a monarch of the world. According to the hackneyed metaphor,\nI value the several actors in the great drama of life, simply as they\nact their parts. I can look on a worthless fellow of a duke with\nunqualified contempt, and can regard an honest scavenger with sincere\nrespect. As you, Sir, go through your role with such distinguished\nmerit, permit me to make one in the chorus of universal applause, and\nassure you that with the highest respect, I have the honour to be, etc.\n\n [Footnote 109: \"Here Burns plays high Jacobite to that singular old\n curmudgeon, Lady Constable. I imagine his Jacobitism, like my own,\n belonged to the fancy rather than the reason.\"--Scott.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLIV.--To HIS BROTHER, GILBERT BURNS, MOSSGIEL.\n\nELLISLAND, _11th January 1790_.\n\nDear Brother,--I mean to take advantage of the frank, though I have not\nin my present frame of mind much appetite for exertion in writing. My\nnerves are in a cursed state. I feel that horrid hypochondria pervading\nevery atom of both body and soul. This farm has undone my enjoyment of\nmyself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands. But let it go to hell! I'll\nfight it out and be off with it.\n\nWe have gotten a set of very decent players here just now. I have seen\nthem an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote to me by the\nmanager of the company, a Mr. Sutherland, who is a man of apparent\nworth. On New-year-day evening I gave him the following prologue, which\nhe spouted to his audience with applause:--\n\n No song nor dance I bring from yon great city, etc.\n\nI can no more. If once I was clear of this curst farm, I should respire\nmore at ease.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLV.--To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S.\n\nELLISLAND, 14th Jan. 1790.\n\nSince we are here creatures of a day, since \"a few summer days, a few\nwinter nights, and the life of man is at an end,\" why, my dear much\nesteemed Sir, should you and I let negligent indolence, for I know it is\nnothing worse, step in between us and bar the enjoyment of a mutual\ncorrespondence? We are not shapen out of the common, heavy, methodical\nclod, the elemental stuff of the plodding selfish race, the sons of\nArithmetic and Prudence; our feelings and hearts are not benumbed and\npoisoned by the cursed influence of riches, which, whatever blessing\nthey may be in other respects, are no friends to the nobler qualities of\nthe heart; in the name of random sensibility, then, let never the moon\nchange on our silence any more. I have had a tract of bad health the\nmost part of this winter, else you had heard from me long ere now. Thank\nheaven, I am now got so much better as to be able to partake a little in\nthe enjoyments of life.\n\nOur friend, Cunningham, will perhaps have told you of my going into the\nExcise. The truth is, I found it a very convenient business to have £50\nper annum, nor have I yet felt any of these mortifying circumstances in\nit that I was led to fear.\n\n_Feb. 2nd._--I have not for sheer hurry of business been able to spare\nfive minutes to finish my letter. Besides my farm business, I ride on my\nExcise matters at least two hundred miles every week. I have not by any\nmeans given up the Muses. You will see in the third volume of Johnson's\nScots songs that I have contributed my mite there.\n\nBut, my dear Sir, little ones that look up to you for paternal\nprotection are an important charge. I have already two fine healthy\nstout little fellows, and I wish to throw some light upon them. I have a\nthousand reveries and schemes about them, and their future destiny. Not\nthat I am an Utopian projector in these things. I am resolved never to\nbreed up a son of mine to any of the learned professions. I know the\nvalue of independence; and since I cannot give my sons an independent\nfortune, I shall give them an independent line of life. What a chaos of\nhurry, chance, and changes is this world, when one sits soberly down to\nreflect on it! To a father, who himself knows the world, the thought\nthat he shall have sons to usher into it, must fill him with dread; but\nif he have daughters, the prospect in a thoughtful moment is apt to\nshock him.\n\nI hope Mrs. Fordyce and the two young ladies are well. Do let me forget\nthat they are nieces of yours, and let me say that I never saw a more\ninteresting, sweeter pair of sisters in my life. I am the fool of my\nfeelings and attachments. I often take up a volume of my Spenser to\nrealise you to my imagination, [109a] and think over the social scenes\nwe have had together. God grant that there may be another world more\ncongenial for honest fellows beyond this; a world where these rubs and\nplagues of absence, distance, misfortunes, ill-health, etc., shall no\nmore damp hilarity and divide friendship. This I know is your throng\nseason, but half a page will much oblige, my dear Sir, yours sincerely,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 109a: Mr. Dunbar had made him a present of a Spenser's\n Poems.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLVL.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _25th January 1790._\n\nIt has been owing to unremitting hurry of business that I have not\nwritten to you, Madam, long ere now. My health is greatly better, and I\nnow begin once more to share in satisfaction and enjoyment with the rest\nof my fellow-creatures.\n\nMany thanks, my much esteemed friend, for your kind letters; but why\nwill you make me run the risk of being contemptible and mercenary in my\nown eyes? When I pique myself on my independent spirit, I hope it is\nneither poetic licence, nor poetic rant; and I am so flattered with the\nhonour you have done me in making me your compeer in friendship and\nfriendly correspondence, that I cannot without pain, and a degree of\nmortification, be reminded of the real inequality between our\nsituations.\n\nMost sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear Madam, in the good news of\nAnthony. Not only your anxiety about his fate, but my own esteem for\nsuch a noble, warm-hearted, manly young fellow, in the little I had of\nhis acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his fortunes.\n\nFalconer, the unfortunate author of the \"Shipwreck,\" which you so much\nadmire, is no more. After witnessing the dreadful catastrophe he so\nfeelingly describes in his poem, and after weathering many hard gales of\nfortune, he went to the bottom with the _Aurora_ frigate!\n\nI forget what part of Scotland had the honour of giving him birth; but\nhe was the son of obscurity and mis'ortune.[110] He was one of those\ndaring, adventurous spirits, which Scotland, beyond any other country,\nis remarkable for producing. Little does the fond mother think, as she\nhangs delighted over the sweet little leech at her bosom, where the poor\nfellow may hereafter wander, or what may be his fate. I remember a\nstanza in an old Scottish ballad, which, notwithstanding its rude\nsimplicity, speaks feelingly to the heart:--\n\n Little did my mother think,\n That day she cradled me,\n What land I was to travel in,\n Or what death I should dee!\n\nOld Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study and pursuit of mine,\nand now I am on that subject, allow me to give you two stanzas of\nanother old simple ballad, which I am sure will please you. The\ncatastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate,\nShe concludes with this pathetic wish:--\n\n O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;\n O that my mother had ne'er to me sung!\n O that my cradle had never been rock'd;\n But that I had died when I was young!\n\n O that the grave it were my bed;\n My blankets were my winding sheet;\n The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a';\n And O sad sound as I should sleep!\n\nI do not remember in all my reading to have met with anything more truly\nthe language of misery than the exclamation in the last line. Misery is\nlike love; to speak its language truly, the author must have felt it.\n\nI am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godson the\nsmall-pox. They are _rife_ in the country, and I tremble for his fate.\nBy the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks and spirit.\nEvery person who sees him, acknowledges him to be the finest, handsomest\nchild he has ever seen. I am myself delighted with the manly swell of\nhis little chest, and a certain miniature dignity in the carriage of his\nhead, and the glance of his fine black eye, which promise the undaunted\ngallantry of an independent mind.\n\nI thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I promise you\npoetry until you are tired of it, next time I have the honour of\nassuring you how truly I am, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 110: He was of poor parentage, and a native of Edinburgh.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLVII.--To MR. PETER HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, _2nd Feb. 1790._\n\nNo! I will not say one word about apologies or excuses for not\nwriting--I am a poor, rascally gauger, condemned to gallop at least 200\nmiles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels, and where\ncan I find time to write to, or importance to interest anybody? The\nupbraidings of my conscience, nay, the upbraidings of my wife, have\npersecuted me on your account these two or three months past. I wish to\nGod I was a great man, that my correspondence might throw light upon\nyou, to let the world see what you really are: and then I would make\nyour fortune, without putting my hand in my pocket for you, which, like\nall other great men, I suppose I would avoid as much as possible. What\nare you doing, and how are you doing? Have you lately seen any of my few\nfriends? What has become of the borough reform, or how is the fate of my\npoor namesake Mademoiselle Burns decided? O man! but for thee and thy\nselfish appetites, and dishonest artifices, that beauteous form, and\nthat once innocent and still ingenuous mind, might have shone\nconspicuous and lovely in the faithful wife, and the affectionate\nmother; and shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have no\nclaim on thy humanity!\n\nI saw lately, in a review, some extracts from a new poem, called the\n\"Village Curate;\" send it me. I want likewise a cheap copy of _The\nWorld_. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who does me the honour to mention\nme so kindly in his works, please give him my best thanks for the copy\nof his book.[111]--I shall write him, my first leisure hour. I like his\npoetry much, but I think his style in prose quite astonishing.\n\nYour book came safe, and I am going to trouble you with farther\ncommissions. I call it troubling you, because I want only books; the\ncheapest way, the best; so you may have to hunt for them in the evening\nauctions. I want Smollett's Works, for the sake of his incomparable\nhumour. I have already _Roderick Random_ and _Humphrey Clinker_;\n--_Peregrine Pickle_, _Launcelot Greaves_, and _Ferdinand_, _Count\nFathom_, I still want; but, as I said, the veriest ordinary copies will\nserve me. I am nice only in the appearance of my poets. I forget the\nprice of Cowper's _Poems_, but, I believe, I must have them. I saw the\nother day, proposals for a publication, entitled _Banks's New and\nComplete Christian Family Bible_, printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster Row,\nLondon. He promises at least to give in the work, I think it is three\nhundred and odd engravings, to which he has put the names of the first\nartists in London. You will know the character of the performance, as\nsome numbers of it are published, and if it is really what it pretends\nto be, set me down as a subscriber, and send me the published numbers.\n\nLet me hear from you, your first leisure minute, and trust me, you shall\nin future have no reason to complain of my silence. The dazzling\nperplexity of novelty will dissipate, and leave me to pursue my course\nin the quiet path of methodical routine.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 111: John Armstrong, student in the University of\n Edinburgh, who had recently published a volume of Juvenile Poems.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLVIIL.--To MR. W. NICOL.\n\nELLISLAND, _Feb. 9th, 1790._\n\nMy Dear Sir,--That damn'd mare of yours is dead. I would freely have\ngiven her price to have saved her; she has vexed me beyond description.\nIndebted as I was to your goodness beyond what I can ever repay, I\neagerly grasped at your offer to have the mare with me. That I might at\nleast show my readiness in wishing to be grateful, I took every care of\nher in my power. She was never crossed for riding above half a score of\ntimes by me or in my keeping. I drew her in the plough, one of three,\nfor one poor week. I refused fifty-five shillings for her, which was the\nhighest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed her up and had her in fine\norder for Dumfries fair, when, four or five days before the fair, she\nwas seized with an unaccountable disorder in the sinews, or somewhere in\nthe bones of the neck--with a weakness or total want of power in her\nfillets; and, in short, the whole vertebrae of her spine seemed to be\ndiseased and unhinged, and in eight and forty hours, in spite of the two\nbest farriers in the country, she died and be damn'd to her! The\nfarriers said that she had been quite strained in the fillets beyond\ncure before you had bought her; and that the poor devil, though she\nmight keep a little flesh, had been jaded and quite worn out with\nfatigue and oppression. While she was with me she was under my own eye,\nand I assure you, my much valued friend, everything was done for her\nthat could be done; and the accident has vexed me to the heart. In fact,\nI could not pluck up spirits to write to you, on account of the\nunfortunate business.\n\nThere is little new in this country. Our theatrical company, of which\nyou must have heard, leave us this week. Their merit and character are\nindeed very great, both on the stage and in private life; not a\nworthless creature among them; and their encouragement has been\naccordingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to twenty-five pounds a\nnight; seldom less than the one, and the house will hold no more than\nthe other. There have been repeated instances of sending away six, and\neight, and ten pounds a night for want of room. A new theatre is to be\nbuilt by subscription; the first stone is to be laid on Friday first to\ncome. Three hundred guineas have been raised by thirty subscribers, and\nthirty more might have been got if wanted. The manager, Mr. Sutherland,\nwas introduced to me by a friend from Ayr; and a worthier or cleverer\nfellow I have rarely met with. Some of our clergy have slipt in by\nstealth now and then; but they have got up a farce of their own. You\nmust have heard how the Rev. Mr. Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the\nRev. Mr. Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that faction, have\naccused, in formal process, the unfortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron of\nKirkgunzeon, that in ordaining Mr. Nielson to the cure of souls in\nKirkbean, he, the said Heron, feloniously and treasonably bound the said\nNielson to the confession of faith, _so far as it was agreeable to\nreason and the word of God!_\n\nMrs. B. begs to be remembered most gratefully to you. Little Bobby and\nFrank are charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to death with fatigue.\nFor these two or three months, on an average, I have not ridden less\nthan two hundred miles per week. I have done little in the poetic way. I\nhave given Mr. Sutherland two Prologues, one of which was delivered last\nweek. I have likewise strung four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune\nof Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unfortunate mare, beginning\n(the name she got here was Peg Nicholson),--\n\n Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,\n As ever trod on airn;\n But now she's floating down the Nith,\n And past the mouth o' Cairn.\n\nMy best compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and little Neddy, and all the family;\nI hope Ned is a good scholar, and will come out to gather nuts and\napples with me next harvest.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXLIX.--To MR. CUNNINGHAM, WRITER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, _13th February 1790._\n\nI beg your pardon, my dear and much valued friend, for writing to you on\nthis very unfashionable, unsightly sheet--\n\n My poverty but not my will consents.\n\nBut to make amends, since of modish post I have none, except one poor\nwidowed half-sheet of gilt, which lies in my drawer, among my plebeian\nfoolscap pages, like the widow of a man of fashion, whom that unpolite\nscoundrel, Necessity, has driven from Burgundy and Pineapple to a dish\nof Bohea, with the scandal-bearing help-mate of a village-priest; or a\nglass of whisky-toddy with a ruby-nosed yokefellow of a foot-padding\nexciseman--I make a vow to inclose this sheet-full of epistolary\nfragments in that my only scrap of gilt paper.\n\nI am, indeed, your unworthy debtor for three friendly letters. I ought\nto have written to you long ere now, but it is a literal fact, I have\nscarcely a spare moment. It is not that I _will not_ write to you: Miss\nBurnet is not more dear to her guardian angel, nor his grace the Duke of\nQueensberry to the powers of darkness, than my friend Cunningham to me.\nIt is not that I cannot write to you; should you doubt it, take the\nfollowing fragment, which was intended for you some time ago, and be\nconvinced that I can antithesize sentiment, and circumvolute periods, as\nwell as any coiner of phrase in the regions of philology.\n\n_December 1789._\n\nMy Dear Cunningham,--Where are you? And what are you doing? Can you be\nthat son of levity, who takes up a friendship as he takes up a fashion;\nor are you, like some other of the worthiest fellows in the world, the\nvictim of indolence, laden with fetters of ever-increasing weight?\n\nWhat strange beings we are! Since we have a portion of conscious\nexistence, equally capable of enjoying pleasure, happiness, and rapture,\nor of suffering pain, wretchedness, and misery, it is surely worthy of\nan inquiry, whether there be not such a thing as a science of life;\nwhether method, economy, and fertility of expedients, be not applicable\nto enjoyment; and whether there be not a want of dexterity in pleasure,\nwhich renders our little scantling of happiness still less; and a\nprofuseness, an intoxication in bliss, which leads to satiety, disgust,\nand self-abhorrence. There is not a doubt but that health, talents,\ncharacter, decent competency, respectable friends, are real substantial\nblessings; and yet do we not daily see those who enjoy many or all of\nthese good things, contrive, notwithstanding, to be as unhappy as others\nto whose lot few of them have fallen? I believe one great source of this\nmistake or misconduct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called\nambition, which goads us up the hill of life, not as we ascend other\neminences; for the laudable curiosity of viewing an extended landscape,\nbut rather for the dishonest pride of looking down on others of our\nfellow-creatures, seemingly diminutive in humbler stations, etc., etc.\n\n_Sunday, 14th February 1790._\n\nGod help me! I am now obliged to join\n\n Night to day, and Sunday to the week.\n\nIf there be any truth in the orthodox faith of these churches, I am\ndamn'd past redemption, and what is worse, damn'd to all eternity. I am\ndeeply read in Boston's _Four-fold State_, Marshal _On Sanctification_,\nGuthrie's _Trial of a Saving Interest_, etc., but \"there is no balm in\nGilead, there is no physician there,\" for me; so I shall e'en turn\nArminian, and trust to \"Sincere though imperfect obedience.\"\n\n_Tuesday, 16th._\n\nLuckily for me, I was prevented from the discussion of the knotty point\nat which I had just made a full stop. All my fears and cares are of this\nworld; if there is another, an honest man has nothing to fear from it. I\nhate a man that wishes to be a deist; but I fear, every fair,\nunprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a sceptic. It is not that\nthere are any very staggering arguments against the immortality of man;\nbut, like electricity, phlogiston, etc., the subject is so involved in\ndarkness, that we want data to go upon. One thing frightens me much:\nthat we are to live for ever seems _too good news to be true_. That we\nare to enter into a new scene of existence, where, exempt from want and\npain, we shall enjoy ourselves and our friends without satiety or\nseparation--how much should I be indebted to any one who could fully\nassure me that this was certain!\n\nMy time is once more expired. I will write to Mr. Cleghorn soon. God\nbless him and all his concerns! And may all the powers that preside over\nconviviality and friendship, be present with all their kindest\ninfluence, when the bearer of this, Mr. Syme, and you meet! I wish I\ncould also make one.\n\nFinally, brethren, farewell! Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever\nthings are gentle, whatsoever things are charitable, whatsoever things\nare kind, think on these things, and think on\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCL.--To MR. HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, _2nd March 1790._\n\nAt a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly Society, it was resolved to\naugment their library by the following books, which you are to send us\nas soon as possible:--_The Mirror, The Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of\nthe World,_ (these, for my own sake, I wish to have by the first\ncarrier), Knox's _History of the Reformation_, Rae's _History of the\nRebellion in 1715_, any good History of the Rebellion in 1745, _A\nDisplay of the Secession Act and Testimony_, by Mr. Gib, Hervey's\n_Meditations_, Beveridge's _Thoughts_, and another copy of Watson's\n_Body of Divinity_.\n\nI wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four months ago, to pay some money\nhe owed me into your hands, and lately I wrote to you to the same\npurpose, but I have heard from neither one nor other of you.\n\nIn addition to the books I commissioned in my last, I want very much, an\nIndex to the Excise Laws, or an Abridgment of all the statutes now in\nforce, relative to the Excise, by Jellinger Symons; I want three copies\nof this book: if it is now to be had, cheap or dear, get it for me. An\nhonest country neighbour of mine wants too a Family Bible, the larger\nthe better, but second-handed, for he does not choose to give above ten\nshillings for the book. I want likewise for myself, as you can pick them\nup, second-handed or cheap, copies of Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben\nJonson's, Dryden's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, Gibber's, or\nany Dramatic Works of the more modern Macklin, Garrick, Foote, Colman,\nor Sheridan. A good copy too of Moliere, in French, I much want. Any\nother good dramatic authors in that language I want also; but comic\nauthors chiefly, though I should wish to have Racine, Corneille, and\nVoltaire too. I am in no hurry for all, or any of these, but if you\naccidentally meet with them very-cheap, get them for me.\n\nAnd now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you do, my dear\nfriend? and how is Mrs. Hill? I trust, if now and then not so\n_elegantly_ handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as divinely as\never. My good wife too has a charming \"wood-note wild;\" now could we\nfour get together, etc.\n\nI am out of all patience with this vile world, for one thing. Mankind\nare by nature benevolent creatures, except in a few scoundrelly\ninstances. I do not think that avarice of the good things we chance to\nhave, is born with us; but we are placed here amid so much nakedness,\nand hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are under a cursed necessity\nof studying selfishness, in order that we may exist! Still there are, in\nevery age, a few souls that all the wants and woes of life cannot debase\nto selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy of caution and prudence.\nIf ever I am in danger of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on\nthis side of my disposition and character. God knows I am no saint; I\nhave a whole host of follies and sins to answer for; but if I could--and\nI believe I do it as far as I can--I would wipe away all tears from all\neyes. Adieu!\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLI.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _10th April 1790._\n\nI have just now, my ever honoured friend, enjoyed a very high luxury, in\nreading a paper of the _Lounger_. You know my national prejudices. I had\noften read and admired the _Spectator_, _Adventurer_, _Rambler_, and\n_World_, but still with a certain regret, that they were so thoroughly\nand entirely English. Alas! have I often said to myself, what are all\nthe boasted advantages which my country reaps from the Union, that can\ncounterbalance the annihilation of her independence, and even her very\nname? I often repeat that couplet of my favourite poet, Goldsmith--\n\n States of native liberty possest,\n Tho' very poor, may yet be very blest.\n\nNothing can reconcile me to the common terms, \"English ambassador,\"\n\"English court,\" etc., and I am out of all patience to see that\nequivocal character, Hastings, impeached by \"the Commons of England.\"\nTell me, my friend, is this weak prejudice? I believe in my conscience\nsuch ideas as \"my country; her independence; her honour; the illustrious\nnames that mark the history of my native land,\" etc.--I believe these,\namong your _men of the world_, men who, in fact, guide for the most part\nand govern our world, are looked on as so many modifications of\nwrong-headedness. They know the use of bawling out such terms, to rouse\nor lead THE RABBLE; but for their own private use, with almost all the\n_able statesmen_ that ever existed, or now exist, when they talk of\nright and wrong they only mean proper and improper; and their measure of\nconduct is, not what they ought, but what they dare. For the truth of\nthis I shall not ransack the history of nations, but appeal to one of\nthe ablest judges of men that ever lived--the celebrated Earl of\nChesterfield. In fact, a man who could thoroughly control his vices\nwhenever they interfered with his interests, and who could completely\nput on the appearance of every virtue as often as it suited his\npurposes, is, on the Stanhopian plan, the _perfect man_; a man to lead\nnations. But are great abilities, complete without a flaw, and polished\nwithout a blemish, the standard of human excellence? This is certainly\nthe staunch opinion of _men of the world_; but I call on honour, virtue,\nand worth, to give the Stygian doctrine a loud negative! However, this\nmust be allowed, that, if you abstract from man the idea of an existence\nbeyond the grave, _then_, the true measure of human conduct is, _proper_\nand _improper_: virtue and vice, as dispositions of the heart, are, in\nthat case, of scarcely the same import and value to the world at large,\nas harmony and discord in the modifications of sound; and a delicate\nsense of honour, like a nice ear for music, though it may sometimes give\nthe possessor an ecstacy unknown to the coarser organs of the herd, yet,\nconsidering the harsh gratings, and inharmonic jars, in this ill-tuned\nstate of being, it is odds but the individual would be as happy, and\ncertainly would be as much respected by the true judges of society as it\nwould then stand, without either a good ear or a good heart.\n\nYou must know I have just met with the _Mirror_ and _Lounger_ for the\nfirst time, and I am quite in raptures with them; I should be glad to\nhave your opinion of some of the papers. The one I have just read,\n_Lounger_, No. 61, has cost me more honest tears than anything I have\nread for a long time. Mackenzie has been called the Addison of the\nScots, and in my opinion, Addison would not be hurt at the comparison.\nIf he has not Addison's exquisite humour, he as certainly outdoes him in\nthe tender and the pathetic. His _Man of Feeling_ (but I am not counsel\nlearned in the laws of criticism) I estimate as the first performance in\nits kind I ever saw. From what book, moral or even pious, will the\nsusceptible young mind receive impressions more congenial to humanity\nand kindness, generosity and benevolence; in short, more of all that\nennobles the soul to herself, or endears her to others--than from the\nsimple affecting tale of poor Harley?\n\nStill, with all my admiration of Mackenzie's writings, I do not know if\nthey are the fittest reading for a young man who is about to set out, as\nthe phrase is, to make his way into life. Do you not think, Madam, that\namong the few favoured of Heaven in the structure of their minds (for\nsuch there certainly are) there may be a purity, a tenderness, a\ndignity, an elegance of soul, which are of no use, nay, in some degree,\nabsolutely disqualifying for the truly important business of making a\nman's way into life? If I am not much mistaken, my gallant young friend,\nAntony, is very much under these disqualifications; and for the young\nfemales of a family I could mention, well may they excite parental\nsolicitude; for I, a common acquaintance, or as my vanity will have it,\nan humble friend, have often trembled for a turn of mind which may\nrender them eminently happy--or peculiarly miserable!\n\nI have been manufacturing some verses lately; but as I have got the most\nhurried season of Excise business over, I hope to have more leisure to\ntranscribe any thing that may show how much I have the honour to be,\nMadam, yours, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLII.--To DR. JOHN MOORE, LONDON.\n\nDUMFRIES, _Excise-Office, 14th July 1790._\n\nSir,--Coming into town this morning to attend my duty in this office, it\nbeing collection-day, I met with a gentleman who tells me he is on his\nway to London; so I take the opportunity of writing to you, as franking\nis at present under a temporary death. I shall have some snatches of\nleisure through the day, amid our horrid business and bustle, and I\nshall improve them as well as I can; but let my letter be as stupid\nas..., as miscellaneous as a newspaper, as short as a hungry\ngrace-before-meat, or as long as a law-paper in the Douglas cause; as\nill spelt as country John's billet-doux, or as unsightly a scrawl as\nBetty Byre-Mucker's answer to it; I hope, considering circumstances, you\nwill forgive it; and as it will put you to no expense of postage, I\nshall have the less reflection about it.\n\nI am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks for your most\nvaluable present, _Zeluco_. In fact, you are in some degree blameable\nfor my neglect. You were pleased to express a wish for my opinion of the\nwork, which so flattered me, that nothing less would serve my\nover-weening fancy, than a formal criticism on the book. In fact, I have\ngravely planned a comparative view of you, Fielding, Richardson, and\nSmollett, in your different qualities and merits as novel-writers. This,\nI own, betrays my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably never bring the\nbusiness to bear; but I am fond of the spirit young Elihu shows in the\nbook of Job--\"And I said, I will also declare my opinion.\" I have quite\ndisfigured my copy of the book with my annotations. I never take it up\nwithout at the same time taking my pencil, and marking with asterisms,\nparentheses, etc., wherever I meet with an original thought, a nervous\nremark on life and manners, a remarkably well-turned period, or a\ncharacter sketched with uncommon precision.\n\nThough I should hardly think of fairly writing out my \"Comparative\nView,\" I shall certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as they are.\n\nI have just received from my gentleman that horrid summons in the Book\nof Revelation--\"that time shall be no more.\"\n\nThe little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in them. If\n_indeed_ I am indebted to the fair author for the book, and not, as I\nrather suspect, to a celebrated author of the other sex, I should\ncertainly have written to the lady, with my grateful acknowledgments,\nand my own idea of the comparative excellence of her pieces.[112] I\nwould do this last, not from any vanity of thinking that my remarks\ncould be of much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but merely from my own\nfeelings as an author, doing as I would be done by.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 112: Sonnets of Charlotte Smith.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLIII.--To MR. MURDOCH,[113] TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON.\n\nELLISLAND, _July_ 16_th_, 1790.\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I received a letter from you a long time ago, but\nunfortunately, as it was in the time of my peregrinations and\njourneyings through Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence\nyour direction along with it. Luckily my good star brought me acquainted\nwith Mr. Kennedy, who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours: and by\nhis means and mediation I hope to replace that link, which my\nunfortunate negligence had so unluckily broke, in the chain of our\ncorrespondence. I was the more vexed at the vile accident, as my brother\nWilliam, a journeyman saddler, has been for some time in London; and\nwished above all things for your direction, that he might have paid his\nrespects to his father's friend.\n\nHis last address he sent me was, \"Wm. Burns, at Mr. Barber's, saddler,\nNo. 181 Strand.\" I writ him by Mr. Kennedy, but neglected to ask him for\nyour address; so, if you find a spare half minute, please let my brother\nknow by a card where and when he will find you, and the poor fellow will\njoyfully wait on you, as one of the few surviving friends of the man\nwhose name, and Christian name too, he has the honour to bear.\n\nThe next letter I write you shall be a long one. I have much to tell you\nof \"hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach,\" with all the\neventful history of a life, the early years of which owed so much to\nyour kind tutorage; but this at an hour of leisure. My kindest\ncompliments to Mrs. Murdoch and family.--I am ever, my dear Sir, your\nobliged friend,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 113: He had been Burns's schoolmaster at Mount Oliphant.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLIV.--To MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\nELLISLAND, _8th August 1790._\n\nForgive me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming negligence.\nYou cannot sit down and fancy the busy life I lead.\n\nI laid down my goose feather to beat my brains for an apt simile, and\nhad some thoughts of a country grannum at a family christening; a bride\non the market-day before her marriage; or a tavern-keeper at an election\ndinner; but the resemblance that hits my fancy best is, that blackguard\nmiscreant, Satan, who roams about like a roaring lion, seeking,\nsearching, whom he may devour. However, tossed about as I am, if I\nchoose (and who would not choose) to bind down with the crampets of\nattention the brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear up the\nsuperstructure of Independence, and from its daring turrets bid defiance\nto the storms of fate. And is not this a \"consummation devoutly to\nbe wished?\"\n\n Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;\n Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye!\n Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,\n Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!\n\nAre not these noble verses? They are the introduction of Smollett's Ode\nto Independence: if you have not seen the poem, I will send it to you.\nHow wretched is the man that hangs on by the favours of the great! To\nshrink from every dignity of man, at the approach of a lordly piece of\nself-consequence, who, amid all his tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur,\nis but a creature formed as thou art--and perhaps not so well formed as\nthou art--came into the world a puling infant as thou didst, and must go\nout of it as all men must, a naked corse...\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLV.--To MR. CRAUFORD TAIT,[114] W.S., EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, 15th _October_ 1790.\n\nDear Sir,--Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance the bearer, Mr.\nWm. Duncan, a friend of mine, whom I have long known and long loved. His\nfather, whose only son he is, has a decent little property in Ayrshire,\nand has bred the young man to the law, in which department he comes up\nan adventurer to your good town. I shall give you my friend's character\nin two words: as to his head, he has talents enough, and more than\nenough for common life; as to his heart, when nature had kneaded the\nkindly clay that composes it, she said, \"I can no more.\"\n\nYou, my good Sir, were born under kinder stars; but your fraternal\nsympathy, I well know, can enter into the feelings of the young man who\ngoes into life with the laudable ambition to do something, and to be\nsomething among his fellow-creatures; but whom the consciousness of\nfriendless obscurity presses to the earth and wounds to the soul!\n\nEven the fairest of his virtues are against him. That independent\nspirit, and that ingenuous modesty, qualities inseparable from a noble\nmind, are, with the million, circumstances not a little disqualifying.\nWhat pleasure is in the power of the fortunate and the happy, by their\nnotice and patronage, to brighten the countenance and glad the heart of\nsuch depressed youth! I am not so angry with mankind for their deaf\neconomy of the purse--the goods of this world cannot be divided without\nbeing lessened--but why be a niggard of that which bestows bliss on a\nfellow-creature, yet takes nothing from our own means of enjoyment? We\nwrap ourselves up in the cloak of our own better fortune, and turn away\nour eyes, lest the wants and woes of our brother-mortals should disturb\nthe selfish apathy of our souls!\n\nI am the worst hand in the world at asking a favour. That indirect\naddress, that insinuating implication, which, without any positive\nrequest, plainly expresses your wish, is a talent not to be acquired at\na plough-tail. Tell me, then, for you can, in what periphrasis of\nlanguage, in what circumvolution of phrase, I shall envelope, yet not\nconceal, the plain story. \"My dear Mr, Tait, my friend, Mr. Duncan, whom\nI have the pleasure of introducing to you, is a young lad of your own\nprofession, and a gentleman of much modesty and great worth. Perhaps it\nmay be in your power to assist him in the, to him, important\nconsideration of getting a place; but, at all events, your notice and\nacquaintance will be a very great acquisition to him; and I dare pledge\nmyself that he will never disgrace your favour.\"\n\nYou may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a letter from me; 'tis, I\nown, in the usual way of calculating these matters, more than our\nacquaintance entitles me to; but my answer is short: Of all the men at\nyour time of life whom I knew in Edinburgh, you are the most accessible\non the side on which I have assailed you. You are very much altered\nindeed from what you were when I knew you, if generosity point the path\nyou will not tread, or humanity call to you in vain.\n\nAs to myself, a being to whose interest I believe you are still a\nwell-wisher; I am here, breathing at all times, thinking sometimes, and\nrhyming now and then. Every situation has its share of the cares and\npains of life, and my situation I am persuaded has a full ordinary\nallowance of its pleasures and enjoyments.\n\nMy best compliments to your father and Miss Tait. If you have an\nopportunity, please remember me in the solemn league and covenant of\nfriendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay.[115] I am a wretch for not writing her;\nbut I am so hackneyed with self-accusation in that way, that my\nconscience lies in my bosom with scarce the sensibility of an oyster in\nits shell. Where is Lady M'Kenzie? wherever she is, God bless her! I\nlikewise beg leave to trouble you with compliments to Mr. Wm. Hamilton;\nMrs. Hamilton and family; and Mrs. Chalmers, when you are in that\ncountry. Should you meet with Miss Nimmo, please remember me kindly\nto her.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 114: Son of Mr. Tait of Harviestoun, where Burns was a\n happy guest in the Autumn of 1787. He was also father of the late\n Archbishop Tait.]\n\n [Footnote 115: Miss Peggy Chalmers.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLVL.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _November_ 1790.\n\n\"As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.\"\n\nFate has long owed me a letter of good news from you, in return for the\nmany tidings of sorrow which I have received. In this instance I most\ncordially obey the apostle--\"Rejoice with them that do rejoice;\" for me,\nto sing for joy, is no new thing; but to preach for joy, as I have done\nin the commencement of this epistle, is a pitch of extravagant rapture\nto which I never rose before.\n\nI read your letter--I literally jumped for joy. How could such a\nmercurial creature as a poet lumpishly keep his seat on the receipt of\nthe best news from his best friend. I seized my gilt-headed Wangee rod,\nan instrument indispensably necessary in the moment of inspiration and\nrapture; and stride, stride-quick and quicker-out skipt I among the\nbroomy banks of Nith to muse over my joy by retail. To keep within the\nbounds of prose was impossible. Mrs. Little's is a more elegant, but not\na more sincere compliment to the sweet little fellow, than I, extempore\nalmost, poured out to him in the following verses:--\n\n Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, etc.[116]\n\nI am much flattered by your approbation of my \"Tam o' Shanter,\" which\nyou express in your former letter; though, by-the-bye, you load me in\nthat said letter with accusations heavy and many; to all which I plead,\n_not guilty!_ Your book is, I hear, on the road to reach me. As to\nprinting of poetry, when you prepare it for the press, you have only to\nspell it right, and place the capital letters properly: as to the\npunctuation, the printers do that themselves.\n\nI have a copy of \"Tam o' Shanter\" ready to send you by the first\nopportunity: it is too heavy to send by post.\n\nI heard of Mr. Corbet lately.[116a] He, in consequence of your\nrecommendation, is most zealous to serve me. Please favour me soon with\nan account of your good folks; if Mrs. H. is recovering, and the young\ngentleman doing well.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 116: See Poems.]\n\n [Footnote 116a: A Supervisor of Excise.]\n\n * * * *\n\nCLVIL.--To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S.\n\nELLISLAND, 17_th January_ 1791.\n\nI am not gone to Elysium, most noble Colonel,[117] but am still here in\nthis sublunary world, serving my God by propagating His image, and\nhonouring my king by begetting him loyal subjects.\n\nMany happy returns of the season await my friend. May the thorns of care\nnever beset his path! May peace be an inmate of his bosom, and rapture a\nfrequent visitor of his soul! May the blood-hounds of misfortune never\ntrack his steps, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm his dwelling! May\nenjoyment tell thy hours, and pleasure number thy days, thou friend of\nthe Bard! \"Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and cursed be he that\ncurseth thee!!!\"\n\nAs a farther proof that I am still in the land of existence, I send you\na poem, the latest I have composed. I have a particular reason for\nwishing you only to show it to select friends, should you think it\nworthy a friend's perusal: but if at your first leisure hour you will\nfavour me with your opinion of, and strictures on the performance, it\nwill be an additional obligation on, dear Sir, your deeply indebted\nhumble servant,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 117: Colonel of Volunteers.]\n\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLVIIL.--To MR. PETER HILL.\n\nELLISLAND, 17_th January_ 1791.\n\nTake these two guineas, and place them over against that damn'd account\nof yours which has gagged my mouth these five or six months. I can as\nlittle write good things as apologies to the man I owe money to. O the\nsupreme misery of making three guineas do the business of five! Not all\nthe labours of Hercules not all the Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian\nbondage, were such an insuperable business, such an infernal task!\nPoverty, thou half-sister of death, thou cousin-german of hell! where\nshall I find force or execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits?\nOppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the practice of\nevery virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little,\nlittle aid to support his existence, from a stony-hearted son of Mammon,\nwhose sun of prosperity never knew a cloud; and is by him denied and\ninsulted. Oppressed by thee, the man of sentiment, whose heart glows\nwith independence, and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the\nneglect, or writhes in bitterness of soul under the contamely of\narrogant unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, whose\nill-starred ambition plants him at the tables of the fashionable and\npolite, must see in suffering silence his remark neglected and his\nperson despised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit,\nshall meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it only the family of\nworth that have reason to complain of thee; the children of folly and\nvice, though in common with thee the offspring of evil, smart equally\nunder thy rod. Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition and\nneglected education, is condemned as a fool for his dissipation,\ndespised and shunned as a needy wretch, when his follies as usual bring\nhim to want; and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to\ndishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the\njustice of his country. But far otherwise is the lot of the man of\nfamily and fortune. _His_ early follies and extravagance are spirit and\nfire; _his_ consequent wants are the embarrassments of an honest fellow;\nand when, to remedy the matter, he has gained a legal commission to\nplunder distant provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he returns,\nperhaps, laden with the spoils of rapine and murder; lives wicked and\nrespected; and dies a scoundrel and a lord. Nay, worst of all, alas for\nhelpless woman!...\n\n * * * * *\n\nWell! divines may say of it what they please; but execration is to the\nmind, what phlebotomy is to the body; the overloaded sluices of both are\nwonderfully relieved by their respective evacuations.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCLIX.--To DR. MOORE.\n\nELLISLAND, 28_th January_ 1791.\n\nI do not know, Sir, whether you are a subscriber to Grose's _Antiquities\nof Scotland_. If you are, the inclosed poem will not be altogether new\nto you. Captain Grose did me the favour to send me a dozen copies of the\nproof sheet, of which this is one. Should you have read the piece\nbefore, still this will answer the principal end I have in view: it will\ngive me another opportunity of thanking you for all your goodness to the\nrustic bard; and also of showing you, that the abilities you have been\npleased to commend and patronise, are still employed in the way\nyou wish.\n\nThe _Elegy on Captain Henderson_ is a tribute to the memory of the man I\nloved much. Poets have in this the same advantage as Roman Catholics;\nthey can be of service to their friends after they have passed that\nbourne where all other kindness ceases to be of avail. Whether, after\nall, either the one or the other be of any real service to the dead, is,\nI fear, very problematical; but I am sure they are highly gratifying to\nthe living: and as a very orthodox text, I forget where in Scripture,\nsays, \"whatsoever is not of faith is sin;\" so say I, whatsoever is not\ndetrimental to society, and is of positive enjoyment, is of God, the\ngiver of all good things, and ought to be received and enjoyed by His\ncreatures with thankful delight. As almost all my religious tenets\noriginate from my heart, I am wonderfully pleased with the idea, that I\ncan still keep up a tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend,\nor still more dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the world\nof spirits.\n\nThe ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was busy with _Percy's\nReliques of English Poetry_. By the way, how much is every honest heart,\nwhich has a tincture of Caledonian prejudice, obliged to you for your\nglorious story of Buchanan and Targe! 'Twas an unequivocal proof of your\nloyal gallantry of soul giving Targe the victory. I should have been\nmortified to the ground if you had not.\n\nI have just read over, once more of many times, your _Zeluco_. I marked\nwith my pencil as I went along, every passage that pleased me above the\nrest; and one or two, which, with humble deference, I am disposed to\nthink unequal to the merits of the book. I have sometimes thought to\ntranscribe these marked passages, or at least so much of them as to\npoint where they are, and send them to you. Original strokes that\nstrongly depict the human heart, is your and Fielding's province, beyond\nany other novelist I have ever perused. Richardson, indeed, might,\nperhaps, be excepted; but unhappily, his _dramatis personæ_ are beings\nof another world; and however they may captivate the unexperienced\nromantic fancy of a boy or a girl, they will ever, in proportion as we\nhave made human nature our study, dissatisfy our riper years.\n\nAs to my private concerns, I am going on, a mighty tax-gatherer before\nthe Lord, and have lately had the interest to get myself ranked on the\nlist of excise as a supervisor. T am not yet employed as such, but in a\nfew years I shall fall into the file of supervisorship by seniority. I\nhave had an immense loss in the death of the Earl of Glencairn--the\npatron from whom all my fame and fortune took its rise. Independent of\nmy grateful attachment to him, which was indeed so strong that it\npervaded my very soul, and was entwined with the thread of my existence;\nso soon as the prince's friends had got in, (and every dog, you know,\nhas his day) my getting forward in the excise would have been an easier\nbusiness than otherwise it will be. Though this was a consummation\ndevoutly to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I can live and rhyme as I am;\nand as to my boys, poor little fellows! if I cannot place them on as\nhigh an elevation in life as I could wish, I shall, if I am favoured so\nmuch of the Disposer of events as to see that period, fix them on as\nbroad and independent a basis as possible. Among the many wise adages\nwhich have been treasured up by our Scottish ancestors, this is one of\nthe best--_Better be the head o' the commonalty than the tail o'\nthe gentry_.\n\nBut I am got on a subject which, however interesting to me, is of no\nmanner of consequence to you; so I shall give you a short poem on the\nother page, and close this with assuring you how sincerely I have the\nhonour to be, yours, etc.,\n\nR. B.\n\nWritten on the blank leaf of a book which I presented to a very young\nlady, whom I had formerly characterised under the denomination of _The\nRose Bud._[118]\n\n [Footnote 118: See Poems---\"Lines to Miss Cruikshank.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, _7th Feb. 1791._\n\nWhen I tell you, Madam, that by a fall, not from my horse, but with my\nhorse, I have been a cripple some time, and that this is the first day\nmy arm and hand have been able to serve me in writing,--you will allow\nthat it is too good an apology for my seemingly ungrateful silence. I am\nnow getting better, and am able to rhyme a little, which implies some\ntolerable ease; as I cannot think that the most poetic genius is able to\ncompose on the rack.\n\nI do not remember if ever I mentioned to you my having an idea of\ncomposing an elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo. I had the\nhonour of being pretty well acquainted with her, and have seldom felt so\nmuch at the loss of an acquaintance, as when I heard that so amiable and\naccomplished a piece of God's work was no more. I have, as yet, gone no\nfarther than the following fragment, of which please let me have your\nopinion. You know that elegy is a subject so much exhausted, that any\nnew idea on the business is not to be expected: 'tis well if we can\nplace an old idea in a new light. How far I have succeeded as to this\nlast, you will judge from what follows. I have proceeded no further.\n\nYour kind letter, with your kind _remembrance_ of your godson, came\nsafe. This last, Madam, is scarcely what my pride can bear. As to the\nlittle fellow,[118a] he is, partiality apart, the finest boy I have of a\nlong time seen. He is now seventeen months old, has the small-pox and\nmeasles over, has cut several teeth, and never had a grain of doctor's\ndrugs in his bowels.\n\nI am truly happy to hear that the \"little floweret\" is blooming so fresh\nand fair, and that the \"mother plant\" is rather recovering her drooping\nhead. Soon and well may her \"cruel wounds\" be healed! I have written\nthus far with a good deal of difficulty. When I get a little abler you\nshall hear farther from, Madam, yours,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 118a: The infant was Francis Wallace, the Poet's second\n son.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXI.--To THE REV. ARCH. ALISON.\n\nELLISLAND, _near Dumfries 14th Feb. 1791._\n\nSir,--You must by this time have set me down as one of the most\nungrateful of men. You did me the honour to present me with a book,\nwhich does honour to science and the intellectual powers of man, and I\nhave not even so much as acknowledged the receipt of it. The fact is,\nyou yourself are to blame for it. Flattered as I was by your telling me\nthat you wished to have my opinion of the work, the old spiritual enemy\nof mankind, who knows well that vanity is one of the sins that most\neasily beset me, put it into my head to ponder over the performance with\nthe look-out of a critic, and to draw up forsooth a deep learned digest\nof strictures on a composition, of which, in fact, until I read the\nbook, I did not even know the first principles. I own, Sir, that at\nfirst glance, several of your propositions startled me as paradoxical.\nThat the martial clangour of a trumpet had something in it vastly more\ngrand, heroic, and sublime, than the twingle twangle of a Jews-harp;\nthat the delicate flexure of a rose-twig, when the half-blown flower is\nheavy with the tears of the dawn, was infinitely more beautiful and\nelegant than the upright stub of a burdock; and that from something\ninnate and independent of all associations of ideas;-these I had set\ndown as irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing your book shook my\nfaith. In short, Sir, except Euclid's Elements of Geometry, which I made\na shift to unravel by my father's fire-side, in the winter evening of\nthe first season I held the plough, I never read a book which gave me\nsuch a quantum of information, and added so much to my stock of ideas,\nas your _Essays on the Principles of Taste_. One thing, Sir, you must\nforgive my mentioning as an uncommon merit in the work, I mean the\nlanguage. To clothe abstract philosophy in elegance of style, sounds\nsomething like a contradiction in terms; but you have convinced me that\nthey are quite compatible.\n\nI inclose you some poetic bagatelles of my late composition. The one in\nprint is my first essay in the way of telling a tale.--I am, Sir, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXII.--TO THE REV. G. BAIRD.\n\nELLISLAND, 1791.\n\nReverend Sir,--Why did you, my dear Sir, write to me in such a\nhesitating style on the business of poor Bruce?[119] Don't I know, and\nhave I not felt, the many ills, the peculiar ills, that poetic flesh is\nheir to? You shall have your choice of all the unpublished poems[120] I\nhave; and had your letter had my direction so as to have reached me\nsooner (it only came to my hand this moment) I should have directly put\nyou out of suspense on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory\nadvertisement in the book, as well as the subscription bills, may bear,\nthat the publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother. I\nwould not put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to\ninsinuate, that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives.\nNor need you give me credit for any remarkable generosity in my part of\nthe business. I have such a host of peccadilloes, failings, follies, and\nbackslidings (anybody but myself might perhaps give some of them a worse\nappellation), that by way of some balance, however trifling, in the\naccount, I am fain to do any good that occurs in my very limited power\nto a fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a little\nthe vista of retrospection.\n\nR. B.\n\n[Footnote 119: Michael Bruce, a young poet of Kinross-Shire.]\n\n[Footnote 120: _Tam o' Shanter_ included! It was refused!!]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXIII.--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM, WRITER, EDINBURGH.\n\nELLISLAND, 2_th March_ 1791.\n\nIf the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let me have them. For\nmy own part, a thing I have just composed always appears through a\ndouble portion of that partial medium in which an author will ever view\nhis own works. I believe, in general, novelty has something in it that\ninebriates the fancy, and not unfrequently dissipates and fumes away\nlike other intoxication, and leaves the poor patient, as usual, with an\naching heart. A striking instance of this might be adduced, in the\nrevolution of many a hymeneal honeymoon. But lest I sink into stupid\nprose, and so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my parish priest,\nI shall fill up the page in my own way, and give you another song of my\nlate composition, which will appear perhaps in Johnson's work, as well\nas the former.\n\nYou must know a beautiful Jacobite air, _There'll never be peace till\nJamie comes hame_. When political combustion ceases to be the object of\nprinces and patriots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of\nhistorians and poets.\n\n By yon castle wa' at the close of the day,\n I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey;\n And as he was singing, the tears fast down came--\n There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.\n\nIf you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your fancy, you cannot\nimagine, my dear friend, how much you would oblige me, if, by the charms\nof your delightful voice, you would give my honest effusion, to \"the\nmemory of joys that are past,\" to the few friends whom you indulge in\nthat pleasure. But I have scribbled on till I hear the clock has\nintimated the near approach of\n\n That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane.\n\nSo good night to you! Sound be your sleep, and delectable your dreams!\nApropos, how do you like this thought in a ballad I have just now on\nthe tapis?--\n\n I look to the west when I gae to my rest,\n That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;\n Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best,\n The lad that is dear to my babie and me!\n\nGood night once more, and God bless you!\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXIV.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nELLISLAND, 11_th April_ 1791.\n\nI am once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my own\nhand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and particularly\nfor your kind anxiety in this last disaster that my evil genius had in\nstore for me. However, life is chequered--joy and sorrow--for on\nSaturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of a fine boy;\nrather stouter, but not so handsome as your godson was at his time of\nlife. Indeed, I look on your little namesake to be my _chef d'oeuvre_ in\nthat species of manufacture, as I look on \"Tam o' Shanter\" to be my\nstandard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis true, both the one and\nthe other discover a spice of roguish waggery, that might perhaps be as\nwell spared; but then they also show, in my opinion, a force of genius,\nand a finishing polish, that I despair of ever excelling. Mrs. Burns is\ngetting stout again, and laid as lustily about her to-day at breakfast,\nas a reaper from the corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and\nblessing of our hale sprightly damsels, that are bred among the _hay_\n_and heather_. We cannot hope for that highly polished mind, that\ncharming delicacy of soul, which is found among the female world in the\nmore elevated stations of life, and which is certainly by far the most\nbewitching charm in the famous cestus of Venus, It is indeed such an\ninestimable treasure, that where it can be had in its native heavenly\npurity, unstained by some one or other of the many shades of\naffectation, and unalloyed by some one or other of the many species of\ncaprice, I declare to Heaven I should think it cheaply purchased at the\nexpense of every other earthly good! But as this angelic creature is, I\nam afraid, extremely rare in any station and rank of life, and totally\ndenied to such an humble one as mine, we meaner mortals must put up with\nthe next rank of female excellence. As fine a figure and face we can\nproduce as any rank of life whatever; rustic, native grace; unaffected\nmodesty and unsullied purity; nature's mother-wit and the rudiments of\ntaste, a simplicity of soul, unsuspicious of, because unacquainted with,\nthe crooked ways of a selfish, interested, disingenuous world; and the\ndearest charm of all the rest, a yielding sweetness of disposition, and\na generous warmth of heart, grateful for love on our part, and ardently\nglowing with a more than equal return; these, with a healthy frame, a\nsound, vigorous constitution, which your higher ranks can scarcely ever\nhope to enjoy, are the charms of lovely woman in my humble walk of life.\n\nThis is the greatest effort my broken arm has yet made. Do let me hear,\nby first post, how _cher petit Monsieur_ comes on with his small-pox.\nMay Almighty goodness preserve and restore him!\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXV.--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\n11_th June_ 1791.\n\nLet me interest you, my dear Cunningham, in behalf of the gentleman who\nwaits on you with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of Moffat, principal\nschoolmaster there, and is at present suffering severely under the\npersecution of one or two powerful individuals of his employers. He is\naccused of harshness to boys that were placed under his care. God help\nthe teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, and such is my friend\nClarke, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists\non lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is\nimpervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture\nwith a cudgel: a fellow whom in fact it savours of impiety to attempt\nmaking a scholar of, as he has been marked a blockhead in the book of\nfate, at the almighty fiat of his Creator.\n\nThe patrons of Moffat school are the ministers, magistrates, and town\ncouncil of Edinburgh; and as the business comes now before them, let me\nbeg my dearest friend to do every thing in his power to serve the\ninterests of a man of genius and worth, and a man whom I particularly\nrespect and esteem. You know some good fellows among the magistracy and\ncouncil, but particularly you have much to say with a reverend gentleman\nto whom you have the honour of being very nearly related, and whom this\ncountry and age have had the honour to produce. I need not name the\nhistorian of Charles V.[121] I tell him through the medium of his\nnephew's influence, that Mr. Clarke is a gentleman who will not disgrace\neven his patronage. I know the merits of the cause thoroughly, and say\nit, that my friend is falling a sacrifice to prejudiced ignorance.\n\nGod help the children of dependence! Hated and persecuted by their\nenemies, and too often, alas! almost unexceptionally always, received by\ntheir friends with disrespect and reproach, under the thin disguise of\ncold civility and humiliating advice. O! to be a sturdy savage, stalking\nin the pride of his independence, amid the solitary wilds of his\ndeserts, rather than in civilised life, helplessly to tremble for a\nsubsistence precarious as the caprice of a fellow-creature! Every man\nhas his virtues, and no man is without his failings; and plague on that\nprivileged plain-dealing of friendship, which, in the hour of my\ncalamity, cannot reach forth the helping hand without at the same time\npointing out those failings, and apportioning them their share in\nprocuring my present distress. My friends, for such the world calls ye,\nand such ye think yourselves to be, pass by my virtues if you please,\nbut do, also, spare my follies; the first will witness in my breast for\nthemselves, and the last will give pain enough to the ingenuous mind\nwithout you. And since deviating more or less from the paths of\npropriety and rectitude must be incident to human nature, do thou,\nFortune, put it in my power, always from myself, and of myself, to bear\nthe consequence of those errors! I do not want to be independent that I\nmay sin, but I want to be independent in my sinning.\n\nTo return in this rambling letter to the subject I set out with, let me\nrecommend my friend, Mr. Clarice, to your acquaintance and good offices;\nhis worth entitles him to the one, and his gratitude will merit the\nother. I long much to hear from you. Adieu!\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 121: Dr. Robertson, uncle to Mr. Alexander Cunningham.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXVL--To MR. THOMAS SLOAN.[122]\n\nELLISLAND, _Sept. 1st_, 1791.\n\nMy Dear Sloan,--Suspense is worse than disappointment; for that reason I\nhurry to tell you that I just now learn that Mr. Ballantine does not\nchoose to interfere more in the business. I am truly sorry for it, but\ncannot help it.\n\nYou blame me for not writing you sooner, but you will please to\nrecollect that you omitted one little necessary piece of\ninformation;--your address.\n\nHowever, you know equally well my hurried life, indolent temper, and\nstrength of attachment. It must be a longer period than the longest life\n\"in the world's hale and undegenerate days,\" that will make me forget so\ndear a friend as Mr. Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times, but I will\nnot part with such a treasure as that.\n\nI can easily enter into the _embarras_ of your present situation. You\nknow my favourite quotation from Young--\n\n On Reason build RESOLVE!\n That column of true majesty in man,--\n\nand that other favourite one from Thomson's \"Alfred\"--\n\n What proves the hero truly GREAT,\n Is, never, never to despair.\n\nOr, shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance?--\n\n Whether DOING, SUFFERING, or FORBEARING,\n You may do miracles by--PERSEVERING.\n\nI have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going on in\nthe old way. I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and sold it very\nwell. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. But such a scene of\ndrunkenness was hardly ever seen in this country. After the roup was\nover, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every man for his own\nhand, and fought it out for three hours. Nor was the scene much better\nin the house. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk on the floor,\nand decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by attending them, that\nthey could not stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as\nI was no farther over than you used to see me.\n\nMrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire these many weeks.\n\nFarewell! and God bless you, my dear Friend! R.B.\n\n [Footnote 122: Of Wanlockhead. Burns got to know him during his\n frequent journeys between Ellisland and Mauchline in 1788-9.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXVII--TO MR. AINSLIE.\n\nELLISLAND, 1791.\n\nMy Dear Ainslie,--Can you minister to a mind diseased? can you, amid the\nhorrors of penitence, regret, remorse, head-ache, nausea, and all the\nrest of the damn'd hounds of hell that beset a poor wretch who has been\nguilty of the sin of drunkenness--can you speak peace to a\ntroubled soul?\n\n_Miserable perdu_ that I am, I have tried every thing that used to amuse\nme, but in vain; here must I sit, a monument of the vengeance laid up in\nstore for the wicked, slowly counting every click of the clock as it\nslowly, slowly numbers over these lazy scoundrels of hours, who, damn\nthem, are ranked up before me, every one at his neighbour's backside,\nand every one with a burthen of anguish on his back, to pour on my\ndevoted head--and there is none to pity me. My wife scolds me, my\nbusiness torments me, and my sins come staring me in the face, every one\ntelling a more bitter tale than his fellow.--When I tell you even ----\nhas lost its power to please, you will guess something of my hell\nwithin, and all around me.--I began _Elibanks and Elibraes_, but the\nstanzas fell unenjoyed and unfinished from my listless tongue: at last I\nluckily thought of reading over an old letter of yours, that lay by me\nin my bookcase, and I felt something for the first time since I opened\nmy eyes, of pleasurable existence.----Well--I begin to breathe a little,\nsince I began to write to you. How are you, and what are you doing? How\ngoes Law? Apropos, for correction's sake do not address to me\nsupervisor, for that is an honour I cannot pretend to--I am on the list,\nas we call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out by-and-by to act\nas one; but at present I am a simple gauger, tho' t'other day I got an\nappointment to an excise division of £25 _per annum_ better than the\nrest. My present income, down money, is £70 _per annum_.\n\nI have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad to know.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXVIII.--TO MISS DAVIES.\n\nIt is impossible, Madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity of\nyour youthful mind can have any idea of that moral disease under which I\nunhappily must rank as the chief of sinners; I mean a torpitude of the\nmoral powers that may be called a lethargy of conscience. In vain\nRemorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all her snakes: beneath the\ndeadly-fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence their wildest ire is\ncharmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering out the rigours of winter\nin the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing less, Madam, could have made me\nso long neglect your obliging commands. Indeed, I had one apology--the\nbagatelle was not worth presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested\nin Miss Davies's fate and welfare in the serious business of life, amid\nits chances and changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad\nis downright mockery of these ardent feelings; 'tis like an impertinent\njest to a dying friend.\n\nGracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers?\nWhy is the most generous wish to make others blest impotent and\nineffectual as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert? In my\nwalks of life I have met with a few people to whom how gladly would I\nhave said--\"Go, be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded by\nthe scorn of the proud, whom accident has placed above you; or worse\nstill, in whose hands are, perhaps, placed many of the comforts of your\nlife. But there! ascend that rock, Independence, and look justly down on\ntheir littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble under your\nindignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and largely\nimpart that happiness to others which, I am certain, will give\nyourselves so much pleasure to bestow.\"\n\nWhy, dear Madam, must I wake from this delightful reverie, and find it\nall a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I find myself poor\nand powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity, or of\nadding one comfort to the friend I love? Out upon the world! say I, that\nits affairs are administered so ill! They talk of reform;--good Heaven!\nwhat a reform would I make among the sons, and even the daughters of\nmen! Down, immediately, should go fools from the high places where\nmisbegotten chance has perked them up, and through life should they\nskulk, ever haunted by their native insignificance, as the body marches\naccompanied by its shadow. As for a much more formidable class, the\nknaves, I am at a loss what to do with them: had I a world, there should\nnot be a knave in it.\n\nBut the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I would pour\ndelight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love.\n\nStill the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively tolerable;\nbut there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every view in which\nwe can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked at the rude,\ncapricious distinctions of Fortune. Woman is the blood-royal of life:\nlet there be slight degrees of precedency among them--but let them be\nALL sacred. Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong, I am not\naccountable; it is an original component feature of my mind.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXIX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\n_5th January_ 1792.\n\nYou see my hurried life, Madam: I can only command starts of time;\nhowever, I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the\npolitical blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have\ncorresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the Board had made me the\nsubject of their animadversions; and now I have the pleasure of\ninforming you that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to these\ninformers, may the devil be let loose to--but, hold! I was praying most\nfervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swearing\nin this.\n\nAlas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief\nthey do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or\nthoughtless babblings. What a difference there is in intrinsic worth,\ncandour, benevolence, generosity, kindness,--in all the charities and\nall the virtues--between one class of human beings and another!\n\nFor instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the\nhospitable hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts--their uncontaminated\ndignified minds--their informed and polished understandings--what a\ncontrast, when compared--if such comparing were not downright\nsacrilege--with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the\ndestruction of an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of\nsatisfaction see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling\ninnocents, turned over to beggary and ruin!\n\nYour cup, my dear Madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining\nwith me the other day, when I, with great formality, produced my\nwhigmeleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family-piece among\nthe descendants of William Wallace, This roused such an enthusiasm, that\nthey insisted on bumpering the punch round in it; and by-and-by, never\ndid your great ancestor lay a _Southron_ more completely to rest than\nfor a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the season of\nwishing. May God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the humblest\nand sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many returns of the\nseason! May all good things attend you and yours wherever they are\nscattered over the earth!\n\nR.B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXX.--TO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, PRINTER.\n\nDUMFRIES, _22nd January_ 1792.\n\nI sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young lady[123] to you, and a\nlady in the first ranks of fashion, too. What a task! to you--who care\nno more for the herd of animals called young ladies than you do for the\nherd of animals called young gentlemen; to you--who despise and detest\nthe groupings and combinations of fashion, as an idiot painter that\nseems industrious to place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in the\nforeground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty are too often\nthrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs. Riddell, who will take this letter to\ntown with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even in your own\nway as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an acquisition to your\nacquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary of the muses; and as I think\nmyself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I assure you that her\nverses, always correct, and often elegant, are much beyond the common\nrun of the _lady poetesses_ of the day. She is a great admirer of your\nbook; and, hearing me say that I was acquainted with you, she begged to\nbe known to you, as she is just going to pay her first visit to our\nCaledonian capital. I told her that her best way was to desire her near\nrelation, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his\nhouse while she was there; and lest you might think of a lively West\nIndian girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen too often deserve to be\nthought of, I should take care to remove that prejudice. To be\nimpartial, however, in appreciating the lady's merits, she has one\nunlucky failing--a failing which you will easily discover, as she seems\nrather pleased with indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily\npardon, as it is a sin which very much besets yourself;--where she\ndislikes, or despises, she is apt to make no more a secret of it, than\nwhere she esteems and respects.\n\nI will not present you with the unmeaning _compliments of the season_,\nbut I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that\nFortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a knave, or set\nyour character on the judgment of a fool; but that, upright and erect,\nyou may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall say, here\nlies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall say, here\nlies a man who did honour to human nature.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 123: Maria Riddell, a gay, clever, young Creole, wife of\n Walter, brother of Captain Riddell.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXL--TO MR. WILLIAM NICOL.\n\n20_th February_ 1792.\n\nO thou wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full moon of\ndiscretion, and chief of many counsellors! How infinitely is thy\npuddle-headed, rattleheaded, wrong-headed, round-headed slave indebted\nto thy super-eminent goodness, that from the luminous path of thy own\nright-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring wretch,\nof whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of calculation, from\nthe simple copulation of units, up to the hidden mysteries of fluxions!\nMay one feeble ray of that light of wisdom which darts from thy\nsensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and bright as the meteor of\ninspiration, may it be my portion, so that I may be less unworthy of the\nface and favour of that father of proverbs and master of maxims, that\nantipode of folly, and magnet among the sages, the wise and witty Willie\nNicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!\n\nFor me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing! From the cave of my\nignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my\npolitical heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the\niron-barred lucarne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory of\na summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, When shall my\nname be the quotation of the wise, and my countenance be the delight of\nthe godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many hills?[124] As for\nhim, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny blur the fair\npage of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at his dwelling.\n\nThou mirror of purity, when shall the elfin lamp of my glimmerous\nunderstanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine\nlike the constellation of thy intellectual powers. As for thee, thy\nthoughts are pure and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed breath\nof the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness, pollute the\nsacred flame of thy sky-descended and heaven-bound desires: never did\nthe vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene of thy cerulean\nimagination. O that like thine were the tenor of my life, like thine the\ntenor of my conversation! then should no friend fear for my strength, no\nenemy rejoice in my weakness! Then should I lie down and rise up, and\nnone to make me afraid. May thy pity and thy prayer be exercised for, O\nthou lamp of wisdom and mirror of morality! thy devoted slave,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 124: Mr. Nicol had purchased a small piece of ground called\n Laggan, on the Nith. There took place the Bacchanalian scene which\n called forth \"Willie brew'd a peck o' Maat.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXIL.--TO MR. FRANCIS GROSE, F.S A.\n\nDUMFRIES, 1792.\n\nAmong the many witch stories I have heard, relating to Alloway Kirk, I\ndistinctly remember only two or three.\n\nUpon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind, and bitter blasts\nof hail; in short, on such a night as the devil would choose to take the\nair in; a farmer or farmer's servant was plodding and plashing homeward\nwith his plough-irons on his shoulder, having been getting some repairs\non them at a neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the kirk of Alloway,\nand being rather on the anxious look out in approaching a place so well\nknown to be a favourite haunt of the devil and the devil's friends and\nemissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering through the horrors of\nthe storm and stormy night, a light, which on his nearer approach\nplainly showed itself to proceed from the haunted edifice. Whether he\nhad been fortified from above on his devout supplication, as is\ncustomary with people when they suspect the immediate presence of Satan;\nor whether, according to another custom, he got courageously drunk at\nthe smithy, I will not pretend to determine; but so it was that he\nventured to go up to, nay, into the very kirk. As luck would have it his\ntemerity came off unpunished.\n\nThe members of the infernal junto were all out on some midnight business\nor other, and he saw nothing but a kind of kettle or caldron, depending\nfrom the roof, over the fire, simmering some heads of unchristened\nchildren, limbs of executed malefactors, etc., for the business of the\nnight. It was in for a penny, in for a pound, with the honest ploughman:\nso without ceremony he unhooked the caldron from off the fire, and,\npouring out the damn'd ingredients, inverted it on his head, and carried\nit fairly home, where it remained long in the family, a living evidence\nof the truth of the story.\n\nAnother story, which I can prove to be equally authentic, is as follows:\n\nOn a market day in the town of Ayr a farmer from Carrick, and\nconsequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway kirk-yard, in\norder to cross the river Doon at the old Bridge, which is about two or\nthree hundred yards farther on than the said gate, had been detained by\nhis business, till by the time he reached Alloway it was the wizard\nhour, between night and morning.\n\nThough he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet as it\nis a well-known fact that to turn back on these occasions is running by\nfar the greatest risk of mischief, he prudently advanced on his road.\nWhen he had reached the gate of the kirk-yard, he was surprised and\nentertained, through the ribs and arches of an old gothic window, which\nstill faces the highway, to see a dance of witches merrily footing it\nround their old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping them all alive\nwith the power of his bagpipe. The farmer stopping his horse to observe\nthem a little, could plainly descry the faces of many old women of his\nacquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman was dressed tradition\ndoes not say; but that the ladies were all in their smocks: and one of\nthem happening unluckily to have a smock which was considerably too\nshort to answer all the purpose of that piece of dress, our farmer was\nso tickled that he involuntarily burst out with a loud laugh, \"Weel\nluppen, Maggy wi' the short sark!\" and recollecting himself, instantly\nspurred his horse to the top of his speed. I need not mention the\nuniversally known fact, that no diabolical power can pursue you beyond\nthe middle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the poor farmer that\nthe river Doon was so near, for, notwithstanding the speed of his horse,\nwhich was a good one, against he reached the middle of the arch of the\nbridge, and consequently the middle of the stream, the pursuing,\nvengeful hags were so close at his heels, that one of them actually\nsprung to seize him; but it was too late; nothing was on her side of the\nstream but the horse's tail, which immediately gave way at her infernal\ngrip, as if blasted by a stroke of lightning; but the farmer was beyond\nher reach. However, the unsightly, tail-less condition of the vigorous\nsteed was to the last hour of the noble creature's life, an awful\nwarning to the Carrick farmers, not to stay too late in Ayr markets.\n\nThe last relation I shall give, though equally true, is not so well\nidentified as the two former, with regard to the scene; but as the best\nauthorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate it.\n\nOn a summer's evening, about the time nature puts on her sables to mourn\nthe expiry of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, belonging to a farmer in\nthe immediate neighbourhood of Alloway kirk, had just folded his charge,\nand was returning home. As he passed the kirk, in the adjoining field he\nfell in with a crew of men and women, who were busy pulling stems of the\nplant ragwort. He observed that as each person pulled a ragwort, he or\nshe got astride of it, and called out, \"Up, horsie!\" on which the\nragwort flew off, like Pegasus, through the air with its rider. The\nfoolish boy likewise pulled his ragwort, and cried with the rest, \"Up,\nhorsie!\" and, strange to tell, away he flew with the company. The first\nstage at which the cavalcade stopt was a merchant's wine-cellar in\nBourdeaux, where, without saying \"By your leave,\" they quaffed away at\nthe best the cellar could afford, until the morning, foe to the imps and\nworks of darkness, threatened to throw light on the matter, and\nfrightened them from their carousals.\n\nThe poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to the scene and the\nliquor, heedlessly got himself drunk; and when the rest took horse, he\nfell asleep, and was found so next day by some of the people belonging\nto the merchant. Somebody that understood Scotch, asking him what he\nwas, he said such a-one's herd in Alloway, and by some means or other\ngetting home again, he lived long to tell the world the wondrous\ntale.[125]\n\nR. B.\n\n[Footnote 125: _Cp._ _Hogg's Witch of Fife._]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXIIL.--TO MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nANNAN WATER FOOT, 22_nd August_ 1792.\n\nDo not blame me for it, Madam--my own conscience, hackneyed and\nweather-beaten as it is, in watching and reproving my vagaries, follies,\nindolence, etc., has continued to punish me sufficiently.\n\nDo you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be\nso lost to gratitude for many favours; to esteem for much worth; and to\nthe honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now old acquaintance, and I hope\nand am sure of progressive, increasing friendship--as, for a single day,\nnot to think of you nor to ask the Fates what they are doing and about\nto do with my much loved friend and her wide scattered connections, and\nto beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they possibly can?\n\nApropos! (though how it is apropos I have not leisure to explain) do you\nknow that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of yours?--Almost!\nsaid I--I _am_ in love, souse! over head and ears, deep as the most\nunfathomable abyss of the boundless ocean; but the word Love, owing to\nthe _intermingledoms_ of the good and the bad, the pure and the impure,\nin this world, being rather an equivocal term for expressing one's\nsentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the sacred purity of my\nattachment. Know, then, that the heart-struck awe the distant humble\napproach; the delight we should have in gazing upon and listening to a\nMessenger of Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted purity of his\ncelestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to\ndeliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and their\nimaginations soar in transport--such, so delighting and so pure, were\nthe emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley\nBaillie, your neighbour at Mayfield. Mr. B., with his two daughters,\naccompanied by Mr. H. of G., passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on\ntheir way to England, did me the honour of calling on me; on which I\ntook my horse (though God knows I could ill spare the time), and\naccompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day\nwith them. Twas about nine, I think, when I left them, and, riding home,\nI composed the following ballad, of which you will probably think you\nhave a dear bargain, as it will cost you another groat of postage. You\nmust know that there is an old ballad beginning with--\n\n My bonnie Lizzie Bailie,\n I'll lowe thee in my plaidie, (etc,)\n\nSo I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy,\n\"unanointed, unanneal'd,\" as Hamlet says,--\n\n O saw ye bonny Lesley\n As she gaed o'er the border?\n She's gane, like Alexander,\n To spread her conquests farther, (etc.)\n\nSo much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to the east country, as\nI am to be in Ayrshire in about a fortnight. This world of ours,\nnotwithstanding it has many good things in it, yet it has ever had this\ncurse, that two or three people, who would be the happier the oftener\nthey met together, are, almost without exception, always so placed as\nnever to meet but once or twice a-year, which, considering the few years\nof a man's life, is a very great \"evil under the sun,\" which I do not\nrecollect that Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue of the miseries of\nman. I hope and believe that there is a state of existence beyond the\ngrave, where the worthy of this life will renew their former intimacies,\nwith this endearing addition, that \"we meet to part no more\"\n\n Tell us, ye dead,\n Will none of you in pity disclose the secret\n What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be!\n\nA thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the departed sons of\nmen, but not one of them has ever thought fit to answer the question. \"O\nthat some courteous ghost would blab it out!\" but it cannot be; you and\nI, my friend, must make the experiment by ourselves, and for ourselves.\nHowever, I am so convinced that an unskaken faith in the doctrines of\nreligion is not only necessary, by making us better men, but also by\nmaking us happier men, that I shall take every care that your little\ngodson, and every little creature that shall call me father, shall be\ntaught them. So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this wild\nplace of the world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging a\nvessel of rum from Antigua.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXIV.--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\nDUMFRIES, 10_th September_ 1792.\n\nNo! I will not attempt an apology. Amid all my hurry of business,\ngrinding the faces of the publican and the sinner on the merciless\nwheels of the Excise; making ballads, and then drinking, and singing\nthem; and, over and above all, the correcting the press-work of two\ndifferent publications; still, still I might have stolen five minutes to\ndedicate to one of the first of my friends and fellow-creatures. I might\nhave done, as I do at present-snatched an hour near \"witching time of\nnight,\" and scrawled a page or two; I might have congratulated my friend\non his marriage; or I might have thanked the Caledonian archers for the\nhonour they have done me (though, to do myself justice, I intended to\nhave done both in rhyme, else I had done both long ere now). Well, then,\nhere is to your good health! for you must know, I have set a nipperkin\nof toddy by me, just by way of spell, to keep away the meikle horned\ndeil, or any of his subaltern imps who may be on their nightly rounds.\n\nBut what shall I write to you?--\"The voice said, cry,\" and I said, \"What\nshall I cry?\"--O, thou spirit! whatever thou art, or wherever thou\nmakest thyself visible! be thou a bogle by the eerie side of an auld\nthorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-callan maun bicker in\nhis gloamin route frae the fauld!--Be thou a brownie, set, at dead of\nnight, to thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary barn, where\nthe repercussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself, as thou\nperformest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the cock-crowing\nsummon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brose. Be thou a kelpie,\nhaunting the ford or ferry, in the starless night, mixing thy laughing\nyell with the howling of the storm and the roaring of the flood, as thou\nviewest the perils and miseries of man on the foundering horse, or in\nthe tumbling boat!--Or, lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy nocturnal\nvisits to the hoary ruins of decayed grandeur; or performing thy mystic\nrites in the shadow of the time-worn church, while the moon looks,\nwithout a cloud, on the silent, ghastly dwellings of the dead around\nthee; or taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain, or the\nmurderer, portraying on his dreaming fancy, pictures, dreadful as the\nhorrors of unveiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed\nDeity!--Come, thou spirit, but not in these horrid forms; come with the\nmilder, gentle, easy inspirations, which thou breathest round the wig of\na prating advocate, or the tête of a tea-sipping gossip, while their\ntongues run at the light-horse gallop of clish-maclaver for ever and\never--come and assist a poor devil who is quite jaded in the attempt to\nshare half an idea among half a hundred words; to fill up four quarto\npages, while he has not got one single sentence of recollection,\ninformation, or remark worth putting pen to paper for.\n\nI feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assistance! Circled in the\nembrace of my elbow-chair, my breast labours, liked the bloated Sibyl on\nher three-footed stool, and like her too, labours with Nonsense.\nNonsense, auspicious name! Tutor, friend, and finger-post in the mystic\nmazes of law; the cadaverous paths of physic: and particularly in the\nsightless soarings of SCHOOL DIVINITY, who, leaving Common Sense\nconfounded at the strength of his pinion; Reason delirious with eyeing\nhis giddy flight; and Truth creeping back into the bottom of her well,\ncursing the hour that ever she offered her scorned alliance to the\nwizard power of Theologic Vision-raves abroad on all the winds:-- \"On\nearth discord! a gloomy Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the\nnineteen-thousandth part of the tithe of mankind! and below, an\ninescapable and inexorable hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the\nvast residue of mortals!!! \"--O doctrine! comfortable and healing to the\nweary wounded soul of man! Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye\n_pauvres miserables,_ to whom day brings no pleasure, and night yields\nno rest, be comforted! 'Tis but _one_ to nineteen hundred thousand that\nyour situation will mend in this world; so, alas, the experience of the\npoor and needy too often affirms; and 'tis nineteen hundred thousand to\n_one,_ by the dogmas of Theology, that you will be condemned eternally\nin the world to come!\n\nBut of all Nonsense, Religious Nonsense is the most nonsensical; so\nenough, and more than enough, of it. Only, by-the-bye, will you, or can\nyou tell me, my dear Cunningham, why a sectarian turn of mind has always\na tendency to narrow and illiberalise the heart? They are orderly; they\nmay be just; nay, I have known them merciful: but still your children\nof sanctity move among their fellow-creatures with a nostril snuffing\nputrescence, and a foot spurning filth--in short, with a conceited\ndignity that your titled Douglases, or any other of your Scottish\nlordlings of seven centuries standing, display when they accidentally\nmix among the many-aproned sons of mechanical life. I remember, in my\nplough-boy days, I could not conceive it possible that a noble lord\ncould be a fool, or a godly man could be a knave. How ignorant are\nplough-boys!--Nay, I have since discovered that a _godly woman_ may be\na--!--But hold--here's t'ye again--this rum is generous Antigua, so a\nvery unfit menstruum for scandal.\n\nApropos, how do you like, I mean _really_ like, the married life? Ah, my\nfriend! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your love-sick\nyouths and sighing girls take it to be! But marriage, we are told, is\nappointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with any of His\ninstitutions. I am a husband of older standing than you, and shall give\nyou my ideas of the conjugal state, (_en passant_--you know I am no\nLatinist-is not _conjugal_ derived from _jugum_, a yoke?) Well, then,\nthe scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts. Good-nature, four;\nGood Sense, two; Wit, one; Personal Charms, viz., a sweet face, eloquent\neyes, fine limbs, graceful carriage (I would add a fine waist too, but\nthat is so soon spoilt, you know), all these, one; as for the other\nqualities belonging to, or attending on, a wife, such as Fortune,\nConnections, Education (I mean education extraordinary), Family blood,\netc., divide the two remaining degrees among them as you please; only,\nremember that all these minor properties must be expressed by\n_fractions,_ for there is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale,\nentitled to the dignity of an _integer_.\n\nAs for the rest of my fancies and reveries--how I lately met with Miss\nLesley Baillie, the most beautiful, elegant woman in the world--how I\naccompanied her and her father's family fifteen miles on their journey,\nout of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of the works of God, in\nsuch an unequalled display of them--how, in galloping home at night, I\nmade a ballad on her, of which these two stanzas make a part--\n\n Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a queen,\n Thy subjects we before thee;\n Thou, bonnie Lesley, art divine,\n The hearts o' men adore thee.\n The very deil he could na scathe\n Whatever wad belang thee!\n He'd look into thy bonnie face\n And say, \"I canna wrang thee\"--\n\nbehold all these things are written in the chronicles of my imagination,\nand shall be read by thee, my dear friend, and by thy beloved spouse, my\nother dear friend, at a more convenient season.\n\nNow to thee and thy wife [_etc._--a mock benediction.]\n\nR.B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXV.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nDUMFRIES, _24th September 1792_.\n\nI have this moment, my dear Madam, yours of the twenty-third. All your\nother kind reproaches, your news, etc., are out of my head when I read\nand think of Mrs. Henri's[126] situation. Good God! a heart-wounded\nhelpless young woman--in a strange, foreign land, and that land\nconvulsed with every horror that can harrow the human feelings\n--sick-looking, longing for a comforter, but finding none--a mother's\nfeelings, too:--but it is too much: He who wounded (He only can) may\nHe heal!\n\nI wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his family.... I\ncannot say that I give Him joy of his life as a farmer. 'Tis, as a\nfarmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent, a _cursed life!_ As to a\nlaird farming his own property; sowing his own corn in hope; and reaping\nit, in spite of brittle weather, in gladness; knowing that none can say\nunto him, \"What dost thou?\"--fattening his herds; shearing his flocks;\nrejoicing at Christmas; and begetting sons and daughters, until he be\nthe venerated, grey-haired leader of a little tribe--'tis a heavenly\nlife! but devil take the life of reaping the fruits that another\nmust eat!\n\nWell, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to seeing me when I make my\nAyrshire visit. I cannot leave Mrs. Burns until her nine months' race is\nrun, which may perhaps be in three or four weeks. She, too, seems\ndetermined to make me the patriarchal leader of a band. However, if\nHeaven will be so obliging as to let me have them in the proportion of\nthree boys to one girl, I shall be so much the more pleased. I hope, if\nI am spared with them, to show a set of boys that will do honour to my\ncares and name; but I am not equal to the task of rearing girls.\nBesides, I am too poor; a girl should always have a fortune. Apropos,\nyour little godson is thriving charmingly, but is a very deil. He,\nthough two years younger, has completely mastered his brother. Robert is\nindeed the mildest, gentlest creature I ever saw. He has a most\nsurprising memory, and is quite the pride of his schoolmaster.\n\nYou know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear to our\nheart: you can excuse it. God bless you and yours!\n\n [Footnote 126: Her daughter, ill in France.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXVI.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\n_Supposed to have been written on the Death of Mirs. Henri, her\ndaughter, at Muges._\n\nI had been from home, and did not receive your letter until my return\nthe other day. What shall I say to comfort you, my much-valued,\nmuch-afflicted friend! I can but grieve with you; consolation I have\nnone to offer, except that which religion holds out to the children of\naffliction--_children of affliction!_--how just the expression! and\nlike every other family, they have matters among them which they hear,\nsee, and feel in a serious, all-important manner, of which the world has\nnot, nor cares to have, any idea. The world looks indifferently on,\nmakes the passing remark, and proceeds to the next novel occurrence.\n\nAlas, Madam! who would wish for many years? What is it but to drag\nexistence until our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a night of\nmisery: like the gloom which blots out the stars, one by one, from the\nface of night, and leaves us, without a ray of comfort, in the\nhowling waste!\n\nI am interrupted, and must leave off. You shall soon hear from me again.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCLXXVII.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nDUMFRIES, _6th December 1792._\n\nI shall be in Ayrshire, I think, next week; and, if at all possible, I\nshall certainly, my much esteemed friend, have the pleasure of visiting\nat Dunlop House.\n\nAlas, Madam! how seldom do we meet in this world, that we have reason to\ncongratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness! I have not passed\nhalf the ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely look\nover the obituary of a newspaper that I do not see some names that I\nhave known, and which I and other acquaintances little thought to meet\nwith there so soon. Every other instance of the mortality of our kind\nmakes us cast an anxious look into the dreadful abyss of uncertainty,\nand shudder with apprehension for our own fate. But of how different an\nimportance are the lives of different individuals! Nay, of what\nimportance is one period of the same life more than another? A few years\nago I could have lain down in the dust, \"careless of the voice of the\nmorning;\" and now not a few, and these most helpless individuals, would,\non losing me and my exertions, lose both \"staff and shield.\" By the way,\nthese helpless ones have lately got an addition--Mrs. B. having given me\na fine girl since I wrote you. There is a charming passage in Thomson's\"\nEdward and Eleanora:\"\n\n The valiant, _in himself_ what can he suffer?\n Or what need he regard his _single_ woes? (etc.)\n\nI do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson's dramas. I pick up\nfavourite quotations, and store them in my mind as ready armour,\noffensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.\nOf these is one, a very favourite one, from his \"Alfred:\"\n\n Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds\n And offices of life; to life itself,\n With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose.\n\nProbably I have quoted these to you formerly, as indeed, when I write\nfrom the heart, I am apt to be guilty of repetitions. The compass of the\nheart, in the musical style of expression, is much more bounded than\nthat of the imagination; so the notes of the former are extremely apt to\nrun into one another; but in return for the paucity of its compass, its\nfew notes are much more sweet....\n\nI see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en scribble out\nt'other sheet. We in this country here have many alarms of the\nreforming, or rather the republican spirit, of your part of the kingdom.\nIndeed, we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, I am a\nplaceman, you know; a very humble one indeed, Heaven knows, but still so\nmuch as to gag me. What my private sentiments are, you will find out\nwithout an interpreter.\n\nI have taken up the subject, and the other day, for a pretty actress's\nbenefit night, I wrote an address, which I will give on the other page,\ncalled \"The Rights of Woman.\" I shall have the honour of receiving your\ncriticisms in person at Dunlop.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXVIII.--To MR. R. GRAHAM, FINTRY.\n\n_December 1792. _\n\nSir,--I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted, by Mr. Mitchel,\nthe collector, telling me that he has received an order from your Board\nto inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person\ndisaffected to government.\n\nSir, you are a husband--and a father. You know what you would feel, to\nsee the much-loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling\nlittle ones, turned adrift into the world, degraded and disgraced from a\nsituation in which they had been respectable and respected, and left\nalmost without the necessary support of a miserable existence. Alas,\nSir! must I think that such, soon, will be my lot! and from the damn'd,\ndark insinuations of hellish, groundless envy too! I believe, Sir, I may\naver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not tell a\ndeliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if worse can\nbe, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head; and I say, that the\nallegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie! To the British\nConstitution, on revolution principles, next after my God, I am most\ndevoutly attached. You, Sir, have been much and generously my friend:\nHeaven knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how gratefully I\nhave thanked you. Fortune, Sir, has made you powerful, and me impotent;\nhas given you patronage, and me dependence. I would not for my single\nself call on your humanity; were such my insular, unconnected situation,\nI would despise the tear that now swells in my eye--I could brave\nmisfortune, I could face ruin; for at the worst, \"Death's thousand doors\nstand open;\" but, good God! the tender concerns that I have mentioned,\nthe claims and ties that I see at this moment, and feel around me, how\nthey unnerve Courage, and wither Resolution! To your patronage, as a man\nof some genius, you have allowed me a claim; and your esteem, as an\nhonest man, I know is my due: to these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by\nthese may I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to\noverwhelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have\nnot deserved.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXIX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nDUMFRIES, _31st December 1792._\n\nDear Madam,--A hurry of business, thrown in heaps by my absence, has\nuntil now prevented my returning my grateful acknowledgments to the good\nfamily of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable kindness\nwhich rendered the four days I spent under that genial roof, four of the\npleasantest I ever enjoyed. Alas, my dearest friend! how few and\nfleeting are those things we call pleasures! on my road to Ayrshire I\nspent a night with a friend whom I much valued; a man whose days\npromised to be many; and on Saturday last we laid him in the dust!\n\n_Jan. 2nd, 1793._\n\nI have just received yours of the 30th, and feel much for your\nsituation. However, I heartily rejoice in your prospect of recovery from\nthat vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not quite free of\nmy complaint. You must not think, as you seem to insinuate, that in my\nway of life I want exercise. Of that I have enough; but occasional hard\ndrinking is the devil to me. Against this I have again and again bent my\nresolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have totally\nabandoned: it is the private parties in the family way, among the\nhard-drinking gentlemen of this country, that do me the mischief--but\neven this I have more than half given over.\n\nMr. Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least I should\nbe shy of applying. I cannot possibly be settled as a supervisor for\nseveral years. I must wait the rotation of the list, and there are\ntwenty names before mine. --I might indeed get a job of officiating,\nwhere a settled supervisor was ill, or aged; but that hauls me from my\nfamily, as I could not remove them on such an uncertainty. Besides, some\nenvious, malicious devil has raised a little demur on my political\nprinciples, and I wish to let that matter settle before I offer myself\ntoo much in the eye of my supervisors. I have set, henceforth, a seal on\nmy lips, as to these unlucky politics; but to you I must breathe my\nsentiments. In this, as in everything else, I shall show the undisguised\nemotions of my soul. War I deprecate: misery and ruin to thousands are\nin the blast that announces the destructive demon. But....\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXX.--To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY.\n\nDUMFRIES, _Morning of 5th Jan._ 1793.\n\nSir,--I am this moment honoured with your letter. With what feelings I\nreceived this other instance of your goodness I shall not pretend\nto describe.\n\nNow to the charges which malice and misrepresentation have brought\nagainst me.[127] It has been said, it seems, that I not only belong to,\nbut head a disaffected party in this town. I know of no party here,\nrepublican or reform, except an old Burgh-Reform party, with which I\nnever had anything to do. Individuals, both republican and reform, we\nhave, though not many of either; but if they have associated, it is more\nthan I have the least knowledge of, and if such an association exist it\nmust consist of such obscure, nameless beings as precludes any\npossibility of my being known to them, or they to me.\n\nI was in the playhouse one night when _Cà Ira_ was called for. I was in\nthe middle of the pit, and from the pit the clamour arose. One or two\npersons, with whom I occasionally associate, were of the party, but I\nneither knew of, nor joined in the plot, nor at all opened my lips to\nhiss or huzza that, or any other political tune whatever. I looked on\nmyself as far too obscure a man to have any weight in quelling a riot,\nand at the same time as a person of higher respectability than to yell\nto the howlings of a rabble. I never uttered any invectives against the\nking. His private worth it is altogether impossible that such a man as I\ncan appreciate; but in his public capacity I always revered, and always\nwill with the soundest loyalty revere the monarch of Great Britain\nas--to speak in masonic--the sacred keystone of our royal arch\nconstitution. As to Reform principles, I look upon the British\nConstitution, as settled at the Revolution, to be the most glorious on\nearth, or that perhaps the wit of man can frame; at the same time I\nthink, not alone, that we have a good deal deviated from the original\nprinciples of that Constitution,--particularly, that an alarming system\nof corruption has pervaded the connection between the Executive and the\nHouse of Commons. This is the whole truth of my Reform opinions, which,\nbefore I knew the complexion of these innovating times, I too\nunguardedly as I now see sported with: henceforth I seal up my lips. But\nI never dictated to, corresponded with, or had the least connection with\nany political association whatever. Of Johnstone, the publisher of the\n_Edinburgh Gazetteer_, I know nothing. One evening, in company with four\nor five friends, we met with his prospectus, which we thought manly and\nindependent; and I wrote to him, ordering his paper for us. If you think\nI act improperly in allowing his paper to come addressed to me, I shall\nimmediately countermand it. I never wrote a line of prose to _The\nGazetteer_ in my life. An address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her\nbenefit night, and which I called \"The Rights of Woman,\" I sent to _The\nGazetteer_, as also some stanzas on the Commemoration of the poet\nThomson: both of these I will subjoin for your perusal. You will see\nthey have nothing whatever to do with politics.\n\nAs to France, I was her enthusiastic votary in the beginning of the\nbusiness. When she came to shew her old avidity for conquest by annexing\nSavoy and invading the rights of Holland, I altered my sentiments.\n\nThis, my honoured patron, is all. To this statement I challenge\ndisquisition. Mistaken prejudice or unguarded passion may mislead, have\noften misled me; but when called on to answer for my mistakes, though no\nman can feel keener compunction for them, yet no man can be more\nsuperior to evasion or disguise.--I have the honour to be, Sir, your\never grateful, etc.,\n\nROBT. BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 127: Because of what Burns elsewhere called \"Some temeraire\n conduct of mine, in the political opinions of the day.\"]\n\n * * * *\n\nCLXXXI.--TO MR. ALEX. CUNNINGHAM, W.S., EDINBURGH.\n\nDUMFRIES, _20th Feb_. 1793.\n\nWhat are you doing? What hurry have you got on your head, my dear\nCunningham, that I have not heard from you? Are you deeply engaged in\nthe mazes of the Jaw, the mysteries of love, or the profound wisdom of\n_politics_? Curse on the word!\n\n_Q_. What is Politics?\n\n_A_. It is a science wherewith, by means of nefarious cunning and\nhypocritical pretence, we govern civil politics (sic) for the emolument\nof ourselves and adherents.\n\nQ. What is a minister?\n\nA. An unprincipled fellow who, by the influence of hereditary or\nacquired wealth, by superior abilities or by a lucky conjuncture of\ncircumstances, obtains a principal place in the administration of the\naffairs of government.\n\nQ. What is a patriot?\n\nA. An individual exactly of the same description as a minister, only out\nof place.\n\nI was interrupted in my Catechism, and am returned at a late hour just\nto subscribe my name, and to put you in mind of the forgotten friend of\nthat name who is still in the land of the living, though I can hardly\nsay in the place of hope.\n\nI made the enclosed sonnet[128] the other day. Adieu!\n\nROBT. BURNS.\n\n [Footnote 128: \"On Hearing a Thrush Sing.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXIL--To MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\n3rd March 1793.\n\nSince I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time to\nwrite to you farther. When I say that I had not time, that, as usual,\nmeans that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so\ncompletely shared my hours among them, as not to leave me a five\nminutes' fragment to take up a pen in.\n\nThank Heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the renovating\nyear. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say he\nthinks I have used him unkindly, and I must own with too much appearance\nof truth...\n\nThere is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a\nvaluable seal, a present from a departed friend, which vexes me much. I\nhave gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a\nvery decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you\nbe so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business? I\ndo not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at\nall; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief\nof the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to\nsupporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am a\nbit of a herald, and shall give you, _secundum artem_, my arms. On a\nfield, azure, a holly bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe\nand crook, saltier-wise, also proper, in chief. On a wreath of the\ncolours, a wood-lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for crest.\nTwo mottoes; round the top of the crest, _Wood notes wild_; at the\nbottom of the shield, in the usual place, _Better a wee bush than nae\nbield_. By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the nonsense of\npainters of Arcadia, but a _Stock and Horn_, and a _Club_ such as you\nsee at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition of the\n\"Gentle Shepherd.\" By-the-bye, do you know Allan? He must be a man of\nvery great genius--Why is he not more known?--Has he no patrons? or do\n\"Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and heavy\" on him? I\nonce, and but once, got a glance of that noble edition of the noblest\npastoral in the world: and dear as it was, I mean dear as to my pocket,\nI would have bought it; but I was told that it was printed and engraved\nfor subscribers only. He is the _only_ artist who has hit _genuine_\npastoral _costume_. What, my dear Cunningham, is there in riches, that\nthey narrow and harden the heart so? I think, that were I as rich as the\nsun, I should be as generous as the day: but as I have no reason to\nimagine my soul a nobler one than any other man's, I must conclude that\nwealth imparts a bird-lime quality to the possessor, at which the man,\nin his native poverty, would have revolted. What has led me to this, is\nthe idea of such merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches as a\nnabob or government contractor possesses, and why they do not form a\nmutual league. Let wealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the\ngratitude and celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXIII.--To Miss BENSON, YORK, AFTERWARDS MRS. BASIL MONTAGU.\n\nDUMFRIES, _21st March 1793._\n\nMadam,--Among many things for which I envy those hale, long-lived old\nfellows before the flood, is this in particular, that when they met with\nanybody after their own heart, they had a charming long prospect of\nmany, many happy meetings with them in after-life.\n\nNow, in this short, stormy, winter day of our fleeting existence, when\nyou now and then, in the Chapter of Accidents, meet an individual whose\nacquaintance is a real acquisition, there are all the probabilities\nagainst you, that you shall never meet with that valued character more.\nOn the other hand, brief as this miserable being is, it is none of the\nleast of the miseries belonging to it, that if there is any miscreant\nwhom you hate, or creature whom you despise, the ill-run of the chances\nshall be so against you, that in the over takings, turnings, and\njostlings of life, pop! at some unlucky corner, eternally comes the\nwretch upon you, and will not allow your indignation or contempt a\nmoment's repose. As I am a sturdy believer in the powers of darkness, I\ntake these to be the doings of that old author of mischief, the devil.\nIt is well known that he has some kind of short-hand way of taking down\nour thoughts, and I make no doubt that he is perfectly acquainted with\nmy sentiments respecting Miss Benson; how much I admired her abilities\nand valued her worth, and how very fortunate I thought myself in her\nacquaintance. For this last reason, my dear Madam, I must entertain no\nhopes of the very great pleasure of meeting with you again.--I am, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCLXXXIV.-To MR. JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE, OF MAR.\n\nDUMFRIES, 13th _April 1793.\n\nSir,--Degenerate as human nature is said to be--and in many instances\nworthless and unprincipled it is--still there are bright examples to the\ncontrary: examples that, even in the eyes of superior beings, must shed\na lustre on the name of Man.\n\nSuch an example have I now before me, when you, Sir, came forward to\npatronise and befriend a distant and obscure stranger, merely because\npoverty had made him helpless, and his British hardihood of mind had\nprovoked the arbitrary of wantonness and power. My much esteemed friend,\nMr, Riddel of Glenriddel, has just read me a paragraph of a letter he\nhad from you. Accept, Sir, of the silent throb of gratitude, for words\nwould but mock the emotions of my soul.\n\nYou have been misinformed as to my final dismissal from the Excise; I am\nstill in the service. Indeed, but for the exertions of a gentleman who\nmust be known to you, Mr. Graham of Fintry, a gentleman who has ever\nbeen my warm and generous friend, I had, without so much as a hearing,\nor the slightest previous intimation, been turned adrift, with my\nhelpless family, to all the horrors of want. Had I had any other\nresource, probably I might have saved them the trouble of a dismissal;\nbut the little money I gained by my publication is almost every guinea\nembarked to save from ruin an only brother, who, though one of the\nworthiest, is by no means one of the most fortunate of men.\n\nIn my defence to their accusations, I said, that whatever might be my\nsentiments of republics, ancient or modern, as to Britain, I abjured the\nidea: That a constitution, which, in its original principles, experience\nhad proved to be every way fitted for our happiness in society, it would\nbe insanity to sacrifice to an untried visionary theory: That, in\nconsideration of my being situated in a department, however humble,\nimmediately in the hands of people in power, I had forborne taking any\nactive part, either personally, or as an author, in the present business\nof Reform: but that, where I must declare my sentiments, I would say\nthere existed a system of corruption between the executive power and the\nrepresentative part of the legislature, which boded no good to our\nglorious constitution, and which every patriotic Briton must wish to see\namended. Some such sentiments as these I stated in a letter to my\ngenerous patron, Mr. Graham, which he laid before the Board at large;\nwhere, it seems, my last remark gave great offence: and one of our\nsupervisors-general, a Mr. Corbet, was instructed to inquire on the\nspot, and to document me--\"that my business was to act, _not to think_;\nand that whatever might be men or measures, it was for me to be _silent_\nand _obedient_\".\n\nMr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend; so between Mr. Graham and him\nI have been partly forgiven; only I understand that all hopes of my\ngetting officially forward are blasted.\n\nNow, Sir, to the business in which I would more immediately interest\nyou. The partiality of my countrymen has brought me forward as a man of\ngenius, and has given me a character to support. In the Poet I have\navowed manly and independent sentiments, which I trust will be found in\nthe man. Reasons of no less weight than the support of a wife and\nfamily, have pointed out as the eligible, and situated as I was, the\nonly eligible line of life for me, my present occupation. Still my\nhonest fame is my dearest concern; and a thousand times have I trembled\nat the idea of those _degrading_ epithets that malice or\nmisrepresentation may affix to my name. I have often, in blasting\nanticipation, listened to some future hackney scribbler, with the heavy\nmalice of savage stupidity, exulting in his hireling paragraphs--\"Burns,\nnotwithstanding the _fanfaronade_ of independence to be found in his\nworks, and after having been held forth to public view and to public\nestimation as a man of some genius, yet, quite destitute of resources\nwithin himself to support his borrowed dignity, he dwindled into a\npaltry exciseman, and slunk out the rest of his insignificant existence\nin the meanest of pursuits, and among the vilest of mankind.\"\n\nIn your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to lodge my disavowal and\ndefiance of these slanderous falsehoods. Burns was a poor man from\nbirth, and an exciseman by necessity; but--I will say it! the sterling\nof his honest worth no poverty could debase, and his independent British\nmind, oppression might bend, but could not subdue. Have not I, to me a\nmore precious stake in my country's welfare, than the richest dukedom in\nit?--I have a large family of children, and the prospect of more. I have\nthree sons, who, I see already, have brought into the world souls ill\nqualified to inhabit the bodies of slaves.--Can I look tamely on, and\nsee any machinations to wrest from them the birthright of my boys,--the\nlittle independent Britons, in whose veins runs my own blood?--No! I\nwill not! should my heart's blood stream around my attempt to defend it!\n\nDoes any man tell me that my full efforts can be of no service; and that\nit does not belong to my humble station to meddle with the concerns of\na nation?\n\nI can tell him that it is on such individuals as I that a nation has to\nrest, both for the hand of support and the eye of intelligence. The\nuninformed mob may swell a nation's bulk; and the titled, tinsel,\ncourtly throng may be its feathered ornament; but the number of those\nwho are elevated enough in life to reason and to reflect, yet low enough\nto keep clear of the venal contagion of a court!--these are a\nnation's strength.\n\nI know not how to apologise for the impertinent length of this epistle;\nbut one small request I must ask of you farther--When you have honoured\nthis letter with a perusal, please to commit it to the flames. Burns, in\nwhose behalf you have so generously interested yourself, I have here, in\nhis native colours, drawn as he is; but should any of the people in\nwhose hands is the very bread he eats, get the least knowledge of the\npicture, it would ruin the poor bard for ever!\n\nMy poems having just come out in another edition, I beg leave to present\nyou with a copy as a small mark of that high esteem and ardent gratitude\nwith which I have the honour to be, Sir, your deeply indebted, and ever\ndevoted, humble servant,\n\nR. B.[129]\n\n [Footnote 129: This letter was penned in response to the sympathy\n which Mr. Erskine had expressed for Burns in a letter to Captain\n Riddell of Carse, when Burns was taken to task by the Board of Excise\n for his political opinions.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXV.--To MISS M'MORDO, DRUMLANRIG.\n\nDUMFRIES, _Juy 1793._\n\n... Now let me add a few wishes which every man, who has himself the\nhonour of being a father, must breathe when he sees female youth,\nbeauty, and innocence about to enter into this chequered and very\nprecarious world. May you, my young madam, escape that frivolity which\nthreatens universally to pervade the minds and manners of fashionable\nlife, The mob of fashionable female youth--what are they? Are they\nanything? They prattle, laugh, sing, dance, finger a lesson, or perhaps\nturn the pages of a fashionable novel; but are their minds stored with\nany information worthy of the noble powers of reason and judgment? and\ndo their hearts glow with sentiment, ardent, generous, or humane? Were I\nto poetize on the subject I would call them the butterflies of the human\nkind, remarkable only for the idle variety of their ordinary glare,\nsillily straying from one blossoming weed to another, without a meaning\nor an aim, the idiot prey of every pirate of the skies who thinks them\nworth his while as he wings his way by them, and speedily by wintry time\nswept to that oblivion whence they might as well never have appeared.\nAmid this crowd of nothings may you be something, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXVI.--To JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ., DRUMLANRIG.\n\nThis is a painful, disagreeable letter, and the first of the kind I ever\nwrote. I am truly in serious distress for three or four guineas: can\nyou, my dear sir, accommodate me? These accursed times by tripping up\nimportation have, for this year at least, lopped off a full third of my\nincome;[130] and with my large family this is to me a distressing matter.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 130: Never more than 70 UK pounds.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXVII.--To MRS. RIDDEL.\n\nDear Madam,--I meant to have called on you yesternight, but as I edged\nup to your box-door, the first object which greeted my view, was one of\nthose lobster-coated puppies[131] sitting like another dragon, guarding\nthe Hesperian fruit. On the conditions and capitulations you so\nobligingly offer, I shall certainly make my weather-beaten rustic phiz a\npart of your box-furniture on Tuesday; when we may arrange the business\nof the visit.\n\nAmong the profusion of idle compliments, which insidious craft, or\nunmeaning folly, incessantly offer at your shrine--a shrine, how far\nexalted above such adoration--permit me, were it but for rarity's sake,\nto pay you the honest tribute of a warm heart and an independent mind;\nand to assure you that I am, thou most amiable, and most accomplished of\nthy sex, with the most respectful esteem, and fervent regard,\nthine, etc.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 131: Military officers.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXVIII.--To MRS. RIDDEL.\n\nI will wait on you, my ever valued friend, but whether in the morning I\nam not sure. Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue business, and\nmay probably keep me employed with my pen until noon. Fine employment\nfor a poet's pen! There is a species of human genus that I call _the\ngin-horse class_: what enviable dogs they are! Round, and round, and\nround they go,--Mundell's ox, that drives his cotton mill, is their\nexact prototype--without an idea or wish beyond their circle; fat,\nsleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and contented; while here I sit,\naltogether Novemberish, a damn'd melange of fretfulness and melancholy;\nnot enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other to repose\nme in torpor; my soul flouncing and fluttering round her tenement, like\na wild finch, caught amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a\ncage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied,\nwhen he foretold-- \"And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his\nheart, it shall not prosper!\" If my resentment is awaked, it is sure to\nbe where it dare not squeak; and if--....\n\nPray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent visitors of\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCLXXXIX.--To MRS. RIDDEL.\n\nI have often told you, my dear friend, that you had a spice of caprice\nin your composition, and you have as often disavowed it; even perhaps\nwhile your opinions were, at the moment, irrefragably proving it. Could\nany thing estrange me from a friend such as you?--No! To-morrow I shall\nhave the honour of waiting on you.\n\nFarewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished of women I even\nwith all thy little caprices!\n\nR B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXC.--To MRS. RIDDEL.\n\nMadam,--I return your commonplace book. I have perused it with much\npleasure, and would have continued my criticisms, but as it seems the\ncritic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must lose their value.\n\nIf it is true that \"offences come only from the heart,\" before you I am\nguiltless. To admire, esteem, and prize you as the most accomplished of\nwomen, and the first of friends--if these are crimes, I am the most\noffending thing alive.\n\nIn a face where I used to meet the kind complacency of friendly\nconfidence, _now_ to find cold neglect and contemptuous scorn--is a\nwrench that my heart can ill bear. It is, however, some kind of\nmiserable good luck, that while _de-haut-en-bas_ rigour may depress an\nunoffending wretch to the ground, it has a tendency to rouse a stubborn\nsomething in his bosom, which, though it cannot heal the wounds of his\nsoul, is at least an opiate to blunt their poignancy.\n\nWith the profoundest respect for your abilities, the most sincere esteem\nand ardent regard for your gentle heart and amiable manners, and the\nmost fervent wish and prayer for your welfare, peace, and bliss, I have\nthe honour to be, Madam, your most devoted humble servant.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCI.--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\n25_th February_ 1794.\n\nCanst thou minister to a mind diseased? Canst thou speak peace and rest\nto a soul tost on a sea of troubles, without one friendly star to guide\nher course, and dreading that the next surge may overwhelm her? Canst\nthou give to a frame, tremblingly alive to the tortures of suspense, the\nstability and hardihood of the rock that braves the blast? If thou canst\nnot do the least of these, why wouldst thou disturb me in my miseries,\nwith thy inquiries after me?\n\nFor these two months I have not been able to lift a pen. My constitution\nand frame were, _ab origine_, blasted with a deep incurable taint of\nhypochondria, which poisons my existence. Of late a number of domestic\nvexations, and some pecuniary share in the ruin of these cursed times;\nlosses which, though trifling, were yet what I could ill bear, have so\nirritated me, that my feelings at times could only be envied by a\nreprobate spirit listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition.\n\nAre you deep in the language of consolation? I have exhausted in\nreflection every topic of comfort. _A heart at ease_ would have been\ncharmed with my sentiments and reasonings; but as to myself, I was like\nJudas Iscariot preaching the gospel; he might melt and mould the hearts\nof those around him, but his own kept its native incorrigibility.\n\nStill there are two great pillars that bear us up, amid the wreck of\nmisfortune and misery. The ONE is composed of the different\nmodifications of a certain noble, stubborn something in a man, known by\nthe names of courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The OTHER is made up of\nthose feelings and sentiments, which, however the sceptic may deny them,\nor the enthusiast disfigure them, are yet, I am convinced, original and\ncomponent parts of the human soul; those _senses of the mind_ if I may\nbe allowed the expression, which connect us with, and link us to, those\nawful obscure realities--an all-powerful, and equally beneficent God;\nand a world to come, beyond death and the grave. The first gives the\nnerve of combat, while a ray of hope beams on the field: the last pours\nthe balm of comfort into the wounds which time can never cure.\n\nI do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that you and I ever talked on the\nsubject of religion at all. I know some who laugh at it, as the trick of\nthe crafty FEW, to lead the undiscerning MANY; or at most, as an\nuncertain obscurity which mankind can never know anything of, and with\nwhich they are fools if they give themselves much to do. Nor would I\nquarrel with a man for his irreligion, any more than I would for his\nwant of a musical ear, I would regret that he was shut out from what, to\nme and to others, were such superlative sources of enjoyment. It is in\nthis point of a view, and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the\nmind of every child of mine with religion. If my son should happen to be\na man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his\nenjoyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet little fellow, who is\njust now running about my desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent,\nglowing heart; and an imagination, delighted with the painter, and rapt\nwith the poet. Let me figure him wandering out in a sweet evening, to\ninhale the balmy gales, and enjoy the glowing luxuriance of the spring;\nhimself the while in the blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all\nnature, and through nature up to nature's God. His soul, by swift\ndelighting degrees, is rapt above this sublunary sphere until he can be\nsilent no longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthusiasm\nof Thomson,\n\n These, as they change, Almighty Father, these\n Are but the varied God. The rolling year\n Is full of thee.\n\nAnd so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that charming hymn. These are\nno ideal pleasures, they are real delights; and I ask, what of the\ndelights among the sons of men are superior, not to say equal to them?\nAnd they have this precious, vast addition, that conscious virtue stamps\nthem for her own; and lays hold on them to bring herself into the\npresence of a witnessing, judging, and approving God.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCII.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nCASTLE DOUGLAS, _25th June 1794._\n\nHere in a solitary inn, in a solitary village, am I set by myself, to\namuse my brooding fancy as I may. Solitary confinement, you know, is\nHoward's favourite idea of reclaiming sinners; so let me consider by\nwhat fatality it happens, that I have so long been exceeding sinful as\nto neglect the correspondence of the most valued friend I have on earth.\nTo tell you that I have been in poor health will not be excuse enough,\nthough it is true. I am afraid that I am about to suffer for the follies\nof my youth. My medical friends threaten me with a flying gout; but I\ntrust they are mistaken.\n\nI am just going to trouble your critical patience with the first sketch\nof a stanza I have been framing, as I passed along the road. The subject\nis Liberty: you know, my honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. I\ndesign it an irregular ode for General Washington's birth-day. After\nhaving mentioned the degeneracy of other kingdoms I come to\nScotland thus:\n\n Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,\n Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song,\n To thee I turn with swimming eyes;\n Where is that soul of freedom fled?\n Immingled with the mighty dead!\n Beneath the hallowed turf where Wallace lies!\n Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death;\n Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep,\n Disturb ye not the hero's sleep.\n\nYou will probably have another scrawl from me in a stage or two.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCIII.--To MR. JAMES JOHNSON.\n\nDUMFRIES, 1794.\n\nMy Dear Friend,--You should have heard from me long ago; but over and\nabove some vexatious share in the pecuniary losses of these accursed\ntimes, I have all this winter been plagued with low spirits and blue\ndevils, so that _I have almost hung my harp on the willow trees_.\n\nI am just now busy correcting a new edition of my poems, and this, with\nmy ordinary business, finds me in full employment.\n\nI send you by my friend, Mr. Wallace, forty-one songs for your fifth\nvolume; if we cannot finish it any other way, what would you think of\nScotch words to some beautiful Irish airs? In the meantime, at your\nleisure, give a copy of the _Museum_ to my worthy friend, Mr. Peter\nHill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with blank leaves, exactly\nas he did the Laird of Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anecdote I\ncan learn, together with my own criticisms and remarks on the songs. A\ncopy of this kind I shall leave with you, the editor, to publish at some\nafter period, by way of making the _Museum_ a book famous to the end of\ntime, and you renowned for ever.\n\nI have got a highland dirk, for which I have great veneration, as it\nonce was the dirk of _Lord Balmerino_. It fell into bad hands, who\nstripped it of the silver mounting, as well as the knife and fork. I\nhave some thoughts of sending it to your care, to get it mounted\nanew.--Yours, etc.,\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCIV.--To MR. PETER MILLER, JUN., OF DALSWINION.[131]\n\nDUMFRIES, _Nov. 1794._\n\nDear Sir,--Your offer is indeed truly generous, and sincerely do I thank\nyou for it; but in my present situation, I find that I dare not accept\nit. You well know my political sentiments; and were I an insular\nindividual, unconnected with a wife and a family of children, with the\nmost fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my services; I then\ncould and would have despised all consequences that might have ensued.\n\nMy prospect in the Excise is something; at least, it is--encumbered as\nI am with the welfare, the very existence, of near half-a-score of\nhelpless individuals--what I dare not sport with.\n\nIn the meantime, they are most welcome to my Ode; only, let them insert\nit as a thing they have met with by accident and unknown to me. Nay, if\nMr. Perry, whose honour, after your character of him, I cannot doubt, if\nhe will give me an address and channel by which anything will come safe\nfrom those spies with which he may be certain that his correspondence is\nbeset, I will now and then send him any bagatelle that I may write. In\nthe present hurry of Europe, nothing but news and politics will be\nregarded; but against the days of peace, which Heaven send soon, my\nlittle assistance may perhaps fill up an idle column of a newspaper. I\nhave long had it in my head to try my hand in the way of little prose\nessays, which I propose sending into the world through the medium of\nsome newspaper; and should these be worth his while, to these Mr. Perry\nshall be welcome; and all my reward shall be, his treating me with his\npaper, which, by-the-by, to anybody who has the least relish for wit, is\na high treat indeed.\n\nWith the most grateful esteem, I am ever, Dear Sir,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 131: He had offered Burns a post on the staff of _The\n Morning Chronicle_, of which newspaper Mr. Perry was proprietor.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCV.--To MRS, RIDDEL,\n\nMadam,--I dare say that this is the first epistle you ever received from\nthis nether world. I write you from the regions of hell, amid the\nhorrors of the damn'd. The time and manner of my leaving your earth I do\nnot exactly know, as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of\nintoxication, contracted at your too hospitable mansion; but, on my\narrival here, I was fairly tried, and sentenced to endure the\npurgatorial tortures of this infernal confine for the space of\nninety-nine years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days, and all on\naccount of the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under your roof.\nHere am I, laid on a bed of pitiless furze, with my aching head reclined\non a pillow of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal tormentor,\nwrinkled, and old, and cruel--his name I think is _Recollection_--with\na whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to approach me, and keeps\nanguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I could in any measure be\nreinstated in the good opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last\nnight so much injured, I think it would be an alleviation to my\ntorments. For this reason I trouble you with this letter. To the men of\nthe company I will make no apology.--Your husband, who insisted on my\ndrinking more than I chose, has no right to blame me, and the other\ngentlemen were partakers of my guilt. But to you, Madam, I have much to\napologise. Your good opinion I valued as one of the greatest\nacquisitions I had made on earth, and I was truly a beast to forfeit it.\nThere was a Miss I---too, a woman of fine sense, gentle and unassuming\nmanners--do make, on my part, a miserable damn'd wretch's best apology\nto her. A Mrs. G--, a charming woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced\nin my favour; this makes me hope that I have not outraged her beyond all\nforgiveness.--To all the other ladies please present my humblest\ncontrition for my conduct, and my petition for their gracious pardon. O\nall ye powers of decency and decorum! whisper to them that my errors,\nthough great, were involuntary--that an intoxicated man is the vilest of\nbeasts--that it was not in my nature to be brutal to any one--that to be\nrude to a woman, when in my senses, was impossible with me--but--\n\nRegret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hell hounds that ever dog my steps and\nbay at my heels, spare me! spare me!\n\nForgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, Madam, your humble\nslave,\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCVI.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\n_15th December 1795._\n\nMy Dear Friend,--As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, gloomy,\nsullen, stupid, as even the Deity of Dulness herself could wish, I shall\nnot drawl out a heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies for my\nlate silence. Only one I shall mention, because I know you will\nsympathise with it: these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest\nchild, has been so ill, that every day a week or less threatened to\nterminate her existence. There had much need be many pleasures annexed\nto the states of husband and father, for, God knows, they have many\npeculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours\nthese ties frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks;\nme and my exertions all their stay: and on what a brittle thread does\nthe life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of fate! even in\nall the vigour of manhood as I am--such things happen every day\n--Gracious God! what would become of my little flock! 'Tis here that I\nenvy your people of fortune. A father on his deathbed, taking an\neverlasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of\ncompetent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and\nfriends; while I--but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on\nthe subject!\n\nTo leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with the old\nScots ballad--\n\n O that I had ne'er been married,\n I would never had nae care;\n Now I've gotten wife and bairns,\n They cry crowdie evermair.\n\n Crowdie ance, crowdie twice:\n Crowdie three times in a day:\n An ye crowdie ony mair,\n Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.\n\n _25th, Christmas Morning._\n\nThis, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes; accept mine--so\nHeaven hear me as they are sincere! that blessings may attend your\nsteps, and affliction know you not! In the charming words of my\nfavourite author--\"The Man of Feeling,\" \"May the Great Spirit bear up\nthe weight of thy grey hairs, and blunt the arrow that brings\nthem rest!\"\n\nNow that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper? Is not the \"Task\" a\nglorious poem? The religion of the \"Task,\" bating a few scraps of\nCalvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and Nature; the religion\nthat exalts, that ennobles man. Were not you to send me your _Zeluco_ in\nreturn for mine? Tell me how you like my marks and notes through the\nbook. I would not give a farthing for a book, unless I were at liberty\nto blot it with my criticisms.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCXCVII.--To MRS. DUNLOP, IN LONDON.\n\nDUMFRIES, _2Oth December 1795._\n\nI have been prodigiously disappointed in this London journey of\nyours.... Do let me hear from you the soonest possible. As I hope to get\na frank from my friend Captain Miller, I shall, every leisure hour, take\nup the pen and gossip away whatever comes first, prose or poetry, sermon\nor song. In this last article I have abounded of late. I have often\nmentioned to you a superb publication of Scottish songs, which is making\nits appearance in our great metropolis, and where I have the honour to\npreside over the Scottish verse, as no less a personage than Peter\nPindar does over the English.\n\n_December 29th._\n\nSince I began this letter, I have been appointed to act in the capacity\nof supervisor here, and I assure you, what with the load of business,\nand what with that business being new to me, I could scarcely have\ncommanded ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you been in town, much\nless to have written you an epistle. This appointment is only temporary,\nand during the illness of the present incumbent; but I look forward to\nan early period when I shall be appointed in full form: a consummation\ndevoutly to be wished! My political sins seem to be forgiven me.\n\nThis is the season (New Year's day is now my date) of wishing, and mine\nare most fervently offered up for you! May life to you be a positive\nblessing while it lasts, for your own sake; and that it may yet be\ngreatly prolonged is my wish for my own sake, and for the sake of the\nrest of your friends! What a transient business is life! Very lately I\nwas a boy; but t'other day I was a young man; and I already begin to\nfeel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er\nmy frame. With all my follies of youth, and, I fear, a few vices of\nmanhood, still I congratulate myself on having had in early days\nreligion strongly impressed on my mind. I have nothing to say to any one\nas to which sect he belongs to, or what creed he believes: but I look on\nthe man who is firmly persuaded of infinite Wisdom and Goodness\nsuperintending and directing every circumstance that can happen in his\nlot--I felicitate such a man for having a solid foundation for his\nmental enjoyment; a firm prop and sure stay, in the hour of difficulty,\ntrouble, and distress; and a never-failing anchor of hope when he looks\nbeyond the grave.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * *\n\nCXVIII.--To THE HON, THE PROVOST, ETC., OF DUMFRIES.\n\nGentlemen,--The literary taste, and liberal spirit, of your good town\nhas so ably filled the various departments of your schools, as to make\nit a very great object for a parent to have his children educated in\nthem. Still, to me, a stranger, with my large family, and very stinted\nincome, to give my young ones the education I wish, at the high-school\nfees which a stranger pays, will bear hard upon me.\n\nSome years ago, your good town did me the honour of making me an\nhonorary Burgess. Will you allow me to request that this mark of\ndistinction may extend so far, as to put me on a footing of a real\nfreeman of the town, in the schools?\n\nIf you are so very kind as to grant my request, it will certainly be a\nconstant incentive to me to strain every nerve where I can officially\nserve you; and will, if possible, increase that grateful respect with\nwhich I have the honour to be, Gentlemen, your devoted humble servant,\n\nR. B.[132]\n\n [Footnote 132: With the Poet's request the Magistiates of Dumfries\n very handsomely complied. He was induced to make the request through\n the persuasions of Mr. James Gray and Mr. Thomas White, Masters of\n the Grammar School, Dumfries whose memories are still green on the\n banks of the Nith.--CUNNINGHAM.]\n\n * * * *\n\nCXCIX.--To MRS. DUNLOP.[133]\n\nDUMFRIES, _3lst January 1796._\n\nThese many months you have been two packets in my debt--what sin of\nignorance I have committed against so highly valued a friend I am\nutterly at a loss to guess. Alas! Madam, ill can I afford, at this time,\nto be deprived of any of the small remnant of my pleasures. I have\nlately drunk deep of the cup of affliction. The autumn robbed me of my\nonly daughter and darling child, and that at a distance too, and so\nrapidly, as to put it out of my power to pay the last duties to\nher.[133a] I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock, when I\nbecame myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long the\ndie spun doubtful; until after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to\nhave turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl across my room, and\nonce indeed have been before my own door in the street.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 133: Cunningham says--\"It seems all but certain that Mrs.\n Dunlop regarded the Poet with some little displeasure during the\n evening of his days.\"]\n\n [Footnote 133a: This child died at Mauchline.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCC.--To MR. JAMES JOHNSON.\n\nDUMFRIES, _4th July 1796._\n\nHow are you, my dear friend, and how comes on your fifth volume?[134]\nYou may probably think that for some time past I have neglected you and\nyour work; but, alas! the hand of pain, and sorrow, and care has these\nmany months lain heavy on me! Personal and domestic affliction have\nalmost entirely banished that alacrity and life with which I used to woo\nthe rural muse of Scotia.\n\nYou are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and have a good right to live in\nthis world--because you deserve it. Many a merry meeting this\npublication has given us, and possibly it may give us more, though,\nalas! I fear it. This protracting, slow, consuming illness which hangs\nover me will, I doubt much, my dear friend, arrest my sun before he has\nwell reached his middle career, and will turn over the poet to far more\nimportant concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of\nsentiment! However, hope is the cordial of the human heart, and I\nendeavour to cherish it as well as I can.\n\nI am ashamed to ask another favour of you, because you have been so very\ngood already; but my wife has a very particular friend, a young lady who\nsings well, to whom she wishes to present the _Scots Musical Museum_. If\nyou have a spare copy, will you be so obliging as to send it by the very\nfirst fly, as I am anxious to have it soon.--Yours ever,\n\nR. B.[135]\n\n [Footnote 134: Of the _Musical Museum_.]\n\n [Footnote 135: \"In this humble manner did poor Burns ask for a copy\n of a work to which he had contributed, gratuitously, not less than\n 184 original, altered, and collected songs!\"--CROMEK.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCI--TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.\n\nBROW, _Sea-bathing quarters, 7th July_ 1796.\n\nMy Dear Cunningham,--I received yours here this moment, and am indeed\nhighly flattered with the approbation of the literary circle you\nmention; a literary circle inferior to none in the two kingdoms. Alas!\nmy friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon be heard among you no\nmore! For these eight or ten months I have been ailing, sometimes\nbedfast and sometimes not; but these last three months I have been\ntortured with an excruciating rheumatism, which has reduced me to nearly\nthe last stage. You actually would not know me if you saw me. Pale,\nemaciated, and so feeble, as occasionally to need help from my chair--\nmy spirits fled! fled!--but I can no more on the subject--only the\nmedical folks tell me that my last and only chance is bathing and\ncountry quarters, and riding. The deuce of the matter is this--when an\nexciseman is off duty, his salary is reduced to £35 instead of £50. What\nway, in the name of thrift, shall I maintain myself, and keep a horse in\ncountry quarters, with a wife and five children at home, on 35 pounds? I\nmention this, because I had intended to beg your utmost interest, and\nthat of all the friends you can muster, to move our Commissioners of\nExcise to grant me the full salary; I dare say you know them all\npersonally. If they do not grant it me, I must lay my account with an\nexit truly _en poete_; if I die not of disease, I must perish with\nhunger.[136]\n\nI have sent you one of the songs; the other my memory does not serve me\nwith, and I have no copy here, but I shall be at home soon, when I will\nsend it you. Apropos to being at home, Mrs. Burns threatens in a week or\ntwo to add one more to my paternal charge, which, if of the right\ngender, I intend shall be introduced to the world by the respectable\ndesignation of _Alexander Cunningham Burns_. My last was _James\nGlencairn_, so you can have no objection to the company of\nnobility. Farewell.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 136: _Not_ granted.]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCII.--To MR. GILBERT BURNS.\n\n_10th July 1795._\n\nDear Brother,--It will be no very pleasing news to you to be told that I\nam dangerously ill, and not likely to get better. An inveterate\nrheumatism has reduced me to such a state of debility, and my appetite\nis so totally gone, that I can scarcely stand on my legs. I have been a\nweek at sea-bathing, and will continue there, or in a friend's house in\nthe country, all the summer. God keep my wife and children; if I am\ntaken from their head, they will be poor indeed. I have contracted one\nor two serious debts, partly from my illness these many months, partly\nfrom too much thoughtlessness as to expense when I came to town, that\nwill cut in too much on the little I leave them in your hands. Remember\nme to my mother.--Yours,\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCIII.--To MRS. BURNS.[137]\n\nBROW, _Thursday._\n\nMy Dearest Love,--I delayed writing until I could tell you what effect\nsea-bathing was likely to produce. It would be injustice to deny that it\nhas eased my pains, and I think has strengthened me; but my appetite is\nstill extremely bad. No flesh nor fish can I swallow: porridge and milk\nare the only things I can taste. I am very happy to hear, by Miss Jess\nLewars, that you are all well. My very best and kindest compliments to\nher, and to all the children. I will see you on Sunday.--Your\naffectionate husband,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 137: One evening, while at the Brow, Burns was visited by\n two young ladies. The sun, setting on the western hills, threw a\n strong light upon him through the window. One of them perceiving\n this, proceeded to draw the curtain; \"Let me look at the sun, my\n dear,\" said the sinking poet, \"he will not long shine on me.\"]\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCIV.--To MRS. DUNLOP.\n\nBROW, _Saturday, 12th July 1796._\n\nMadam,--I have written you so often, without receiving any answer, that\nI would not trouble you again, but for the circumstances in which I am.\nAn illness which has long hung about me, in all probability will\nspeedily send me beyond that bourne whence no traveller returns. Your\nfriendship, with which for many years you honoured me, was a friendship\ndearest to my soul. Your conversation, and especially your\ncorrespondence, were at once highly entertaining and instructive. With\nwhat pleasure did I use to break up the seal! The remembrance yet adds\none pulse more to my poor palpitating heart. Farewell!!!\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCV.--To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.\n\nDUMFRIES, _12th July._\n\nMY DEAR COUSIN,--When you offered me money assistance, little did I\nthink I should want it so soon. A rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I owe\na considerable bill, taking it into his head that I am dying, has\ncommenced a process against me, and will infallibly put my emaciated\nbody into jail. Will you be so good as to accommodate me, and that by\nreturn of post, with ten pounds? O James, did you know the pride of my\nheart, you would feel doubly for me! Alas! I am not used to beg! The\nworst of it is, my health was coming about finely. Melancholy and low\nspirits are half my disease. If I had it settled, I would be, I think,\nquite well in a manner.\n\nR. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCCVI.--To HIS FATHER-IN-LAW, JAMES ARMOUR, MASON, MAUCHLINE.[138]\n\nDUMFRIES, _18th July 1799._\n\nMY DEAR SIR,--Do, for heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here immediately.\nMy wife is hourly expecting to be put to bed. Good God! what a situation\nfor her to be in, poor girl, without a friend! I returned from\nsea-bathing quarters to-day, and my medical friends would almost\npersuade me that I am better, but I think and feel that my strength is\nso gone that the disorder will prove fatal to me.--Your son-in-law,\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 138: Mrs. Burns's father. This is the very last of Burns's\n compositions, being written only three days before his death.]\n\n * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTHE THOMSON LETTERS.\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTE.\n\nThis correspondence began in September 1792, when Burns had already been\ndomiciled nine months in the town of Dumfries, and ended only with his\ndeath in July 1796. It originated in the request of a stranger for a\nseries of songs to suit a projected collection of the best Scottish\nairs. The stranger was George Thomson, a young man of about Burns's own\nage, and head clerk in the office of the Board of Manufactures in\nEdinburgh. Thomson outlived his great correspondent by more than half a\ncentury. He died so recently as 1851, at the advanced age of ninety-two.\nRobert Chambers has described him as a most honourable man, of\nsingularly amiable character and cheerful manners. It may interest some\npeople to know that his granddaughter was the wife of Dickens, the\nfamous novelist.\n\n\nTHE THOMSON LETTER.", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter I", + "body": "DUMFRIES, _16th September 1792._\n\nSir,--I have just this moment got your letter. As the request you make\nto me will positively add to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall\nenter into your undertaking with all the small portion of abilities I\nhave, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm.\nOnly, don't hurry me. \"Deil tak the hindmost\" is by no means the _crie\nde guerre_ of my muse. Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in\nenthusiastic attachment to the poetry and music of old Caledonia, and,\nsince you request it, have cheerfully promised my mite of\nassistance--will you let me have a list of your airs, with the first\nline of the printed verses you intend for them, that I may have an\nopportunity of suggesting any alteration that may occur to me? You know\n'tis in the way of my trade; still leaving you, gentlemen,[139] the\nundoubted rights of publishers, to approve or reject at your pleasure,\nfor your own publication. _Apropos_ if you are for _English_ verses,\nthere is, on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in the simplicity of\nthe ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only hope to please myself\nin being allowed at least a sprinkling of our native tongue. English\nverses, particularly the works of Scotsmen, that have merit, are\ncertainly very eligible. \"Tweedside;\" \"Ah! the Poor Shepherd's Mournful\nFate;\" \"Ah! Chloris, could I now but sit,\" etc., you cannot mend; but\nsuch insipid stuff as \"To Fanny fair, could I impart,\" etc., usually set\nto \"The Mill, Mill, O,\" is a disgrace to the collections in which it has\nalready appeared, and would doubly disgrace a collection that will have\nthe very superior merit of yours. But more of this in the farther\nprosecution of the business, if I am to be called on for my strictures\nand amendments--I say, amendments; for I will not alter, accept where I\nmyself, at least, think that I amend.\n\nAs to any renumeration, you may think my songs either above or below\nprice; for they shall absolutely be the one or the other. In the honest\nenthusiasm with which I embark in your undertaking, to talk of money,\nwages, fee, hire, etc., would be downright sodomy of soul! A proof of\neach of the songs that I compose or amend I shall receive as a favour.\nIn the rustic phrase of the season, \"Gude speed the wark!\"--I am, Sir,\nyour very humble servant,\n\nR. BURNS.\n\nP.S.--I have some particular reasons for wishing my interference to be\nknown as little as possible.\n\n [Footnote 139: Thomson in his letter spoke of coadjutors, but in less\n than a year he became sole editor of the collection.]\n\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter II", + "body": "My Dear Sir,--Let me tell you that you are too fastidious in your ideas\nof songs and ballads. I own that your criticisms are just; the songs you\nspecify in your list have, _all but one_, the faults you remark in them;\nbut how shall we mend the matter? Who shall rise up and say--Go to, I\nwill make a better? For instance, on reading over \"The Lea-rig,\" I\nimmediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make\nnothing more of it than the following, which, Heaven knows, is\npoor enough:--\n\n When o'er the hill the eastern star\n Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo, (etc.)\n\nYour observation as to the aptitude of Dr. Percy's ballad to the air,\n\"Nannie O,\" is just. It is besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad\nin the English language. But let me remark to you, that in the sentiment\nand style of our Scottish airs there is a pastoral simplicity, a\nsomething that one may call the Doric style and dialect of vocal music,\nto which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particularly, nay,\npeculiarly apposite. For this reason, and upon my honour, for this\nreason alone, I am of opinion (but, as I told you before, my opinion is\nyours, freely yours to approve or reject as you please) that my ballad\nof \"Nannie, O\", might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune. Now\ndon't let it enter into your head that you are under any necessity of\ntaking my verses. I have long ago made up my mind as to my own\nreputation in the business of authorship; and have nothing to be pleased\nor offended at, in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you\nshould reject one half of what I give you, I shall be pleased with your\nadopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the same\nassiduity.\n\nIn the printed copy of my \"Nannie, O\", the name of the river is horridly\nprosaic. I will alter it,\n\n Behind yon hills where _Lugar_ flows.\n\nGirvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best,\nbut Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables.\n\nI will soon give you a great many more remarks on this business; but I\nhave just now an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, free of\npostage, an expense that it is ill able to pay; so, with my best\ncompliments to honest Allan,[140] goodbye to ye.\n\n _Friday night.\n Saturday morning._\n\nAs I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my\nconveyance goes away, I will give you \"Nannie, O\", at length.\n\nYour remarks on \"Ewe-bughts, Marion\", are just; still it has obtained a\nplace among our more classical Scottish songs; and what with many\nbeauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will\nnot find it easy to supplant it.\n\nIn my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies,\nI took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and\nhas nothing of the merits of \"Ewe-bughts\", but it will fill up this\npage. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings\nof ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after-times to\nhave given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, whose they were, and\nwho perhaps alone cared for them, would have defaced the legend of my\nheart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth\nsimplicity was, as they say of wines, their _race_.\n\n Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, (etc.)\n\n\"Gala Water,\" and \"Auld Rob Morris,\" I think, will most probably be the\nnext subject of my musings. However, even on _my verses_, speak out your\ncriticisms with equal frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the\nuncomplying bigot of _opiniâtretè_, but cordially to join issue with you\nin the furtherance of the work. Gude speed the wark!\n\nAmen.\n\n[Footnote 140: David Allan, the artist.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter III", + "body": "_November_ 8_th_, 1792,\n\nIf you mean, my dear Sir, that all the songs in your collection shall be\npoetry of the first merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty in\nthe undertaking than you are aware of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in\nmany of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis,\nor what I would call the _feature-notes_ of the tune, that cramp the\npoet, and lay him under almost insuperable difficulties. For instance,\nin the air, \"My Wife's a wanton wee Thing\", if a few lines, smooth and\npretty, can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The enclosed\nwere made extempore to it; and though, on farther study, I might give\nyou something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse\ngallop of the air so well as this random clink.\n\nI have just been looking over the \"Collier's bonny Dochter\", and if the\nenclosed rhapsody which I composed the day, on a charming Ayrshire girl,\nMiss Baillie, as she passed through this place to England, will suit\nyour taste better than the \"Collier Lassie\", fall on and welcome.\n\nI have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs until more\nleisure, as they will take, and deserve a greater effort. However, they\nare all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of the potter, to\nmake one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour. Farewell, etc.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter IV", + "body": "Inclosing \"Highland Mary\".--Tune--_Katharine Ogie_.\n\nYe banks, and braes, and streams around, (etc.)\n\n14_th November_ 1792.\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I agree with you, that the song \"Katharine Ogie\", is very\npoor stuff, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I\ntried to mend it; but the awkward sound \"Ogie,\" recurring in the rhyme,\nspoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. The\nforegoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you\nwill see at the first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the\nsong is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I\nown that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air\nwhich would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all,'tis the still glowing\nprejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of\nthe composition.\n\nI have partly taken your idea of \"Auld Rob Morris\". I have adopted the\ntwo first verses, and am going on with the song on a new plan, which\npromises pretty well. I take up one or another, just as the bee of the\nmoment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do you, _sans ceremonie_, make what\nuse you choose of the productions. Adieu! etc.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter V", + "body": "26_th January_ 1793.\n\nI approve greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie's essay will\nof itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up an appendix to\nthe Doctor's essay, containing my stock of anecdotes, etc., of our Scots\nsongs. All the late Mr. Tytler's anecdotes I have by me, taken down in\nthe course of my acquaintance with him, from his own mouth. I am such an\nenthusiast, that in the course of my several peregrinations through\nScotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from which every\nsong took its rise, Lochaber and the Braes of Ballendean excepted. So\nfar as locality, either from the title of the air, or the tenor of the\nsong, could be ascertained, I have paid my devotions at the particular\nshrine of every Scots Muse.\n\nI do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection of Jacobite\nsongs--but would it give no offence? In the meantime, do not you think\nthat some of them, particularly \"The Sow's Tail to Geordie\", as an air,\nwith other words, might be well worth a place in your collection of\nlively songs?\n\nIf it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be proper to\nhave one set of Scots words to every air, and that the set of words to\nwhich the notes ought to be set. There is a _naïvetè_, a pastoral\nsimplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology,\nwhich is more in unison (at least to my taste, and, I will add, to every\ngenuine Caledonian taste), with the simple pathos or rustic\nsprightliness of our native music, than any English verses whatever.\n\nThe very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your work. His\n\"Gregory\" is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of stanzas in\nScots, on the same subject, which are at your service. Not that I intend\nto enter the lists with Peter; that would be presumption indeed. My\nsong, though much inferior in poetic merit, has, I think, more of the\nballad simplicity in it.\n\n LORD GREGORY.\n O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, (etc.)\n\nYour remark on the first stanza of my \"Highland Mary\" is just, but I\ncannot alter it, without injuring the poetry.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VI", + "body": "_20th March 1793._\n\nMy Dear Sir,--The song prefixed (\"Mary Morison\") is one of my juvenile\nworks. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable,\neither for its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it\nso in my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.\n\nWhat is become of the list, etc., of your songs? I shall be out of all\ntemper with you by and by. I have always looked on myself as the prince\nof indolent correspondents, and valued myself accordingly; and I will\nnot, cannot bear rivalship from you, nor anybody else.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VII", + "body": "_7th April 1793. _\n\nThank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine how much\nthis business of composing for your publication has added to my\nenjoyments. What, with my early attachment to ballads, your book, etc.,\nballad-making is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever fortification\nwas Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en canter it away till I come to the limit\nof my race (God grant that I may take the right side of the\nwinning-post!) and then cheerfully looking back on the honest folks with\nwhom I have been happy, I shall say, or sing, \"Sae merry as we a' hae\nbeen\" and raising my last looks to the whole human race, the last words\nof the voice of Coila shall be, \"Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!\" So\nmuch for my last words; now for a few present remarks as they have\noccurred at random, on looking over your list.\n\nThe first lines of \"The last time I came o'er the Moor\", and several\nother lines in it, are beautiful; but in my opinion--pardon me, revered\nshade of Ramsay!--the song is unworthy of the divine air. I shall try to\n_make_ or _mend_. \"For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove,\" is a charming\nsong; but \"Logan Burn and Logan Braes\" are sweetly susceptible of rural\nimagery; I'll try that likewise, and if I succeed, the other song may\nclass among the English ones. I remember the two last lines of a verse\nin some of the old songs of \"Logan Water\" (for I know a good many\ndifferent ones), which I think pretty--\n\n Now my dear lad maun face his faes,\n Far, far frae me, and Logan braes.\n\n\"My Patie is a lover gay\", is unequal. \"His mind is never muddy,\" is a\nmuddy expression indeed.\n\n Then I'll resign and marry Pate,\n And syne my cockernony--\n\nThis is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book. My song, \"Rigs of\nBarley\", to the same tune, does not altogether please me; but if I can\nmend it, and thresh a few loose sentiments out of it, I will submit it\nto your consideration. The \"Lass o' Patie's Mill\" is one of Ramsay's\nbest songs; but there is one loose sentiment in it, which my much-valued\nfriend, Mr. Erskine, will take into his critical consideration. In Sir\nJ. Sinclair's statistical volumes are two claims, one I think, from\nAberdeenshire, and the other from Ayrshire, for the honour of this song.\nThe following anecdote, which I had from the present Sir William\nCunningham, of Robertland, who had it of the late John, Earl of Loudon,\nI can on such authorities believe.\n\nAllan Ramsay was residing at Loudon Castle with the then Earl, father to\nEarl John; and one forenoon, riding or walking out together, his\nlordship and Allan passed a sweet romantic spot on Irwine water, still\ncalled \"Patie's Mill,\" where a bonnie lass was \"tedding hay, bareheaded\non the green.\" My lord observed to Allan, that it would be a fine theme\nfor a song, Ramsay took the hint, and lingering behind, he composed the\nfirst sketch of it, which he produced at dinner.\n\n\"One day I heard Mary say,\" is a fine song; but for consistency's sake,\nalter the name \"Adonis.\" Was there ever such banns published, as a\npurpose of marriage between Adonis and Mary? I agree with you that my\nsong, \"There's nought but care on every hand,\" is much superior to\n\"Poortith Cauld.\" The original song, \"The Mill, Mill, O,\" though\nexcellent, is, on account of delicacy, inadmissible; still I like the\ntitle, and think a Scottish song would suit the notes best; and let your\nchosen song, which is very pretty, follow, as an English set. The \"Banks\nof Dee\" is, you know, literally \"Langolee\" to slow time. The song is\nwell enough, but has some false imagery in it, for instance,\n\n And sweetly the nightingale sung from the _tree_.\n\nIn the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from\na tree; and in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or\nheard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in\nScotland. Exotic rural imagery is always comparatively flat. If I could\nhit on another stanza equal to \"The small birds rejoice,\" etc., I do\nmyself honestly avow that I think it a superior song. \"John Anderson, my\njo\"--the song to this tune in Johnson's _Museum_ is my composition, and\nI think it not my worst: if it suit you, take it and welcome. Your\ncollection of sentimental and pathetic songs is, in my opinion, very\ncomplete; but not so your comic ones. Where are \"Tullochgorum,\" \"Lumps\no' Puddin',\" \"Tibbie Fowler,\" and several others, which, in my humble\njudgment, are well worthy of preservation? There is also one sentimental\nsong of mine in the _Museum_, which never was known out of the immediate\nneighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a country girl's singing.\nIt is called \"Craigie-burn Wood;\" and in the opinion of Mr. Clarke is\none of our sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast about it;\nand I would take his taste in Scottish music against the taste of most\nconnoisseurs.\n\nYou are quite right in inserting the last five in your list, though they\nare certainly Irish. \"Shepherds, I have lost my love,\" is to me a\nheavenly air--what would you think of a set of Scottish verses to it? I\nhave made one a good while ago, which I think is the best love song[141]\nI ever composed in my life; but in its original state it is not quite a\nlady's song. I enclose an altered, not amended copy for you, if you\nchoose to set the tune to it, and let the Irish verses follow.\n\nMr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his \"Lone Vale\" is\ndivine.--Yours, etc.\n\nLet me know just how you like these random hints.\n\n [Footnote 141: \"Yestreen I had a pint o' wine.\"]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VIII", + "body": "_April 1793._\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I own my vanity is flattered when you give my songs a\nplace in your elegant and superb work; but to be of service to the work\nis my first wish. As I have often told you, I do not in a single\ninstance wish you, out of compliment to me, to insert anything of mine.\nOne hint let me give you--whatever Mr. Peyel does, let him not alter one\n_iota_ of the original Scottish airs; I mean in the song department; but\nlet our national music preserve its native features. They are, I own,\nfrequently wild, and irreducible to the more modern rules; but on that\nvery eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great part of their effect.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter IX", + "body": "_June_ 1793.\n\nWhen I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend of mine, in whom I am much\ninterested, has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed times, you will\neasily allow that it might unhinge me for doing any good among ballads.\nMy own loss, as to pecuniary matters, is trifling; but the total ruin of\na much-loved friend is a loss indeed. Pardon my seeming inattention to\nyour last commands.\n\nI cannot alter the disputed lines in the \"Mill, Mill, O.\"[142] What you\nthink a defect I esteem as a positive beauty; so you see how doctors\ndiffer. I shall now, with as much alacrity as I can muster, go on with\nyour commands.\n\nYou know Frazer, the hautboy player in Edinburgh--he is here instructing\na band of music for a fencible corps quartered in this country. Among\nmany of the airs that please me, there is one well known as a reel, by\nthe name of \"The Quaker's Wife\"; and which I remember a grand-aunt of\nmine used to sing, by the name of \"Liggeram Cosh, my bonnie wee lass\".\nMr. Frazer plays it slow, and with an expression that quite charms me. I\nbecame such an enthusiast about it that I made a song for it, which I\nhere subjoin, and inclose Frazer's set of the tune. If they hit your\nfancy, they are at your service; if not, return me the tune, and I will\nput it in Johnson's _Museum_. I think the song is not in my\nworst manner.\n\n Blithe hae I been on yon hill, (etc.)\n\nI should wish to hear how this pleases you.\n\n [Footnote 142: The lines were the third and fourth--\n\n Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,\n And mony a widow mourning.]\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter X", + "body": "_June 25th 1793_.\n\nHave you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with\nindignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom\nagainst kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the\nwantonness of ambition, or often from still more ignoble passions? In a\nmood of this kind to-day I recollected the air of \"Logan Water;\" and it\noccurred to me that its querulous melody probably had its origin from\nthe plaintive indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at\nthe tyrannic strides of some public destroyer, and overwhelmed with\nprivate distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done\nanything at all like justice to my feelings, the following song,\ncomposed in three quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair,\nought to have some merit.\n\n [Here follows \"Logan Water.\"]\n\nDo you know the following beautiful little fragment in\nWitherspoon's _Collection of Scots Songs_?\n\nAir--_Hughie Graham._\n\n O gin my love were yon red rose,\n That grows upon the castle wa',\n And I mysel' a drap o' dew\n Into her bonnie breast to fa'!\n\n Oh, there beyond expression blest,\n I'd feast on beauty a' the night;\n Seal'd on her silk saft faulds to rest,\n Till fley'd awa by Phoebus light.\n\nThis thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and quite, so far as I know,\noriginal. It is too short for a song, else I would forswear you\naltogether, unless you gave it a place. I have often tried to eke a\nstanza to it, but in vain. After balancing myself for a musing five\nminutes, on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, I produced the following.\nThe verses are far inferior to the foregoing, I frankly confess; but if\nworthy of insertion at all, they might be first in place; as every poet,\nwho knows anything of his trade, will husband his best thoughts for a\nconcluding stroke.\n\n O were my love yon lilac fair,\n Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;\n And I a bird to shelter there,\n When wearied on my little wing;\n\n How I wad mourn, when it was torn\n By autumn wild, and winter rude!\n But I wad sing on wanton wing,\n When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XI", + "body": "_July_ 1793.\n\nI assure you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary\nparcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to return it would\nsavour of affectation; but as to any more traffic of that debtor or\ncreditor kind, I swear by that HONOUR which crowns the upright statue of\nROBERT BURNS'S INTEGRITY--on the least motion of it, I will indignantly\nspurn the by--past transaction, and from that moment commence entire\nstranger to you! BURNS'S character for generosity of sentiment and\nindependence of mind will, I trust, long outlive any of his wants, which\nthe cold, unfeeling ore can supply: at least, I will take care that such\na character he shall deserve.\n\nThank you for my copy of your publication. Never did my eyes behold, in\nany musical work, such elegance and correctness. Your preface, too, is\nadmirably written; only, your partiality to me has made you say too\nmuch: however, it will bind me down to double every eifort in the future\nprogress of the work. The following are a few remarks on the songs in\nthe list you sent me. I never copy what I write to you, so I may be\noften tautological, or perhaps contradictory.\n\n\"The Flowers of the Forest\" is charming as a poem; and should be, and\nmust be, set to the notes; but, though out of your rule, the three\nstanzas, beginning,\n\n I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling,\n\nare worthy of a place, were it but to immortalise the author of them,\nwho is an old lady[143] of my acquaintance, and at this moment living in\nEdinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn; I forget of what place; but from\nRoxburghshire. What a charming apostrophe is\n\n O fickle Fortune, why this cruel sporting,\n Why, why torment us--_poor sons of a day_!\n\nThe old ballad, \"I wish I were where Helen lies,\" is silly, to\ncontemptibility. My alteration of it, in Johnson's, is not much better.\n\n [Footnote 142: _Nee_ Rutherford, of Selkirkshire. She was then 81\n years old.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XII", + "body": "_August_ 1793.\n\nThat tune, \"Cauld Kail,\" is such a favourite of yours, that I once more\nroved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses; when the muse that\npresides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring dearest\nnymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I have two reasons for\nthinking that it was my early, sweet, simple inspirer that was by my\nelbow, \"smooth gliding without step,\" and pouring the song on my glowing\nfancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's haunts, not a fragment\nof a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching\ninspiration from her; so I more than suspect she has followed me hither,\nor at least makes me occasional visits; secondly, the last stanza of\nthis song I send you is the very words that Coila taught me many years\nago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's _Museum_.\n\nAutumn is my propitious season. I make more verses in it than in all the\nyear else. God bless you.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIII", + "body": "_Sept_. 1793.\n\nYou may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my power is\nheartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to you; the very\nname of Peter Finder is of great service to your publication, so get a\nverse from him now and then; though I have no objection, as well as I\ncan, to bear the burden of the business.\n\nYou know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of\nnature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this reason, many\nmusical compositions, particularly where much of the merit lies in\ncounterpoint, however they may transport and ravish the ears of your\nconnoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as melodious\ndin. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted with many\nlittle melodies which the learned musician despises as silly and\ninsipid. I do not know whether the old air \"Hey tuttie taittie\" may rank\namong this number; but well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has\noften filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met\nwith in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march at the\nbattle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed\nme to a pitch of enthusiasm on the theme of Liberty and Independence,\nwhich I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one\nmight suppose to be the gallant Royal Scot's address to his heroic\nfollowers on that eventful morning.\n\n BRUCE TO HIS TROOPS,\n On the Eve of the Battle of Bannockburn.\n _Hey tuttie taittie_.\n Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, (etc.)\n\nSo may God ever defend the cause of Truth and Liberty, as He did that\nday!--Amen.\n\nP.S.--I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with it, and\nbegged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea of giving myself\nany trouble on the subject, till the accidental recollection of that\nglorious struggle for freedom, associated with the glowing ideas of some\nother struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient, roused my\nrhyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will find in\nthe _Museum_; though I am afraid that the air is not what will entitle\nit to a place in your elegant selection.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIV", + "body": "_September 1793_.\n\nI have received your list, my dear Sir, and here go my observations on\nit.[143]\n\n\"Down the burn, Davie.\" I have this moment tried an alteration, leaving\nout the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of the last\nstanza, thus:--\n\n As down the burn they took their way,\n And thro' the flowery dale,\n His cheek to hers he aft did lay,\n And love was aye the tale.\n\n With \"Mary, when shall we return,\n Sic pleasure to renew?\"\n Quoth Mary, \"Love, I like the burn,\n And aye shall follow you.\"\n\n\"Thro' the wood, laddie.\" I am decidedly of opinion that both in this\nand \"There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame,\" the second or high\npart of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave higher,\nis only for instrumental music, and would be much better omitted\nin singing.\n\n\"Cowden-knowes.\" Remember in your index that the song in pure English,\nto this tune, beginning\n\n When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,\n\nis the production of Crawford; Robert was his Christian name.\n\n\"Laddie lie near me,\" must _lie by me_ for some time. I do not know the\nair; and until I am complete master of a tune in my own singing (such as\nit is), I never can compose for it. My way is: I consider the poetic\nsentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical expression, then\nchoose my theme, begin one stanza; when that is composed, which is\ngenerally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down\nnow and then, look out for objects in nature around me that are in\nunison or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my\nbosom; humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have\nframed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary\nfireside of my study, and there commit my effusions to paper; swinging\nat intervals on the hind legs of my elbow chair, by way of calling forth\nmy own critical strictures, as my pen goes on. Seriously, this, at home,\nis almost invariably my way. What cursed egotism!\n\n\"Gil Morice\" I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length; the air itself\nis never sung, and its place can well be supplied by one or two songs\nfor fine airs that are not in your list. For instance,\n\"Craigieburn-wood\" and \"Roy's Wife\". The first, besides its intrinsic\nmerit, has novelty; and the last has high merit, as well as great\ncelebrity. I have the original words of a song for the last air in the\nhandwriting of the lady who composed it, and they are superior to any\nedition of the song which the public has yet seen.\n\n\"Highland Laddie\". The old set will please a mere Scotch ear best; and\nthe new an Italianised one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls the\n\"Old Highland Laddie\", which pleases we more than either of them. It is\nsometimes called \"Jinglan Johnnie\", it being the air of an old humorous\ntawdry song of that name. You will find it in the Museum, \"I hae been at\nCrookie-den,\" etc. I would advise you in this musical quandary, to offer\nup your prayers to the muses for inspiring direction; and, in the\nmeantime, waiting for this direction, bestow a libation to Bacchus, and\nthere is not a doubt but you will hit on a judicious choice.\n_Probatum est_.\n\n\"Auld Sir Simon,\" I must beg you to leave out, and put in its place \"The\nQuaker's Wife\".\n\n\"Blythe hae I been on yon hill\" is one of the finest songs ever I made\nin my life; and, besides, is composed on a young lady positively the\nmost beautiful, lovely woman in the world. As I purpose giving you the\nnames and designations of all my heroines, to appear in some future\nedition of your work, perhaps half a century hence, you must certainly\ninclude _the bonniest lass in a' the warld_ in your collection.\n\n\"Daintie Davie\" I have heard sung nineteen thousand, nine hundred, and\nninety-nine times, and always with the low part of the tune; and nothing\nhas surprised me so much as your opinion on this subject. If it will not\nsuit, as I propose, we will lay two of the stanzas together, and then\nmake the chorus follow.\n\n\"Fee him, Father\". I enclose you Frazer's set of this tune when he plays\nit slow; in fact, he makes it the language of despair, I shall here give\nyou two stanzas in that style, merely to try if it will be any\nimprovement. Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos\nwhich Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirable pathetic\nsong. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed\nthem at the time at which _Patie Allan's mither died_; that was _the\nback o' midnight_; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had\noverset every mortal in the company, except the hautbois and the muse.\n\n Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, (etc.)\n\n\"Jockie and Jenny\" I would discard, and in its place would put \"There's\nnae luck about the house\", which has a very pleasant air; and which is\npositively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or\nperhaps in any other language. \"When she came ben she bobbet\", as an\nair, is more beautiful than either, and in the _andante_ way would unite\nwith a charming sentimental ballad.\n\n\"Saw ye my father\" is one of my greatest favourites. The evening before\nlast I wandered out, and began a tender song, in what I think its native\nstyle. I must premise that the old way, and the way to give most effect,\nis to have no starting note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst at\nonce into the pathos. Every country girl sings-\"Saw ye my father\", etc.\n\nMy song is just begun; and I should like, before I proceed, to know your\nopinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish dialect, but it may\nbe easily turned into correct English.\n\n Fragment.--Tune--\"_Saw ye my Father_\"\n Where are the joys I hae met in the morning, (etc.)\n\n\"Todlin hame\": Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long been\nmine; and this air is highly susceptible of pathos; accordingly, you\nwill soon hear him, at your concert, try it to a song of mine in the\n_Museum_--\"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon\". One song more and I have\ndone: \"Auld lang syne\". The air is but _mediocre_; but the following\nsong, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in\nprint, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's\nsinging, is enough to recommend any air.[144]\n\n AULD LANG SYNE.\n Should auld acquaintance be forgot, (etc.)\n\nNow, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after all is\nover, have a number of ballads, properly so called, \"Gil Morice\",\n\"Tranent Muir\", \"M'Pherson's Farewell\", \"Battle of Sheriff-Muir\", or \"We\nran and they ran\" (I know the author of this charming ballad, and his\nhistory); \"Hardiknute\", \"Barbara Allan\" (I can furnish a finer set of\nthis tune than any that has yet appeared), and besides, do you know that\nI really have the old tune to which \"The Cherry and the Slae\" was sung?\nand which is mentioned as a well-known air in _Scotland's Complaint_, a\nbook published before poor Mary's days. It was then called \"The Banks o'\nHelicon\"; an old poem which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see\nall this in Tytler's _History of Scottish Music_. The tune, to a learned\near, may have no great merit; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good\nmany original things of this kind.\n\n [Footnote 143: Songs for his publication. Burns goes through the\n whole; but only his remarks of any importance are presented here.]\n\n [Footnote 144: It is believed to have been his own composition.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XV", + "body": "_September_ 1793.\n\n\"Who shall decide when doctors disagree?\" My ode[145] pleases me so much\nthat I cannot alter it. Your proposed alterations would, in my opinion,\nmake it tame. I am exceedingly obliged to you for putting me on\nreconsidering it; as I think I have much improved it. Instead of\n\"sodger! hero!\" I will have it \"Caledonian! on wi' me!\"\n\nI have scrutinised it over and over; and to the world some way or other\nit shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in the least hurt me,\nshould you leave it out altogether, and adhere to your first intention\nof adopting Logan's verses.\n\nI have finished my song to \"Saw ye my Father;\" and in English, as you\nwill see. That there is a syllable too much for the _expression_ of the\nair, is true; but allow me to say, that the mere dividing of a dotted\ncrotchet into a crotchet and a quaver is not a great matter; however, in\nthat, I have no pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of the poetry\nI speak with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my\nideas with the utmost diffidence.\n\n [Footnote 145: Scots wha hae.]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVI", + "body": "_May_ 1794.\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I return you the plates, with which I am highly pleased. I\nwould humbly propose, instead of the younker knitting stockings, to put\na stock and horn into his hands. A friend of mine, who is positively the\nablest judge on the subject I have ever met with, and though an unknown,\nis yet a superior artist with the _burin_, is quite charmed with Allan's\nmanner. I got him a peep of the \"Gentle Shepherd\", and he pronounces\nAllan a most original artist of great excellence.\n\nFor my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing my favourite poem for his\nsubject to be one of the highest compliments I have ever received.\n\nI am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in France, as it will put\nan entire stop to our work. Now, and for six or seven months, I shall be\nquite in song, as you shall see by-and-by. I got an air, pretty enough,\ncomposed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she calls \"The Banks\nof Cree.\" Cree is a beautiful romantic stream, and, as her ladyship is a\nparticular friend of mine, I have written the following song to it:--\n\n Here is the glen, and here the bower, (etc.)\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVII", + "body": "_Sept_. 1794.\n\nI shall withdraw my \"On the seas and far away\" altogether; it is\nunequal, and unworthy of the work. Making a poem is like begetting a\nson; you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you\nproduce him to the world and try him.\n\nFor that reason I have sent you the offspring of my brain, abortions and\nall; and as such, pray look over them, and forgive them, and burn them.\nI am flattered at your adopting \"Ca' the yowes to the knowes\", as it was\nowing to me that it ever saw the light. About seven years ago I was well\nacquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who\nsung it charmingly: and, at my request, Mr. Clarke took it down from his\nsinging. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song,\nand mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary\nstroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines,\nfollowing up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is,\nwith all its crudities and imperfections on its head.\n\n Ca' the yowes, (etc.)\n\nI shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs, my first\nscribbling fit.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVIII", + "body": "19_th October_ 1794.\n\nMy Dear Friend,--By this morning's post I have your list, and, in\ngeneral, I highly approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, give you a\ncritique on the whole. Clarke goes to your town by to-day's fly, and I\nwish you would call on him and take his opinion in general; you know his\ntaste is a standard. He will return here again in a week or two, so\nplease do not miss asking for him. One thing I hope he will do--persuade\nyou to adopt my favourite, \"Craigie-burn wood\", in your selection; it is\nas great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is\none of the finest women in Scotland; and, in fact (_entre nous_), is in\na manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him--a mistress, a friend, or\nwhat you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't\nput any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any\nclishmaclaiver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to\nmy lovely friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine.\nDo you think that the sober gin-horse routine of existence could inspire\na man with life, and love, and joy--could fire him with enthusiasm, or\nmelt him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book? No! no! Whenever\nI want to be more than ordinary _in song_--to be in some degree equal to\nyour diviner airs--do you imagine I fast and pray for the divine\nemanation? _Tout au contraire_! I have a glorious recipe--the very one\nthat for his own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poetry,\nwhen erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself on a regimen\nof admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her\ncharms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of\nher eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the\ndivinity of Helicon!\n\nTo descend to business; if you like my idea of \"When she cam ben she\nbobbit\", the enclosed stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they\nwere formerly when set to another air, may perhaps do instead of\nworse stanzas.\n\nNow for a few miscellaneous remarks. \"The Posie\" (in the _Museum_) is my\ncomposition; the air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice. It is well\nknown in the West Country, but the old words are trash. By-the-bye, take\na look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is the\noriginal from which \"Roslin Castle\" is composed. The second part in\nparticular, for the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air.\n\"Strathallan's Lament\" is mine; the music is by our right trusty and\ndeservedly well beloved, Allan Masterton. \"Donocht head\" is not mine; I\nwould give ten pounds if it were. It appeared first in the _Edinburgh\nHerald_; and came to the editor of that paper with the Newcastle\npost-mark on it[146]\n\n\"Whistle o'er the lave o't\" is mine; the music is said to be by a John\nBruce, a celebrated violin player in Dumfries, about the beginning of\nthis century. This I know, Bruce, who was an honest man, though a redwud\nHighlandman, constantly claimed it; and by all the old musical people\nhere is believed to be the author of it.\n\n\"Andrew and his cutty gun\". The song to which this is set in the\n_Museum_ is mine; and was composed on Miss Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose,\ncommonly and deservedly called the \"Flower of Strathmore.\"\n\n\"How lang and dreary is the night.\" I met with some such words in a\ncollection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged; and to\nplease you, and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two\nacross the room, and have arranged it anew, as you will find on the\nother page.\n\n Tune--_Cauld Kail in Aberdeen_.\n How lang and dreary is the night, (etc.)\n\nTell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of the expression of\nthe tune. There is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it.\n\nI would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of Ritson's\n_Collection of English Songs_, which you mention in your letter. I will\nthank you for another information, and that as speedily as you\nplease--whether this miserable drawling hotch-potch epistle has not\ncompletely tired you of my correspondence.\n\n [Footnote 146:\n\n \"Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht head,\n The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale,\n The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,\n And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale.\n \"Cauld is the night, O let me in,\n And dinna let your minstrel fa',\n And dinna let his winding-sheet\n Be naething but a wreath o' snaw.\"(etc.)]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIX", + "body": "_November_ 1794.\n\nMany thanks to you, my dear sir, for your present: it is a book of the\nutmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes, etc., for\nyour work. I intend drawing it up in the form of a letter to you, which\nwill save me from the tedious dull business of systematic arrangement.\nIndeed, as all I have to say consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes,\nscraps of old songs, etc., it would be impossible to give the work a\nbeginning, a middle, and an end; which the critics insist to be\nabsolutely necessary in a work. In my last, I told you my objections to\nthe song you had selected for \"My lodging is on the cold ground\". On my\nvisit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic name of the\nlovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an idea, which I, on my\nreturn from the visit, wrought into the following song:--\n\n My Chloris, mark how green the groves, (etc,)\n\nHow do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral? I think\nit pretty well.\n\nI like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of _ma\nchlre amie_. I assure you, I was never more in earnest in my life than\nin the account of that affair which I sent you in my last. Conjugal love\nis a passion which I deeply feel and highly venerate; but, somehow, it\ndoes not make such a figure in poesy as that other species of\nthe passion,\n\n Where Love is liberty, and Nature law,\n\nMusically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is\nscanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last\nhas powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul.\nStill, I am a very poet, in my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare\nand happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate sentiment\nthat pervades my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish for, or\nwhatever might be the raptures they would give me, yet, if they\ninterfere with that first principle, it is having these pleasures at a\ndishonest price; and justice forbids, and generosity disdains,\nthe purchase!\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XX", + "body": "I am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an air, as\n\"Deil tak the wars,\" to the foolish old verses. You talk of the\nsilliness of \"Saw ye my father:\" by heavens, the odds is gold to brass!\nBesides, the old song, though now pretty well modernised into the\nScottish language, is, originally, and in the early editions, a bungling\nlow imitation of the Scottish manner, by that genius, Tom D'Urfey; so\nhas no pretensions to be a Scottish production. There is a pretty\nEnglish song by Sheridan in the \"Duenna,\" to this air, which is out of\nsight superior to D'Urfey's. It begins,\n\n When sable night each drooping plant restoring.\n\nThe air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the very\nnative language of simplicity, tenderness, and love. I have again gone\nover my song to the tune as follows.[147]\n\nThere is an air, \"The Caledonian Hunt's delight\", to which I wrote a\nsong that you will find in Johnson. \"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon\";\nthis air, I think, might find a place among your hundred, as Lear says\nof his knights. Do you know the history of the air? It is curious\nenough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good\ntown, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our friend\nClarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent\nambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of\njoke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and\npreserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a Scots\nair. Certain it is, that in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the\nrudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and\ncorrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know, has\nthe same story of the \"Black keys;\" but this account which I have just\ngiven you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years ago. Now, to shew you\nhow difficult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it\nrepeatedly asserted that this was an Irish air nay, I met with an Irish\ngentleman who affirmed he had heard it in Ireland among the old women;\nwhile, on the other hand, a countess informed me, that the first person\nwho introduced the air into this country was a baronet's lady of her\nacquaintance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in the\nIsle of Man. How difficult then to ascertain the truth respecting our\npoesy and music! I, myself, have lately seen a couple of ballads sung\nthrough the streets of Dumfries, with my name at the head of them as the\nauthor, though it was the first time I had ever seen them.\n\nI am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request; 'tis dunning your\ngenerosity; but in a moment when I had forgotten whether I was rich or\npoor, I promised Chloris a copy of your songs. It wrings my honest pride\nto write you this; but an ungracious request is doubly so, by a tedious\napology. To make you some amends, as soon as I have extracted the\nnecessary information out of them, I will return you Ritson's volumes.\n\nThe lady is not a little proud that she is to make so distinguished a\nfigure in your collection, and I am not a little proud that I have it in\nmy power to please her so much. Lucky it is for your patience that my\npaper is done, for when I am in a scribbling humour, I know not when to\ngive over.\n\n [Footnote 147: Our Bard remarks upon it, \"I could easily throw this\n into an English mould; but, to my taste, in the simple and the tender\n of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an\n inimitable effect.\"]\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXI", + "body": "19_th Nov_. 1794.\n\nTell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the trifling\ncircumstance of being known to one another to be the best friends on\nearth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, mistaken the figure of\nthe stock and horn. I have, at last, gotten one; but it is a very rude\ninstrument. It is composed of three parts; the stock, which is the\nhinder thigh-bone of a sheep, such as you see in a mutton-ham, the horn,\nwhich is a common Highland cow's horn, cut off at the smaller end, until\nthe aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be pushed up through\nthe horn, until it be held by the thicker end of the thigh-bone; and,\nlastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched like that which you see\nevery shepherd boy have, when the corn stems are green and full-grown.\nThe reed is not made fast in the bone, but is held up by the lips, and\nplays loose in the smaller end of the stock; while the stock, with the\nhorn hanging on its larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The\nstock has six or seven ventiges on the upper side, and one back ventige,\nlike the common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the Braes of\nAthole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that country.\n\nHowever, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, or else we\nhave not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can make little of it. If\nMr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight of mine; as I look on myself\nto be a kind of brother-brush with him. \"Pride in poets is nae sin\", and\nI will say it, that I look on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only\ngenuine and real painters of Scottish costume in the world.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXII", + "body": "_January_ 1795.\n\nI fear for my songs; however a few may please, yet originality is a coy\nfeature in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the same\nstyle, disappears altogether. For these three thousand years we poetic\nfolks have been describing the spring, for instance; and, as the spring\ncontinues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the imagery, etc.,\nof these said rhyming folks.\n\nA great critic, Aikin on Songs, says that love and wine are the\nexclusive themes for song-writing. The following is on neither subject,\nand consequently is no song; but will be allowed, I think, to be two or\nthree pretty good prose thoughts, inverted into rhyme.\n\n FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.\n Is there for honest poverty, (etc.)\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIII", + "body": "Ecclefechan,[148] 7_th Feb_. 1795.\n\nMy Dear Thomson,--You cannot have any idea of the predicament in which I\nwrite to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor (in which capacity\nI have acted of late) I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked\nlittle village. I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have\nimpeded my progress: I have tried to \"gae back the gate I cam again,\"\nbut the same obstacle has shut me up within insuperable bars. To add to\nmy misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in\nsounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the\nhands of a butcher, and thinks himself, on that very account, exceeding\ngood company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to\nforget these miseries; or to hang myself, to get rid of them; like a\nprudent man (a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed)\nI of two evils have chosen the least, and am very drunk at your service!\n\nI wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all\nI wanted to say; and Heaven knows, at present I have not capacity.\n\nDo you know an air--I am sure you must know it, \"We'll gang nae mair to\nyon town?\" I think, in slowish time, it would make an excellent song. I\nam highly delighted with it; and if you should think it worthy of your\nattention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I would consecrate it.\n\nAs I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.\n\n [Footnote 148: The birthplace of Carlyle.]\n\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIV", + "body": "You see how I answer your orders; your tailor could not be more\npunctual. I am just now in a high fit of poetising, provided that the\nstrait-jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can, in a post or two,\nadminister a little of the intoxicating potion of your applause, it will\nraise your humble servant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at this\nmoment \"holding high converse\" with the Muses, and have not a word to\nthrow away on such a prosaic dog as you are.\n\n * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXV", + "body": "_April_ 1796.\n\nAlas, my dear Thomson, I fear it will be some time ere I tune my lyre\nagain! \"By Babel streams I have sat and wept\" almost ever since I wrote\nyou last. I have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy hand\nof sickness, and have counted time by the repercussions of pain!\nRheumatism, cold, and fever have formed to me a terrible combination. I\nclose my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the\nvernal day, and say, with poor Fergusson--\n\n Say, wherefore has an all indulgent Heaven\n Light to the comfortless and wretched given?\n\nThis will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, landlady of the Globe\nTavern here, which for these many years has been my _howff_, and where\nour friend Clarke and I have had many a merry squeeze. I am highly\ndelighted with Mr. Allan's etchings. \"Woo'd and married and a'\", is\nadmirable! The _grouping_ is beyond all praise. The expression of the\nfigures, conformable to the story in the ballad, is absolutely faultless\nperfection. I next admire \"Turnim-spike\". What I like least is, \"Jenny\nsaid to Jockey\". Besides the female being in her appearance quite a\nvirago, if you take her stooping into the account, she is at least two\ninches taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn! I sincerely sympathise with\nhim! Happy am I to think that he yet has a well-grounded hope of health\nand enjoyment in this world. As for me--but that is a damning subject!\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVI", + "body": "[_Probably May_ 1796.]\n\nMy Dear Sir,--Inclosed is a certificate which (although little different\nfrom the model) I suppose will amply answer the purpose, and I beg you\nwill prosecute the miscreants[149] without mercy. When your publication\nis finished, I intend publishing a collection, on a cheap plan, of all\nthe songs I have written for you, The Museum, and others--at least, all\nthe songs of which I wish to be called the author. I do not propose this\nso much in the way of emolument as to do justice to my muse, lest I\nshould be blamed for trash I never saw, or be defrauded by false\nclaimants of what is justly my own. The post is going.--I will write you\nagain to-morrow. Many thanks for the beautiful seal.\n\nR. B.\n\n [Footnote 149: For infringement of copyright.]\n\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVII", + "body": "BROW-ON-SOLWAY, 4_th July_ 1796.\n\nMy Dear Sir,--I received your songs; but my health is so precarious,\nnay, dangerously situated, that, as a last effort, I am here at\nsea-bathing quarters. Besides an inveterate rheumatism, my appetite is\nquite gone, and I am so emaciated as to be scarce able to support myself\non my own legs. Alas! Is this a time for me to woo the muses? However, I\nam still anxiously willing to serve your work, and if possible shall\ntry. I would not like to see another employed--unless you could lay your\nhand upon a poet whose productions would be equal to the rest. Farewell,\nand God bless you.\n\nR. BURNS.\n\n * * * * *", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVIII", + "body": "BROW, on the Solway Firth, 12_th July_ 1796.\n\nAfter all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me to implore\nyou for five pounds. A cruel wretch of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an\naccount, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a\nprocess, and will infallibly put me into jail.\n\nDo, for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return of post.\nForgive me this earnestness, but the horrors of a jail have made me half\ndistracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously; for, upon returning\nhealth, I hereby promise and engage to furnish you with five pounds\nworth of the neatest song-genius you have seen. I tried my hand on\n\"Rothiemurchie\" this morning. The measure is so difficult that it is\nimpossible to infuse much genius into the lines; they are on the other\nside. Forgive, forgive me![150]\n\n Fairest maid on Devon banks,\n Crystal Devon, winding Devon,\n Wilt thou lay that frown aside,\n And smile as thou wert wont to do? (etc.)\n\n [Footnote 150: These verses, and the letter inclosing them, are\n written in a character that marks the very feeble state of\n their author.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Robert Burns, by Robert Burns", + "author": "Robert Burns", + "recipient": "Clarinda (Agnes McLehose)", + "source": "Letters of Robert Burns to Clarinda", + "period": "1787–1794" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/dorothy_osborne.json b/letters/dorothy_osborne.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab79fc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/dorothy_osborne.json @@ -0,0 +1,410 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "Letter 1", + "body": "SIR,--There is nothing moves my charity like gratitude; and when a\nbeggar is thankful for a small relief, I always repent it was not more.\nBut seriously, this place will not afford much towards the enlarging of\na letter, and I am grown so dull with living in't (for I am not willing\nto confess yet I was always so) as to need all helps. Yet you shall see\nI will endeavour to satisfy you, upon condition you will tell me why you\nquarrelled so at your last letter. I cannot guess at it, unless it were\nthat you repented you told me so much of your story, which I am not apt\nto believe neither, because it would not become our friendship, a great\npart of it consisting (as I have been taught) in a mutual confidence.\nAnd to let you see that I believe it so, I will give you an account of\nmyself, and begin my story, as you did yours, from our parting at Goring\nHouse.\n\nI came down hither not half so well pleased as I went up, with an\nengagement upon me that I had little hope of shaking off, for I had made\nuse of all the liberty my friends would allow me to preserve my own, and\n'twould not do; he was so weary of his, that he would part with it upon\nany terms. As my last refuge I got my brother to go down with him to see\nhis house, who, when he came back, made the relation I wished. He said\nthe seat was as ill as so good a country would permit, and the house so\nruined for want of living in't, as it would ask a good proportion of\ntime and money to make it fit for a woman to confine herself to. This\n(though it were not much) I was willing to take hold of, and made it\nconsiderable enough to break the engagement. I had no quarrel to his\nperson or his fortune, but was in love with neither, and much out of\nlove with a thing called marriage; and have since thanked God I was so,\nfor 'tis not long since one of my brothers writ me word of him that he\nwas killed in a duel, though since I have heard that 'twas the other\nthat was killed, and he is fled upon 't, which does not mend the matter\nmuch. Both made me glad I had 'scaped him, and sorry for his misfortune,\nwhich in earnest was the least return his many civilities to me could\ndeserve.\n\nPresently, after this was at an end, my mother died, and I was left at\nliberty to mourn her loss awhile. At length my aunt (with whom I was\nwhen you last saw me) commanded me to wait on her at London; and when I\ncame, she told me how much I was in her care, how well she loved me for\nmy mother's sake, and something for my own, and drew out a long set\nspeech which ended in a good motion (as she call'd it); and truly I saw\nno harm in't, for by what I had heard of the gentleman I guessed he\nexpected a better fortune than mine. And it proved so. Yet he protested\nhe liked me so well, that he was very angry my father would not be\npersuaded to give £1000 more with me; and I him so ill, that I vowed if\nI had £1000 less I should have thought it too much for him. And so we\nparted. Since, he has made a story with a new mistress that is worth\nyour knowing, but too long for a letter. I'll keep it for you.\n\nAfter this, some friends that had observed a gravity in my face which\nmight become an elderly man's wife (as they term'd it) and a\nmother-in-law, proposed a widower to me, that had four daughters, all\nold enough to be my sisters; but he had a great estate, was as fine a\ngentleman as ever England bred, and the very pattern of wisdom. I that\nknew how much I wanted it, thought this the safest place for me to\nengage in, and was mightily pleased to think I had met with one at last\nthat had wit enough for himself and me too. But shall I tell you what I\nthought when I knew him (you will say nothing on't): 'twas the vainest,\nimpertinent, self-conceited, learned coxcomb that ever yet I saw; to say\nmore were to spoil his marriage, which I hear is towards with a daughter\nof my Lord Coleraine's; but for his sake I shall take care of a fine\ngentleman as long as I live.\n\nBefore I have quite ended with him, coming to town about that and some\nother occasions of my own, I fell in Sir Thomas's way; and what humour\ntook I cannot imagine, but he made very formal addresses to me, and\nengaged his mother and my brother to appear in't. This bred a story\npleasanter than any I have told you yet, but so long a one that I must\nreserve it till we meet, or make it a letter of itself.\n\nThe next thing I designed to be rid on was a scurvy spleen that I have\nbeen subject to, and to that purpose was advised to drink the waters.\nThere I spent the latter end of the summer, and at my coming home found\nthat a gentleman (who has some estate in this country) had been treating\nwith my brother, and it yet goes on fair and softly. I do not know him\nso much as to give you much of his character: 'tis a modest, melancholy,\nreserved man, whose head is so taken up with little philosophic studies,\nthat I admire how I found a room there. 'Twas sure by chance; and unless\nhe is pleased with that part of my humour which other people think the\nworst, 'tis very possible the next new experiment may crowd me out\nagain. Thus you have all my late adventures, and almost as much as this\npaper will hold. The rest shall be employed in telling you how sorry I\nam you have got such a cold. I am the more sensible of your trouble by\nmy own, for I have newly got one myself. But I will send you that which\nwas to cure me. 'Tis like the rest of my medicines: if it do no good,\n'twill be sure to do no harm, and 'twill be no great trouble to take a\nlittle on't now and then; for the taste on't, as it is not excellent, so\n'tis not very ill. One thing more I must tell you, which is that you are\nnot to take it ill that I mistook your age by my computation of your\njourney through this country; for I was persuaded t'other day that I\ncould not be less than thirty years old by one that believed it himself,\nbecause he was sure it was a great while since he had heard of such a\none as\n\nYour humble servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 2", + "body": "SIR,--Since you are so easy to please, sure I shall not miss it, and if\nmy idle dreams and thoughts will satisfy you, I am to blame if you want\nlong letters. To begin this, let me tell you I had not forgot you in\nyour absence. I always meant you one of my daughters. You should have\nhad your choice, and, trust me, they say some of them are handsome; but\nsince things did not succeed, I thought to have said nothing on't, lest\nyou should imagine I expected thanks for my good intention, or rather\nlest you should be too much affected with the thought of what you have\nlost by my imprudence. It would have been a good strengthening to my\nParty (as you say); but, in earnest, it was not that I aimed at, I only\ndesired to have it in my power to oblige you; and 'tis certain I had\nproved a most excellent mother-in-law. Oh, my conscience! we should all\nhave joined against him as the common enemy, for those poor young\nwenches are as weary of his government as I could have been. He gives\nthem such precepts, as they say my Lord of Dorchester gives his wife,\nand keeps them so much prisoners to a vile house he has in\nNorthamptonshire, that if but once I had let them loose, they and his\nlearning would have been sufficient to have made him mad without my\nhelp; but his good fortune would have it otherwise, to which I will\nleave him, and proceed to give you some reasons why the other motion was\nnot accepted on. The truth is, I had not that longing to ask a\nmother-in-law's blessing which you say you should have had, for I knew\nmine too well to think she could make a good one; besides, I was not so\ncertain of his nature as not to doubt whether she might not corrupt it,\nnor so confident of his kindness as to assure myself that it would last\nlonger than other people of his age and humour. I am sorry to hear he\nlooks ill, though I think there is no great danger of him. 'Tis but a\nfit of an ague he has got, that the next charm cures, yet he will be apt\nto fall into it again upon a new occasion, and one knows not how it may\nwork upon his thin body if it comes too often; it spoiled his beauty,\nsure, before I knew him, for I could never see it, or else (which is as\nlikely) I do not know it when I see it; besides that, I never look for\nit in men. It was nothing that I expected made me refuse these, but\nsomething that I feared; and, seriously, I find I want courage to marry\nwhere I do not like. If we should once come to disputes I know who would\nhave the worst on't, and I have not faith enough to believe a doctrine\nthat is often preach'd, which is, that though at first one has no\nkindness for _them_, yet it will grow strongly after marriage. Let them\ntrust to it that think good; for my part, I am clearly of opinion (and\nshall die in't), that, as the more one sees and knows a person that one\nlikes, one has still the more kindness for them, so, on the other side,\none is but the more weary of, and the more averse to, an unpleasant\nhumour for having it perpetually by one. And though I easily believe\nthat to marry one for whom we have already some affection will\ninfinitely increase that kindness, yet I shall never be persuaded that\nmarriage has a charm to raise love out of nothing, much less out of\ndislike.\n\nThis is next to telling you what I dreamed and when I rise, but you have\npromised to be content with it. I would now, if I could, tell you when I\nshall be in town, but I am engaged to my Lady Diana Rich, my Lord of\nHolland's daughter (who lies at a gentlewoman's hard by me for sore\neyes), that I will not leave the country till she does. She is so much a\nstranger here, and finds so little company, that she is glad of mine\ntill her eyes will give her leave to look out better. They are mending,\nand she hopes to be at London before the end of this next term; and so\ndo I, though I shall make but a short stay, for all my business there is\nat an end when I have seen you, and told you my stories. And, indeed, my\nbrother is so perpetually from home, that I can be very little, unless I\nwould leave my father altogether alone, which would not be well. We hear\nof great disorders at your masks, but no particulars, only they say the\nSpanish gravity was much discomposed. I shall expect the relation from\nyou at your best leisure, and pray give me an account how my medicine\nagrees with your cold. This if you can read it, for 'tis strangely\nscribbled, will be enough to answer yours, which is not very long this\nweek; and I am grown so provident that I will not lay out more than I\nreceive, but I am just withal, and therefore you know how to make mine\nlonger when you please; though, to speak truth, if I should make this\nso, you would hardly have it this week, for 'tis a good while since\n'twas call'd for.\n\nYour humble servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 3", + "body": "SIR,--I know not how to oblige so civil a person as you are more than by\ngiving you the occasion of serving a fair lady. In sober earnest, I know\nyou will not think it a trouble to let your boy deliver these books and\nthis enclosed letter where it is directed for my lady, whom I would, the\nfainest in the world, have you acquainted with, that you might judge\nwhether I had not reason to say somebody was to blame. But had you\nreason to be displeased that I said a change in you would be much more\npardonable than in him? Certainly you had not. I spake it very\ninnocently, and out of a great sense how much she deserves more than\nanybody else. I shall take heed though hereafter what I write, since you\nare so good at raising doubts to persecute yourself withal, and shall\ncondemn my own easy faith no more; for me 'tis a better-natured and a\nless fault to believe too much than to distrust where there is no cause.\nIf you were not so apt to quarrel, I would tell you that I am glad to\nhear your journey goes forwarder, but you would presently imagine that\n'tis because I would be glad if you were gone; need I say that 'tis\nbecause I prefer your interest much before my own, because I would not\nhave you lose so good a diversion and so pleasing an entertainment (as\nin all likelihood this voyage will be to you), and because the sooner\nyou go, the sooner I may hope for your return. If it be necessary, I\nwill confess all this, and something more, which is, that\nnotwithstanding all my gallantry and resolution, 'tis much for my credit\nthat my courage is put to no greater a trial than parting with you at\nthis distance. But you are not going yet neither, and therefore we'll\nleave the discourse on't till then, if you please, for I find no great\nentertainment in't. And let me ask you whether it be possible that Mr.\nGrey makes love, they say he does, to my Lady Jane Seymour? If it were\nexpected that one should give a reason for their passions, what could he\nsay for himself? He would not offer, sure, to make us believe my Lady\nJane a lovelier person than my Lady Anne Percy. I did not think I should\nhave lived to have seen his frozen heart melted, 'tis the greatest\nconquest she will ever make; may it be happy to her, but in my opinion\nhe has not a good-natured look. The younger brother was a servant, a\ngreat while, to my fair neighbour, but could not be received; and in\nearnest I could not blame her. I was his confidante and heard him make\nhis addresses; not that I brag of the favour he did me, for anybody\nmight have been so that had been as often there, and he was less\nscrupulous in that point than one would have been that had had less\nreason. But in my life I never heard a man say more, nor less to the\npurpose; and if his brother have not a better gift in courtship, he will\nowe my lady's favour to his fortune rather than to his address. My Lady\nAnne Wentworth I hear is marrying, but I cannot learn to whom; nor is it\neasy to guess who is worthy of her. In my judgment she is, without\ndispute, the finest lady I know (one always excepted); not that she is\nat all handsome, but infinitely virtuous and discreet, of a sober and\nvery different humour from most of the young people of these times, but\nhas as much wit and is as good company as anybody that ever I saw. What\nwould you give that I had but the wit to know when to make an end of my\nletters? Never anybody was persecuted with such long epistles; but you\nwill pardon my unwillingness to leave you, and notwithstanding all your\nlittle doubts, believe that I am very much\n\nYour faithful friend\n\nand humble servant,\n\nD. OSBORNE.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 4", + "body": "SIR,--I am so great a lover of my bed myself that I can easily apprehend\nthe trouble of rising at four o'clock these cold mornings. In earnest,\nI'm troubled that you should be put to it, and have chid the carrier for\ncoming out so soon; he swears to me he never comes out of town before\neleven o'clock, and that my Lady Paynter's footman (as he calls him)\nbrings her letters two hours sooner than he needs to do. I told him he\nwas gone one day before the letter came; he vows he was not, and that\nyour old friend Collins never brought letters of my Lady Paynter's in\nhis life; and, to speak truth, Collins did not bring me that letter. I\nhad it from this Harrold two hours before Collins came. Yet it is\npossible all that he says may not be so, for I have known better men\nthan he lie; therefore if Collins be more for your ease or conveniency,\nmake use of him hereafter. I know not whether my letter were kind or\nnot, but I'll swear yours was not, and am sure mine was meant to be so.\nIt is not kind in you to desire an increase of my friendship; that is to\ndoubt it is not as great already as it can be, than which you cannot do\nme a greater injury. 'Tis my misfortune indeed that it lies not in my\npower to give you better testimony on't than words, otherwise I should\nsoon convince you that 'tis the best quality I have, and that where I\nown a friendship, I mean so perfect a one, as time can neither lessen\nnor increase. If I said nothing of my coming to town, 'twas because I\nhad nothing to say that I thought you would like to hear. For I do not\nknow that ever I desired anything earnestly in my life, but 'twas denied\nme, and I am many times afraid to wish a thing merely lest my Fortune\nshould take that occasion to use me ill. She cannot see, and therefore I\nmay venture to write that I intend to be in London if it be possible on\nFriday or Saturday come sennight. Be sure you do not read it aloud, lest\nshe hear it, and prevent me, or drive you away before I come. It is so\nlike my luck, too, that you should be going I know not whither again;\nbut trust me, I have looked for it ever since I heard you were come\nhome. You will laugh, sure, when I shall tell you that hearing that my\nLord Lisle was to go ambassador into Sweden, I remember'd your father's\nacquaintance in that family with an apprehension that he might be in the\nhumour of sending you with him. But for God's sake whither is it that\nyou go? I would not willingly be at such a loss again as I was after\nyour Yorkshire journey. If it prove as long a one, I shall not forget\nyou; but in earnest I shall be so possessed with a strong splenetic\nfancy that I shall never see you more in this world, as all the waters\nin England will not cure. Well, this is a sad story; we'll have no more\non't.\n\nI humbly thank you for your offer of your head; but if you were an\nemperor, I should not be so bold with you as to claim your promise; you\nmight find twenty better employments for't. Only with your gracious\nleave, I think I should be a little exalted with remembering that you\nhad been once my friend; 'twould more endanger growing proud than being\nSir Justinian's mistress, and yet he thought me pretty well inclin'd\nto't then. Lord! what would I give that I had a Latin letter of his for\nyou, that he writ to a great friend at Oxford, where he gives him a long\nand learned character of me; 'twould serve you to laugh at this seven\nyears. If I remember what was told me on't, the worst of my faults was a\nheight (he would not call it pride) that was, as he had heard, the\nhumour of my family; and the best of my commendations was, that I was\ncapable of being company and conversation for him. But you do not tell\nme yet how you found him out. If I had gone about to conceal him, I had\nbeen sweetly serv'd. I shall take heed of you hereafter; because there\nis no very great likelihood of your being an emperor, or that, if you\nwere, I should have your head.\n\nI have sent into Italy for seals; 'tis to be hoped by that time mine\ncome over, they may be of fashion again, for 'tis an humour that your\nold acquaintance Mr. Smith and his lady have brought up; they say she\nwears twenty strung upon a ribbon, like the nuts boys play withal, and I\ndo not hear of anything else. Mr. Howard presented his mistress but a\ndozen such seals as are not to be valued as times now go. But _à propos_\nof Monsr. Smith, what a scape has he made of my Lady Barbury; and who\nwould e'er have dreamt he should have had my Lady Sunderland, though he\nbe a very fine gentleman, and does more than deserve her. I think I\nshall never forgive her one thing she said of him, which was that she\nmarried him out of pity; it was the pitifullest saying that ever I\nheard, and made him so contemptible that I should not have married him\nfor that reason. This is a strange letter, sure, I have not time to read\nit over, but I have said anything that came into my head to put you out\nof your dumps. For God's sake be in better humour, and assure yourself I\nam as much as you can wish,\n\nYour faithful friend and servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 5", + "body": "SIR,--You have made me so rich as I am able to help my neighbours. There\nis a little head cut in an onyx that I take to be a very good one, and\nthe dolphin is (as you say) the better for being cut less; the oddness\nof the figures makes the beauty of these things. If you saw one that my\nbrother sent my Lady Diana last week, you would believe it were meant to\nfright people withal; 'twas brought out of the Indies, and cut there for\nan idol's head: they took the devil himself for their pattern that did\nit, for in my life I never saw so ugly a thing, and yet she is as fond\non't as if it were as lovely as she herself is. Her eyes have not the\nflames they have had, nor is she like (I am afraid) to recover them\nhere; but were they irrecoverably lost, the beauty of her mind were\nenough to make her outshine everybody else, and she would still be\ncourted by all that knew how to value her, like _la belle aveugle_ that\nwas Philip the 2nd of France his mistress. I am wholly ignorant of the\nstory you mention, and am confident you are not well inform'd, for 'tis\nimpossible she should ever have done anything that were unhandsome. If I\nknew who the person were that is concern'd in't, she allows me so much\nfreedom with her, that I could easily put her upon the discourse, and I\ndo not think she would use much of disguise in it towards me. I should\nhave guessed it Algernon Sydney, but that I cannot see in him that\nlikelihood of a fortune which you seem to imply by saying 'tis not\npresent. But if you should mean by that, that 'tis possible his wit and\ngood parts may raise him to one, you must pardon if I am not of your\nopinion, for I do not think these are times for anybody to expect\npreferment in that deserves it, and in the best 'twas ever too uncertain\nfor a wise body to trust to. But I am altogether of your mind, that my\nLady Sunderland is not to be followed in her marrying fashion, and that\nMr. Smith never appear'd less her servant than in desiring it; to speak\ntruth, it was convenient for neither of them, and in meaner people had\nbeen plain undoing one another, which I cannot understand to be kindness\nof either side. She has lost by it much of the repute she had gained by\nkeeping herself a widow; it was then believed that wit and discretion\nwere to be reconciled in her person that have so seldom been persuaded\nto meet in anybody else. But we are all mortal.\n\nI did not mean that Howard. 'Twas Arundel Howard. And the seals were\nsome remainders that showed his father's love to antiquities, and\ntherefore cost him dear enough if that would make them good. I am sorry\nI cannot follow your counsel in keeping fair with Fortune. I am not apt\nto suspect without just cause, but in earnest if I once find anybody\nfaulty towards me, they lose me for ever; I have forsworn being twice\ndeceived by the same person. For God's sake do not say she has the\nspleen, I shall hate it worse than ever I did, nor that it is a disease\nof the wits, I shall think you abuse me, for then I am sure it would not\nbe mine; but were it certain that they went together always, I dare\nswear there is nobody so proud of their wit as to keep it upon such\nterms, but would be glad after they had endured it a while to let them\nboth go as they came. I know nothing yet that is likely to alter my\nresolution of being in town on Saturday next; but I am uncertain where I\nshall be, and therefore it will be best that I send you word when I am\nthere. I should be glad to see you sooner, but that I do not know myself\nwhat company I may have with me. I meant this letter longer when I begun\nit, but an extreme cold that I have taken lies so in my head, and makes\nit ache so violently, that I hardly see what I do. I'll e'en to bed as\nsoon as I have told you that I am very much\n\nYour faithful friend\n\nand servant,\n\nD. OSBORNE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLIFE AT CHICKSANDS. 1653", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 6", + "body": "SIR,--Your last letter came like a pardon to one upon the block. I had\ngiven over the hopes on't, having received my letters by the other\ncarrier, who was always [wont] to be last. The loss put me hugely out of\norder, and you would have both pitied and laughed at me if you could\nhave seen how woodenly I entertained the widow, who came hither the day\nbefore, and surprised me very much. Not being able to say anything, I\ngot her to cards, and there with a great deal of patience lost my money\nto her;--or rather I gave it as my ransom. In the midst of our play, in\ncomes my blessed boy with your letter, and, in earnest, I was not able\nto disguise the joy it gave me, though one was by that is not much your\nfriend, and took notice of a blush that for my life I could not keep\nback. I put up the letter in my pocket, and made what haste I could to\nlose the money I had left, that I might take occasion to go fetch some\nmore; but I did not make such haste back again, I can assure you. I took\ntime enough to have coined myself some money if I had had the art on't,\nand left my brother enough to make all his addresses to her if he were\nso disposed. I know not whether he was pleased or not, but I am sure I\nwas.\n\nYou make so reasonable demands that 'tis not fit you should be denied.\nYou ask my thoughts but at one hour; you will think me bountiful, I\nhope, when I shall tell you that I know no hour when you have them not.\nNo, in earnest, my very dreams are yours, and I have got such a habit of\nthinking of you that any other thought intrudes and proves uneasy to me.\nI drink your health every morning in a drench that would poison a horse\nI believe, and 'tis the only way I have to persuade myself to take it.\n'Tis the infusion of steel, and makes me so horridly sick, that every\nday at ten o'clock I am making my will and taking leave of all my\nfriends. You will believe you are not forgot then. They tell me I must\ntake this ugly drink a fortnight, and then begin another as bad; but\nunless you say so too, I do not think I shall. 'Tis worse than dying by\nthe half.\n\nI am glad your father is so kind to you. I shall not dispute it with\nhim, because it is much more in his power than in mine, but I shall\nnever yield that 'tis more in his desire, since he was much pleased with\nthat which was a truth when you told it him, but would have been none if\nhe had asked the question sooner. He thought there was no danger of you\nsince you were more ignorant and less concerned in my being in town than\nhe. If I were Mrs. Chambers, he would be more my friend; but, however, I\nam much his servant as he is your father. I have sent you your book. And\nsince you are at leisure to consider the moon, you may be enough to read\n_Cléopâtre_, therefore I have sent you three tomes; when you have done\nwith these you shall have the rest, and I believe they will please.\nThere is a story of Artemise that I will recommend to you; her\ndisposition I like extremely, it has a great deal of practical wit; and\nif you meet with one Brittomart, pray send me word how you like him. I\nam not displeased that my Lord [Lisle] makes no more haste, for though I\nam very willing you should go the journey for many reasons, yet two or\nthree months hence, sure, will be soon enough to visit so cold a\ncountry, and I would not have you endure two winters in one year.\nBesides, I look for my eldest brother and cousin Molle here shortly, and\nI should be glad to have nobody to entertain but you, whilst you are\nhere. Lord! that you had the invisible ring, or Fortunatus his wishing\nhat; now, at this instant, you should be here.\n\nMy brother has gone to wait upon the widow homewards,--she that was born\nto persecute you and I, I think. She has so tired me with being here but\ntwo days, that I do not think I shall accept of the offer she made me of\nliving with her in case my father dies before I have disposed of myself.\nYet we are very great friends, and for my comfort she says she will come\nagain about the latter end of June and stay longer with me. My aunt is\nstill in town, kept by her business, which I am afraid will not go well,\nthey do so delay it; and my precious uncle does so visit her, and is so\nkind, that without doubt some mischief will follow. Do you know his son,\nmy cousin Harry? 'Tis a handsome youth, and well-natured, but such a\ngoose; and she has bred him so strangely, that he needs all his ten\nthousand a year. I would fain have him marry my Lady Diana, she was his\nmistress when he was a boy. He had more wit then than he has now, I\nthink, and I have less wit than he, sure, for spending my paper upon him\nwhen I have so little. Here is hardly room for\n\nYour affectionate\nfriend and servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 7", + "body": "SIR,--I am so far from thinking you ill-natured for wishing I might not\noutlive you, that I should not have thought you at all kind if you had\ndone otherwise; no, in earnest, I was never yet so in love with my life\nbut that I could have parted with it upon a much less occasion than your\ndeath, and 'twill be no compliment to you to say it would be very uneasy\nto me then, since 'tis not very pleasant to me now. Yet you will say I\ntake great pains to preserve it, as ill as I like it; but no, I'll swear\n'tis not that I intend in what I do; all that I aim at is but to keep\nmyself from proving a beast. They do so fright me with strange stories\nof what the spleen will bring me to in time, that I am kept in awe with\nthem like a child; they tell me 'twill not leave me common sense, that I\nshall hardly be fit company for my own dogs, and that it will end either\nin a stupidness that will make me incapable of anything, or fill my head\nwith such whims as will make me ridiculous. To prevent this, who would\nnot take steel or anything,--though I am partly of your opinion that\n'tis an ill kind of physic. Yet I am confident that I take it the safest\nway, for I do not take the powder, as many do, but only lay a piece of\nsteel in white wine over night and drink the infusion next morning,\nwhich one would think were nothing, and yet 'tis not to be imagined how\nsick it makes me for an hour or two, and, which is the misery, all that\ntime one must be using some kind of exercise. Your fellow-servant has a\nblessed time on't that ever you saw. I make her play at shuttlecock with\nme, and she is the veriest bungler at it ever you saw. Then am I ready\nto beat her with the battledore, and grow so peevish as I grow sick,\nthat I'll undertake she wishes there were no steel in England. But then\nto recompense the morning, I am in good humour all the day after for joy\nthat I am well again. I am told 'twill do me good, and am content to\nbelieve it; if it does not, I am but where I was.\n\nI do not use to forget my old acquaintances. Almanzor is as fresh in my\nmemory as if I had visited his tomb but yesterday, though it be at least\nseven year agone since. You will believe I had not been used to great\nafflictions when I made his story such a one to me, as I cried an hour\ntogether for him, and was so angry with Alcidiana that for my life I\ncould never love her after it. You do not tell me whether you received\nthe books I sent you, but I will hope you did, because you say nothing\nto the contrary. They are my dear Lady Diana's, and therefore I am much\nconcerned that they should be safe. And now I speak of her, she is\nacquainted with your aunt, my Lady B., and says all that you say of her.\nIf her niece has so much wit, will you not be persuaded to like her; or\nsay she has not quite so much, may not her fortune make it up? In\nearnest, I know not what to say, but if your father does not use all his\nkindness and all his power to make you consider your own advantage, he\nis not like other fathers. Can you imagine that he that demands £5000\nbesides the reversion of an estate will like bare £4000? Such miracles\nare seldom seen, and you must prepare to suffer a strange persecution\nunless you grow conformable; therefore consider what you do, 'tis the\npart of a friend to advise you. I could say a great deal to this\npurpose, and tell you that 'tis not discreet to refuse a good offer, nor\nsafe to trust wholly to your own judgment in your disposal. I was never\nbetter provided in my life for a grave admonishing discourse. Would you\nhad heard how I have been catechized for you, and seen how soberly I sit\nand answer to interrogatories. Would you think that upon examination it\nis found that you are not an indifferent person to me? But the mischief\nis, that what my intentions or resolutions are, is not to be discovered,\nthough much pains has been taken to collect all scattering\ncircumstances; and all the probable conjectures that can be raised from\nthence has been urged, to see if anything would be confessed. And all\nthis done with so much ceremony and compliment, so many pardons asked\nfor undertaking to counsel or inquire, and so great kindness and passion\nfor all my interests professed, that I cannot but take it well, though I\nam very weary on't. You are spoken of with the reverence due to a person\nthat I seem to like, and for as much as they know of you, you do deserve\na very good esteem; but your fortune and mine can never agree, and, in\nplain terms, we forfeit our discretions and run wilfully upon our own\nruins if there be such a thought. To all this I make no reply, but that\nif they will needs have it that I am not without kindness for you, they\nmust conclude withal that 'tis no part of my intention to ruin you, and\nso the conference breaks up for that time. All this is [from] my friend,\nthat is not yours; and the gentleman that came upstairs in a basket, I\ncould tell him that he spends his breath to very little purpose, and has\nbut his labour for his pains. Without his precepts my own judgment would\npreserve me from doing anything that might be prejudicial to you or\nunjustifiable to the world; but if these be secured, nothing can alter\nthe resolution I have taken of settling my whole stock of happiness upon\nthe affection of a person that is dear to me, whose kindness I shall\ninfinitely prefer before any other consideration whatsoever, and I shall\nnot blush to tell you that you have made the whole world beside so\nindifferent to me that, if I cannot be yours, they may dispose of me how\nthey please. Henry Cromwell will be as acceptable to me as any one else.\nIf I may undertake to counsel, I think you shall do well to comply with\nyour father as far as possible, and not to discover any aversion to what\nhe desires further than you can give reason for. What his disposition\nmay be I know not; but 'tis that of many parents to judge their\nchildren's dislikes to be an humour of approving nothing that is chosen\nfor them, which many times makes them take up another of denying their\nchildren all they choose for themselves. I find I am in the humour of\ntalking wisely if my paper would give me leave. 'Tis great pity here is\nroom for no more but--\n\nYour faithful friend and servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 12.", + "body": "SIR,--There shall be two posts this week, for my brother sends his groom\nup, and I am resolved to make some advantage of it. Pray, what the paper\ndenied me in your last, let me receive by him. Your fellow-servant is a\nsweet jewel to tell tales of me. The truth is, I cannot deny but that I\nhave been very careless of myself, but, alas! who would have been other?\nI never thought my life worth my care whilst nobody was concerned in't\nbut myself; now I shall look upon't as something that you would not\nlose, and therefore shall endeavour to keep it for you. But then you\nmust return my kindness with the same care of a life that's much dearer\nto me. I shall not be so unreasonable as to desire that, for my\nsatisfaction, you should deny yourself a recreation that is pleasing to\nyou, and very innocent, sure, when 'tis not used in excess, but I cannot\nconsent you should disorder yourself with it, and Jane was certainly in\nthe right when she told you I would have chid if I had seen you so\nendanger a health that I am so much concerned in. But for what she tell\nyou of my melancholy you must not believe; she thinks nobody in good\nhumour unless they laugh perpetually, as Nan and she does, which I was\nnever given to much, and now I have been so long accustomed to my own\nnatural dull humour that nothing can alter it. 'Tis not that I am sad\n(for as long as you and the rest of my friends are well), I thank God I\nhave no occasion to be so, but I never appear to be very merry, and if I\nhad all that I could wish for in the world, I do not think it would make\nany visible change in my humour. And yet with all my gravity I could not\nbut laugh at your encounter in the Park, though I was not pleased that\nyou should leave a fair lady and go lie upon the cold ground. That is\nfull as bad as overheating yourself at tennis, and therefore remember\n'tis one of the things you are forbidden. You have reason to think your\nfather kind, and I have reason to think him very civil; all his scruples\nare very just ones, but such as time and a little good fortune (if we\nwere either of us lucky to it) might satisfy. He may be confident I can\nnever think of disposing myself without my father's consent; and though\nhe has left it more in my power than almost anybody leaves a daughter,\nyet certainly I were the worst natured person in the world if his\nkindness were not a greater tie upon me than any advantage he could have\nreserved. Besides that, 'tis my duty, from which nothing can ever tempt\nme, nor could you like it in me if I should do otherwise, 'twould make\nme unworthy of your esteem; but if ever that may be obtained, or I left\nfree, and you in the same condition, all the advantages of fortune or\nperson imaginable met together in one man should not be preferred before\nyou. I think I cannot leave you better than with this assurance. 'Tis\nvery late, and having been abroad all this day, I knew not till e'en now\nof this messenger. Good-night to you. There need be no excuse for the\nconclusion of your letter. Nothing can please me better. Once more\ngood-night. I am half in a dream already.\n\nYour", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 9", + "body": "SIR,--I am glad you 'scaped a beating, but, in earnest, would it had\nlighted on my brother's groom. I think I should have beaten him myself\nif I had been able. I have expected your letter all this day with the\ngreatest impatience that was possible, and at last resolved to go out\nand meet the fellow; and when I came down to the stables, I found him\ncome, had set up his horse, and was sweeping the stable in great order.\nI could not imagine him so very a beast as to think his horses were to\nbe serv'd before me, and therefore was presently struck with an\napprehension he had no letter for me: it went cold to my heart as ice,\nand hardly left me courage enough to ask him the question; but when he\nhad drawled it out that he thought there was a letter for me in his bag,\nI quickly made him leave his broom. 'Twas well 'tis a dull fellow, he\ncould not [but] have discern'd else that I was strangely overjoyed with\nit, and earnest to have it; for though the poor fellow made what haste\nhe could to untie his bag, I did nothing but chide him for being so\nslow. Last I had it, and, in earnest, I know not whether an entire\ndiamond of the bigness on't would have pleased me half so well; if it\nwould, it must be only out of this consideration, that such a jewel\nwould make me rich enough to dispute you with Mrs. Chambers, and perhaps\nmake your father like me as well. I like him, I'll swear, and extremely\ntoo, for being so calm in a business where his desires were so much\ncrossed. Either he has a great power over himself, or you have a great\ninterest in him, or both. If you are pleased it should end thus, I\ncannot dislike it; but if it would have been happy for you, I should\nthink myself strangely unfortunate in being the cause that it went not\nfurther. I cannot say that I prefer your interest before my own, because\nall yours are so much mine that 'tis impossible for me to be happy if\nyou are not so; but if they could be divided I am certain I should. And\nthough you reproached me with unkindness for advising you not to refuse\na good offer, yet I shall not be discouraged from doing it again when\nthere is occasion, for I am resolved to be your friend whether you will\nor no. And, for example, though I know you do not need my counsel, yet I\ncannot but tell you that I think 'twere very well that you took some\ncare to make my Lady B. your friend, and oblige her by your civilities\nto believe that you were sensible of the favour was offered you, though\nyou had not the grace to make good use on't. In very good earnest now,\nshe is a woman (by all that I have heard of her) that one would not\nlose; besides that, 'twill become you to make some satisfaction for\ndownright refusing a young lady--'twas unmercifully done.\n\nWould to God you would leave that trick of making excuses! Can you think\nit necessary to me, or believe that your letters can be so long as to\nmake them unpleasing to me? Are mine so to you? If they are not, yours\nnever will be so to me. You see I say anything to you, out of a belief\nthat, though my letters were more impertinent than they are, you would\nnot be without them nor wish them shorter. Why should you be less kind?\nIf your fellow-servant has been with you, she has told you I part with\nher but for her advantage. That I shall always be willing to do; but\nwhensoever she shall think fit to serve again, and is not provided of a\nbetter mistress, she knows where to find me.\n\nI have sent you the rest of _Cléopâtre_, pray keep them all in your\nhands, and the next week I will send you a letter and directions where\nyou shall deliver that and the books for my lady. Is it possible that\nshe can be indifferent to anybody? Take heed of telling me such stories;\nif all those excellences she is rich in cannot keep warm a passion\nwithout the sunshine of her eyes, what are poor people to expect; and\nwere it not a strange vanity in me to believe yours can be long-lived?\nIt would be very pardonable in you to change, but, sure, in him 'tis a\nmark of so great inconstancy as shows him of an humour that nothing can\nfix. When you go into the Exchange, pray call at the great shop above,\n\"The Flower Pott.\" I spoke to Heams, the man of the shop, when I was in\ntown, for a quart of orange-flower water; he had none that was good\nthen, but promised to get me some. Pray put him in mind of it, and let\nhim show it you before he sends it me, for I will not altogether trust\nto his honesty; you see I make no scruple of giving you little idle\ncommissions, 'tis a freedom you allow me, and that I should be glad you\nwould take. The Frenchman that set my seals lives between Salisbury\nHouse and the Exchange, at a house that was not finished when I was\nthere, and the master of the shop, his name is Walker, he made me pay\n50s. for three, but 'twas too dear. You will meet with a story in these\nparts of _Cléopâtre_ that pleased me more than any that ever I read in\nmy life; 'tis of one Délie, pray give me your opinion of her and her\nprince. This letter is writ in great haste, as you may see; 'tis my\nbrother's sick day, and I'm not willing to leave him long alone. I\nforgot to tell you in my last that he was come hither to try if he can\nlose an ague here that he got in Gloucestershire. He asked me for you\nvery kindly, and if he knew I writ to you I should have something to say\nfrom him besides what I should say for myself if I had room.\n\nYrs.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 10", + "body": "SIR,--That you may be sure it was a dream that I writ that part of my\nletter in, I do not now remember what it was I writ, but seems it was\nvery kind, and possibly you owe the discovery on't to my being asleep.\nBut I do not repent it, for I should not love you if I did not think you\ndiscreet enough to be trusted with the knowledge of all my kindness.\nTherefore 'tis not that I desire to hide it from you, but that I do not\nlove to tell it; and perhaps if you could read my heart, I should make\nless scruple of your seeing on't there than in my letters.\n\nI can easily guess who the pretty young lady is, for there are but two\nin England of that fortune, and they are sisters, but I am to seek who\nthe gallant should be. If it be no secret, you may tell me. However, I\nshall wish him all good success if he be your friend, as I suppose he is\nby his confidence in you. If it be neither of the Spencers, I wish it\nwere; I have not seen two young men that looked as if they deserved\nbetter fortunes so much as those brothers.\n\nBut, bless me, what will become of us all now? Is not this a strange\nturn? What does my Lord Lisle? Sure this will at least defer your\njourney? Tell me what I must think on't; whether it be better or worse,\nor whether you are at all concern'd in't? For if you are not I am not,\nonly if I had been so wise as to have taken hold of the offer was made\nme by Henry Cromwell, I might have been in a fair way of preferment,\nfor, sure, they will be greater now than ever. Is it true that Algernon\nSydney was so unwilling to leave the House, that the General was fain to\ntake the pains to turn him out himself? Well, 'tis a pleasant world\nthis. If Mr. Pim were alive again, I wonder what he would think of these\nproceedings, and whether this would appear so great a breach of the\nPrivilege of Parliament as the demanding the 5 members? But I shall talk\ntreason by and by if I do not look to myself. 'Tis safer talking of the\norange-flower water you sent me. The carrier has given me a great charge\nto tell you that it came safe, and that I must do him right. As you say,\n'tis not the best I have seen, nor the worst.\n\nI shall expect your Diary next week, though this will be but a short\nletter: you may allow me to make excuses too sometimes; but, seriously,\nmy father is now so continuously ill, that I have hardly time for\nanything. 'Tis but an ague that he has, but yet I am much afraid that is\nmore than his age and weakness will be able to bear; he keeps his bed,\nand never rises but to have it made, and most times faints with that.\nYou ought in charity to write as much as you can, for, in earnest, my\nlife here since my father's sickness is so sad that, to another humour\nthan mine, it would be unsupportable; but I have been so used to\nmisfortunes, that I cannot be much surprised with them, though perhaps I\nam as sensible of them as another. I'll leave you, for I find these\nthoughts begin to put me in ill humour; farewell, may you be ever happy.\nIf I am so at all, it is in being\n\nYour", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 11", + "body": "SIR,--You must pardon me, I could not burn your other letter for my\nlife; I was so pleased to see I had so much to read, and so sorry I had\ndone so soon, that I resolved to begin them again, and had like to have\nlost my dinner by it. I know not what humour you were in when you writ\nit; but Mr. Arbry's prophecy and the falling down of the form did a\nlittle discompose my gravity. But I quickly recovered myself with\nthinking that you deserved to be chid for going where you knew you must\nof necessity lose your time. In earnest, I had a little scruple when I\nwent with you thither, and but that I was assured it was too late to go\nany whither else, and believed it better to hear an ill sermon than\nnone, I think I should have missed his _Belles remarques_. You had\nrepented you, I hope, of that and all other your faults before you\nthought of dying.\n\nWhat a satisfaction you had found out to make me for the injuries you\nsay you have done me! And yet I cannot tell neither (though 'tis not the\nremedy I should choose) whether that were not a certain one for all my\nmisfortunes; for, sure, I should have nothing then to persuade me to\nstay longer where they grow, and I should quickly take a resolution of\nleaving them and the world at once. I agree with you, too, that I do not\nsee any great likelihood of the change of our fortunes, and that we have\nmuch more to wish than to hope for; but 'tis so common a calamity that I\ndare not murmur at it; better people have endured it, and I can give no\nreason why (almost) all are denied the satisfaction of disposing\nthemselves to their own desires, but that it is a happiness too great\nfor this world, and might endanger one's forgetting the next; whereas if\nwe are crossed in that which only can make the world pleasing to us, we\nare quickly tired with the length of our journey and the disquiet of our\ninns, and long to be at home. One would think it were I who had heard\nthe three sermons and were trying to make a fourth; these are truths\nthat might become a pulpit better than Mr. Arbry's predictions. But lest\nyou should think I have as many worms in my head as he, I'll give over\nin time, and tell you how far Mr. Luke and I are acquainted. He lives\nwithin three or four miles of me, and one day that I had been to visit a\nlady that is nearer him than me, as I came back I met a coach with some\ncompany in't that I knew, and thought myself obliged to salute. We all\nlighted and met, and I found more than I looked for by two damsels and\ntheir squires. I was afterwards told they were of the Lukes, and\npossibly this man might be there, or else I never saw him; for since\nthese times we have had no commerce with that family, but have kept at\ngreat distance, as having on several occasions been disobliged by them.\nBut of late, I know not how, Sir Sam has grown so kind as to send to me\nfor some things he desired out of this garden, and withal made the offer\nof what was in his, which I had reason to take for a high favour, for he\nis a nice florist; and since this we are insensibly come to as good\ndegrees of civility for one another as can be expected from people that\nnever meet.\n\nWho those demoiselles should be that were at Heamses I cannot imagine,\nand I know so few that are concerned in me or my name that I admire you\nshould meet with so many that seem to be acquainted with it. Sure, if\nyou had liked them you would not have been so sullen, and a less\noccasion would have served to make you entertain their discourse if they\nhad been handsome. And yet I know no reason I have to believe that\nbeauty is any argument to make you like people; unless I had more on't\nmyself. But be it what it will that displeased you, I am glad they did\nnot fright you away before you had the orange-flower water, for it is\nvery good, and I am so sweet with it a days that I despise roses. When I\nhave given you humble thanks for it, I mean to look over your other\nletter and take the heads, and to treat of them in order as my time and\nyour patience shall give me leave.\n\nAnd first for my Sheriff, let me desire you to believe he has more\ncourage than to die upon a denial. No (thanks be to God!), none of my\nservants are given to that; I hear of many every day that do marry, but\nof none that do worse. My brother sent me word this week that my\nfighting servant is married too, and with the news this ballad, which\nwas to be sung in the grave that you dreamt of, I think; but because you\ntell me I shall not want company then, you may dispose of this piece of\npoetry as you please when you have sufficiently admired with me where he\nfound it out, for 'tis much older than that of my \"Lord of Lorne.\" You\nare altogether in the right that my brother will never be at quiet till\nhe sees me disposed of, but he does not mean to lose me by it; he knows\nthat if I were married at this present, I should not be persuaded to\nleave my father as long as he lives; and when this house breaks up, he\nis resolved to follow me if he can, which he thinks he might better do\nto a house where I had some power than where I am but upon courtesy\nmyself. Besides that, he thinks it would be to my advantage to be well\nbestowed, and by that he understands richly. He is much of your sister's\nhumour, and many times wishes me a husband that loved me as well as he\ndoes (though he seems to doubt the possibility on't), but never desires\nthat I should love that husband with any passion, and plainly tells me\nso. He says it would not be so well for him, nor perhaps for me, that I\nshould; for he is of opinion that all passions have more of trouble than\nsatisfaction in them, and therefore they are happiest that have least of\nthem. You think him kind from a letter that you met with of his; sure,\nthere was very little of anything in that, or else I should not have\nemployed it to wrap a book up. But, seriously, I many times receive\nletters from him, that were they seen without an address to me or his\nname, nobody would believe they were from a brother; and I cannot but\ntell him sometimes that, sure, he mistakes and sends me letters that\nwere meant to his mistress, till he swears to me that he has none.\n\nNext week my persecution begins again; he comes down, and my cousin\nMolle is already cured of his imaginary dropsy, and means to meet here.\nI shall be baited most sweetly, but sure they will not easily make me\nconsent to make my life unhappy to satisfy their importunity. I was born\nto be very happy or very miserable, I know not which, but I am very\ncertain that you will never read half this letter 'tis so scribbled; but\n'tis no matter, 'tis not much worth it.\n\nYour most faithful friend and servant.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 12", + "body": "SIR,--If it were the carrier's fault that you stayed so long for your\nletters, you are revenged, for I have chid him most unreasonably. But I\nmust confess 'twas not for that, for I did not know it then, but going\nto meet him (as I usually do), when he gave me your letter I found the\nupper seal broken open, and underneath where it uses to be only closed\nwith a little wax, there was a seal, which though it were an anchor and\na heart, methought it did not look like yours, but less, and much worse\ncut. This suspicion was so strong upon me, that I chid till the poor\nfellow was ready to cry, and swore to me that it had never been touched\nsince he had it, and that he was careful of it, as he never put it with\nhis other letters, but by itself, and that now it come amongst his\nmoney, which perhaps might break the seal; and lest I should think it\nwas his curiosity, he told me very ingenuously he could not read, and so\nwe parted for the present. But since, he has been with a neighbour of\nmine whom he sometimes delivers my letters to, and begged her that she\nwould go to me and desire my worship to write to your worship to know\nhow the letter was sealed, for it has so grieved him that he has neither\neat nor slept (to do him any good) since he came home, and in grace of\nGod this shall be a warning to him as long as he lives. He takes it so\nheavily that I think I must be friends with him again; but pray\nhereafter seal your letters, so that the difficulty of opening them may\ndishearten anybody from attempting it.\n\nIt was but my guess that the ladies at Heams' were unhandsome; but since\nyou tell me they were remarkably so, sure I know them by it; they are\ntwo sisters, and might have been mine if the Fates had so pleased. They\nhave a brother that is not like them, and is a baronet besides. 'Tis\nstrange that you tell me of my Lords Shandoys [Chandos] and Arundel; but\nwhat becomes of young Compton's estate? Sure my Lady Carey cannot\nneither in honour nor conscience keep it; besides that, she needs it\nless now than ever, her son (being, as I hear) dead.\n\nSir T., I suppose, avoids you as a friend of mine. My brother tells me\nthey meet sometimes, and have the most ado to pull off their hats to one\nanother that can be, and never speak. If I were in town I'll undertake\nhe would venture the being choked for want of air rather than stir out\nof doors for fear of meeting me. But did you not say in your last that\nyou took something very ill from me? If 'twas my humble thanks, well,\nyou shall have no more of them then, nor no more servants. I think that\nthey are not necessary among friends.\n\nI take it very kindly that your father asked for me, and that you were\nnot pleased with the question he made of the continuance of my\nfriendship. I can pardon it him, because he does not know me, but I\nshould never forgive you if you could doubt it. Were my face in no more\ndanger of changing than my mind, I should be worth the seeing at\nthreescore; and that which is but very ordinary now, would then be\ncounted handsome for an old woman; but, alas! I am more likely to look\nold before my time with grief. Never anybody had such luck with\nservants; what with marrying and what with dying, they all leave me.\nJust now I have news brought me of the death of an old rich knight that\nhas promised me this seven years to marry me whensoever his wife died,\nand now he's dead before her, and has left her such a widow, it makes me\nmad to think on't, £1200 a year jointure and £20,000 in money and\npersonal estate, and all this I might have had if Mr. Death had been\npleased to have taken her instead of him. Well, who can help these\nthings? But since I cannot have him, would you had her! What say you?\nShall I speak a good word for you? She will marry for certain, and\nperhaps, though my brother may expect I should serve him in it, yet if\nyou give me commission I'll say I was engaged beforehand for a friend,\nand leave him to shift for himself. You would be my neighbour if you had\nher, and I should see you often. Think on't, and let me know what you\nresolve? My lady has writ me word that she intends very shortly to sit\nat Lely's for her picture for me; I give you notice on't, that you may\nhave the pleasure of seeing it sometimes whilst 'tis there. I imagine\n'twill be so to you, for I am sure it would be a great one to me, and we\ndo not use to differ in our inclinations, though I cannot agree with you\nthat my brother's kindness to me has anything of trouble in't; no, sure,\nI may be just to you and him both, and to be a kind sister will take\nnothing from my being a perfect friend.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 13", + "body": "SIR,--I received your letter to-day, when I thought it almost impossible\nthat I should be sensible of anything but my father's sickness and my\nown affliction in it. Indeed, he was then so dangerously ill that we\ncould not reasonably hope he should outlive this day; yet he is now, I\nthank God, much better, and I am come so much to myself with it, as to\nundertake a long letter to you whilst I watch by him. Towards the latter\nend it will be excellent stuff, I believe; but, alas! you may allow me\nto dream sometimes. I have had so little sleep since my father was sick\nthat I am never thoroughly awake. Lord, how I have wished for you! Here\ndo I sit all night by a poor moped fellow that serves my father, and\nhave much ado to keep him awake and myself too. If you heard the wise\ndiscourse that is between us, you would swear we wanted sleep; but I\nshall leave him to-night to entertain himself, and try if I can write as\nwisely as I talk. I am glad all is well again. In earnest, it would have\nlain upon my conscience if I had been the occasion of making your poor\nboy lose a service, that if he has the wit to know how to value it, he\nwould never have forgiven me while he had lived.\n\nBut while I remember it, let me ask you if you did not send my letter\nand _Cléopâtre_ where I directed you for my lady? I received one from\nher to-day full of the kindest reproaches, that she has not heard from\nme this three weeks. I have writ constantly to her, but I do not so much\nwonder that the rest are lost, as that she seems not to have received\nthat which I sent to you nor the books. I do not understand it, but I\nknow there is no fault of yours in't. But, mark you! if you think to\n'scape with sending me such bits of letters, you are mistaken. You say\nyou are often interrupted, and I believe it; but you must use then to\nbegin to write before you receive mine, and whensoever you have any\nspare time allow me some of it. Can you doubt that anything can make\nyour letters cheap? In earnest, 'twas unkindly said, and if I could be\nangry with you it should be for that. No, certainly they are, and ever\nwill be, dear to me as that which I receive a huge contentment by. How\nshall I long when you are gone your journey to hear from you! how shall\nI apprehend a thousand accidents that are not likely nor will ever\nhappen, I hope! Oh, if you do not send me long letters, then you are the\ncruellest person that can be! If you love me you will; and if you do\nnot, I shall never love myself. You need not fear such a command as you\nmention. Alas! I am too much concerned that you should love me ever to\nforbid it you; 'tis all that I propose of happiness to myself in the\nworld. The burning of my paper has waked me; all this while I was in a\ndream. But 'tis no matter, I am content you should know they are of you,\nand that when my thoughts are left most at liberty they are the kindest.\nI swear my eyes are so heavy that I hardly see what I write, nor do I\nthink you will be able to read it when I have done; the best on't is\n'twill be no great loss to you if you do not, for, sure, the greatest\npart on't is not sense, and yet on my conscience I shall go on with it.\n'Tis like people that talk in their sleep, nothing interrupts them but\ntalking to them again, and that you are not like to do at this distance;\nbesides that, at this instant you are, I believe, more asleep than I,\nand do not so much as dream that I am writing to you. My fellow-watchers\nhave been asleep too, till just now they begin to stretch and yawn; they\nare going to try if eating and drinking can keep them awake, and I am\nkindly invited to be of their company; and my father's man has got one\nof the maids to talk nonsense to to-night, and they have got between\nthem a bottle of ale. I shall lose my share if I do not take them at\ntheir first offer. Your patience till I have drunk, and then I'll for\nyou again.\n\nAnd now on the strength of this ale, I believe I shall be able to fill\nup this paper that's left with something or other; and first let me ask\nyou if you have seen a book of poems newly come out, made by my Lady\nNewcastle? For God's sake if you meet with it send it to me; they say\n'tis ten times more extravagant than her dress. Sure, the poor woman is\na little distracted, she could never be so ridiculous else as to venture\nat writing books, and in verse too. If I should not sleep this fortnight\nI should not come to that. My eyes grow a little dim though, for all the\nale, and I believe if I could see it this is most strangely scribbled.\nSure, I shall not find fault with your writing in haste, for anything\nbut the shortness of your letter; and 'twould be very unjust in me to\ntie you to a ceremony that I do not observe myself. No, for God's sake\nlet there be no such thing between us; a real kindness is so far beyond\nall compliment, that it never appears more than when there is least of\nt'other mingled with it. If, then, you would have me believe yours to be\nperfect, confirm it to me by a kind freedom. Tell me if there be\nanything that I can serve you in, employ me as you would do that sister\nthat you say you love so well. Chide me when I do anything that is not\nwell, but then make haste to tell me that you have forgiven me, and that\nyou are what I shall ever be, a faithful friend.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 14", + "body": "SIR,--I have been reckoning up how many faults you lay to my charge in\nyour last letter, and I find I am severe, unjust, unmerciful, and\nunkind. Oh me, how should one do to mend all these! 'Tis work for an\nage, and 'tis to be feared I shall be so old before I am good, that\n'twill not be considerable to anybody but myself whether I am so or not.\nI say nothing of the pretty humour you fancied me in, in your dream,\nbecause 'twas but a dream. Sure, if it had been anything else, I should\nhave remembered that my Lord L. loves to have his chamber and his bed to\nhimself. But seriously, now, I wonder at your patience. How could you\nhear me talk so senselessly, though 'twere but in your sleep, and not be\nready to beat me? What nice mistaken points of honour I pretended to,\nand yet could allow him room in the same bed with me! Well, dreams are\npleasant things to people whose humours are so; but to have the spleen,\nand to dream upon't, is a punishment I would not wish my greatest enemy.\nI seldom dream, or never remember them, unless they have been so sad as\nto put me into such disorder as I can hardly recover when I am awake,\nand some of those I am confident I shall never forget.\n\nYou ask me how I pass my time here. I can give you a perfect account not\nonly of what I do for the present, but of what I am likely to do this\nseven years if I stay here so long. I rise in the morning reasonably\nearly, and before I am ready I go round the house till I am weary of\nthat, and then into the garden till it grows too hot for me. About ten\no'clock I think of making me ready, and when that's done I go into my\nfather's chamber, from whence to dinner, where my cousin Molle and I sit\nin great state in a room, and at a table that would hold a great many\nmore. After dinner we sit and talk till Mr. B. comes in question, and\nthen I am gone. The heat of the day is spent in reading or working, and\nabout six or seven o'clock I walk out into a common that lies hard by\nthe house, where a great many young wenches keep sheep and cows, and sit\nin the shade singing of ballads. I go to them and compare their voices\nand beauties to some ancient shepherdesses that I have read of, and find\na vast difference there; but, trust me, I think these are as innocent as\nthose could be. I talk to them, and find they want nothing to make them\nthe happiest people in the world but the knowledge that they are so.\nMost commonly, when we are in the midst of our discourse, one looks\nabout her, and spies her cows going into the corn, and then away they\nall run as if they had wings at their heels. I, that am not so nimble,\nstay behind; and when I see them driving home their cattle, I think 'tis\ntime for me to return too. When I have supped, I go into the garden, and\nso to the side of a small river that runs by it, when I sit down and\nwish you were with me (you had best say this is not kind neither). In\nearnest, 'tis a pleasant place, and would be much more so to me if I had\nyour company. I sit there sometimes till I am lost with thinking; and\nwere it not for some cruel thoughts of the crossness of our fortunes\nthat will not let me sleep there, I should forget that there were such a\nthing to be done as going to bed.\n\nSince I writ this my company is increased by two, my brother Harry and a\nfair niece, the eldest of my brother Peyton's children. She is so much a\nwoman that I am almost ashamed to say I am her aunt; and so pretty,\nthat, if I had any design to gain of servants, I should not like her\ncompany; but I have none, and therefore shall endeavour to keep her here\nas long as I can persuade her father to spare her, for she will easily\nconsent to it, having so much of my humour (though it be the worst thing\nin her) as to like a melancholy place and little company. My brother\nJohn is not come down again, nor am I certain when he will be here. He\nwent from London into Gloucestershire to my sister who was very ill, and\nhis youngest girl, of which he was very fond, is since dead. But I\nbelieve by that time his wife has a little recovered her sickness and\nloss of her child, he will be coming this way. My father is reasonably\nwell, but keeps his chamber still, and will hardly, I am afraid, ever be\nso perfectly recovered as to come abroad again.\n\nI am sorry for poor Walker, but you need not doubt of what he has of\nyours in his hands, for it seems he does not use to do his work himself.\nI speak seriously, he keeps a Frenchman that sets all his seals and\nrings. If what you say of my Lady Leppington be of your own knowledge, I\nshall believe you, but otherwise I can assure you I have heard from\npeople that pretend to know her very well, that her kindness to Compton\nwas very moderate, and that she never liked him so well as when he died\nand gave her his estate. But they might be deceived, and 'tis not so\nstrange as that you should imagine a coldness and an indifference in my\nletters when I so little meant it; but I am not displeased you should\ndesire my kindness enough to apprehend the loss of it when it is safest.\nOnly I would not have you apprehend it so far as to believe it\npossible,--that were an injury to all the assurances I have given you,\nand if you love me you cannot think me unworthy. I should think myself\nso, if I found you grew indifferent to me, that I have had so long and\nso particular a friendship for; but, sure, this is more than I need to\nsay. You are enough in my heart to know all my thoughts, and if so, you\nknow better than I can tell you how much I am\n\nYours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 15", + "body": "SIR,--If to know I wish you with me pleases you, 'tis a satisfaction you\nmay always have, for I do it perpetually; but were it really in my power\nto make you happy, I could not miss being so myself, for I know nothing\nelse I want towards it. You are admitted to all my entertainments; and\n'twould be a pleasing surprise to me to see you amongst my\nshepherdesses. I meet some there sometimes that look very like gentlemen\n(for 'tis a road), and when they are in good humour they give us a\ncompliment as they go by; but you would be so courteous as to stay, I\nhope, if we entreated you; 'tis in your way to this place, and just\nbefore the house. 'Tis our Hyde Park, and every fine evening, anybody\nthat wanted a mistress might be sure to find one there. I have wondered\noften to meet my fair Lady Ruthin there alone; methinks it should be\ndangerous for an heir. I could find in my heart to steal her away\nmyself, but it should be rather for her person than her fortune. My\nbrother says not a word of you, nor your service, nor do I expect he\nshould; if I could forget you, he would not help my memory. You would\nlaugh, sure, if I could tell you how many servants he has offered me\nsince he came down; but one above all the rest I think he is in love\nwith himself, and may marry him too if he pleases, I shall not hinder\nhim. 'Tis one Talbot, the finest gentleman he has seen this seven years;\nbut the mischief on't is he has not above fifteen or sixteen hundred\npound a year, though he swears he begins to think one might bate £500 a\nyear for such a husband. I tell him I am glad to hear it; and if I was\nas much taken (as he) with Mr. Talbot, I should not be less gallant; but\nI doubted the first extremely. I have spleen enough to carry me to Epsom\nthis summer; but yet I think I shall not go. If I make one journey, I\nmust make more, for then I have no excuse. Rather than be obliged to\nthat, I'll make none. You have so often reproached me with the loss of\nyour liberty, that to make you some amends I am contented to be your\nprisoner this summer; but you shall do one favour for me into the\nbargain. When your father goes into Ireland, lay your commands upon some\nof his servants to get you an Irish greyhound. I have one that was the\nGeneral's; but 'tis a bitch, and those are always much less than the\ndogs. I got it in the time of my favour there, and it was all they had.\nHenry Cromwell undertook to write to his brother Fleetwood for another\nfor me; but I have lost my hopes there. Whomsoever it is that you\nemploy, he will need no other instructions but to get the biggest he can\nmeet with; 'tis all the beauty of those dogs, or of any kind, I think. A\nmasty [mastif] is handsomer to me than the most exact little dog that\never lady played withal. You will not offer to take it ill that I employ\nyou in such a commission, since I have told you that the General's son\ndid not refuse it; but I shall take it ill if you do not take the same\nfreedom with me whensoever I am capable of serving you. The town must\nneeds be unpleasant now, and, methinks, you might contrive some way of\nhaving your letters sent to you without giving yourself the trouble of\ncoming to town for them when you have no other business; you must pardon\nme if I think they cannot be worth it.\n\nI am told that R. Spencer is a servant to a lady of my acquaintance, a\ndaughter of my Lady Lexington's. Is it true? And if it be, what is\nbecome of the £2500 lady? Would you think it, that I have an ambassador\nfrom the Emperor Justinian, that comes to renew the treaty? In earnest,\n'tis true, and I want your counsel extremely, what to do in it. You told\nme once that of all my servants you liked him the best. If I could do so\ntoo, there were no dispute in't. Well, I'll think on't, and if it\nsucceed I will be as good as my word; you shall take your choice of my\nfour daughters. Am not I beholding to him, think you? He says that he\nhas made addresses, 'tis true, in several places since we parted, but\ncould not fix anywhere; and, in his opinion, he sees nobody that would\nmake so fit a wife for him as I. He has often inquired after me to hear\nif I were marrying, and somebody told him I had an ague, and he\npresently fell sick of one too, so natural a sympathy there is between\nus; and yet for all this, on my conscience, we shall never marry. He\ndesires to know whether I am at liberty or not. What shall I tell him?\nOr shall I send him to you to know? I think that will be best. I'll say\nthat you are much my friend, and that I have resolved not to dispose of\nmyself but with your consent and approbation, and therefore he must make\nall his court to you; and when he can bring me a certificate under your\nhand, that you think him a fit husband for me, 'tis very likely I may\nhave him. Till then I am his humble servant and your faithful friend.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 16", + "body": "SIR,--I am sorry my last letter frighted you so; 'twas no part of my\nintention it should; but I am more sorry to see by your first chapter\nthat your humour is not always so good as I could wish it. 'Twas the\nonly thing I ever desired we might differ in, and therefore I think it\nis denied me. Whilst I read the description on't, I could not believe\nbut that I had writ it myself, it was so much my own. I pity you in\nearnest much more than I do myself; and yet I may deserve yours when I\nshall have told you, that besides all that you speak of, I have gotten\nan ague that with two fits has made me so very weak, that I doubted\nextremely yesterday whether I should be able to sit up to-day to write\nto you. But you must not be troubled at this; that's the way to kill me\nindeed. Besides, it is impossible I should keep it long, for here is my\neldest brother, and my cousin Molle, and two or three more that have\ngreat understanding in agues, as people that have been long acquainted\nwith them, and they do so tutor and govern me, that I am neither to eat,\ndrink, nor sleep without their leave; and, sure, my obedience deserves\nthey should cure me, or else they are great tyrants to very little\npurpose. You cannot imagine how cruel they are to me, and yet will\npersuade me 'tis for my good. I know they mean it so, and therefore say\nnothing on't, I admit, and sigh to think those are not here that would\nbe kinder to me. But you were cruel yourself when you seemed to\napprehend I might oblige you to make good your last offer. Alack! if I\ncould purchase the empire of the world at that rate, I should think it\nmuch too dear; and though, perhaps, I am too unhappy myself ever to make\nanybody else happy, yet, sure, I shall take heed that my misfortunes may\nnot prove infectious to my friends. You ask counsel of a person that is\nvery little able to give it. I cannot imagine whither you should go,\nsince this journey is broke. You must e'en be content to stay at home, I\nthink, and see what will become of us, though I expect nothing of good;\nand, sure, you never made a truer remark in your life than that all\nchanges are for the worse. Will it not stay your father's journey too?\nMethinks it should. For God's sake write me all that you hear or can\nthink of, that I may have something to entertain myself withal. I have a\nscurvy head that will not let me write longer.\n\nI am your.\n\n[Directed]--\n\nFor Mrs. Paynter, at her house\n in Bedford Street, next ye Goate,\n In Covent Garden.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 17", + "body": "SIR,--I do not know that anybody has frighted me, or beaten me, or put\nme into more passion than what I usually carry about me, but yesterday I\nmissed my fit, and am not without hope I shall hear no more on't. My\nfather has lost his too, and my eldest brother, but we all look like\npeople risen from the dead. Only my cousin Molle keeps his still; and,\nin earnest, I am not certain whether he would lose it or not, for it\ngives him a lawful occasion of being nice and cautious about himself, to\nwhich he in his own humour is so much inclined that 'twere not easy for\nhim to forbear it. You need not send me my Lady Newcastle's book at all,\nfor I have seen it, and am satisfied that there are many soberer people\nin Bedlam. I'll swear her friends are much to blame to let her go\nabroad.\n\nBut I am hugely pleased that you have seen my Lady. I knew you could not\nchoose but like her; but yet, let me tell you, you have seen but the\nworst of her. Her conversation has more charms than can be in mere\nbeauty, and her humour and disposition would make a deformed person\nappear lovely. You had strange luck to meet my brother so soon. He went\nup but last Tuesday. I heard from him on Thursday, but he did not tell\nme he had seen you; perhaps he did not think it convenient to put me in\nmind of you; besides, he thought he told me enough in telling me my\ncousin Osborne was married. Why did you not send me that news and a\ngarland? Well, the best on't is I have a squire now that is as good as a\nknight. He was coming as fast as a coach and six horses could carry him,\nbut I desired him to stay till my ague was gone, and give me a little\ntime to recover my good looks; for I protest if he saw me now he would\nnever deign to see me again. Oh, me! I can but think how I shall sit\nlike the lady of the lobster, and give audience at Babram. You have been\nthere, I am sure. Nobody that is at Cambridge 'scapes it. But you were\nnever so welcome thither as you shall be when I am mistress on't. In the\nmeantime, I have sent you the first tome of _Cyrus_ to read; when you\nhave done with it, leave it at Mr. Hollingsworth's, and I'll send you\nanother. I have had ladies with me all the afternoon that are for London\nto-morrow, and now I have as many letters to write as my Lord General's\nSecretary. Forgive me that this is no longer, for\n\nI am your.\n\nAddressed--\n\nFor Mrs. Paynter, at her house in\n Bedford Street, next ye Goate,\n In Covent Garden.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 18", + "body": "SIR,--You are more in my debt than you imagine. I never deserved a long\nletter so much as now, when you sent me a short one. I could tell you\nsuch a story ('tis too long to be written) as would make you see (what I\nnever discover'd in myself before) that I am a valiant lady. In earnest,\nwe have had such a skirmish, and upon so foolish an occasion, as I\ncannot tell which is strangest. The Emperor and his proposals began it;\nI talked merrily on't till I saw my brother put on his sober face, and\ncould hardly then believe he was in earnest. It seems he was, for when I\nhad spoke freely my meaning, it wrought so with him as to fetch up all\nthat lay on his stomach. All the people that I had ever in my life\nrefused were brought again upon the stage, like Richard the III.'s\nghosts, to reproach me withal; and all the kindness his discoveries\ncould make I had for you was laid to my charge. My best qualities (if I\nhave any that are good) served but for aggravations of my fault, and I\nwas allowed to have wit and understanding and discretion in other\nthings, that it might appear I had none in this. Well, 'twas a pretty\nlecture, and I grew warm with it after a while; in short, we came so\nnear an absolute falling out, that 'twas time to give over, and we said\nso much then that we have hardly spoken a word together since. But 'tis\nwonderful to see what curtseys and legs pass between us; and as before\nwe were thought the kindest brother and sister, we are certainly the\nmost complimental couple in England. 'Tis a strange change, and I am\nvery sorry for it, but I'll swear I know not how to help it. I look\nupon't as one of my great misfortunes, and I must bear it, as that which\nis not my first nor likely to be my last. 'Tis but reasonable (as you\nsay) that you should see me, and yet I know not now how it can well be.\nI am not for disguises, it looks like guilt, and I would not do a thing\nI durst not own. I cannot tell whether (if there were a necessity of\nyour coming) I should not choose to have it when he is at home, and\nrather expose him to the trouble of entertaining a person whose company\n(here) would not be pleasing to him, and perhaps an opinion that I did\nit purposely to cross him, than that your coming in his absence should\nbe thought a concealment. 'Twas one reason more than I told you why I\nresolv'd not to go to Epsom this summer, because I knew he would imagine\nit an agreement between us, and that something besides my spleen carried\nme thither; but whether you see me or not you may be satisfied I am safe\nenough, and you are in no danger to lose your prisoner, since so great a\nviolence as this has not broke her chains. You will have nothing to\nthank me for after this; my whole life will not yield such another\noccasion to let you see at what rate I value your friendship, and I have\nbeen much better than my word in doing but what I promised you, since I\nhave found it a much harder thing not to yield to the power of a near\nrelation, and a greater kindness than I could then imagine it.\n\nTo let you see I did not repent me of the last commission, I'll give you\nanother. Here is a seal that Walker set for me, and 'tis dropt out; pray\ngive it him to mend. If anything could be wonder'd at in this age, I\nshould very much how you came by your informations. 'Tis more than I\nknow if Mr. Freeman be my servant. I saw him not long since, and he told\nme no such thing. Do you know him? In earnest, he's a pretty gentleman,\nand has a great deal of good nature, I think, which may oblige him\nperhaps to speak well of his acquaintances without design. Mr. Fish is\nthe Squire of Dames, and has so many mistresses that anybody may pretend\na share in him and be believed; but though I have the honour to be his\nnear neighbour, to speak freely, I cannot brag much that he makes any\ncourt to me; and I know no young woman in the country that he does not\nvisit often.\n\nI have sent you another tome of _Cyrus_, pray send the first to Mr.\nHollingsworth for my Lady. My cousin Molle went from hence to Cambridge\non Thursday, and there's an end of Mr. Bennet. I have no company now but\nmy niece Peyton, and my brother will be shortly for the term, but will\nmake no long stay in town. I think my youngest brother comes down with\nhim. Remember that you owe me a long letter and something for forgiving\nyour last. I have no room for more than\n\nYour.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 23.", + "body": "SIR,--I will tell you no more of my servants. I can no sooner give you\nsome little hints whereabouts they live, but you know them presently,\nand I meant you should be beholding to me for your acquaintance. But it\nseems this gentleman is not so easy access, but you may acknowledge\nsomething due to me, if I incline him to look graciously upon you, and\ntherefore there is not much harm done. What has kept him from marrying\nall this time, or how the humour comes so furiously upon him now, I know\nnot; but if he may be believed, he is resolved to be a most romance\nsquire, and go in quest of some enchanted damsel, whom if he likes, as\nto her person (for fortune is a thing below him),--and we do not read in\nhistory that any knight or squire was ever so discourteous as to inquire\nwhat portions their ladies had,--then he comes with the power of the\ncounty to demand her, (which for the present he may dispose of, being\nSheriff), so I do not see who is able to resist him. All that is to be\nhoped is, that since he may reduce whomsoever he pleases to his\nobedience, he will be very curious in his choice, and then I am secure.\n\nIt may be I dreamt it that you had met my brother, or else it was one of\nthe reveries of my ague; if so, I hope I shall fall into no more of\nthem. I have missed four fits, and had but five, and have recovered so\nmuch strength as made me venture to meet your letter on Wednesday, a\nmile from home. Yet my recovery will be nothing towards my leaving this\nplace, where many reasons will oblige me to stay at least all this\nsummer, unless some great alteration should happen in this family; that\nwhich I most own is my father's ill-health, which, though it be not in\nthat extremity it has been, yet keeps him still a prisoner in his\nchamber, and for the most part to his bed, which is reason enough. But,\nbesides, I can give you others. I am here much more out of people's way\nthan in town, where my aunt and such as pretend an interest in me, and a\npower over me, do so persecute me with their good nature, and take it so\nill that they are not accepted, as I would live in a hollow tree to\navoid them. Here I have nobody but my brother to torment me, whom I can\ntake the liberty to dispute with, and whom I have prevailed with\nhitherto to bring none of his pretenders to this place, because of the\nnoise all such people make in a country, and the tittle-tattle it breeds\namong neighbours that have nothing to do but to inquire who marries and\nwho makes love. If I can but keep him still in that humour Mr. Bennet\nand I are likely to preserve our state and treat at distance like\nprinces; but we have not sent one another our pictures yet, though my\ncousin Molle, who was his agent here, begged mine very earnestly. But, I\nthank God, an imagination took him one morning that he was falling into\na dropsy, and made him in such haste to go back to Cambridge to his\ndoctor, that he never remembers anything he has to ask of me, but the\ncoach to carry him away. I lent it most willingly, and gone he is. My\neldest brother goes up to town on Monday too; perhaps you may see him,\nbut I cannot direct you where to find him, for he is not yet resolved\nhimself where to lie; only 'tis likely Nan may tell you when he is\nthere. He will make no stay, I believe. You will think him altered (and,\nif it be possible) more melancholy than he was. If marriage agrees no\nbetter with other people than it does with him, I shall pray that all my\nfriends may 'scape it. Yet if I were my cousin, H. Danvers, my Lady\nDiana should not, if I could help it, as well as I love her: I would try\nif ten thousand pound a year with a husband that doted on her, as I\nshould do, could not keep her from being unhappy. Well, in earnest, if I\nwere a prince, that lady should be my mistress, but I can give no rule\nto any one else, and perhaps those that are in no danger of losing their\nhearts to her may be infinitely taken with one I should not value at\nall; for (so says the Justinian) wise Providence has ordained it that by\ntheir different humours everybody might find something to please\nthemselves withal, without envying their neighbours. And now I have\nbegun to talk gravely and wisely, I'll try if I can go a little further\nwithout being out. No, I cannot, for I have forgot already what 'twas I\nwould have said; but 'tis no matter, for, as I remember, it was not much\nto the purpose, and, besides, I have paper little enough left to chide\nyou for asking so unkind a question as whether you were still the same\nin my thoughts. Have you deserved to be otherwise; that is, am I no more\nin yours? For till that be, it's impossible the other should; but that\nwill never be, and I shall always be the same I am. My heart tells me\nso, and I believe it; for were it otherwise, Fortune would not persecute\nme thus. Oh, me! she's cruel, and how far her power may reach I know\nnot, only I am sure, she cannot call back time that is past, and it is\nlong since we resolved to be for ever\n\nMost faithful friends.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 20", + "body": "SIR,--You amaze me with your story of Tom Cheeke. I am certain he could\nnot have had it where you imagine, and 'tis a miracle to me that he\nremember that there is such a one in the world as his cousin D.O. I am\nsure he has not seen her this six year, and I think but once in his\nlife. If he has spread his opinion in that family, I shall quickly hear\non't, for my cousin Molle is now gone to Kimbolton to my Lord\nManchester, and from there he goes to Moor Park to my cousin Franklin's,\nand in one, or both, he will be sure to meet with it. The matter is not\ngreat, for I confess I do naturally hate the noise and talk of the\nworld, and should be best pleased never to be known in't upon any\noccasion whatsoever; yet, since it can never be wholly avoided, one must\nsatisfy oneself by doing nothing that one need care who knows. I do not\nthink _à propos_ to tell anybody that you and I are very good friends,\nand it were better, sure, if nobody knew it but we ourselves. But if, in\nspite of all our caution, it be discovered, 'tis no treason nor anything\nelse that's ill; and if anybody should tell me that I have had a greater\nkindness and esteem for you than for any one besides, I do not think I\nshould deny it; howsoever you do, oblige me by not owning any such\nthing, for as you say, I have no reason to take it ill that you\nendeavour to preserve me a liberty, though I'm never likely to make use\non't. Besides that, I agree with you too that certainly 'tis much better\nyou should owe my kindness to nothing but your own merit and my\ninclination, than that there should lie any other necessity upon me of\nmaking good my words to you.\n\nFor God's sake do not complain so that you do not see me; I believe I do\nnot suffer less in't than you, but 'tis not to be helped. If I had a\npicture that were fit for you, you should have it. I have but one that's\nanything like, and that's a great one, but I will send it some time or\nother to Cooper or Hoskins, and have a little one drawn by it, if I\ncannot be in town to sit myself. You undo me by but dreaming how happy\nwe might have been, when I consider how far we are from it in reality.\nAlas! how can you talk of defying fortune; nobody lives without it, and\ntherefore why should you imagine you could? I know not how my brother\ncomes to be so well informed as you say, but I am certain he knows the\nutmost of the injuries you have received from her. 'Tis not possible she\nshould have used you worse than he says. We have had another debate, but\nmuch more calmly. 'Twas just upon his going up to town, and perhaps he\nthought it not fit to part in anger. Not to wrong him, he never said to\nme (whate'er he thought) a word in prejudice of you in your own person,\nand I never heard him accuse any but your fortune and my indiscretion.\nAnd whereas I did expect that (at least in compliment to me) he should\nhave said we had been a couple of fools well met, he says by his troth\nhe does not blame you, but bids me not deceive myself to think you have\nany great passion for me.\n\nIf you have done with the first part of _Cyrus_, I should be glad Mr.\nHollingsworth had it, because I mentioned some such thing in my last to\nmy Lady; but there is no haste of restoring the other unless she should\nsend to me for it, which I believe she will not. I have a third tome\nhere against you have done with that second; and to encourage you, let\nme assure you that the more you read of them you will like them still\nbetter. Oh, me! whilst I think on't, let me ask you one question\nseriously, and pray resolve me truly;--do I look so stately as people\napprehend? I vow to you I made nothing on't when Sir Emperor said so,\nbecause I had no great opinion of his judgment, but Mr. Freeman makes me\nmistrust myself extremely, not that I am sorry I did appear so to him\n(since it kept me from the displeasure of refusing an offer which I do\nnot perhaps deserve), but that it is a scurvy quality in itself, and I\nam afraid I have it in great measure if I showed any of it to him, for\nwhom I have so much respect and esteem. If it be so you must needs know\nit; for though my kindness will not let me look so upon you, you can see\nwhat I do to other people. And, besides, there was a time when we\nourselves were indifferent to one another;--did I do so then, or have I\nlearned it since? For God's sake tell me, that I may try to mend it. I\ncould wish, too, that you would lay your commands on me to forbear\nfruit: here is enough to kill 1000 such as I am, and so extremely good,\nthat nothing but your power can secure me; therefore forbid it me, that\nI may live to be\n\nYour.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 21", + "body": "SIR,--You have furnished me now with arguments to convince my brother,\nif he should ever enter on the dispute again. In earnest, I believed all\nthis before, but 'twas something an ignorant kind of faith in me. I was\nsatisfied myself, but could not tell how to persuade another of the\ntruth on't; and to speak indifferently, there are such multitudes that\nabuse the names of love and friendship, and so very few that either\nunderstand or practise it in reality, that it may raise great doubts\nwhether there is any such thing in the world or not, and such as do not\nfind it in themselves will hardly believe 'tis anywhere. But it will\neasily be granted, that most people make haste to be miserable; that\nthey put on their fetters as inconsiderately as a woodcock runs into a\nnoose, and are carried by the weakest considerations imaginable to do a\nthing of the greatest consequence of anything that concerns this world.\nI was told by one (who pretends to know him very well) that nothing\ntempted my cousin Osborne to marry his lady (so much) as that she was an\nEarl's daughter; which methought was the prettiest fancy, and had the\nleast of sense in it, of any I had heard on, considering that it was no\naddition to her person, that he had honour enough before for his\nfortune, and how little it is esteemed in this age,--if it be anything\nin a better,--which for my part I am not well satisfied in. Beside that,\nin this particular it does not sound handsomely. My Lady Bridget Osborne\nmakes a worse name a great deal, methinks, than plain my Lady Osborne\nwould do.\n\nI have been studying how Tom Cheeke might come by his intelligence, and\nI verily believe he has it from my cousin Peters. She lives near them in\nEssex, and in all likelihood, for want of other discourse to entertain\nhim withal, she has come out with all she knows. The last time I saw her\nshe asked me for you before she had spoke six words to me; and I, who of\nall things do not love to make secrets of trifles, told her I had seen\nyou that day. She said no more, nor I neither; but perhaps it worked in\nher little brain. The best on't is, the matter is not great, for though\nI confess I had rather nobody knew it, yet 'tis that I shall never be\nashamed to own.\n\nHow kindly do I take these civilities of your father's; in earnest, you\ncannot imagine how his letter pleased me. I used to respect him merely\nas he was your father, but I begin now to owe it to himself; all that he\nsays is so kind and so obliging, so natural and so easy, that one may\nsee 'tis perfectly his disposition, and has nothing to disguise in it.\n'Tis long since that I knew how well he writ, perhaps you have forgot\nthat you showed me a letter of his (to a French Marquis, I think, or\nsome such man of his acquaintance) when I first knew you; I remember it\nvery well, and that I thought it as handsome a letter as I had seen; but\nI have not skill it seems, for I like yours too.\n\nI can pardon all my cousin Franklin's little plots of discovery, if she\nbelieved herself when she said she was confident our humours would agree\nextremely well. In earnest, I think they do; for I mark that I am always\nof your opinion, unless it be when you will not allow that you write\nwell, for there I am too much concerned. Jane told me t'other day very\nsoberly that we write very much alike. I think she said it with an\nintent to please me, and did not fail in't; but if you write ill, 'twas\nno great compliment to me. _À propos de_ Jane, she bids me tell you\nthat, if you liked your marmalade of quince, she would send you more,\nand she thinks better, that has been made since.\n\n'Twas a strange caprice, as you say, of Mrs. Harrison, but there is fate\nas well as love in those things. The Queen took the greatest pains to\npersuade her from it that could be; and (as somebody says, I know not\nwho) \"Majesty is no ill orator;\" but all would not do. When she had\nnothing to say for herself, she told her she had rather beg with Mr.\nHoward than live in the greatest plenty that could be with either my\nLord Broghill, Charles Rich, or Mr. Nevile,--for all these were dying\nfor her then. I am afraid she has altered her opinion since 'twas too\nlate, for I do not take Mr. Howard to be a person that can deserve one\nshould neglect all the world for him. And where there is no reason to\nuphold a passion, it will sink of itself; but where there is, it may\nlast eternally.--I am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 26.", + "body": "SIR,--The day I should have received your letter I was invited to dine\nat a rich widow's (whom I think I once told you of, and offered my\nservice in case you thought fit to make addresses there); and she was so\nkind, and in so good humour, that if I had had any commission I should\nhave thought it a very fit time to speak. We had a huge dinner, though\nthe company was only of her own kindred that are in the house with her\nand what I brought; but she is broke loose from an old miserable husband\nthat lived so long, she thinks if she does not make haste she shall not\nhave time to spend what he left. She is old and was never handsome, and\nyet is courted a thousand times more than the greatest beauty in the\nworld would be that had not a fortune. We could not eat in quiet for the\nletters and presents that came in from people that would not have looked\nupon her when they had met her if she had been left poor. I could not\nbut laugh to myself at the meanness of their humour, and was merry\nenough all day, for the company was very good; and besides, I expected\nto find when I came home a letter from you that would be more a feast\nand company to me than all that was there. But never anybody was so\ndefeated as I was to find none. I could not imagine the reason, only I\nassured myself it was no fault of yours, but perhaps a just punishment\nupon me for having been too much pleased in a company where you were\nnot.\n\nAfter supper my brother and I fell into dispute about riches, and the\ngreat advantages of it; he instanced in the widow that it made one\nrespected in the world. I said 'twas true, but that was a respect I\nshould not at all value when I owed it only to my fortune. And we\ndebated it so long till we had both talked ourselves weary enough to go\nto bed. Yet I did not sleep so well but that I chid my maid for waking\nme in the morning, till she stopped my mouth with saying she had letters\nfor me. I had not patience to stay till I could rise, but made her tie\nup all the curtains to let in light; and among some others I found my\ndear letter that was first to be read, and which made all the rest not\nworth the reading. I could not but wonder to find in it that my cousin\nFranklin should want a true friend when 'tis thought she has the best\nhusband in the world; he was so passionate for her before he had her,\nand so pleased with her since, that, in earnest, I did not think it\npossible she could have anything left to wish for that she had not\nalready in such a husband with such a fortune. But she can best tell\nwhether she is happy or not; only if she be not, I do not see how\nanybody else can hope it. I know her the least of all the sisters, and\nperhaps 'tis to my advantage that she knows me no more, since she speaks\nso obligingly of me. But do you think it was altogether without design\nshe spoke it to you? When I remember she is Tom Cheeke's sister, I am\napt to think she might have heard his news, and meant to try whether\nthere was anything of truth in't. My cousin Molle, I think, means to end\nthe summer there. They say, indeed, 'tis a very fine seat, but if I did\nnot mistake Sir Thomas Cheeke, he told me there was never a good room in\nthe house. I was wondering how you came by an acquaintance there,\nbecause I had never heard you speak that you knew them. I never saw him\nin my life, but he is famous for a kind husband. Only 'twas found fault\nwith that he could not forbear kissing his wife before company, a\nfoolish trick that young married men are apt to; he has left it long\nsince, I suppose. But, seriously, 'tis as ill a sight as one would wish\nto see, and appears very rude, methinks, to the company.\n\nWhat a strange fellow this goldsmith is, he has a head fit for nothing\nbut horns. I chid him once for a seal he set me just of this fashion and\nthe same colours. If he were to make twenty they should be all so, his\ninvention can stretch no further than blue and red. It makes me think of\nthe fellow that could paint nothing but a flower-de-luce, who, when he\nmet with one that was so firmly resolved to have a lion for his sign\nthat there was no persuading him out on't, \"Well,\" says the painter,\n\"let it be a lion then, but it shall be as like a flower-de-luce as e'er\nyou saw.\" So, because you would have it a dolphin, he consented to it,\nbut it is like an ill-favoured knot of ribbon. I did not say anything of\nmy father's being ill of late; I think I told you before, he kept his\nchamber ever since his last sickness, and so he does still. Yet I cannot\nsay that he is at all sick, but has so general a weakness upon him that\nI am much afraid their opinion of him has too much of truth in it, and\ndo extremely apprehend how the winter may work upon him. Will you pardon\nthis strange scribbled letter, and the disorderliness on't? I know you\nwould, though I should not tell you that I am not so much at leisure as\nI used to be. You can forgive your friends anything, and when I am not\nthe faithfullest of those, never forgive me. You may direct your letters\nhow you please, here will be nobody to receive it but\n\nYour.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 23", + "body": "SIR,--Your last came safe, and I shall follow your direction for the\naddress of this, though, as you say, I cannot imagine what should tempt\nanybody to so severe a search for them, unless it be that he is not yet\nfully satisfied to what degree our friendship is grown, and thinks he\nmay best inform himself from them. In earnest, 'twould not be unpleasant\nto hear our discourse. He forms his with so much art and design, and is\nso pleased with the hopes of making some discovery, and I [who] know him\nas well as he does himself, cannot but give myself the recreation\nsometimes of confounding him and destroying all that his busy head had\nbeen working on since the last conference. He gives me some trouble with\nhis suspicions; yet, on my conscience, he is a greater to himself, and I\ndeal with so much _franchise_ as to tell him so; and yet he has no more\nthe heart to ask me directly what he would so fain know, than a jealous\nman has to ask (one that might tell him) whether he were a cuckold or\nnot, for fear of being resolved of that which is yet a doubt to him. My\neldest brother is not so inquisitive; he satisfies himself with\npersuading me earnestly to marry, and takes no notice of anything that\nmay hinder me, but a carelessness of my fortune, or perhaps an aversion\nto a kind of life that appears to have less of freedom in't than that\nwhich at present I enjoy. But, sure, he gives himself another reason,\nfor 'tis not very long since he took occasion to inquire for you very\nkindly of me; and though I could then give but little account of you, he\nsmiled as if he did not altogether believe me, and afterwards\nmaliciously said he wondered you did not marry. And I seemed to do so\ntoo, and said, if I knew any woman that had a great fortune, and were a\nperson worthy of you, I should wish her you with all my heart. \"But,\nsister,\" says he, \"would you have him love her?\" \"Do you doubt it?\" did\nI say; \"he were not happy in't else.\" He laughed, and said my humour was\npleasant; but he made some question whether it was natural or not. He\ncannot be so unjust as to let me lose him, sure, I was kind to him\nthough I had some reason not to take it very well when he made that a\nsecret to me which was known to so many that did not know him; but we\nshall never fall out, I believe, we are not apt to it, neither of us.\n\nIf you are come back from Epsom, I may ask you how you like drinking\nwater? I have wished it might agree as well with you as it did with me;\nand if it were as certain that the same thing would do us good as 'tis\nthat the same thing would please us, I should not need to doubt it.\nOtherwise my wishes do not signify much, but I am forbid complaints, or\nto express my fears. And be it so, only you must pardon me if I cannot\nagree to give you false hopes; I must be deceived myself before I can\ndeceive you, and I have so accustomed myself to tell you all that I\nthink, that I must either say nothing, or that which I believe to be\ntrue.\n\nI cannot say but that I have wanted Jane; but it has been rather to have\nsomebody to talk with of you, than that I needed anybody to put me in\nmind of you, and with all her diligence I should have often prevented\nher in that discourse. Were you at Althorp when you saw my Lady\nSunderland and Mr. Smith, or are they in town? I have heard, indeed,\nthat they are very happy; but withal that, as she is a very\nextraordinary person herself, so she aimed at doing extraordinary\nthings, and when she had married Mr. Smith (because some people were so\nbold as to think she did it because she loved him) she undertook to\nconvince the world that what she had done was in mere pity to his\nsufferings, and that she could not go a step lower to meet anybody than\nthat led her, though when she thought there were no eyes on her, she was\nmore gracious to him. But perhaps this might not be true, or it may be\nshe is now grown weary of that constraint she put upon herself. I should\nhave been sadder than you if I had been their neighbour to have seen\nthem so kind; as I must have been if I had married the Emperor. He used\nto brag to me always of a great acquaintance he had there, what an\nesteem my lady had for him, and had the vanity (not to call it\nimpudence) to talk sometimes as if he would have had me believe he might\nhave had her, and would not; I'll swear I blushed for him when I saw he\ndid not. He told me too, that though he had carried his addresses to me\nwith all the privacy that was possible, because he saw I liked it best,\nand that 'twas partly his own humour too, yet she had discovered it, and\ncould tell that there had been such a thing, and that it was broke off\nagain, she knew not why; which certainly was a lie, as well as the\nother, for I do not think she ever heard there was such a one in the\nworld as\n\nYour faithful friend.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 24", + "body": "SIR,--I did not lay it as a fault to your charge that you were not good\nat disguise; if it be one, I am too guilty on't myself to accuse\nanother. And though I have been told it shows an unpractisedness in the\nworld, and betrays to all that understand it better, yet since it is a\nquality I was not born with, nor ever like to get, I have always thought\ngood to maintain that 'twas better not to need it than to have it.\n\nI give you many thanks for your care of my Irish dog, but I am extremely\nout of countenance your father should be troubled with it. Sure, he will\nthink I have a most extravagant fancy; but do me the right as to let him\nknow I am not so possessed with it as to consent he should be employed\nin such a commission.\n\nYour opinion of my eldest brother is, I think, very just, and when I\nsaid maliciously, I meant a French malice, which you know does not\nsignify the same with an English one. I know not whether I told it you\nor not, but I concluded (from what you said of your indisposition) that\nit was very like the spleen; but perhaps I foresaw you would not be\nwilling to own a disease that the severe part of the world holds to be\nmerely imaginary and affected, and therefore proper only to women.\nHowever, I cannot but wish you had stayed longer at Epsom and drunk the\nwaters with more order though in a less proportion. But did you drink\nthem immediately from the well? I remember I was forbid it, and\nmethought with a great deal of reason, for (especially at this time of\nyear) the well is so low, and there is such a multitude to be served out\non't, that you can hardly get any but what is thick and troubled; and I\nhave marked that when it stood all night (for that was my direction) the\nbottom of the vessel it stood in would be covered an inch thick with a\nwhite clay, which, sure, has no great virtue in't, and is not very\npleasant to drink.\n\nWhat a character of a young couple you give me! Would you would ask some\none who knew him, whether he be not much more of an ass since his\nmarriage than he was before. I have some reason to doubt that it alters\npeople strangely. I made a visit t'other day to welcome a lady into this\ncountry whom her husband had newly brought down, and because I knew him,\nthough not her, and she was a stranger here, 'twas a civility I owed\nthem. But you cannot imagine how I was surprised to see a man that I had\nknown so handsome, so capable of being made a pretty gentleman (for\nthough he was no proud philosopher, as the Frenchmen say, he was that\nwhich good company and a little knowledge of the world would have made\nequal to many that think themselves very well, and are thought so),\ntransformed into the direct shape of a great boy newly come from school.\nTo see him wholly taken up with running on errands for his wife, and\nteaching her little dog tricks! And this was the best of him; for when\nhe was at leisure to talk, he would suffer no one else to do it, and\nwhat he said, and the noise he made, if you had heard it, you would have\nconcluded him drunk with joy that he had a wife and a pack of hounds. I\nwas so weary on't that I made haste home, and could not but think of the\nchange all the way till my brother (who was with me) thought me sad, and\nso, to put me in better humour, said he believed I repented me I had not\nthis gentleman, now I saw how absolutely his wife governed him. But I\nassured him, that though I thought it very fit such as he should be\ngoverned, yet I should not like the employment by no means. It becomes\nno woman, and did so ill with this lady that in my opinion it spoiled a\ngood face and a very fine gown. Yet the woman you met upon the way\ngoverned her husband and did it handsomely. It was, as you say, a great\nexample of friendship, and much for the credit of our sex.\n\nYou are too severe to Walker. I'll undertake he would set me twenty\nseals for nothing rather than undergo your wrath. I am in no haste for\nit, and so he does it well we will not fall out; perhaps he is not in\nthe humour of keeping his word at present, and nobody can blame him if\nhe be often in an ill one. But though I am merciful to him, as to one\nthat has suffered enough already, I cannot excuse you that profess to be\nmy friend and yet are content to let me live in such ignorance, write to\nme every week, and yet never send me any of the new phrases of the town.\nI could tell you, without abandoning the truth, that it is part of your\n_devoyre_ to correct the imperfections you find under my hand, and that\nmy trouble resembles my wonder you can let me be dissatisfied. I should\nnever have learnt any of these fine things from you; and, to say truth,\nI know not whether I shall from anybody else, if to learn them be to\nunderstand them. Pray what is meant by _wellness_ and _unwellness_; and\nwhy is _to some extreme_ better than _to some extremity_? I believe I\nshall live here till there is quite a new language spoke where you are,\nand shall come out like one of the Seven Sleepers, a creature of another\nage. But 'tis no matter so you understand me, though nobody else do,\nwhen I say how much I am\n\nYour faithful.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 29.", + "body": "SIR,--I can give you leave to doubt anything but my kindness, though I\ncan assure you I spake as I meant when I said I had not the vanity to\nbelieve I deserv'd yours, for I am not certain whether 'tis possible for\nanybody to deserve that another should love them above themselves,\nthough I am certain many may deserve it more than me. But not to dispute\nthis with you, let me tell you that I am thus far of your opinion, that\nupon some natures nothing is so powerful as kindness, and that I should\ngive that to yours which all the merit in the world besides would not\ndraw from me. I spake as if I had not done so already; but you may\nchoose whether you will believe me or not, for, to say truth, I do not\nmuch believe myself in that point. No, all the kindness I have or ever\nhad is yours; nor shall I ever repent it so, unless you shall ever\nrepent yours. Without telling you what the inconveniences of your coming\nhither are, you may believe they are considerable, or else I should not\ndeny you or myself the happiness of seeing one another; and if you dare\ntrust me where I am equally concerned with you, I shall take hold of the\nfirst opportunity that may either admit you here or bring me nearer you.\nSure you took somebody else for my cousin Peters? I can never believe\nher beauty able to smite anybody. I saw her when I was last in town, but\nshe appear'd wholly the same to me, she was at St. Malo, with all her\ninnocent good nature too, and asked for you so kindly, that I am sure\nshe cannot have forgot you; nor do I think she had so much address as to\ndo it merely in compliment to me. No, you are mistaken certainly; what\nshould she do amongst all that company, unless she be towards a wedding?\nShe has been kept at home, poor soul, and suffered so much of purgatory\nin this world that she needs not fear it in the next; and yet she is as\nmerry as ever she was, which perhaps might make her look young, but that\nshe laughs a little too much, and that will bring wrinkles, they say.\nOh, me! now I talk of laughing, it makes me think of poor Jane. I had a\nletter from her the other day; she desired me to present her humble\nservice to her master,--she did mean you, sure, for she named everybody\nelse that she owes any service to,--and bid me say that she would keep\nher word with him. God knows what you have agreed on together. She tells\nme she shall stay long enough there to hear from me once more, and then\nshe is resolved to come away.\n\nHere is a seal, which pray give Walker to set for me very handsomely,\nand not of any of those fashions he made my others, but of something\nthat may differ from the rest. 'Tis a plain head, but not ill cut, I\nthink. My eldest brother is now here, and we expect my youngest shortly,\nand then we shall be altogether, which I do not think we ever were twice\nin our lives. My niece is still with me, but her father threatens to\nfetch her away. If I can keep her to Michaelmas I may perhaps bring her\nup to town myself, and take that occasion of seeing you; but I have no\nother business that is worth my taking a journey, for I have had another\nsummons from my aunt, and I protest I am afraid I shall be in rebellion\nthere; but 'tis not to be helped. The widow writes me word, too, that I\nmust expect her here about a month hence; and I find that I shall want\nno company, but only that which I would have, and for which I could\nwillingly spare all the rest. Will it be ever thus? I am afraid it will.\nThere has been complaints made on me already to my eldest brother (only\nin general, or at least he takes notice of no more), what offers I\nrefuse, and what a strange humour has possessed me of being deaf to the\nadvice of all my friends. I find I am to be baited by them all by turns.\nThey weary themselves, and me too, to very little purpose, for to my\nthinking they talk the most impertinently that ever people did; and I\nbelieve they are not in my debt, but think the same of me. Sometimes I\ntell them I will not marry, and then they laugh at me; sometimes I say,\n\"Not yet,\" and they laugh more, and would make me believe I shall be old\nwithin this twelvemonth. I tell them I shall be wiser then. They say\n'twill be to no purpose. Sometimes we are in earnest and sometimes in\njest, but always saying something since my brother Henry found his\ntongue again. If you were with me I could make sport of all this; but\n\"patience is my penance\" is somebody's motto, and I think it must be\nmine.\n\nI am your.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 26", + "body": "SIR,--You cannot imagine how I was surpris'd to find a letter that began\n\"Dear brother;\" I thought sure it could not belong at all to me, and was\nafraid I had lost one by it; that you intended me another, and in your\nhaste had mistook this for that. Therefore, till I found the permission\nyou gave me, I had laid it by with a resolution not to read it, but to\nsend it again. If I had done so, I had missed a great deal of\nsatisfaction which I received from it. In earnest, I cannot tell you how\nkindly I take all the obliging things you say in it of me; nor how\npleased I should be (for your sake) if I were able to make good the\ncharacter you give me to your brother, and that I did not owe a great\npart of it wholly to your friendship for me. I dare call nothing on't my\nown but faithfulness; that I may boast of with truth and modesty, since\n'tis but a simple virtue; and though some are without it, yet 'tis so\nabsolutely necessary, that nobody wanting it can be worthy of any\nesteem. I see you speak well of me to other people, though you complain\nalways to me. I know not how to believe I should misuse your heart as\nyou pretend; I never had any quarrel to it, and since our friendship it\nhas been dear to me as my own. 'Tis rather, sure, that you have a mind\nto try another, than that any dislike of yours makes you turn it over to\nme; but be it as it will, I am contented to stand to the loss, and\nperhaps when you have changed you will find so little difference that\nyou'll be calling for your own again. Do but assure me that I shall find\nyou almost as merry as my Lady Anne Wentworth is always, and nothing\nshall fright me from my purpose of seeing you as soon as I can with any\nconveniency. I would not have you insensible of our misfortunes, but I\nwould not either that you should revenge them on yourself; no, that\nshows a want of constancy (which you will hardly yield to be your\nfault); but 'tis certain that there was never anything more mistaken\nthan the Roman courage, when they killed themselves to avoid misfortunes\nthat were infinitely worse than death. You confess 'tis an age since our\nstory began, as is not fit for me to own. Is it not likely, then, that\nif my face had ever been good, it might be altered since then; or is it\nas unfit for me to own the change as the time that makes it? Be it as\nyou please, I am not enough concerned in't to dispute it with you; for,\ntrust me, if you would not have my face better, I am satisfied it should\nbe as it is; since if ever I wished it otherwise, 'twas for your sake.\n\nI know not how I stumbled upon a news-book this week, and, for want of\nsomething else to do read it; it mentions my Lord Lisle's embassage\nagain. Is there any such thing towards? I met with somebody else too\nin't that may concern anybody that has a mind to marry; 'tis a new form\nfor it, that, sure, will fright the country people extremely, for they\napprehend nothing like going before a Justice; they say no other\nmarriage shall stand good in law. In conscience, I believe the old one\nis the better; and for my part I am resolved to stay till that comes in\nfashion again.\n\nCan your father have so perfectly forgiven already the injury I did him\n(since you will not allow it to be any to you), in hindering you of Mrs.\nChambers, as to remember me with kindness? 'Tis most certain that I am\nobliged to him, and, in earnest, if I could hope it might ever be in my\npower to serve him I would promise something for myself. But is it not\ntrue, too, that you have represented me to him rather as you imagine me\nthan as I am; and have you not given him an expectation that I shall\nnever be able to satisfy? If you have, I can forgive you, because I know\nyou meant well in't; but I have known some women that have commended\nothers merely out of spite, and if I were malicious enough to envy\nanybody's beauty, I would cry it up to all that had not seen them;\nthere's no such way to make anybody appear less handsome than they are.\n\nYou must not forget that you are some letters in my debt, besides the\nanswer to this. If there were not conveniences of sending, I should\npersecute you strangely. And yet you cannot wonder at it; the constant\ndesire I have to hear from you, and the satisfaction your letters give\nme, would oblige one that has less time to write often. But yet I know\nwhat 'tis to be in the town. I could never write a letter from thence in\nmy life of above a dozen lines; and though I see as little company as\nanybody that comes there, yet I always met with something or other that\nkept me idle. Therefore I can excuse it, though you do not exactly pay\nall that you owe, upon condition you shall tell me when I see you all\nthat you should have writ if you had had time, and all that you can\nimagine to say to a person that is\n\nYour faithful friend.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 27", + "body": "SIR,--It was, sure, a less fault in me to make a scruple of reading your\nletter to your brother, which in all likelihood I could not be concerned\nin, than for you to condemn the freedom you take of giving me directions\nin a thing where we are equally concerned. Therefore, if I forgive you\nthis, you may justly forgive me t'other; and upon these terms we are\nfriends again, are we not? No, stay! I have another fault to chide you\nfor. You doubted whether you had not writ too much, and whether I could\nhave the patience to read it or not. Why do you dissemble so abominably;\nyou cannot think these things? How I should love that plain-heartedness\nyou speak of, if you would use it; nothing is civil but that amongst\nfriends. Your kind sister ought to chide you, too, for not writing to\nher, unless you have been with her to excuse it. I hope you have; and\npray take some time to make her one visit from me, and carry my humble\nservice with you, and tell her that 'tis not my fault that you are no\nbetter. I do not think I shall see the town before Michaelmas, therefore\nyou may make what sallies you please. I am tied here to expect my\nbrother Peyton, and then possibly we may go up together, for I should be\nat home again before the term. Then I may show you my niece; and you may\nconfess that I am a kind aunt to desire her company, since the\ndisadvantage of our being together will lie wholly upon me. But I must\nmake it my bargain, that if I come you will not be frighted to see me;\nyou think, I'll warrant, you have courage enough to endure a worse\nsight. You may be deceived, you never saw me in mourning yet; nobody\nthat has will e'er desire to do it again, for their own sakes as well as\nmine. Oh, 'tis a most dismal dress,--I have not dared to look in the\nglass since I wore it; and certainly if it did so ill with other people\nas it does with me, it would never be worn.\n\nYou told me of writing to your father, but you did not say whether you\nhad heard from him, or how he did. May not I ask it? Is it possible that\nhe saw me? Where were my eyes that I did not see him, for I believe I\nshould have guessed at least that 'twas he if I had? They say you are\nvery like him; but 'tis no wonder neither that I did not see him, for I\nsaw not you when I met you there. 'Tis a place I look upon nobody in;\nand it was reproached to me by a kinsman, but a little before you came\nto me, that he had followed me to half a dozen shops to see when I would\ntake notice of him, and was at last going away with a belief 'twas not\nI, because I did not seem to know him. Other people make it so much\ntheir business to gape, that I'll swear they put me so out of\ncountenance I dare not look up for my life.\n\nI am sorry for General Monk's misfortunes, because you say he is your\nfriend; but otherwise she will suit well enough with the rest of the\ngreat ladies of the times, and become Greenwich as well as some others\ndo the rest of the King's houses. If I am not mistaken, that Monk has a\nbrother lives in Cornwall; an honest gentleman, I have heard, and one\nthat was a great acquaintance of a brother of mine who was killed there\nduring the war, and so much his friend that upon his death he put\nhimself and his family into mourning for him, which is not usual, I\nthink, where there is no relation of kindred.\n\nI will take order that my letters shall be left with Jones, and yours\ncalled for there. As long as your last was, I read it over thrice in\nless than an hour, though, to say truth, I had skipped some on't the\nlast time. I could not read my own confession so often. Love is a\nterrible word, and I should blush to death if anything but a letter\naccused me on't. Pray be merciful, and let it run friendship in my next\ncharge. My Lady sends me word she has received those parts of _Cyrus_ I\nlent you. Here is another for you which, when you have read, you know\nhow to dispose. There are four pretty stories in it, \"_L'Amant Absente_,\"\n\"_L'Amant non Aimé_,\" \"_L'Amant Jaloux_,\" _et_ \"_L'Amant dont La Maitresse\nest mort_.\" Tell me which you have most compassion for when you have\nread what every one says for himself. Perhaps you will not think it so\neasy to decide which is the most unhappy, as you may think by the titles\ntheir stories bear. Only let me desire you not to pity the jealous one,\nfor I remember I could do nothing but laugh at him as one that sought\nhis own vexation. This, and the little journeys (you say) you are to\nmake, will entertain you till I come; which, sure, will be as soon as\npossible I can, since 'tis equally desired by you and your faithful.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 28", + "body": "SIR,--All my quarrels to you are kind ones, for, sure, 'tis alike\nimpossible for me to be angry as for you to give me the occasion;\ntherefore, when I chide (unless it be that you are not careful enough of\nyourself, and hazard too much a health that I am more concerned in than\nmy own), you need not study much for excuses, I can easily forgive you\nanything but want of kindness. The judgment you have made of the four\nlovers I recommended to you does so perfectly agree with what I think of\nthem, that I hope it will not alter when you have read their stories.\n_L'Amant Absente_ has (in my opinion) a mistress so much beyond any of\nthe rest, that to be in danger of losing her is more than to have lost\nthe others; _L'Amant non Aimé_ was an ass, under favour (notwithstanding\nthe _Princesse Cleobuline's_ letter); his mistress had caprices that\nwould have suited better with our _Amant Jaloux_ than with anybody else;\nand the _Prince Artibie_ was much to blame that he outlived his _belle\nLeontine_. But if you have met with the beginning of the story of\n_Amestris and Aglatides_, you will find the rest of it in this part I\nsend you now; and 'tis, to me, one of the prettiest I have read, and the\nmost natural. They say the gentleman that writes this romance has a\nsister that lives with him, a maid, and she furnishes him with all the\nlittle stories that come between, so that he only contrives the main\ndesign; and when he wants something to entertain his company withal, he\ncalls to her for it. She has an excellent fancy, sure, and a great wit;\nbut, I am sorry to tell it you, they say 'tis the most ill-favoured\ncreature that ever was born. And 'tis often so; how seldom do we see a\nperson excellent in anything but they have some great defect with it\nthat pulls them low enough to make them equal with other people; and\nthere is justice in't. Those that have fortunes have nothing else, and\nthose that want it deserve to have it. That's but small comfort, though,\nyou'll say; 'tis confessed, but there is no such thing as perfect\nhappiness in this world, those that have come the nearest it had many\nthings to wish; and,--bless me, whither am I going? Sure, 'tis the\ndeath's head I see stand before me puts me into this grave discourse\n(pray do not think I meant that for a conceit neither); how idly have I\nspent two sides of my paper, and am afraid, besides, I shall not have\ntime to write two more. Therefore I'll make haste to tell you that my\nfriendship for you makes me concerned in all your relations; that I have\na great respect for Sir John, merely as he is your father, and that 'tis\nmuch increased by his kindness to you; that he has all my prayers and\nwishes for his safety; and that you will oblige me in letting me know\nwhen you hear any good news from him. He has met with a great deal of\ngood company, I believe. My Lady Ormond, I am told, is waiting for a\npassage, and divers others; but this wind (if I am not mistaken) is not\ngood for them. In earnest, 'tis a most sad thing that a person of her\nquality should be reduced to such a fortune as she has lived upon these\nlate years, and that she should lose that which she brought, as well as\nthat which was her husband's. Yet, I hear, she has now got some of her\nown land in Ireland granted her; but whether she will get it when she\ncomes there is, I think, a question.\n\nWe have a lady new come into this country that I pity, too, extremely.\nShe is one of my Lord of Valentia's daughters, and has married an old\nfellow that is some threescore and ten, who has a house that is fitter\nfor the hogs than for her, and a fortune that will not at all recompense\nthe least of these inconveniences. Ah! 'tis most certain I should have\nchosen a handsome chain to lead my apes in before such a husband; but\nmarrying and hanging go by destiny, they say. It was not mine, it seems,\nto have an emperor; the spiteful man, merely to vex me, has gone and\nmarried my countrywoman, my Lord Lee's daughter. What a multitude of\nwillow garlands I shall weave before I die; I think I had best make them\ninto faggots this cold weather, the flame they would make in a chimney\nwould be of more use to me than that which was in the hearts of all\nthose that gave them me, and would last as long. I did not think I\nshould have got thus far. I have been so persecuted with visits all this\nweek I have had no time to despatch anything of business, so that now I\nhave done this I have forty letters more to write; how much rather would\nI have them all to you than to anybody else; or, rather, how much better\nwould it be if there needed none to you, and that I could tell you\nwithout writing how much I am\n\nYours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 29", + "body": "SIR,--Pray, let not the apprehension that others say fine things to me\nmake your letters at all the shorter; for, if it were so, I should not\nthink they did, and so long you are safe. My brother Peyton does,\nindeed, sometimes send me letters that may be excellent for aught I\nknow, and the more likely because I do not understand them; but I may\nsay to you (as to a friend) I do not like them, and have wondered that\nmy sister (who, I may tell you too, and you will not think it vanity in\nme, had a great deal of wit, and was thought to write as well as most\nwomen in England) never persuaded him to alter his style, and make it a\nlittle more intelligible. He is an honest gentleman, in earnest, has\nunderstanding enough, and was an excellent husband to two very different\nwives, as two good ones could be. My sister was a melancholy, retired\nwoman, and, besides the company of her husband and her books, never\nsought any, but could have spent a life much longer than hers was in\nlooking to her house and her children. This lady is of a free, jolly\nhumour, loves cards and company, and is never more pleased than when she\nsees a great many others that are so too. Now, with both these he so\nperfectly complied that 'tis hard to judge which humour he is more\ninclined to in himself; perhaps to neither, which makes it so much the\nmore strange. His kindness to his first wife may give him an esteem for\nher sister; but he was too much smitten with this lady to think of\nmarrying anybody else, and, seriously, I could not blame him, for she\nhad, and has yet, great loveliness in her; she was very handsome, and is\nvery good (one may read it in her face at first sight). A woman that is\nhugely civil to all people, and takes as generally as anybody that I\nknow, but not more than my cousin Molle's letters do, but which, yet,\nyou do not like, you say, nor I neither, I'll swear; and if it be\nignorance in us both we'll forgive it one another. In my opinion these\ngreat scholars are not the best writers (of letters, I mean); of books,\nperhaps they are. I never had, I think, but one letter from Sir\nJustinian, but 'twas worth twenty of anybody's else to make me sport. It\nwas the most sublime nonsense that in my life I ever read; and yet, I\nbelieve, he descended as low as he could to come near my weak\nunderstanding. 'Twill be no compliment after this to say I like your\nletters in themselves; not as they come from one that is not indifferent\nto me, but, seriously, I do. All letters, methinks, should be free and\neasy as one's discourse; not studied as an oration, nor made up of hard\nwords like a charm. 'Tis an admirable thing to see how some people will\nlabour to find out terms that may obscure a plain sense. Like a\ngentleman I know, who would never say \"the weather grew cold,\" but that\n\"winter began to salute us.\" I have no patience for such coxcombs, and\ncannot blame an old uncle of mine that threw the standish at his man's\nhead because he writ a letter for him where, instead of saying (as his\nmaster bid him), \"that he would have writ himself, but he had the gout\nin his hand,\" he said, \"that the gout in his hand would not permit him\nto put pen to paper.\" The fellow thought he had mended it mightily, and\nthat putting pen to paper was much better than plain writing.\n\nI have no patience neither for these translations of romances. I met\nwith _Polexander_ and _L'illustre Bassa_ both so disguised that I, who\nam their old acquaintance, hardly know them; besides that, they were\nstill so much French in words and phrases that 'twas impossible for one\nthat understands not French to make anything of them. If poor\n_Prazimene_ be in the same dress, I would not see her for the world. She\nhas suffered enough besides. I never saw but four tomes of her, and was\ntold the gentleman that writ her story died when those were finished. I\nwas very sorry for it, I remember, for I liked so far as I had seen of\nit extremely. Is it not my good Lord of Monmouth, or some such\nhonourable personage, that presents her to the English ladies? I have\nheard many people wonder how he spends his estate. I believe he undoes\nhimself with printing his translations. Nobody else will undergo the\ncharge, because they never hope to sell enough of them to pay themselves\nwithal. I was looking t'other day in a book of his where he translates\n_Pipero_ as piper, and twenty words more that are as false as this.\n\nMy Lord Broghill, sure, will give us something worth the reading. My\nLord Saye, I am told, has writ a romance since his retirement in the\nIsle of Lundy, and Mr. Waller, they say, is making one of our wars,\nwhich, if he does not mingle with a great deal of pleasing fiction,\ncannot be very diverting, sure, the subject is so sad.\n\nBut all this is nothing to my coming to town, you'll say. 'Tis confest;\nand that I was willing as long as I could to avoid saying anything when\nI had nothing to say worth your knowing. I am still obliged to wait my\nbrother Peyton and his lady coming. I had a letter from him this week,\nwhich I will send you, that you may see what hopes he gives. As little\nroom as I have left, too, I must tell you what a present I had made me\nto-day. Two of the finest young Irish greyhounds that e'er I saw; a\ngentleman that serves the General sent them me. They are newly come\nover, and sent for by Henry Cromwell, he tells me, but not how he got\nthem for me. However, I am glad I have them, and much the more because\nit dispenses with a very unfit employment that your father, out of his\nkindness to you and his civility to me, was content to take upon him.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 34.", + "body": "SIR,--Jane was so unlucky as to come out of town before your return, but\nshe tells me she left my letter with Nan Stacy for you. I was in hope\nshe would have brought me one from you; and because she did not I was\nresolv'd to punish her, and kept her up till one o'clock telling me all\nher stories. Sure, if there be any truth in the old observation, your\ncheeks glowed notably; and 'tis most certain that if I were with you, I\nshould chide notably. What do you mean to be so melancholy? By her\nreport your humour is grown insupportable. I can allow it not to be\naltogether what she says, and yet it may be very ill too; but if you\nloved me you would not give yourself over to that which will infallibly\nkill you, if it continue. I know too well that our fortunes have given\nus occasion enough to complain and to be weary of her tyranny; but,\nalas! would it be better if I had lost you or you me; unless we were\nsure to die both together, 'twould but increase our misery, and add to\nthat which is more already than we can well tell how to bear. You are\nmore cruel than she regarding a life that's dearer to me than that of\nthe whole world besides, and which makes all the happiness I have or\never shall be capable of. Therefore, by all our friendship I conjure you\nand, by the power you have given me, command you, to preserve yourself\nwith the same care that you would have me live. 'Tis all the obedience I\nrequire of you, and will be the greatest testimony you can give me of\nyour faith. When you have promised me this, 'tis not impossible that I\nmay promise you shall see me shortly; though my brother Peyton (who says\nhe will come down to fetch his daughter) hinders me from making the\njourney in compliment to her. Yet I shall perhaps find business enough\nto carry me up to town. 'Tis all the service I expect from two girls\nwhose friends have given me leave to provide for, that some order I must\ntake for the disposal of them may serve for my pretence to see you; but\nthen I must find you pleased and in good humour, merry as you were wont\nto be when we first met, if you will not have me show that I am nothing\nakin to my cousin Osborne's lady.\n\nBut what an age 'tis since we first met, and how great a change it has\nwrought in both of us; if there had been as great a one in my face, it\ncould be either very handsome or very ugly. For God's sake, when we\nmeet, let us design one day to remember old stories in, to ask one\nanother by what degrees our friendship grew to this height 'tis at. In\nearnest, I am lost sometimes with thinking on't; and though I can never\nrepent the share you have in my heart, I know not whether I gave it you\nwillingly or not at first. No, to speak ingenuously, I think you got an\ninterest there a good while before I thought you had any, and it grew so\ninsensibly, and yet so fast, that all the traverses it has met with\nsince has served rather to discover it to me than at all to hinder it.\nBy this confession you will see I am past all disguise with you, and\nthat you have reason to be satisfied with knowing as much of my heart as\nI do myself. Will the kindness of this letter excuse the shortness on't?\nFor I have twenty more, I think, to write, and the hopes I had of\nreceiving one from you last night kept me writing this when I had more\ntime; or if all this will not satisfy, make your own conditions, so you\ndo not return it me by the shortness of yours. Your servant kisses your\nhands, and I am\n\nYour faithful.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 31", + "body": "SIR,--Why are you so sullen, and why am I the cause? Can you believe\nthat I do willingly defer my journey? I know you do not. Why, then,\nshould my absence now be less supportable to you than heretofore? Nay,\nit shall not be long (if I can help it), and I shall break through all\ninconveniences rather than deny you anything that lies in my power to\ngrant. But by your own rules, then, may I not expect the same from you?\nIs it possible that all I have said cannot oblige you to a care of\nyourself? What a pleasant distinction you make when you say that 'tis\nnot melancholy makes you do these things, but a careless forgetfulness.\nDid ever anybody forget themselves to that degree that was not\nmelancholy in extremity? Good God! how you are altered; and what is it\nthat has done it? I have known you when of all the things in the world\nyou would not have been taken for a discontent; you were, as I thought,\nperfectly pleased with your condition; what has made it so much worse\nsince? I know nothing you have lost, and am sure you have gained a\nfriend that is capable of the highest degree of friendship you can\npropound, that has already given an entire heart for that which she\nreceived, and 'tis no more in her will than in her power ever to recall\nit or divide it; if this be not enough to satisfy you, tell me what I\ncan do more?\n\nThere are a great many ingredients must go to the making me happy in a\nhusband. First, as my cousin Franklin says, our humours must agree; and\nto do that he must have that kind of breeding that I have had, and used\nthat kind of company. That is, he must not be so much a country\ngentleman as to understand nothing but hawks and dogs, and be fonder of\neither than his wife; nor of the next sort of them whose aim reaches no\nfurther than to be Justice of the Peace, and once in his life High\nSheriff, who reads no book but statutes, and studies nothing but how to\nmake a speech interlarded with Latin that may amaze his disagreeing poor\nneighbours, and fright them rather than persuade them into quietness. He\nmust not be a thing that began the world in a free school, was sent from\nthence to the university, and is at his furthest when he reaches the\nInns of Court, has no acquaintance but those of his form in these\nplaces, speaks the French he has picked out of old laws, and admires\nnothing but the stories he has heard of the revels that were kept there\nbefore his time. He must not be a town gallant neither, that lives in a\ntavern and an ordinary, that cannot imagine how an hour should be spent\nwithout company unless it be in sleeping, that makes court to all the\nwomen he sees, thinks they believe him, and laughs and is laughed at\nequally. Nor a travelled Monsieur whose head is all feather inside and\noutside, that can talk of nothing but dances and duets, and has courage\nenough to wear slashes when every one else dies with cold to see him. He\nmust not be a fool of no sort, nor peevish, nor ill-natured, nor proud,\nnor covetous; and to all this must be added, that he must love me and I\nhim as much as we are capable of loving. Without all this, his fortune,\nthough never so great, would not satisfy me; and with it, a very\nmoderate one would keep me from ever repenting my disposal.\n\nI have been as large and as particular in my descriptions as my cousin\nMolle is in his of Moor Park,--but that you know the place so well I\nwould send it you,--nothing can come near his patience in writing it,\nbut my reading on't. Would you had sent me your father's letter, it\nwould not have been less welcome to me than to you; and you may safely\nbelieve that I am equally concerned with you in anything. I should be\npleased to see something of my Lady Carlisle's writing, because she is\nso extraordinary a person. I have been thinking of sending you my\npicture till I could come myself; but a picture is but dull company, and\nthat you need not; besides, I cannot tell whether it be very like me or\nnot, though 'tis the best I ever had drawn for me, and Mr. Lilly [Lely]\nwill have it that he never took more pains to make a good one in his\nlife, and that was it I think that spoiled it. He was condemned for\nmaking the first he drew for me a little worse than I, and in making\nthis better he has made it as unlike as t'other. He is now, I think, at\nmy Lord Pagett's at Marloe [Marlow], where I am promised he shall draw a\npicture of my Lady for me,--she gives it me, she says, as the greatest\ntestimony of her friendship to me, for by her own rule she is past the\ntime of having pictures taken of her. After eighteen, she says, there is\nno face but decays apparently; I would fain have had her excepted such\nas had never been beauties, for my comfort, but she would not.\n\nWhen you see your friend Mr. Heningham, you may tell him in his ear\nthere is a willow garland coming towards him. He might have sped better\nin his suit if he had made court to me, as well as to my Lady Ruthin.\nShe has been my wife this seven years, and whosoever pretends there must\nask my leave. I have now given my consent that she shall marry a very\npretty little gentleman, Sir Christopher Yelverton's son, and I think we\nshall have a wedding ere it be long. My Lady her mother, in great\nkindness, would have recommended Heningham to me, and told me in a\ncompliment that I was fitter for him than her daughter, who was younger,\nand therefore did not understand the world so well; that she was certain\nif he knew me he would be extremely taken, for I would make just that\nkind of wife he looked for. I humbly thanked her, but said I was certain\nhe would not make that kind of husband I looked for,--and so it went no\nfurther.\n\nI expect my eldest brother here shortly, whose fortune is well mended by\nmy other brother's death, so as if he were satisfied himself with what\nhe has done, I know no reason why he might not be very happy; but I am\nafraid he is not. I have not seen my sister since I knew she was so;\nbut, sure, she can have lost no beauty, for I never saw any that she\nhad, but good black eyes, which cannot alter. He loves her, I think, at\nthe ordinary rate of husbands, but not enough, I believe, to marry her\nso much to his disadvantage if it were to do again; and that would kill\nme were I as she, for I could be infinitely better satisfied with a\nhusband that had never loved me in hopes he might, than with one that\nbegan to love me less than he had done.\n\nI am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 37.", + "body": "SIR,--You say I abuse you; and Jane says you abuse me when you say you\nare not melancholy: which is to be believed? Neither, I think; for I\ncould not have said so positively (as it seems she did) that I should\nnot be in town till my brother came back: he was not gone when she writ,\nnor is not yet; and if my brother Peyton had come before his going, I\nhad spoiled her prediction. But now it cannot be; he goes on Monday or\nTuesday at farthest. I hope you did truly with me, too, in saying that\nyou are not melancholy (though she does not believe it). I am thought\nso, many times, when I am not at all guilty on't. How often do I sit in\ncompany a whole day, and when they are gone am not able to give an\naccount of six words that was said, and many times could be so much\nbetter pleased with the entertainment my own thoughts give me, that 'tis\nall I can do to be so civil as not to let them see they trouble me. This\nmay be your disease. However, remember you have promised me to be\ncareful of yourself, and that if I secure what you have entrusted me\nwith, you will answer for the rest. Be this our bargain then; and look\nthat you give me as good an account of one as I shall give you of\nt'other. In earnest, I was strangely vexed to see myself forced to\ndisappoint you so, and felt your trouble and my own too. How often I\nhave wished myself with you, though but for a day, for an hour: I would\nhave given all the time I am to spend here for it with all my heart.\n\nYou could not but have laughed if you had seen me last night. My brother\nand Mr. Gibson were talking by the fire; and I sat by, but as no part of\nthe company. Amongst other things (which I did not at all mind), they\nfell into a discourse of flying; and both agreed it was very possible to\nfind out a way that people might fly like birds, and despatch their\njourneys: so I, that had not said a word all night, started up at that,\nand desired they would say a little more on't, for I had not marked the\nbeginning; but instead of that, they both fell into so violent a\nlaughing, that I should appear so much concerned in such an art; but\nthey little knew of what use it might have been to me. Yet I saw you\nlast night, but 'twas in a dream; and before I could say a word to you,\nor you to me, the disorder my joy to see you had put me into awakened\nme. Just now I was interrupted, too, and called away to entertain two\ndumb gentlemen;--you may imagine whether I was pleased to leave my\nwriting to you for their company;--they have made such a tedious visit,\ntoo; and I am so tired with making of signs and tokens for everything I\nhad to say. Good God! how do those that live with them always? They are\nbrothers; and the eldest is a baronet, has a good estate, a wife and\nthree or four children. He was my servant heretofore, and comes to see\nme still for old love's sake; but if he could have made me mistress of\nthe world I could not have had him; and yet I'll swear he has nothing to\nbe disliked in him but his want of tongue, which in a woman might have\nbeen a virtue.\n\nI sent you a part of _Cyrus_ last week, where you will meet with one\nDoralise in the story of Abradah and Panthée. The whole story is very\ngood; but the humour makes the best part of it. I am of her opinion in\nmost things that she says in her character of \"_L'honnest homme_\" that\nshe is in search of, and her resolution of receiving no heart that had\nbeen offered to anybody else. Pray, tell me how you like her, and what\nfault you find in my Lady Carlisle's letter? Methinks the hand and the\nstyle both show her a great person, and 'tis writ in the way that's now\naffected by all that pretend to wit and good breeding; only, I am a\nlittle scandalized to confess that she uses that word faithful,--she\nthat never knew how to be so in her life.\n\nI have sent you my picture because you wished for it; but, pray, let it\nnot presume to disturb my Lady Sunderland's. Put it in some corner where\nno eyes may find it out but yours, to whom it is only intended. 'Tis not\na very good one, but the best I shall ever have drawn of me; for, as my\nLady says, my time for pictures is past, and therefore I have always\nrefused to part with this, because I was sure the next would be a worse.\nThere is a beauty in youth that every one has once in their lives; and I\nremember my mother used to say there was never anybody (that was not\ndeformed) but were handsome, to some reasonable degree, once between\nfourteen and twenty. It must hang with the light on the left hand of it;\nand you may keep it if you please till I bring you the original. But\nthen I must borrow it (for 'tis no more mine, if you like it), because\nmy brother is often bringing people into my closet where it hangs, to\nshow them other pictures that are there; and if he miss this long\nthence, 'twould trouble his jealous head.\n\nYou are not the first that has told me I knew better what quality I\nwould not have in a husband than what I would; but it was more\npardonable in them. I thought you had understood better what kind of\nperson I liked than anybody else could possibly have done, and therefore\ndid not think it necessary to make you that description too. Those that\nI reckoned up were only such as I could not be persuaded to have upon no\nterms, though I had never seen such a person in my life as Mr. Temple:\nnot but that all those may make very good husbands to some women; but\nthey are so different from my humour that 'tis not possible we should\never agree; for though it might be reasonably enough expected that I\nshould conform mine to theirs (to my shame be it spoken), I could never\ndo it. And I have lived so long in the world, and so much at my own\nliberty, that whosoever has me must be content to take me as they find\nme, without hope of ever making me other than I am. I cannot so much as\ndisguise my humour. When it was designed that I should have had Sir\nJus., my brother used to tell he was confident that, with all his\nwisdom, any woman that had wit and discretion might make an ass of him,\nand govern him as she pleased. I could not deny that possibly it might\nbe so, but 'twas that I was sure I could never do; and though 'tis\nlikely I should have forced myself to so much compliance as was\nnecessary for a reasonable wife, yet farther than that no design could\never have carried me; and I could not have flattered him into a belief\nthat I admired him, to gain more than he and all his generation are\nworth.\n\n'Tis such an ease (as you say) not to be solicitous to please others: in\nearnest, I am no more concerned whether people think me handsome or\nill-favoured, whether they think I have wit or that I have none, than I\nam whether they think my name Elizabeth or Dorothy. I would do nobody no\ninjury; but I should never design to please above one; and that one I\nmust love too, or else I should think it a trouble, and consequently not\ndo it. I have made a general confession to you; will you give me\nabsolution? Methinks you should; for you are not much better by your own\nrelation; therefore 'tis easiest to forgive one another. When you hear\nanything from your father, remember that I am his humble servant, and\nmuch concerned in his good health.\n\nI am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 33", + "body": "SIR,--You would have me say something of my coming. Alas! how fain I\nwould have something to say, but I know no more than you saw in that\nletter I sent you. How willingly would I tell you anything that I\nthought would please you; but I confess I do not like to give uncertain\nhopes, because I do not care to receive them. And I thought there was no\nneed of saying I would be sure to take the first occasion, and that I\nwaited with impatience for it, because I hoped you had believed all that\nalready; and so you do, I am sure. Say what you will, you cannot but\nknow my heart enough to be assured that I wish myself with you, for my\nown sake as well as yours. 'Tis rather that you love to hear me say it\noften, than that you doubt it; for I am no dissembler. I could not cry\nfor a husband that were indifferent to me (like your cousin); no, nor\nfor a husband that I loved neither. I think 'twould break my heart\nsooner than make me shed a tear. 'Tis ordinary griefs that make me weep.\nIn earnest, you cannot imagine how often I have been told that I had too\nmuch _franchise_ in my humour, and that 'twas a point of good breeding\nto disguise handsomely; but I answered still for myself, that 'twas not\nto be expected I should be exactly bred, that had never seen a Court\nsince I was capable of anything. Yet I know so much,--that my Lady\nCarlisle would take it very ill if you should not let her get the point\nof honour; 'tis all she aims at, to go beyond everybody in compliment.\nBut are you not afraid of giving me a strong vanity with telling me I\nwrite better than the most extraordinary person in the world? If I had\nnot the sense to understand that the reason why you like my letters\nbetter is only because they are kinder than hers, such a word might have\nundone me.\n\nBut my Lady Isabella, that speaks, and looks, and sings, and plays, and\nall so prettily, why cannot I say that she is free from faults as her\nsister believes her? No; I am afraid she is not, and sorry that those\nshe has are so generally known. My brother did not bring them for an\nexample; but I did, and made him confess she had better have married a\nbeggar than that beast with all his estate. She cannot be excused; but\ncertainly they run a strange hazard that have such husbands as makes\nthem think they cannot be more undone, whatever course they take. Oh,\n'tis ten thousand pities! I remember she was the first woman that ever I\ntook notice of for extremely handsome; and, in earnest, she was then the\nloveliest lady that could be looked on, I think. But what should she do\nwith beauty now? Were I as she, I should hide myself from all the world;\nI should think all people that looked on me read it in my face and\ndespised me in their hearts; and at the same time they made me a leg, or\nspoke civilly to me, I should believe they did not think I deserved\ntheir respect. I'll tell you who he urged for an example though, my Lord\nPembroke and my Lady, who, they say, are upon parting after all his\npassion for her, and his marrying her against the consent of all his\nfriends; but to that I answered, that though he pretended great kindness\nhe had for her, I never heard of much she had for him, and knew she\nmarried him merely for advantage. Nor is she a woman of that discretion\nas to do all that might become her, when she must do it rather as things\nfit to be done than as things she inclined to. Besides that, what with a\nspleenatick side and a chemical head, he is but an odd body himself.\n\nBut is it possible what they say, that my Lord Leicester and my Lady are\nin great disorder, and that after forty years' patience he has now taken\nup the cudgels and resolved to venture for the mastery? Methinks he\nwakes out of his long sleep like a froward child, that wrangles and\nfights with all that comes near it. They say he has turned away almost\nevery servant in the house, and left her at Penshurst to digest it as\nshe can.\n\nWhat an age do we live in, where 'tis a miracle if in ten couples that\nare married, two of them live so as not to publish to the world that\nthey cannot agree. I begin to be of your opinion of him that (when the\nRoman Church first propounded whether it were not convenient for priests\nnot to marry) said that it might be convenient enough, but sure it was\nnot our Saviour's intention, for He commanded that all should take up\ntheir cross and follow Him; and for his part, he was confident there was\nno such cross as a wife. This is an ill doctrine for me to preach; but\nto my friends I cannot but confess that I am afraid much of the fault\nlies in us; for I have observed that formerly, in great families, the\nmen seldom disagree, but the women are always scolding; and 'tis most\ncertain, that let the husband be what he will, if the wife have but\npatience (which, sure, becomes her best), the disorder cannot be great\nenough to make a noise; his anger alone, when it meets with nothing that\nresists it, cannot be loud enough to disturb the neighbours. And such a\nwife may be said to do as a kinswoman of ours that had a husband who was\nnot always himself; and when he was otherwise, his humour was to rise in\nthe night, and with two bedstaves labour on the table an hour together.\nShe took care every night to lay a great cushion upon the table for him\nto strike on, that nobody might hear him, and so discover his madness.\nBut 'tis a sad thing when all one's happiness is only that the world\ndoes not know you are miserable.\n\nFor my part, I think it were very convenient that all such as intend to\nmarry should live together in the same house some years of probation;\nand if, in all that time, they never disagreed, they should then be\npermitted to marry if they please; but how few would do it then! I do\nnot remember that I ever saw or heard of any couple that were bred up so\ntogether (as many you know are, that are designed for one another from\nchildren), but they always disliked one another extremely; parted, if it\nwere left in their choice. If people proceeded with this caution, the\nworld would end sooner than is expected, I believe; and because, with\nall my wariness, 'tis not impossible but I may be caught, nor likely\nthat I should be wiser than anybody else, 'twere best, I think, that I\nsaid no more on this point.\n\nWhat would I give to know that sister of yours that is so good at\ndiscovering; sure she is excellent company; she has reason to laugh at\nyou when you would have persuaded her the \"moss was sweet.\" I remember\nJane brought some of it to me, to ask me if I thought it had no ill\nsmell, and whether she might venture to put it in the box or not. I told\nher as I thought, she could not put a more innocent thing there, for I\ndid not find it had any smell at all; besides, I was willing it should\ndo me some service in requital for the pains I had taken for it. My\nniece and I wandered through some eight hundred acres of wood in search\nof it, to make rocks and strange things that her head is full of, and\nshe admires it more than you did. If she had known I had consented it\nshould have been used to fill up a box, she would have condemned me\nextremely. I told Jane that you liked her present, and she, I find, is\nresolved to spoil your compliment, and make you confess at last that\nthey are not worth the eating; she threatens to send you more, but you\nwould forgive her if you saw how she baits me every day to go to London;\nall that I can say will not satisfy her. When I urge (as 'tis true) that\nthere is a necessity of my stay here, she grows furious, cries you will\ndie with melancholy, and confounds me so with stories of your\nill-humour, that I'll swear I think I should go merely to be at quiet,\nif it were possible, though there were no other reason for it. But I\nhope 'tis not so ill as she would have me believe it, though I know your\nhumour is strangely altered from what it was, and am sorry to see it.\nMelancholy must needs do you more hurt than to another to whom it may be\nnatural, as I think it is to me; therefore if you loved me you would\ntake heed on't. Can you believe that you are dearer to me than the whole\nworld beside, and yet neglect yourself? If you do not, you wrong a\nperfect friendship; and if you do, you must consider my interest in you,\nand preserve yourself to make me happy. Promise me this, or I shall\nhaunt you worse than she does me. Scribble how you please, so you make\nyour letter long enough; you see I give you good example; besides, I can\nassure you we do perfectly agree if you receive not satisfaction but\nfrom my letters, I have none but what yours give me.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 34", + "body": "SIR,--If want of kindness were the only crime I exempted from pardon,\n'twas not that I had the least apprehension you could be guilty of it;\nbut to show you (by excepting only an impossible thing) that I excepted\nnothing. No, in earnest, I can fancy no such thing of you, or if I\ncould, the quarrel would be to myself; I should never forgive my own\nfolly that let me to choose a friend that could be false. But I'll leave\nthis (which is not much to the purpose) and tell you how, with my usual\nimpatience, I expected your letter, and how cold it went to my heart to\nsee it so short a one. 'Twas so great a pain to me that I am resolv'd\nyou shall not feel it; nor can I in justice punish you for a fault\nunwillingly committed. If I were your enemy, I could not use you ill\nwhen I saw Fortune do it too, and in gallantry and good nature both, I\nshould think myself rather obliged to protect you from her injury (if it\nlay in my power) than double them upon you. These things considered, I\nbelieve this letter will be longer than ordinary,--kinder I think it\ncannot be. I always speak my heart to you; and that is so much your\nfriend, it never furnishes me with anything to your disadvantage. I am\nglad you are an admirer of Telesile as well as I; in my opinion 'tis a\nfine Lady, but I know you will pity poor Amestris strongly when you have\nread her story. I'll swear I cried for her when I read it first, though\nshe were but an imaginary person; and, sure, if anything of that kind\ncan deserve it, her misfortunes may.\n\nGod forgive me, I was as near laughing yesterday where I should not.\nWould you believe that I had the grace to go hear a sermon upon a week\nday? In earnest, 'tis true; a Mr. Marshall was the man that preached,\nbut never anybody was so defeated. He is so famed that I expected rare\nthings of him, and seriously I listened to him as if he had been St.\nPaul; and what do you think he told us? Why, that if there were no\nkings, no queens, no lords, no ladies, nor gentlemen, nor gentlewomen,\nin the world, 'twould be no loss to God Almighty at all. This we had\nover some forty times, which made me remember it whether I would or not.\nThe rest was much at this rate, interlarded with the prettiest odd\nphrases, that I had the most ado to look soberly enough for the place I\nwas in that ever I had in my life. He does not preach so always, sure?\nIf he does, I cannot believe his sermons will do much towards bringing\nanybody to heaven more than by exercising their patience. Yet, I'll say\nthat for him, he stood stoutly for tithes, though, in my opinion, few\ndeserve them less than he; and it may be he would be better without\nthem.\n\nYet you are not convinced, you say, that to be miserable is the way to\nbe good; to some natures I think it is not, but there are many of so\ncareless and vain a temper, that the least breath of good fortune swells\nthem with so much pride, that if they were not put in mind sometimes by\na sound cross or two that they are mortal, they would hardly think it\npossible; and though 'tis a sign of a servile nature when fear produces\nmore of reverence in us than love, yet there is more danger of\nforgetting oneself in a prosperous fortune than in the contrary, and\naffliction may be the surest (though not the pleasantest) guide to\nheaven. What think you, might not I preach with Mr. Marshall for a\nwager? But you could fancy a perfect happiness here, you say; that is\nnot much, many people do so; but I never heard of anybody that ever had\nit more than in fancy, so that will not be strange if you should miss\non't. One may be happy to a good degree, I think, in a faithful friend,\na moderate fortune, and a retired life; further than this I know nothing\nto wish; but if there be anything beyond it, I wish it you.\n\nYou did not tell me what carried you out of town in such haste. I hope\nthe occasion was good, you must account to me for all that I lost by it.\nI shall expect a whole packet next week. Oh, me! I have forgot this once\nor twice to tell you, that if it be no inconvenience to you, I could\nwish you would change the place of direction for my letters. Certainly\nthat Jones knows my name, I bespoke a saddle of him once, and though it\nbe a good while agone, yet I was so often with him about it,--having\nmuch ado to make him understand how I would have it, it being of a\nfashion he had never seen, though, sure, it be common,--that I am\nconfident he has not forgot me. Besides that, upon it he got my\nbrother's custom; and I cannot tell whether he does not use the shop\nstill. Jane presents her humble service to you, and has sent you\nsomething in a box; 'tis hard to imagine what she can find here to\npresent you withal, and I am much in doubt whether you will not pay too\ndear for it if you discharge the carriage. 'Tis a pretty freedom she\ntakes, but you may thank yourself; she thinks because you call her\nfellow-servant, she may use you accordingly. I bred her better, but you\nhave spoiled her.\n\nIs it true that my Lord Whitlocke goes Ambassador where my Lord Lisle\nshould have gone? I know not how he may appear in a Swedish Court, but\nhe was never meant for a courtier at home, I believe. Yet 'tis a\ngracious Prince; he is often in this country, and always does us the\nfavour to send for his fruit hither. He was making a purchase of one of\nthe best houses in the county. I know not whether he goes on with it;\nbut 'tis such a one as will not become anything less than a lord. And\nthere is a talk as if the Chancery were going down; if so, his title\ngoes with it, I think. 'Twill be sad news for my Lord Keble's son; he\nwill have nothing left to say when \"my Lord, my father,\" is taken from\nhim. Were it not better that I had nothing to say neither, than that I\nshould entertain you with such senseless things. I hope I am half\nasleep, nothing else can excuse me; if I were quite asleep, I should say\nfine things to you; I often dream I do; but perhaps if I could remember\nthem they are no wiser than my wakening discourses. Good-night.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 35", + "body": "SIR,--That you may be at more certainty hereafter what to think, let me\ntell you that nothing could hinder me from writing to you (as well for\nmy own satisfaction as yours) but an impossibility of doing it; nothing\nbut death or a dead palsy in my hands, or something that had the same\neffect. I did write it, and gave it Harrold, but by an accident his\nhorse fell lame, so that he could not set out on Monday; but on Tuesday\nhe did come to town; on Wednesday, carried the letter himself (as he\ntells me) where 'twas directed, which was to Mr. Copyn in Fleet Street.\n'Twas the first time I made use of that direction; no matter and I had\nnot done it then, since it proves no better. Harrold came late home on\nThursday night with such an account as your boy gave you: that coming\nout of town the same day he came in, he had been at Fleet Street again,\nbut there was no letter for him. I was sorry, but I did not much wonder\nat it because he gave so little time, and resolved to make my best of\nthat I had by Collins. I read it over often enough to make it equal with\nthe longest letter that ever was writ, and pleased myself, in earnest\n(as much as it was possible for me in the humour I was in), to think how\nby that time you had asked me pardon for the little reproaches you had\nmade me, and that the kindness and length of my letter had made you\namends for the trouble it had given you in expecting it. But I am not a\nlittle annoyed to find you had it not. I am very confident it was\ndelivered, and therefore you must search where the fault lies.\n\nWere it not that you had suffered too much already, I would complain a\nlittle of you. Why should you think me so careless of anything that you\nwere concerned in, as to doubt that I had writ? Though I had received\nnone from you, I should not have taken that occasion to revenge myself.\nNay, I should have concluded you innocent, and have imagined a thousand\nways how it might happen, rather than have suspected your want of\nkindness. Why should not you be as just to me? But I will not chide, it\nmay be (as long as we have been friends) you do not know me so well yet\nas to make an absolute judgment of me; but if I know myself at all, if I\nam capable of being anything, 'tis a perfect friend. Yet I must chide\ntoo. Why did you get such a cold? Good God! how careless you are of a\nlife that (by your own confession) I have told you makes all the\nhappiness of mine. 'Tis unkindly done. What is left for me to say, when\nthat will not prevail with you; or how can you persuade me to a cure of\nmyself, when you refuse to give me the example? I have nothing in the\nworld that gives me the least desire of preserving myself, but the\nopinion I have you would not be willing to lose me; and yet, if you saw\nwith what caution I live (at least to what I did before), you would\nreproach it to yourself sometimes, and might grant, perhaps, that you\nhave not got the advantage of me in friendship so much as you imagine.\nWhat (besides your consideration) could oblige me to live and lose all\nthe rest of my friends thus one after another? Sure I am not insensible\nnor very ill-natured, and yet I'll swear I think I do not afflict myself\nhalf so much as another would do that had my losses. I pay nothing of\nsadness to the memory of my poor brother, but I presently disperse it\nwith thinking what I owe in thankfulness that 'tis not you I mourn for.\n\nWell, give me no more occasions to complain of you, you know not what\nmay follow. Here was Mr. Freeman yesterday that made me a very kind\nvisit, and said so many fine things to me, that I was confounded with\nhis civilities, and had nothing to say for myself. I could have wished\nthen that he had considered me less and my niece more; but if you\ncontinue to use me thus, in earnest, I'll not be so much her friend\nhereafter. Methinks I see you laugh at all my threatenings; and not\nwithout reason. Mr. Freeman, you believe, is designed for somebody that\ndeserves him better. I think so too, and am not sorry for it; and you\nhave reason to believe I never can be other than\n\nYour faithful friend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nDESPONDENCY. CHRISTMAS 1653\n\n\nThis chapter of letters is a sad note, sounding out from among its\nfellows with mournful clearness. There had seemed a doubt whether all\nthese letters must be regarded as of one series, or whether, more\ncorrectly, it was to be assumed that Dorothy and Temple had their\nlovers' quarrels, for the well-understood pleasure of kissing friends\nagain. But you will agree that these lovers were not altogether as other\nlovers are, that their troubles were too real and too many for their\nlove to need the stimulus of constant April shower quarrels; and these\nletters are very serious in their sadness, imprinting themselves in the\nmind after constant reading as landmarks clearly defining the course and\nprogress of an unusual event in these lovers' history--a\nmisunderstanding.\n\nThe letters are written at Christmastide, 1653. Dorothy had returned\nfrom London to Chicksands, and either had not seen Temple or he had left\nLondon hurriedly whilst she was there. There is a letter lost. Dorothy's\nyoungest brother is lately dead; her niece has left her; her companion\nJane is sick; her father, growing daily weaker and weaker, was sinking\ninto his grave before her eyes. No bright chance seemed to open before\nher, and their marriage seemed an impossibility. For a moment she loses\nfaith, not in Temple, but in fortune; faith once gone, hope, missing her\ncomrade, flies away in search of her. She is alone in the old house with\nher dying father, and with her brother pouring his unkind gossip into\nher unwilling ear, whilst the sad long year draws slowly to its close,\nand there is no sign of better fortune for the lovers; can we wonder,\nthen, that Dorothy, lonely and unaided, pacing in the damp garden\nbeneath the bare trees, with all the bright summer changed into decay,\nlost faith and hope?\n\nTemple, when Dorothy's thoughts reach him, must have replied with some\nimpatience. There are stories, too, set about concerning her good name\nby one Mr. B., to disturb Temple. Temple can hardly have given credence\nto these, but he may have complained of them to Dorothy, who is led to\ndeclare, \"I am the most unfortunate woman breathing, but I was never\nfalse,\" though she forgives her lover \"all those strange thoughts he has\nhad\" of her. Whatever were the causes of the quarrel, or rather the\ndespondency, we shall never know accurately. Dorothy was not the woman\nto vapour for months about \"an early and a quiet grave.\" When she writes\nthis it is written in the deepest earnest of despair; when this mood is\nover it is over for ever, and we emerge into a clear atmosphere of hope\nand content. The despondency has been agonizing, but the agony is sharp\nand rapid, and gives place to the wisdom of hope.\n\nTemple now comes to Chicksands at an early date. There is a new\ninterchange of vows. Never again will their faith be shaken by fretting\nand despair; and these vows are never broken, but remain with the lovers\nuntil they are set aside by others, taken under the solemn sanction of\nthe law, and the old troubles vanish in new responsibilities and a new\nlife.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 36", + "body": "SIR,--Having tired myself with thinking, I mean to weary you with\nreading, and revenge myself that way for all the unquiet thoughts you\nhave given me. But I intended this a sober letter, and therefore, _sans\nraillerie_, let me tell you, I have seriously considered all our\nmisfortunes, and can see no end of them but by submitting to that which\nwe cannot avoid, and by yielding to it break the force of a blow which\nif resisted brings a certain ruin. I think I need not tell you how dear\nyou have been to me, nor that in your kindness I placed all the\nsatisfaction of my life; 'twas the only happiness I proposed to myself,\nand had set my heart so much upon it that it was therefore made my\npunishment, to let me see that, how innocent soever I thought my\naffection, it was guilty in being greater than is allowable for things\nof this world. 'Tis not a melancholy humour gives me these apprehensions\nand inclinations, nor the persuasions of others; 'tis the result of a\nlong strife with myself, before my reason could overcome my passion, or\nbring me to a perfect resignation to whatsoever is allotted for me. 'Tis\nnow done, I hope, and I have nothing left but to persuade you to that,\nwhich I assure myself your own judgment will approve in the end, and\nyour reason has often prevailed with you to offer; that which you would\nhave done then out of kindness to me and point of honour, I would have\nyou do now out of wisdom and kindness to yourself. Not that I would\ndisclaim my part in it or lessen my obligation to you, no, I am your\nfriend as much as ever I was in my life, I think more, and I am sure I\nshall never be less. I have known you long enough to discern that you\nhave all the qualities that make an excellent friend, and I shall\nendeavour to deserve that you may be so to me; but I would have you do\nthis upon the justest grounds, and such as may conduce most to your\nquiet and future satisfaction. When we have tried all ways to happiness,\nthere is no such thing to be found but in a mind conformed to one's\ncondition, whatever it be, and in not aiming at anything that is either\nimpossible or improbable; all the rest is but vanity and vexation of\nspirit, and I durst pronounce it so from that little knowledge I have\nhad of the world, though I had not Scripture for my warrant. The\nshepherd that bragged to the traveller, who asked him, \"What weather it\nwas like to be?\" that it should be what weather pleased him, and made it\ngood by saying it should be what weather pleased God, and what pleased\nGod should please him, said an excellent thing in such language, and\nknew enough to make him the happiest person in the world if he made a\nright use on't. There can be no pleasure in a struggling life, and that\nfolly which we condemn in an ambitious man, that's ever labouring for\nthat which is hardly got and more uncertainly kept, is seen in all\naccording to their several humours; in some 'tis covetousness, in others\npride, in some stubbornness of nature that chooses always to go against\nthe tide, and in others an unfortunate fancy to things that are in\nthemselves innocent till we make them otherwise by desiring them too\nmuch. Of this sort you and I are, I think; we have lived hitherto upon\nhopes so airy that I have often wondered how they could support the\nweight of our misfortunes; but passion gives a strength above nature, we\nsee it in mad people; and, not to flatter ourselves, ours is but a\nrefined degree of madness. What can it be else to be lost to all things\nin the world but that single object that takes up one's fancy, to lose\nall the quiet and repose of one's life in hunting after it, when there\nis so little likelihood of ever gaining it, and so many more probable\naccidents that will infallibly make us miss on't? And which is more than\nall, 'tis being mastered by that which reason and religion teaches us to\ngovern, and in that only gives us a pre-eminence over beasts. This,\nsoberly consider'd, is enough to let us see our error, and consequently\nto persuade us to redeem it. To another person, I should justify myself\nthat 'tis not a lightness in my nature, nor any interest that is not\ncommon to us both, that has wrought this change in me. To you that know\nmy heart, and from whom I shall never hide it, to whom a thousand\ntestimonies of my kindness can witness the reality of it, and whose\nfriendship is not built upon common grounds, I have no more to say but\nthat I impose not my opinions upon you, and that I had rather you took\nthem up as your own choice than upon my entreaty. But if, as we have not\ndiffered in anything else, we could agree in this too, and resolve upon\na friendship that will be much the perfecter for having nothing of\npassion in it, how happy might we be without so much as a fear of the\nchange that any accident could bring. We might defy all that fortune\ncould do, and putting off all disguise and constraint, with that which\nonly made it necessary, make our lives as easy to us as the condition of\nthis world will permit. I may own you as a person that I extremely value\nand esteem, and for whom I have a particular friendship, and you may\nconsider me as one that will always be\n\nYour faithful.\n\n\nThis was written when I expected a letter from you, how came I to miss\nit? I thought at first it might be the carrier's fault in changing his\ntime without giving notice, but he assures me he did, to Nan. My\nbrother's groom came down to-day, too, and saw her, he tells me, but\nbrings me nothing from her; if nothing of ill be the cause, I am\ncontented. You hear the noise my Lady Anne Blunt has made with her\nmarrying? I am so weary with meeting it in all places where I go; from\nwhat is she fallen! they talked but the week before that she should have\nmy Lord of Strafford. Did you not intend to write to me when you writ to\nJane? That bit of paper did me great service; without it I should have\nhad strange apprehension, and my sad dreams, and the several frights I\nhave waked in, would have run so in my head that I should have concluded\nsomething of very ill from your silence. Poor Jane is sick, but she will\nwrite, she says, if she can. Did you send the last part of _Cyrus_ to\nMr. Hollingsworth?", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 42.", + "body": "SIR,--I am extremely sorry that your letter miscarried, but I am\nconfident my brother has it not. As cunning as he is, he could not hide\nfrom me, but that I should discover it some way or other. No; he was\nhere, and both his men, when this letter should have come, and not one\nof them stirred out that day; indeed, the next day they went all to\nLondon. The note you writ to Jane came in one of Nan's, by Collins, but\nnothing else; it must be lost by the porter that was sent with it, and\n'twas very unhappy that there should be anything in it of more\nconsequence than ordinary; it may be numbered amongst the rest of our\nmisfortunes, all which an inconsiderate passion has occasioned. You must\npardon me I cannot be reconciled to it, it has been the ruin of us both.\n'Tis true that nobody must imagine to themselves ever to be absolute\nmaster on't, but there is great difference betwixt that and yielding to\nit, between striving with it and soothing it up till it grows too strong\nfor one. Can I remember how ignorantly and innocently I suffered it to\nsteal upon me by degrees; how under a mask of friendship I cozened\nmyself into that which, had it appeared to me at first in its true\nshape, I had feared and shunned? Can I discern that it has made the\ntrouble of your life, and cast a cloud upon mine, that will help to\ncover me in my grave? Can I know that it wrought so upon us both as to\nmake neither of us friends to one another, but agree in running wildly\nto our own destruction, and that perhaps of some innocent persons who\nmight live to curse our folly that gave them so miserable a being? Ah!\nif you love yourself or me, you must confess that I have reason to\ncondemn this senseless passion; that wheresoe'er it comes destroys all\nthat entertain it; nothing of judgment or discretion can live with it,\nand it puts everything else out of order before it can find a place for\nitself. What has it brought my poor Lady Anne Blunt to? She is the talk\nof all the footmen and boys in the street, and will be company for them\nshortly, and yet is so blinded by her passion as not at all to perceive\nthe misery she has brought herself to; and this fond love of hers has so\nrooted all sense of nature out of her heart, that, they say, she is no\nmore moved than a statue with the affliction of a father and mother that\ndoted on her, and had placed the comfort of their lives in her\npreferment. With all this is it not manifest to the whole world that Mr.\nBlunt could not consider anything in this action but his own interest,\nand that he makes her a very ill return for all her kindness; if he had\nloved her truly he would have died rather than have been the occasion of\nthis misfortune to her. My cousin Franklin (as you observe very well)\nmay say fine things now she is warm in Moor Park, but she is very much\naltered in her opinions since her marriage, if these be her own. She\nleft a gentleman, that I could name, whom she had much more of kindness\nfor than ever she had for Mr. Franklin, because his estate was less; and\nupon the discovery of some letters that her mother intercepted, suffered\nherself to be persuaded that twenty-three hundred pound a year was\nbetter than twelve hundred, though with a person she loved; and has\nrecovered it so well, that you see she confesses there is nothing in her\ncondition she desires to alter at the charge of a wish. She's happier by\nmuch than I shall ever be, but I do not envy her; may she long enjoy it,\nand I an early and a quiet grave, free from the trouble of this busy\nworld, where all with passion pursue their own interests at their\nneighbour's charges; where nobody is pleased but somebody complains\non't; and where 'tis impossible to be without giving and receiving\ninjuries.\n\nYou would know what I would be at, and how I intend to dispose of\nmyself. Alas! were I in my own disposal, you should come to my grave to\nbe resolved; but grief alone will not kill. All that I can say, then, is\nthat I resolve on nothing but to arm myself with patience, to resist\nnothing that is laid upon me, nor struggle for what I have no hope to\nget. I have no ends nor no designs, nor will my heart ever be capable of\nany; but like a country wasted by a civil war, where two opposing\nparties have disputed their right so long till they have made it worth\nneither of their conquests, 'tis ruined and desolated by the long strife\nwithin it to that degree as 'twill be useful to none,--nobody that knows\nthe condition 'tis in will think it worth the gaining, and I shall not\ntrouble anybody with it. No, really, if I may be permitted to desire\nanything, it shall be only that I may injure nobody but myself,--I can\nbear anything that reflects only upon me; or, if I cannot, I can die;\nbut I would fain die innocent, that I might hope to be happy in the next\nworld, though never in this. I take it a little ill that you should\nconjure me by anything, with a belief that 'tis more powerful with me\nthan your kindness. No, assure yourself what that alone cannot gain will\nbe denied to all the world. You would see me, you say? You may do so if\nyou please, though I know not to what end. You deceive yourself if you\nthink it would prevail upon me to alter my intentions; besides, I can\nmake no contrivances; it must be here, and I must endure the noise it\nwill make, and undergo the censures of a people that choose ever to give\nthe worst interpretation that anything will bear. Yet if it can be any\nease to you to make me more miserable than I am, never spare me;\nconsider yourself only, and not me at all,--'tis no more than I deserve\nfor not accepting what you offered me whilst 'twas in your power to make\nit good, as you say it then was. You were prepared, it seems, but I was\nsurprised, I confess. 'Twas a kind fault though; and you may pardon it\nwith more reason than I have to forgive it myself. And let me tell you\nthis, too, as lost and as wretched as I am, I have still some sense of\nmy reputation left in me,--I find that to my cost,--I shall attempt to\npreserve it as clear as I can; and to do that, I must, if you see me\nthus, make it the last of our interviews. What can excuse me if I should\nentertain any person that is known to pretend to me, when I can have no\nhope of ever marrying him? And what hope can I have of that when the\nfortune that can only make it possible to me depends upon a thousand\naccidents and contingencies, the uncertainty of the place 'tis in, and\nthe government it may fall under, your father's life or his success, his\ndisposal of himself and of his fortune, besides the time that must\nnecessarily be required to produce all this, and the changes that may\nprobably bring with it, which 'tis impossible for us to foresee? All\nthis considered, what have I to say for myself when people shall ask,\nwhat 'tis I expect? Can there be anything vainer than such a hope upon\nsuch grounds? You must needs see the folly on't yourself, and therefore\nexamine your own heart what 'tis fit for me to do, and what you can do\nfor a person you love, and that deserves your compassion if nothing\nelse,--a person that will always have an inviolable friendship for you,\na friendship that shall take up all the room my passion held in my\nheart, and govern there as master, till death come and take possession\nand turn it out.\n\nWhy should you make an impossibility where there is none? A thousand\naccidents might have taken me from you, and you must have borne it. Why\nwould not your own resolution work as much upon you as necessity and\ntime does infallibly upon people? Your father would take it very ill, I\nbelieve, if you should pretend to love me better than he did my Lady,\nyet she is dead and he lives, and perhaps may do to love again. There is\na gentlewoman in this country that loved so passionately for six or\nseven years that her friends, who kept her from marrying, fearing her\ndeath, consented to it; and within half a year her husband died, which\nafflicted her so strongly nobody thought she would have lived. She saw\nno light but candles in three years, nor came abroad in five; and now\nthat 'tis some nine years past, she is passionately taken again with\nanother, and how long she has been so nobody knows but herself. This is\nto let you see 'tis not impossible what I ask, nor unreasonable. Think\non't, and attempt it at least; but do it sincerely, and do not help your\npassion to master you. As you have ever loved me do this.\n\nThe carrier shall bring your letters to Suffolk House to Jones. I shall\nlong to hear from you; but if you should deny the only hope that's left\nme, I must beg you will defer it till Christmas Day be past; for, to\ndeal freely with you, I have some devotions to perform then, which must\nnot be disturbed with anything, and nothing is like to do it as so\nsensible an affliction. Adieu.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 43.", + "body": "SIR,--I can say little more than I did,--I am convinced of the vileness\nof the world and all that's in it, and that I deceived myself extremely\nwhen I expected anything of comfort from it. No, I have no more to do\nin't but to grow every day more and more weary of it, if it be possible\nthat I have not yet reached the highest degree of hatred for it. But I\nthank God I hate nothing else but the base world, and the vices that\nmake a part of it. I am in perfect charity with my enemies, and have\ncompassion for all people's misfortunes as well as for my own,\nespecially for those I may have caused; and I may truly say I bear my\nshare of such. But as nothing obliges me to relieve a person that is in\nextreme want till I change conditions with him and come to be where he\nbegan, and that I may be thought compassionate if I do all that I can\nwithout prejudicing myself too much, so let me tell you, that if I could\nhelp it, I would not love you, and that as long as I live I shall strive\nagainst it as against that which had been my ruin, and was certainly\nsent me as a punishment for my sin. But I shall always have a sense of\nyour misfortunes, equal, if not above, my own. I shall pray that you may\nobtain a quiet I never hope for but in my grave, and I shall never\nchange my condition but with my life. Yet let not this give you a hope.\nNothing ever can persuade me to enter the world again. I shall, in a\nshort time, have disengaged myself of all my little affairs in it, and\nsettled myself in a condition to apprehend nothing but too long a life,\ntherefore I wish you would forget me; and to induce you to it, let me\ntell you freely that I deserve you should. If I remember anybody, 'tis\nagainst my will. I am possessed with that strange insensibility that my\nnearest relations have no tie upon me, and I find myself no more\nconcerned in those that I have heretofore had great tenderness of\naffection for, than in my kindred that died long before I was born.\nLeave me to this, and seek a better fortune. I beg it of you as heartily\nas I forgive you all those strange thoughts you have had of me. Think me\nso still if that will do anything towards it. For God's sake do take any\ncourse that may make you happy; or, if that cannot be, less unfortunate\nat least than\n\nYour friend and humble servant,\n\nD. OSBORNE.\n\nI can hear nothing of that letter, but I hear from all people that I\nknow, part of my unhappy story, and from some that I do not know. A\nlady, whose face I never saw, sent it me as news she had out of Ireland.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 44.", + "body": "SIR,--If you have ever loved me, do not refuse the last request I shall\never make you; 'tis to preserve yourself from the violence of your\npassion. Vent it all upon me; call me and think me what you please; make\nme, if it be possible, more wretched than I am. I'll bear it all without\nthe least murmur. Nay, I deserve it all, for had you never seen me you\nhad certainly been happy. 'Tis my misfortunes only that have that\ninfectious quality as to strike at the same time me and all that's dear\nto me. I am the most unfortunate woman breathing, but I was never false.\nNo; I call heaven to witness that if my life could satisfy for the least\ninjury my fortune has done you (I cannot say 'twas I that did them you),\nI would lay it down with greater joy than any person ever received a\ncrown; and if I ever forget what I owe you, or ever entertained a\nthought of kindness for any person in the world besides, may I live a\nlong and miserable life. 'Tis the greatest curse I can invent; if there\nbe a greater, may I feel it. This is all I can say. Tell me if it be\npossible I can do anything for you, and tell me how I may deserve your\npardon for all the trouble I have given you. I would not die without it.\n\n[Directed.] For Mr. Temple.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 45.", + "body": "SIR,--'Tis most true what you say, that few have what they merit; if it\nwere otherwise, you would be happy, I think, but then I should be so\ntoo, and that must not be,--a false and an inconstant person cannot\nmerit it, I am sure. You are kind in your good wishes, but I aim at no\nfriends nor no princes, the honour would be lost upon me; I should\nbecome a crown so ill, there would be no striving for it after me, and,\nsure, I should not wear it long. Your letter was a much greater loss to\nme than that of Henry Cromwell, and, therefore, 'tis that with all my\ncare and diligence I cannot inquire it out. You will not complain, I\nbelieve, of the shortness of my last, whatever else you dislike in it,\nand if I spare you at any time 'tis because I cannot but imagine, since\nI am so wearisome to myself, that I must needs be so to everybody else,\nthough, at present, I have other occasions that will not permit this to\nbe a long one. I am sorry it should be only in my power to make a friend\nmiserable, and that where I have so great a kindness I should do so\ngreat injuries; but 'tis my fortune, and I must bear it; 'twill be none\nto you, I hope, to pray for you, nor to desire that you would (all\npassion laid aside) freely tell me my faults, that I may, at least, ask\nyour forgiveness where 'tis not in my power to make you better\nsatisfaction. I would fain make even with all the world, and be out of\ndanger of dying in anybody's debt; then I have nothing more to do in it\nbut to expect when I shall be so happy as to leave it, and always to\nremember that my misfortune makes all my faults towards you, and that my\nfaults to God make all my misfortunes.\n\nYour unhappy.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 46.", + "body": "SIR,--That which I writ by your boy was in so much haste and distraction\nas I cannot be satisfied with it, nor believe it has expressed my\nthoughts as I meant them. No, I find it is not easily done at more\nleisure, and I am yet to seek what to say that is not too little nor too\nmuch. I would fain let you see that I am extremely sensible of your\naffliction, that I would lay down my life to redeem you from it, but\nthat's a mean expression; my life is of so little value that I will not\nmention it. No, let it be rather what, in earnest, if I can tell\nanything I have left that is considerable enough to expose for it, it\nmust be that small reputation I have amongst my friends, that's all my\nwealth, and that I could part with to restore you to that quiet you\nlived in when I first knew you. But, on the other side, I would not give\nyou hopes of that I cannot do. If I loved you less I would allow you to\nbe the same person to me, and I would be the same to you as heretofore.\nBut to deal freely with you, that were to betray myself, and I find that\nmy passion would quickly be my master again if I gave it any liberty. I\nam not secure that it would not make me do the most extravagant things\nin the world, and I shall be forced to keep a continual war alive with\nit as long as there are any remainders of it left;--I think I might as\nwell have said as long as I lived. Why should you give yourself over so\nunreasonably to it? Good God! no woman breathing can deserve half the\ntrouble you give yourself. If I were yours from this minute I could not\nrecompense what you have suffered from the violence of your passion,\nthough I were all that you can imagine me, when, God knows, I am an\ninconsiderable person, born to a thousand misfortunes, which have taken\naway all sense of anything else from me, and left me a walking misery\nonly. I do from my soul forgive you all the injuries your passion has\ndone me, though, let me tell you, I was much more at my ease whilst I\nwas angry. Scorn and despite would have cured me in some reasonable\ntime, which I despair of now. However, I am not displeased with it, and,\nif it may be of any advantage to you, I shall not consider myself in it;\nbut let me beg, then, that you will leave off those dismal thoughts. I\ntremble at the desperate things you say in your letter; for the love of\nGod, consider seriously with yourself what can enter into comparison\nwith the safety of your soul. Are a thousand women, or ten thousand\nworlds, worth it? No, you cannot have so little reason left as you\npretend, nor so little religion. For God's sake let us not neglect what\ncan only make us happy for trifles. If God had seen it fit to have\nsatisfied our desires we should have had them, and everything would not\nhave conspired thus to have crossed them. Since He has decreed it\notherwise (at least as far as we are able to judge by events), we must\nsubmit, and not by striving make an innocent passion a sin, and show a\nchildish stubbornness.\n\nI could say a thousand things more to this purpose if I were not in\nhaste to send this away,--that it may come to you, at least, as soon as\nthe other. Adieu.\n\nI cannot imagine who this should be that Mr. Dr. meant, and am inclined\nto believe 'twas a story meant to disturb you, though perhaps not by\nhim.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 47.", + "body": "SIR,--'Tis never my humour to do injuries, nor was this meant as any to\nyou. No, in earnest, if I could have persuaded you to have quitted a\npassion that injures you, I had done an act of real friendship, and you\nmight have lived to thank me for it; but since it cannot be, I will\nattempt it no more. I have laid before you the inconveniences it brings\nalong, how certain the trouble is, and how uncertain the reward; how\nmany accidents may hinder us from ever being happy, and how few there\nare (and those so unlikely) to make up our desire. All this makes no\nimpression on you; you are still resolved to follow your blind guide,\nand I to pity where I cannot help. It will not be amiss though to let\nyou see that what I did was merely in consideration of your interest,\nand not at all of my own, that you may judge of me accordingly; and, to\ndo that, I must tell you that, unless it were after the receipt of those\nletters that made me angry, I never had the least hope of wearing out my\npassion, nor, to say truth, much desire. For to what purpose should I\nhave strived against it? 'Twas innocent enough in me that resolved never\nto marry, and would have kept me company in this solitary place as long\nas I lived, without being a trouble to myself or anybody else. Nay, in\nearnest, if I could have hoped you would be so much your own friend as\nto seek out a happiness in some other person, nothing under heaven could\nhave satisfied me like entertaining myself with the thought of having\ndone you service in diverting you from a troublesome pursuit of what is\nso uncertain, and by that giving you the occasion of a better fortune.\nOtherwise, whether you loved me still, or whether you did not, was\nequally the same to me, your interest set aside. I will not reproach you\nhow ill an interpretation you made of this, because we will have no more\nquarrels. On the contrary, because I see 'tis in vain to think of curing\nyou, I'll study only to give you what ease I can, and leave the rest to\nbetter physicians,--to time and fortune. Here, then, I declare that you\nhave still the same power in my heart that I gave you at our last\nparting; that I will never marry any other; and that if ever our\nfortunes will allow us to marry, you shall dispose of me as you please;\nbut this, to deal freely with you, I do not hope for. No; 'tis too great\na happiness, and I, that know myself best, must acknowledge I deserve\ncrosses and afflictions, but can never merit such a blessing. You know\n'tis not a fear of want that frights me. I thank God I never distrusted\nHis providence, nor I hope never shall, and without attributing anything\nto myself, I may acknowledge He has given me a mind that can be\nsatisfied with as narrow a compass as that of any person living of my\nrank. But I confess that I have an humour will not suffer me to expose\nmyself to people's scorn. The name of love is grown so contemptible by\nthe folly of such as have falsely pretended to it, and so many giddy\npeople have married upon that score and repented so shamefully\nafterwards, that nobody can do anything that tends towards it without\nbeing esteemed a ridiculous person. Now, as my young Lady Holland says,\nI never pretended to wit in my life, but I cannot be satisfied that the\nworld should think me a fool, so that all I can do for you will be to\npreserve a constant kindness for you, which nothing shall ever alter or\ndiminish; I'll never give you any more alarms, by going about to\npersuade you against that you have for me; but from this hour we'll live\nquietly, no more fears, no more jealousies; the wealth of the whole\nworld, by the grace of God, shall not tempt me to break my word with\nyou, nor the importunity of all my friends I have. Keep this as a\ntestimony against me if ever I do, and make me a reproach to them by it;\ntherefore be secure, and rest satisfied with what I can do for you.\n\nYou should come hither but that I expect my brother every day; not but\nthat he designed a longer stay when he went, but since he keeps his\nhorses with him 'tis an infallible token that he is coming. We cannot\nmiss fitter times than this twenty in a year, and I shall be as ready to\ngive you notice of such as you can be to desire it, only you would do me\na great pleasure if you could forbear writing, unless it were sometimes\non great occasions. This is a strange request for me to make, that have\nbeen fonder of your letters than my Lady Protector is of her new honour,\nand, in earnest, would be so still but there are a thousand\ninconveniences in't that I could tell you. Tell me what you can do; in\nthe meantime think of some employment for yourself this summer. Who\nknows what a year may produce? If nothing, we are but where we were, and\nnothing can hinder us from being, at least, perfect friends. Adieu.\nThere's nothing so terrible in my other letter but you may venture to\nread it. Have not you forgot my Lady's book?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE LAST OF CHICKSANDS. FEBRUARY AND MARCH 1654\n\n\nThe quarrel is over, happily over, and Dorothy and Temple are more than\nreconciled again. Temple has been down to Chicksands to see her, and\nsome more definite arrangement has been come to between them. Dorothy\nhas urged Temple to go to Ireland and join his father, who has once\nagain taken possession of his office of Master of the Rolls. As soon as\nan appointment can be found for Temple they are to be married--that is,\nas far as one can gather, the state of affairs between them; but it\nwould seem as if nothing of this was as yet to be known to the outer\nworld, not even to Dorothy's brother.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 48.", + "body": "SIR,--'Tis but an hour since you went, and I am writing to you already;\nis not this kind? How do you after your journey; are you not weary; do\nyou not repent that you took it to so little purpose? Well, God forgive\nme, and you too, you made me tell a great lie. I was fain to say you\ncame only to take your leave before you went abroad; and all this not\nonly to keep quiet, but to keep him from playing the madman; for when he\nhas the least suspicion, he carries it so strangely that all the world\ntakes notice on't, and so often guess at the reason, or else he tells\nit. Now, do but you judge whether if by mischance he should discover the\ntruth, whether he would not rail most sweetly at me (and with some\nreason) for abusing him. Yet you helped to do it; a sadness that he\ndiscovered at your going away inclined him to believe you were ill\nsatisfied, and made him credit what I said. He is kind now in extremity,\nand I would be glad to keep him so till a discovery is absolutely\nnecessary. Your going abroad will confirm him much in his belief, and I\nshall have nothing to torment me in this place but my own doubts and\nfears. Here I shall find all the repose I am capable of, and nothing\nwill disturb my prayers and wishes for your happiness which only can\nmake mine. Your journey cannot be to your disadvantage neither; you must\nneeds be pleased to visit a place you are so much concerned in, and to\nbe a witness yourself of your hopes, though I will believe you need no\nother inducements to this voyage than my desiring it. I know you love\nme, and you have no reason to doubt my kindness. Let us both have\npatience to wait what time and fortune will do for us; they cannot\nhinder our being perfect friends.\n\nLord, there were a thousand things I remembered after you were gone that\nI should have said, and now I am to write not one of them will come into\nmy head. Sure as I live it is not settled yet! Good God! the fears and\nsurprises, the crosses and disorders of that day, 'twas confused enough\nto be a dream, and I am apt to think sometimes it was no more. But no, I\nsaw you; when I shall do it again, God only knows! Can there be a\nromancer story than ours would make if the conclusion prove happy? Ah! I\ndare not hope it; something that I cannot describe draws a cloud over\nall the light my fancy discovers sometimes, and leaves me so in the dark\nwith all my fears about me that I tremble to think on't. But no more of\nthis sad talk.\n\nWho was that, Mr. Dr. told you I should marry? I cannot imagine for my\nlife; tell me, or I shall think you made it to excuse yourself. Did not\nyou say once you knew where good French tweezers were to be had? Pray\nsend me a pair; they shall cut no love. Before you go I must have a ring\nfrom you, too, a plain gold one; if I ever marry it shall be my wedding\nring; when I die I'll give it you again. What a dismal story this is you\nsent me; but who could expect better from a love begun upon such\ngrounds? I cannot pity neither of them, they were both so guilty. Yes,\nthey are the more to be pitied for that.\n\nHere is a note comes to me just now, will you do this service for a fine\nlady that is my friend; have not I taught her well, she writes better\nthan her mistress? How merry and pleased she is with her marrying\nbecause there is a plentiful fortune; otherwise she would not value the\nman at all. This is the world; would you and I were out of it: for,\nsure, we were not made to live in it. Do you remember Arme and the\nlittle house there? Shall we go thither? that's next to being out of the\nworld. There we might live like Baucis and Philemon, grow old together\nin our little cottage, and for our charity to some shipwrecked strangers\nobtain the blessing of dying both at the same time. How idly I talk;\n'tis because the story pleases me--none in Ovid so much. I remember I\ncried when I read it. Methought they were the perfectest characters of a\ncontented marriage, where piety and love were all their wealth, and in\ntheir poverty feasted the gods when rich men shut them out. I am called\naway,--farewell!\n\nYour faithful.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 44", + "body": "SIR,--Who would be kind to one that reproaches one so cruelly? Do you\nthink, in earnest, I could be satisfied the world should think me a\ndissembler, full of avarice or ambition? No, you are mistaken; but I'll\ntell you what I could suffer, that they should say I married where I had\nno inclination, because my friends thought it fit, rather than that I\nhad run wilfully to my own ruin in pursuit of a fond passion of my own.\nTo marry for love were no reproachful thing if we did not see that of\nthe thousand couples that do it, hardly one can be brought for an\nexample that it may be done and not repented afterwards. Is there\nanything thought so indiscreet, or that makes one more contemptible?\n'Tis true that I do firmly believe we should be, as you say, _toujours\nles mesmes_; but if (as you confess) 'tis that which hardly happens once\nin two ages, we are not to expect the world should discern we were not\nlike the rest. I'll tell you stories another time, you return them so\nhandsomely upon me. Well, the next servant I tell you of shall not be\ncalled a whelp, if 'twere not to give you a stick to beat myself with. I\nwould confess that I looked upon the impudence of this fellow as a\npunishment upon me for my over care in avoiding the talk of the world;\nyet the case is very different, and no woman shall ever be blamed that\nan inconsolable person pretends to her when she gives no allowance to\nit, whereas none shall 'scape that owns a passion, though in return of a\nperson much above her. The little tailor that loved Queen Elizabeth was\nsuffered to talk out, and none of her Council thought it necessary to\nstop his mouth; but the Queen of Sweden's kind letter to the King of\nScots was intercepted by her own ambassador, because he thought it was\nnot for his mistress's honour (at least that was his pretended reason),\nand thought justifiable enough. But to come to my Beagle again. I have\nheard no more of him, though I have seen him since; we met at Wrest\nagain. I do not doubt but I shall be better able to resist his\nimportunity than his tutor was; but what do you think it is that gives\nhim his encouragement? He was told I had thought of marrying a gentleman\nthat had not above two hundred pound a year, only out of my liking to\nhis person. And upon that score his vanity allows him to think he may\npretend as far as another. Thus you see 'tis not altogether without\nreason that I apprehend the noise of the world, since 'tis so much to my\ndisadvantage.\n\nIs it in earnest that you say your being there keeps me from the town?\nIf so, 'tis very unkind. No, if I had gone, it had been to have waited\non my neighbour, who has now altered her resolution and goes not\nherself. I have no business there, and am so little taken with the place\nthat I could sit here seven years without so much as thinking once of\ngoing to it. 'Tis not likely, as you say, that you should much persuade\nyour father to what you do not desire he should do; but it is hard if\nall the testimonies of my kindness are not enough to satisfy without my\npublishing to the world that I can forget my friends and all my interest\nto follow my passion; though, perhaps, it will admit of a good sense,\n'tis that which nobody but you or I will give it, and we that are\nconcerned in't can only say 'twas an act of great kindness and something\nromance, but must confess it had nothing of prudence, discretion, nor\nsober counsel in't. 'Tis not that I expect, by all your father's offers,\nto bring my friends to approve it. I don't deceive myself thus far, but\nI would not give them occasion to say that I hid myself from them in the\ndoing it; nor of making my action appear more indiscreet than it is. It\nwill concern me that all the world should know what fortune you have,\nand upon what terms I marry you, that both may not be made to appear ten\ntimes worse than they are. 'Tis the general custom of all people to make\nthose that are rich to have more mines of gold than are in the Indies,\nand such as have small fortunes to be beggars. If an action take a\nlittle in the world, it shall be magnified and brought into comparison\nwith what the heroes or senators of Rome performed; but, on the\ncontrary, if it be once condemned, nothing can be found ill enough to\ncompare it with; and people are in pain till they find out some\nextravagant expression to represent the folly on't. Only there is this\ndifference, that as all are more forcibly inclined to ill than good,\nthey are much apter to exceed in detraction than in praises. Have I not\nreason then to desire this from you; and may not my friendship have\ndeserved it? I know not; 'tis as you think; but if I be denied it, you\nwill teach me to consider myself. 'Tis well the side ended here. If I\nhad not had occasion to stop there, I might have gone too far, and\nshowed that I had more passions than one. Yet 'tis fit you should know\nall my faults, lest you should repent your bargain when 'twill not be in\nyour power to release yourself; besides, I may own my ill-humour to you\nthat cause it; 'tis the discontent my crosses in this business have\ngiven me makes me thus peevish. Though I say it myself, before I knew\nyou I was thought as well an humoured young person as most in England;\nnothing displeased, nothing troubled me. When I came out of France,\nnobody knew me again. I was so altered, from a cheerful humour that was\nalways alike, never over merry but always pleased, I was grown heavy and\nsullen, froward and discomposed; and that country which usually gives\npeople a jolliness and gaiety that is natural to the climate, had\nwrought in me so contrary effects that I was as new a thing to them as\nmy clothes. If you find all this to be sad truth hereafter, remember\nthat I gave you fair warning.\n\nHere is a ring: it must not be at all wider than this, which is rather\ntoo big for me than otherwise; but that is a good fault, and counted\nlucky by superstitious people. I am not so, though: 'tis indifferent\nwhether there be any word in't or not; only 'tis as well without, and\nwill make my wearing it the less observed. You must give Nan leave to\ncut a lock of your hair for me, too. Oh, my heart! what a sigh was\nthere! I will not tell you how many this journey causes; nor the fear\nand apprehensions I have for you. No, I long to be rid of you, am afraid\nyou will not go soon enough: do not you believe this? No, my dearest, I\nknow you do not, whate'er you say, you cannot doubt that I am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 45", + "body": "SIR,--The lady was in the right. You are a very pretty gentleman and a\nmodest; were there ever such stories as these you tell? The best on't\nis, I believe none of them unless it be that of my Lady Newport, which I\nmust confess is so like her that if it be not true 'twas at least\nexcellently well fancied. But my Lord Rich was not caught, tho' he was\nnear it. My Lady Devonshire, whose daughter his first wife was, has\nengaged my Lord Warwick to put a stop to the business. Otherwise, I\nthink his present want of fortune, and the little sense of honour he\nhas, might have been prevailed on to marry her.\n\n'Tis strange to see the folly that possesses the young people of this\nage, and the liberty they take to themselves. I have the charity to\nbelieve they appear very much worse than they are, and that the want of\na Court to govern themselves by is in great part the cause of their\nruin; though that was no perfect school of virtue, yet Vice there wore\nher mask, and appeared so unlike herself that she gave no scandal. Such\nas were really discreet as they seemed to be gave good example, and the\neminency of their condition made others strive to imitate them, or at\nleast they durst not own a contrary course. All who had good principles\nand inclinations were encouraged in them, and such as had neither were\nforced to put on a handsome disguise that they might not be out of\ncountenance at themselves. 'Tis certain (what you say) that where divine\nor human laws are not positive we may be our own judges; nobody can\nhinder us, nor is it in itself to be blamed. But, sure, it is not safe\nto take all liberty that is allowed us,--there are not many that are\nsober enough to be trusted with the government of themselves; and\nbecause others judge us with more severity than our indulgence to\nourselves will permit, it must necessarily follow that 'tis safer being\nruled by their opinions than by our own. I am disputing again, though\nyou told me my fault so plainly.\n\nI'll give it over, and tell you that _Parthenissa_ is now my company. My\nbrother sent it down, and I have almost read it. 'Tis handsome language;\nyou would know it to be writ by a person of good quality though you were\nnot told it; but, on the whole, I am not very much taken with it. All\nthe stories have too near a resemblance with those of other romances,\nthere is nothing new or _surprenant_ in them; the ladies are all so kind\nthey make no sport, and I meet only with one that took me by doing a\nhandsome thing of the kind. She was in a besieged town, and persuaded\nall those of her sex to go out with her to the enemy (which were a\nbarbarous people) and die by their swords, that the provisions of the\ntown might last the longer for such as were able to do service in\ndefending it. But how angry was I to see him spoil this again by\nbringing out a letter this woman left behind her for the governor of the\ntown, where she discovers a passion for him, and makes _that_ the reason\nwhy she did it. I confess I have no patience for our _faiseurs de\nRomance_ when they make a woman court. It will never enter into my head\nthat 'tis possible any woman can love where she is not first loved, and\nmuch less that if they should do that, they could have the face to own\nit. Methinks he that writes _L'illustre Bassa_ says well in his epistle\nthat we are not to imagine his hero to be less taking than those of\nother romances because the ladies do not fall in love with him whether\nhe will or not. 'Twould be an injury to the ladies to suppose they could\ndo so, and a greater to his hero's civility if he should put him upon\nbeing cruel to them, since he was to love but one. Another fault I find,\ntoo, in the style--'tis affected. _Ambitioned_ is a great word with him,\nand _ignore_; _my concern_, or of _great concern_, is, it seems, properer\nthan _concernment_: and though he makes his people say fine handsome\nthings to one another, yet they are not easy and _naïve_ like the\nFrench, and there is a little harshness in most of the discourse that\none would take to be the fault of a translator rather than of an author.\nBut perhaps I like it the worse for having a piece of _Cyrus_ by me that\nI am hugely pleased with, and that I would fain have you read: I'll send\nit you. At least read one story that I'll mark you down, if you have\ntime for no more. I am glad you stay to wait on your sister. I would\nhave my gallant civil to all, much more when it is so due, and kindness\ntoo.\n\nI have the cabinet, and 'tis in earnest a pretty one; though you will\nnot own it for a present, I'll keep it as one, and 'tis like to be yours\nno more but as 'tis mine. I'll warrant you would ne'er have thought of\nmaking me a present of charcoal as my servant James would have done, to\nwarm my heart I think he meant it. But the truth is, I had been\ninquiring for some (as 'tis a commodity scarce enough in this country),\nand he hearing it, told the baily [bailiff?] he would give him some if\n'twere for me. But this is not all. I cannot forbear telling you the\nother day he made me a visit, and I, to prevent his making discourse to\nme, made Mrs. Goldsmith and Jane sit by all the while. But he came\nbetter provided than I could have imagined. He brought a letter with\nhim, and gave it me as one he had met with directed to me, he thought it\ncame out of Northamptonshire. I was upon my guard, and suspecting all he\nsaid, examined him so strictly where he had it before I would open it,\nthat he was hugely confounded, and I confirmed that 'twas his. I laid it\nby and wished that they would have left us, that I might have taken\nnotice on't to him. But I had forbid it them so strictly before, that\nthey offered not to stir farther than to look out of window, as not\nthinking there was any necessity of giving us their eyes as well as\ntheir ears; but he that saw himself discovered took that time to confess\nto me (in a whispering voice that I could hardly hear myself) that the\nletter (as my Lord Broghill says) was of _great concern_ to him, and\nbegged I would read it, and give him my answer. I took it up presently,\nas if I had meant it, but threw it, sealed as it was, into the fire, and\ntold him (as softly as he had spoke to me) I thought that the quickest\nand best way of answering it. He sat awhile in great disorder, without\nspeaking a word, and so ris and took his leave. Now what think you,\nshall I ever hear of him more?\n\nYou do not thank me for using your rival so scurvily nor are not jealous\nof him, though your father thinks my intentions were not handsome\ntowards you, which methinks is another argument that one is not to be\none's own judge; for I am very confident they were, and with his favour\nshall never believe otherwise. I am sure I have no ends to serve of my\nown in what I did,--it could be no advantage to me that had firmly\nresolved not to marry; but I thought it might be an injury to you to\nkeep you in expectation of what was never likely to be, as I\napprehended. Why do I enter into this wrangling discourse? Let your\nfather think me what he pleases, if he ever comes to know me, the rest\nof my actions shall justify me in this; if he does not, I'll begin to\npractise on him (what you so often preached to me) to neglect the report\nof the world, and satisfy myself in my own innocency.\n\n'Twill be pleasinger to you, I am sure, to tell you how fond I am of\nyour lock. Well, in earnest now, and setting aside all compliments, I\nnever saw finer hair, nor of a better colour; but cut no more on't, I\nwould not have it spoiled for the world. If you love me, be careful\non't. I am combing, and curling, and kissing this lock all day, and\ndreaming on't all night. The ring, too, is very well, only a little of\nthe biggest. Send me a tortoise one that is a little less than that I\nsent for a pattern. I would not have the rule so absolutely true without\nexception that hard hairs be ill-natured, for then I should be so. But I\ncan allow that all soft hairs are good, and so are you, or I am deceived\nas much as you are if you think I do not love you enough. Tell me, my\ndearest, am I? You will not be if you think I am\n\nYours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 46", + "body": "SIR,--They say you gave order for this waste-paper; how do you think I\ncould ever fill it, or with what? I am not always in the humour to\nwrangle and dispute. For example now, I had rather agree to what you\nsay, than tell you that Dr. Taylor (whose devote you must know I am)\nsays there is a great advantage to be gained in resigning up one's will\nto the command of another, because the same action which in itself is\nwholly indifferent, if done upon our own choice, becomes an act of duty\nand religion if done in obedience to the command of any person whom\nnature, the laws, or ourselves have given a power over us; so that\nthough in an action already done we can only be our own judges, because\nwe only know with what intentions it was done, yet in any we intend,\n'tis safest, sure, to take the advice of another. Let me practise this\ntowards you as well as preach it to you, and I'll lay a wager you will\napprove on't. But I am chiefly of your opinion that contentment (which\nthe Spanish proverb says is the best paint) gives the lustre to all\none's enjoyment, puts a beauty upon things which without it would have\nnone, increases it extremely where 'tis already in some degree, and\nwithout it, all that we call happiness besides loses its property. What\nis contentment, must be left to every particular person to judge for\nthemselves, since they only know what is so to them which differs in all\naccording to their several humours. Only you and I agree 'tis to be\nfound by us in a true friend, a moderate fortune, and a retired life;\nthe last I thank God I have in perfection. My cell is almost finished,\nand when you come back you'll find me in it, and bring me both the rest\nI hope.\n\nI find it much easier to talk of your coming back than your going. You\nshall never persuade me I send you this journey. No, pray let it be your\nfather's commands, or a necessity your fortune puts upon you. 'Twas\nunkindly said to tell me I banish you; your heart never told it you, I\ndare swear; nor mine ne'er thought it. No, my dear, this is our last\nmisfortune, let's bear it nobly. Nothing shows we deserve a punishment\nso much as our murmuring at it; and the way to lessen those we feel, and\nto 'scape those we fear, is to suffer patiently what is imposed, making\na virtue of necessity. 'Tis not that I have less kindness or more\ncourage than you, but that mistrusting myself more (as I have more\nreason), I have armed myself all that is possible against this occasion.\nI have thought that there is not much difference between your being at\nDublin or at London, as our affairs stand. You can write and hear from\nthe first, and I should not see you sooner if you continued still at the\nlast.\n\nBesides, I hope this journey will be of advantage to us; when your\nfather pressed your coming over he told you, you needed not doubt either\nhis power or his will. Have I done anything since that deserves he\nshould alter his intentions towards us? Or has any accident lessened his\npower? If neither, we may hope to be happy, and the sooner for this\njourney. I dare not send my boy to meet you at Brickhill nor any other\nof the servants, they are all too talkative. But I can get Mr. Gibson,\nif you will, to bring you a letter. 'Tis a civil, well-natured man as\ncan be, of excellent principles and exact honesty. I durst make him my\nconfessor, though he is not obliged by his orders to conceal anything\nthat is told him. But you must tell me then which Brickhill it is you\nstop at, Little or Great; they are neither of them far from us. If you\nstay there you will write back by him, will you not, a long letter? I\nshall need it; besides that, you owe it me for the last being so short.\nWould you saw what letters my brother writes me; you are not half so\nkind. Well, he is always in the extremes; since our last quarrel he has\ncourted me more than ever he did in his life, and made me more presents,\nwhich, considering his humour, is as great a testimony of his kindness\nas 'twas of Mr. Smith's to my Lady Sunderland when he presented Mrs.\nCamilla. He sent me one this week which, in earnest, is as pretty a\nthing as I have seen, a China trunk, and the finest of the kind that\ne'er I saw. By the way (this puts me in mind on't), have you read the\nstory of China written by a Portuguese, Fernando Mendez Pinto, I think\nhis name is? If you have not, take it with you, 'tis as diverting a book\nof the kind as ever I read, and is as handsomely written. You must allow\nhim the privilege of a traveller, and he does not abuse it. His lies are\nas pleasant harmless ones, as lies can be, and in no great number\nconsidering the scope he has for them. There is one in Dublin now, that\nne'er saw much farther, has told me twice as many (I dare swear) of\nIreland. If I should ever live to see that country and be in't, I should\nmake excellent sport with them. 'Tis a sister of my Lady Grey's, her\nname is Pooley; her husband lives there too, but I am afraid in no very\ngood condition. They were but poor, and she lived here with her sisters\nwhen I knew her; 'tis not half a year since she went, I think. If you\nhear of her, send me word how she makes a shift there.\n\nAnd hark you, can you tell me whether the gentleman that lost a crystal\nbox the 1st of February in St. James' Park or Old Spring Gardens has\nfound it again or not, I have strong curiosity to know? Tell me, and\nI'll tell you something that you don't know, which is, that I am your\nValentine and you are mine. I did not think of drawing any, but Mrs.\nGoldsmith and Jane would need make me some for them and myself; so I\nwrit down our three names, and for men Mr. Fish, James B., and you. I\ncut them all equal and made them up myself before them, and because I\nwould owe it wholly to my good fortune if I were pleased. I made both\nthem choose first that had never seen what was in them, and they left me\nyou. Then I made them choose again for theirs, and my name was left. You\ncannot imagine how I was delighted with this little accident, but by\ntaking notice that I cannot forbear telling you it. I was not half so\npleased with my encounter next morning. I was up early, but with no\ndesign of getting another Valentine, and going out to walk in my\nnight-cloak and night-gown, I met Mr. Fish going a hunting, I think he\nwas; but he stayed to tell me I was his Valentine; and I should not have\nbeen rid on him quickly, if he had not thought himself a little too\n_negligée_; his hair was not powdered, and his clothes were but\nordinary; to say truth, he looked then methought like other mortal\npeople. Yet he was as handsome as your Valentine. I'll swear you wanted\none when you took her, and had very ill fortune that nobody met you\nbefore her. Oh, if I had not terrified my little gentleman when he\nbrought me his own letter, now sure I had had him for my Valentine!\n\nOn my conscience, I shall follow your counsel if e'er he comes again,\nbut I am persuaded he will not. I writ my brother that story for want of\nsomething else, and he says I did very well, there was no other way to\nbe rid on him; and he makes a remark upon't that I can be severe enough\nwhen I please, and wishes I would practise it somewhere else as well as\nthere. Can you tell where that is? I never understand anybody that does\nnot speak plain English, and he never uses that to me of late, but tells\nme the finest stories (I may apply them how I please) of people that\nhave married when they thought there was great kindness, and how\nmiserably they have found themselves deceived; how despicable they have\nmade themselves by it, and how sadly they have repented on't. He reckons\nmore inconveniency than you do that follows good nature, says it makes\none credulous, apt to be abused, betrays one to the cunning of people\nthat make advantage on't, and a thousand such things which I hear half\nasleep and half awake, and take little notice of, unless it be sometimes\nto say that with all these faults I would not be without it. No, in\nearnest, nor I could not love any person that I thought had it not to a\ngood degree. 'Twas the first thing I liked in you, and without it I\nshould never have liked anything. I know 'tis counted simple, but I\ncannot imagine why. 'Tis true some people have it that have not wit, but\nthere are at least as many foolish people I have ever observed to be\nfullest of tricks, little ugly plots and designs, unnecessary disguises,\nand mean cunnings, which are the basest qualities in the world, and\nmakes one the most contemptible, I think; when I once discover them they\nlose their credit with me for ever. Some will say they are cunning only\nin their own defence, and that there is no living in this world without\nit; but I cannot understand how anything more is necessary to one's own\nsafety besides a prudent caution; that I now think is, though I can\nremember when nobody could have persuaded me that anybody meant ill when\nit did not appear by their words and actions. I remember my mother (who,\nif it may be allowed me to say it) was counted as wise a woman as most\nin England,--when she seemed to distrust anybody, and saw I took notice\non't, would ask if I did not think her too jealous and a little\nill-natured. \"Come, I know you do,\" says she, \"if you would confess it,\nand I cannot blame you. When I was young as you are, I thought my\nfather-in-law (who was a wise man) the most unreasonably suspicious man\nthat ever was, and disliked him for it hugely; but I have lived to see\nit is almost impossible to think people worse than they are, and so will\nyou.\" I did not believe her, and less, that I should have more to say to\nyou than this paper would hold. It shall never be said I began another\nat this time of night, though I have spent this idly, that should have\ntold you with a little more circumstance how perfectly\n\nI am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 47", + "body": "SIR,--'Tis well you have given over your reproaches; I can allow you to\ntell me of my faults kindly and like a friend. Possibly it is a weakness\nin me to aim at the world's esteem, as if I could not be happy without\nit; but there are certain things that custom has made almost of absolute\nnecessity, and reputation I take to be one of these. If one could be\ninvisible I should choose that; but since all people are seen or known,\nand shall be talked of in spite of their teeth, who is it that does not\ndesire, at least, that nothing of ill may be said of them, whether\njustly or otherwise? I never knew any so satisfied with their own\ninnocence as to be content that the world should think them guilty. Some\nout of pride have seemed to contemn ill reports when they have found\nthey could not avoid them, but none out of strength of reason, though\nmany have pretended to it. No, not my Lady Newcastle with all her\nphilosophy, therefore you must not expect it from me. I shall never be\nashamed to own that I have a particular value for you above any other,\nbut 'tis not the greatest merit of person will excuse a want of fortune;\nin some degree I think it will, at least with the most rational part of\nthe world, and, as far as that will read, I desire it should. I would\nnot have the world believe I married out of interest and to please my\nfriends; I had much rather they should know I chose the person, and took\nhis fortune, because 'twas necessary, and that I prefer a competency\nwith one I esteem infinitely before a vast estate in other hands. 'Tis\nmuch easier, sure, to get a good fortune than a good husband; but\nwhosoever marries without any consideration of fortune shall never be\nallowed to do it, but of so reasonable an apprehension the whole world\n(without any reserve) shall pronounce they did it merely to satisfy\ntheir giddy humour.\n\nBesides, though you imagine 'twere a great argument of my kindness to\nconsider nothing but you, in earnest I believe 'twould be an injury to\nyou. I do not see that it puts any value upon men when women marry them\nfor love (as they term it); 'tis not their merit, but our folly that is\nalways presumed to cause it; and would it be any advantage to you to\nhave your wife thought an indiscreet person? All this I can say to you;\nbut when my brother disputes it with me I have other arguments for him,\nand I drove him up so close t'other night that for want of a better gap\nto get out at he was fain to say that he feared as much your having a\nfortune as your having none, for he saw you held my Lord L't's [?\nLieutenant's] principles. That religion and honour were things you did\nnot consider at all, and that he was confident you would take any\nengagement, serve in employment, or do anything to advance yourself. I\nhad no patience for this. To say you were a beggar, your father not\nworth £4000 in the whole world, was nothing in comparison of having no\nreligion nor no honour. I forgot all my disguise, and we talked\nourselves weary; he renounced me, and I defied him, but both in as civil\nlanguage as it would permit, and parted in great anger with the usual\nceremony of a leg and a courtesy, that you would have died with laughing\nto have seen us.\n\nThe next day I, not being at dinner, saw him not till night; then he\ncame into my chamber, where I supped but he did not. Afterwards Mr.\nGibson and he and I talked of indifferent things till all but we two\nwent to bed. Then he sat half-an-hour and said not one word, nor I to\nhim. At last, in a pitiful tone, \"Sister,\" says he, \"I have heard you\nsay that when anything troubles you, of all things you apprehend going\nto bed, because there it increases upon you, and you lie at the mercy of\nall your sad thought, which the silence and darkness of the night adds a\nhorror to; I am at that pass now. I vow to God I would not endure\nanother night like the last to gain a crown.\" I, who resolved to take no\nnotice what ailed him, said 'twas a knowledge I had raised from my\nspleen only, and so fell into a discourse of melancholy and the causes,\nand from that (I know not how) into religion; and we talked so long of\nit, and so devoutly, that it laid all our anger. We grew to a calm and\npeace with all the world. Two hermits conversing in a cell they equally\ninhabit, ne'er expressed more humble, charitable kindness, one towards\nanother, than we. He asked my pardon and I his, and he has promised me\nnever to speak of it to me whilst he lives, but leave the event to God\nAlmighty; until he sees it done, he will always be the same to me that\nhe is; then he shall leave me, he says, not out of want of kindness to\nme, but because he cannot see the ruin of a person that he loves so\npassionately, and in whose happiness he has laid up all his. These are\nthe terms we are at, and I am confident he will keep his word with me,\nso that you have no reason to fear him in any respect; for though he\nshould break his promise, he should never make me break mine. No, let me\nassure you this rival, nor any other, shall ever alter me, therefore\nspare your jealousy, or turn it all into kindness.\n\nI will write every week, and no miss of letters shall give us any doubts\nof one another. Time nor accidents shall not prevail upon our hearts,\nand, if God Almighty please to bless us, we will meet the same we are,\nor happier. I will do all you bid me. I will pray, and wish, and hope,\nbut you must do so too, then, and be so careful of yourself that I may\nhave nothing to reproach you with when you come back.\n\nThat vile wench lets you see all my scribbles, I believe; how do you\nknow I took care your hair should not be spoiled? 'Tis more than e'er\nyou did, I think, you are so negligent on't, and keep it so ill, 'tis\npity you should have it. May you have better luck in the cutting it than\nI had with mine. I cut it two or three years agone, and it never grew\nsince. Look to it; if I keep the lock you give me better than you do all\nthe rest, I shall not spare you; expect to be soundly chidden. What do\nyou mean to do with all my letters? Leave them behind you? If you do, it\nmust be in safe hands, some of them concern you, and me, and other\npeople besides us very much, and they will almost load a horse to carry.\n\nDoes not my cousin at Moor Park mistrust us a little? I have a great\nbelief they do. I am sure Robin C---- told my brother of it since I was\nlast in town. Of all things, I admire my cousin Molle has not got it by\nthe end, he that frequents that family so much, and is at this instant\nat Kimbolton. If he has, and conceals it, he is very discreet; I could\nnever discern by anything that he knew it. I shall endeavour to accustom\nmyself to the noise on't, and make it as easy to me as I can, though I\nhad much rather it were not talked of till there were an absolute\nnecessity of discovering it, and you can oblige me in nothing more than\nin concealing it. I take it very kindly that you promise to use all your\ninterest in your father to persuade him to endeavour our happiness, and\nhe appears so confident of his power that it gives me great hopes.\n\nDear! shall we ever be so happy, think you? Ah! I dare not hope it. Yet\n'tis not want of love gives me these fears. No, in earnest, I think\n(nay, I'm sure) I love you more than ever, and 'tis that only gives me\nthese despairing thoughts; when I consider how small a proportion of\nhappiness is allowed in this world, and how great mine would be in a\nperson for whom I have a passionate kindness, and who has the same for\nme. As it is infinitely above what I can deserve, and more than God\nAlmighty usually allots to the best people, I can find nothing in reason\nbut seems to be against me; and, methinks, 'tis as vain in me to expect\nit as 'twould be to hope I might be a queen (if that were really as\ndesirable a thing as 'tis thought to be); and it is just it should be\nso.\n\nWe complain of this world, and the variety of crosses and afflictions it\nabounds in, and yet for all this who is weary on't (more than in\ndiscourse), who thinks with pleasure of leaving it, or preparing for the\nnext? We see old folks, who have outlived all the comforts of life,\ndesire to continue in it, and nothing can wean us from the folly of\npreferring a mortal being, subject to great infirmity and unavoidable\ndecays, before an immortal one, and all the glories that are promised\nwith it. Is this not very like preaching? Well, 'tis too good for you;\nyou shall have no more on't. I am afraid you are not mortified enough\nfor such discourse to work upon (though I am not of my brother's\nopinion, neither, that you have no religion in you). In earnest, I never\ntook anything he ever said half so ill, as nothing, sure, is so great an\ninjury. It must suppose one to be a devil in human shape. Oh, me! now I\nam speaking of religion, let me ask you is not his name Bagshawe that\nyou say rails on love and women? Because I heard one t'other day\nspeaking of him, and commending his wit, but withal, said he was a\nperfect atheist. If so, I can allow him to hate us, and love, which,\nsure, has something of divine in it, since God requires it of us. I am\ncoming into my preaching vein again. What think you, were it not a good\nway of preferment as the times are? If you'll advise me to it I'll\nventure. The woman at Somerset House was cried up mightily. Think on't.\n\nDear, I am yours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 48", + "body": "SIR,--You bid me write every week, and I am doing it without considering\nhow it will come to you. Let Nan look to that, with whom, I suppose, you\nhave left the orders of conveyance. I have your last letter; but Jane,\nto whom you refer me, is not yet come down. On Tuesday I expect her; and\nif she be not engaged, I shall give her no cause hereafter to believe\nthat she is a burden to me, though I have no employment for her but that\nof talking to me when I am in the humour of saying nothing. Your dog is\ncome too, and I have received him with all the kindness that is due to\nanything you send. I have defended him from the envy and malice of a\ntroop of greyhounds that used to be in favour with me; and he is so\nsensible of my care over him, that he is pleased with nobody else, and\nfollows me as if we had been of long acquaintance. 'Tis well you are\ngone past my recovery. My heart has failed me twenty times since you\nwent, and, had you been within my call, I had brought you back as often,\nthough I know thirty miles' distance and three hundred are the same\nthing. You will be so kind, I am sure, as to write back by the coach and\ntell me what the success of your journey so far has been. After that, I\nexpect no more (unless you stay for a wind) till you arrive at Dublin. I\npity your sister in earnest; a sea voyage is welcome to no lady; but you\nare beaten to it, and 'twill become you, now you are a conductor, to\nshow your valour and keep your company in heart. When do you think of\ncoming back again? I am asking that before you are at your journey's\nend. You will not take it ill that I desire it should be soon. In the\nmeantime, I'll practise all the rules you give me. Who told you I go to\nbed late? In earnest, they do me wrong: I have been faulty in that point\nheretofore, I confess, but 'tis a good while since I gave it over with\nmy reading o' nights; but in the daytime I cannot live without it, and\n'tis all my diversion, and infinitely more pleasing to me than any\ncompany but yours. And yet I am not given to it in any excess now; I\nhave been very much more. 'Tis Jane, I know, tells all these tales of\nme. I shall be even with her some time or other, but for the present I\nlong for her with some impatience, that she may tell me all you have\ntold her.\n\nNever trust me if I had not a suspicion from the first that 'twas that\nill-looked fellow B---- who made that story Mr. D---- told you. That\nwhich gave me the first inclination to that belief was the circumstance\nyou told me of their seeing me at St. Gregory's. For I remembered to\nhave seen B---- there, and had occasion to look up into the gallery\nwhere he sat, to answer a very civil salute given me from thence by Mr.\nFreeman, and saw B---- in a great whisper with another that sat next\nhim, and pointing to me. If Mr. D---- had not been so nice in\ndiscovering his name, you would quickly have been cured of your\njealousy. Never believe I have a servant that I do not tell you of as\nsoon as I know it myself. As, for example, my brother Peyton has sent to\nme, for a countryman of his, Sir John Tufton,--he married one of my Lady\nWotton's heirs, who is lately dead,--and to invite me to think of it.\nBesides his person and his fortune, without exception, he tells me what\nan excellent husband he was to this lady that's dead, who was but a\ncrooked, ill-favoured woman, only she brought him £1500 a year. I tell\nhim I believe, Sir John Tufton could be content, I were so too upon the\nsame terms. But his loving his first wife can be no argument to persuade\nme; for if he had loved her as he ought to do, I cannot hope he should\nlove another so well as I expect anybody should that has me; and if he\ndid not love her, I have less to expect he should me. I do not care for\na divided heart; I must have all or none, at least the first place in\nit. Poor James, I have broke his. He says 'twould pity you to hear what\nsad complaints he makes; and, but that he has not the heart to hang\nhimself, he would be very well contented to be out of the world.\n\nThat house of your cousin R---- is fatal to physicians. Dr. Smith that\ntook it is dead already; but maybe this was before you went, and so is\nno news to you. I shall be sending you all I hear; which, though it\ncannot be much, living as I do, yet it may be more than ventures into\nIreland. I would have you diverted, whilst you are there, as much as\npossible; but not enough to tempt you to stay one minute longer than\nyour father and your business obliges you. Alas! I have already repented\nall my share in your journey, and begin to find I am not half so valiant\nas I sometimes take myself to be. The knowledge that our interests are\nthe same, and that I shall be happy or unfortunate in your person as\nmuch or more than in my own, does not give me that confidence you speak\nof. It rather increases my doubts, and I durst trust your fortune alone,\nrather than now that mine is joined with it. Yet I will hope yours may\nbe so good as to overcome the ill of mine, and shall endeavour to mend\nmy own all I can by striving to deserve it, maybe, better. My dearest,\nwill you pardon me that I am forced to leave you so soon? The next shall\nbe longer, though I can never be more than I am\n\nYours.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "April the 2nd, 1654.", + "body": "SIR,--There was never any lady more surprised than I was with your last.\nI read it so coldly, and was so troubled to find that you were so\nforward on your journey; but when I came to the last, and saw Dublin at\nthe date, I could scarce believe my eyes. In earnest, it transported me\nso that I could not forbear expressing my joy in such a manner as had\nanybody been by to have observed me they would have suspected me no very\nsober person.\n\nYou are safe arrived, you say, and pleased with the place already, only\nbecause you meet with a letter of mine there. In your next I expect some\nother commendation on't, or else I shall hardly make such haste to it as\npeople here believe I will.\n\nAll the servants have been to take their leaves on me, and say how sorry\nthey are to hear I am going out of the land; some beggar at the door has\nmade so ill a report of Ireland to them that they pity me extremely, but\nyou are pleased, I hope, to hear I am coming to you; the next fair wind\nexpect me. 'Tis not to be imagined the ridiculous stories they have\nmade, nor how J.B. cries out on me for refusing him and choosing his\nchamber-fellow; yet he pities me too, and swears I am condemned to be\nthe miserablest person upon earth. With all his quarrel to me, he does\nnot wish me so ill as to be married to the proudest, imperious,\ninsulting, ill-natured man that ever was; one that before he has had me\na week shall use me with contempt, and believe that the favour was of\nhis side. Is not this very comfortable? But, pray, make it no quarrel; I\nmake it none, I assure you. And though he knew you before I did, I do\nnot think he knows you so well; besides that, his testimony is not of\nmuch value.\n\nI am to spend this next week in taking leave of this country, and all\nthe company in't, perhaps never to see it more. From hence I must go\ninto Northamptonshire to my Lady Ruthin, and so to London, where I shall\nfind my aunt and my brother Peyton, betwixt whom I think to divide this\nsummer.\n\nNothing has happened since you went worth your knowledge. My Lord\nMarquis Hertford has lost his son, my Lord Beauchamp, who has left a\nfine young widow. In earnest, 'tis great pity; at the rate of our young\nnobility he was an extraordinary person, and remarkable for an excellent\nhusband. My Lord Cambden, too, has fought with Mr. Stafford, but there's\nno harm done. You may discern the haste I'm in by my writing. There will\ncome a time for a long letter again, but there will never come any\nwherein I shall not be\n\nYours.\n\n[Sealed with black wax, and directed]\n For Mr. William Temple,\n at Sir John Temple's home\n in Damask Street,\n Dublin.\n\n\nThus Dorothy leaves Chicksands, her last words from her old home to\nTemple breathing her love and affection for him. It is no great sorrow\nat the moment to leave Chicksands, for its latest memories are scenes\nof sickness, grief, and death. And now the only home on earth for\nDorothy lies in the future; it is not a particular spot on earth, but to\nbe by his side, wherever that may be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nVISITING. SUMMER 1654\n\n\nThis chapter opens with a portion of a letter written by Sir William\nTemple to his mistress, dated Ireland, May 18, 1654. It is the only\nletter, or rather scrap of letter which we have of his, and by some good\nchance it has survived with the rest of Dorothy's letters. It will, I\nthink, throw great light on his character as a lover, showing him to\nhave been ardent and ecstatic in his suit, making quite clear Dorothy's\nwisdom in insisting, as she often does, on the necessity of some more\nmaterial marriage portion than mere love and hope. His reference to the\n\"unhappy differences\" strengthens my view that the letters of the former\nchapter belong all to one date.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 50", + "body": "SIR,--This is to tell you that you will be expected to-morrow morning\nabout nine o'clock at a lodging over against the place where Charinge\nCrosse stood, and two doors above Ye Goate Taverne; if with these\ndirections you can find it out, you will there find one that is very\nmuch\n\nYour servant.\n\n\nNow I have got the trick of breaking my word, I shall do it every day. I\nmust go to Roehampton to-day, but 'tis all one, you do not care much for\nseeing me. Well, my master, remember last night you swaggered like a\nyoung lord. I'll make your stomach come down; rise quickly, you had\nbetter, and come hither that I may give you a lesson this morning before\nI go.\n\n\nJe n'ay guere plus dormie que vous et mes songes n'ont pas estres moins\nconfuse, au rest une bande de violons que sont venu jouer sous ma\nfennestre, m'out tourmentés de tel façon que je doubt fort si je\npourrois jamais les souffrire encore, je ne suis pourtant pas en fort\nmauvaise humeur et je m'en-voy ausi tost que je serai habillée voire ce\nqu'il est posible de faire pour vostre sattisfaction, après je viendre\nvous rendre conte de nos affairs et quoy qu'il en sera vous ne scaurois\njamais doubté que je ne vous ayme plus que toutes les choses du monde.\n\n\nI have slept as little as you, and may be allowed to talk as\nunreasonably, yet I find I am not quite senseless; I have a heart still\nthat cannot resolve to refuse you anything within its power to grant.\nBut, Lord, when shall I see you? People will think me mad if I go abroad\nthis morning after having seen me in the condition I was in last night,\nand they will think it strange to see you here. Could you not stay till\nthey are all gone to Roehampton? they go this morning. I do but ask,\nthough do what you please, only believe you do a great injustice if you\nthink me false. I never resolv'd to give you an eternal farewell, but I\nresolv'd at the same time to part with all the comfort of my life, and\nwhether I told it you or not I shall die yours.\n\nTell me what you will have me do.\n\n\nHere comes the note again to tell you I cannot call on you to-night; I\ncannot help it, and you must take it as patiently as you can, but I am\nengaged to-night at the Three Rings to sup and play. Poor man, I am\nsorry for you; in earnest, I shall be quite spoiled. I see no remedy;\nthink whether it were not best to leave me and begin a new adventure.\n\n\nAnd now we have finished. Dorothy Osborne is passing away, will soon be\ntranslated into Dorothy Temple; with the romance of her life all past\nhistory, and fast becoming as much a romance to herself, as it seems to\nus, looking back at it after more than two centuries. Something it is\nbecoming to her over which she can muse and dream and weave into tales\nfor the children who will gather round her. Something the reality of\nwhich will grow doubtful to her, if she find idle hours for dreaming and\ndoubting in her new name. Her last lover's letter is written. We are\nready for the marriage ceremony, and listen for the wedding march and\nhappy jingle of village bells; or if we may not have these in Puritan\ndays, at least we may hear the pompous magistrate pronounce the blessing\nof the State over its two happy subjects. But no! There is yet a moment\nof suspense, a last trial to the lover's constancy. The bride is taken\ndangerously ill, so dangerously ill that the doctors rejoice when the\ndisease pronounces itself to be small-pox. Alas! who shall now say what\nare the inmost thoughts of our Dorothy? Does she not need all her faith\nin her lover, in herself, ay, and in God, to uphold her in this new\naffliction? She rises from her bed, her beauty of face destroyed; her\nfair looks living only on the painter's canvas, unless we may believe\nthat they were etched in deeply bitten lines on Temple's heart. But the\nskin beauty is not the firmest hold she has on Temple's affections; this\nwas not the beauty that had attracted her lover and held him enchained\nin her service for seven years of waiting and suspense; this was not the\nonly light leading him through dark days of doubt, almost of despair,\nconstant, unwavering in his troth to her. Other beauty not outward, of\nwhich we, too, may have seen something, mirrowed darkly in these\nletters; which we, too, as well as Temple, may know existed in Dorothy.\nFor it is not beauty of face and form, but of what men call the soul,\nthat made Dorothy to Temple, in fact as she was in name,--the gift of\nGod.\n\n\n\n\nAppendix\n\nLADY TEMPLE\n\n\nOf Lady Temple there is very little to be known, and what there is can\nbe best understood by following the career of her husband, which has\nbeen written at some length, and with laboured care, by Mr. Courtenay.\nAfter her marriage, which took place in London, January 31st, 1655, they\nlived for a year at the home of a friend in the country. They then\nremoved to Ireland, where they lived for five years with Temple's\nfather; Lady Giffard, Temple's widowed sister, joining them. In 1663\nthey were living in England. Lady Giffard continued to live with them\nthrough the rest of their lives, and survived them both. In 1665 Temple\nwas sent to Brussels as English representative, and his family joined\nhim in the following year. In 1668 he was removed from Brussels to the\nHague, where the successful negotiations which led to the Triple\nAlliance took place, and these have given him an honourable place in\nhistory. There is a letter of Lady Temple's, written to her husband in\n1670, which shows how interested she was in the part he took in\npolitical life, and how he must have consulted her in all State\nmatters. It is taken from Courtenay's _Life of Sir William Temple_,\nvol. i. p. 345. He quotes it as the only letter written after Lady\nTemple's marriage which has come into his hands.\n\n\nTHE HAGUE, _October 31st, 1670_.\n\nMy Dearest Heart,--I received yours from Yarmouth, and was very glad you\nmade so happy a passage. 'Tis a comfortable thing, when one is on this\nside, to know that such a thing can be done in spite of contrary winds.\nI have a letter from P., who says in character that you may take it from\nhim that the Duke of Buckingham has begun a negotiation there, but what\nsuccess in England he may have he knows not; that it were to be wished\nour politicians at home would consider well that there is no trust to be\nput in alliances with ambitious kings, especially such as make it their\nfundamental maxim to be base. These are bold words, but they are his\nown. Besides this, there is nothing but that the French King grows very\nthrifty, that all his buildings, except fortifications, are ceased, and\nthat his payments are not so regular as they used to be. The people here\nare of another mind; they will not spare their money, but are\nresolved--at least the States of Holland--if the rest will consent, to\nraise fourteen regiments of foot and six of horse; that all the\ncompanies, both old and new, shall be of 120 men that used to be of 50,\nand every troop 80 that used to be of 45. Nothing is talked of but these\nnew levies, and the young men are much pleased. Downton says they have\nstrong suspicions here you will come back no more, and that they shall\nbe left in the lurch; that something is striking up with France, and\nthat you are sent away because you are too well inclined to these\ncountries; and my cousin Temple, he says, told him that a nephew of Sir\nRobert Long's, who is lately come to Utrecht, told my cousin Temple,\nthree weeks since, you were not to stay long here, because you were too\ngreat a friend to these people, and that he had it from Mr. Williamson,\nwho knew very well what he said. My cousin Temple says he told it to\nMajor Scott as soon as he heard it, and so 'tis like you knew it before;\nbut there is such a want of something to say that I catch at everything.\nI am my best dear's most affectionate\n\nD.T.\n\n\nIn the summer of 1671 there occurred an incident that reminds us\nconsiderably of the Dorothy Osborne of former days. The Triple Alliance\nhad lost some of its freshness, and was not so much in vogue as\nheretofore. Charles II. had been coquetting with the French King, and at\nlength the Government, throwing off its mask, formally displaced Temple\nfrom his post in Holland. \"The critical position of affairs,\" says\nCourtenay, \"induced the Dutch to keep a fleet at sea, and the English\nGovernment hoped to draw from that circumstance an occasion of quarrel.\nA yacht was sent for Lady Temple; the captain had orders to sail through\nthe Dutch fleet if he should meet it, and to fire into the nearest ships\nuntil they should either strike sail to the flag which he bore, or\nreturn his shot so as to make a quarrel!\n\n\"He saw nothing of the Dutch Fleet in going over, but on his return he\nfell in with it, and fired, without warning and ceremony, into the ships\nthat were next him.\n\n\"The Dutch admiral, Van Ghent, was puzzled; he seemed not to know, and\nprobably did not know, what the English captain meant; he therefore sent\na boat, thinking it possible that the yacht might be in distress; when\nthe captain told his orders, mentioning also that he had the\nambassadress on board. Van Ghent himself then came on board, with a\nhandsome compliment to Lady Temple, and, making his personal inquiries\nof the captain, received the same answer as before. The Dutchman said he\nhad no orders upon the point, which he rightly believed to be still\nunsettled, and could not believe that the fleet, commanded by an\nadmiral, was to strike to the King's pleasure-boat.\n\n\"When the Admiral returned to his ship, the captain also, 'perplexed\nenough,' applied to Lady Temple, who soon saw that he desired to get out\nof his difficulty by her help; but the wife of Sir William Temple called\nforth the spirit of Dorothy Osborne. 'He knew,' she told the captain,\n'his orders best, and what he was to do upon them, which she left to\nhim to follow as he thought fit, without any regard to her or her\nchildren.' The Dutch and English commanders then proceeded each upon his\nown course, and Lady Temple was safely landed in England.\"\n\nThere is an account of this incident in a letter of Sir Charles\nLyttelton to Viscount Hatton, in the Hatton Correspondence. He tells us\nthat the poor captain, Captain Crow of _The Monmouth_, \"found himself in\nthe Tower about it;\" but he does not add any further information as to\nthe part which Dorothy played in the matter.\n\nAfter their retirement to Sheen and Moor Park, Surrey, we know nothing\ndistinctively of Lady Temple, and little is known of their family life.\nThey had only two children living, having lost as many as seven in their\ninfancy. In 1684 one of these children, their only daughter, died of\nsmall-pox; she was buried in Westminster Abbey. There is a letter of\nhers written to her father which shows some signs of her mother's\naffectionate teaching, and which we cannot forbear to quote. It is\ncopied from Courtenay, vol. ii. p. 113.", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter 51", + "body": "SIR,--I deferred writing to you till I could tell you that I had\nreceived all my fine things, which I have just now done; but I thought\nnever to have done giving you thanks for them. They have made me so very\nhappy in my new clothes, and everybody that comes does admire them above\nall things, but yet not so much as I think they deserve; and now, if\npapa was near, I should think myself a perfect pope, though I hope I\nshould not be burned as there was one at Nell Gwyn's door the 5th of\nNovember, who was set in a great chair, with a red nose half a yard\nlong, with some hundreds of boys throwing squibs at it. Monsieur Gore\nand I agree mighty well, and he makes me believe I shall come to\nsomething at last; that is if he stays, which I don't doubt but he will,\nbecause all the fine ladies will petition for him. We are got rid of the\nworkmen now, and our house is ready to entertain you. Come when you\nplease, and you will meet nobody more glad to see you than your most\nobedient and dutiful daughter,\n\nD. TEMPLE.\n\n\nTemple's son, John Temple, married in 1685 a rich heiress in France, the\ndaughter of Monsieur Duplessis Rambouillet, a French Protestant; he\nbrought his wife to live at his father's house at Sheen. After King\nWilliam and Queen Mary were actually placed on the throne, Sir William\nTemple, in 1689, permitted his son to accept the office of Secretary at\nWar. For reasons now obscure and unknowable, he drowned himself in the\nThames within a week of his acceptance of office, leaving this writing\nbehind him:--\n\n\"My folly in undertaking what I was not able to perform has done the\nKing and kingdom a great deal of prejudice. I wish him all happiness and\nabler servants than John Temple.\"\n\nThe following letter was written on that occasion by Lady Temple to\nher nephew, Sir John Osborne. The original of it is at Chicksands:--", + "author": "Dorothy Osborne", + "recipient": "Sir William Temple", + "source": "The Love Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple", + "period": "1652–1654" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/henry_viii.json b/letters/henry_viii.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be282b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/henry_viii.json @@ -0,0 +1,146 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "Letter First", + "body": "On turning over in my mind the contents of your last letters, I have put\nmyself into great agony, not knowing how to interpret them, whether to my\ndisadvantage, as you show in some places, or to my advantage, as I\nunderstand them in some others, beseeching you earnestly to let me know\nexpressly your whole mind as to the love between us two. It is absolutely\nnecessary for me to obtain this answer, having been for above a whole year\nstricken with the dart of love, and not yet sure whether I shall fail of\nfinding a place in your heart and affection, which last point has\nprevented me for some time past from calling you my mistress; because, if\nyou only love me with an ordinary love, that name is not suitable for you,\nbecause it denotes a singular love, which is far from common. But if you\nplease to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give\nup yourself body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most\nloyal servant, (if your rigour does not forbid me) I promise you that not\nonly the name shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my\nonly mistress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and\naffections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire answer to\nthis my rude letter, that I may know on what and how far I may depend. And\nif it does not please you to answer me in writing, appoint some place\nwhere I may have it by word of mouth, and I will go thither with all my\nheart. No more, for fear of tiring you. Written by the hand of him who\nwould willingly remain yours,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Second", + "body": "Though it is not fitting for a gentleman to take his lady in the place of\na servant, yet, complying with your desire, I willingly grant it you, if\nthereby you can find yourself less uncomfortable in the place chosen by\nyourself, than you have been in that which I gave you, thanking you\ncordially that you are pleased still to have some remembrance of me. 6. n.\nA. 1 de A. o. na. v. e. z.\n\nHENRY R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Third", + "body": "Although, my Mistress, it has not pleased you to remember the promise you\nmade me when I was last with you--that is, to hear good news from you, and\nto have an answer to my last letter; yet it seems to me that it belongs to\na true servant (seeing that otherwise he can know nothing) to inquire the\nhealth of his mistress, and to acquit myself of the duty of a true\nservant, I send you this letter, beseeching you to apprise me of your\nwelfare, which I pray to God may continue as long as I desire mine own.\nAnd to cause you yet oftener to remember me, I send you, by the bearer of\nthis, a buck killed late last night by my own hand, hoping that when you\neat of it you may think of the hunter; and thus, for want of room, I must\nend my letter, written by the hand of your servant, who very often wishes\nfor you instead of your brother.\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Fourth", + "body": "_MY MISTRESS & FRIEND_, my heart and I surrender ourselves into your\nhands, beseeching you to hold us commended to your favour, and that by\nabsence your affection to us may not be lessened: for it were a great pity\nto increase our pain, of which absence produces enough and more than I\ncould ever have thought could be felt, reminding us of a point in\nastronomy which is this: the longer the days are, the more distant is the\nsun, and nevertheless the hotter; so is it with our love, for by absence\nwe are kept a distance from one another, and yet it retains its fervour,\nat least on my side; I hope the like on yours, assuring you that on my\npart the pain of absence is already too great for me; and when I think of\nthe increase of that which I am forced to suffer, it would be almost\nintolerable, but for the firm hope I have of your unchangeable affection\nfor me: and to remind you of this sometimes, and seeing that I cannot be\npersonally present with you, I now send you the nearest thing I can to\nthat, namely, my picture set in a bracelet, with the whole of the device,\nwhich you already know, wishing myself in their place, if it should please\nyou. This is from the hand of your loyal servant and friend,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Fifth", + "body": "For a present so beautiful that nothing could be more so (considering the\nwhole of it), I thank you most cordially, not only on account of the fine\ndiamond and the ship in which the solitary damsel is tossed about, but\nchiefly for the fine interpretation and the too humble submission which\nyour goodness hath used towards me in this case; for I think it would be\nvery difficult for me to find an occasion to deserve it, if I were not\nassisted by your great humanity and favour, which I have always sought to\nseek, and will seek to preserve by all the kindness in my power, in which\nmy hope has placed its unchangeable intention, which says, _Aut illic, aut\nnullibi_.\n\nThe demonstrations of your affection are such, the beautiful mottoes of\nthe letter so cordially expressed, that they oblige me for ever to honour,\nlove, and serve you sincerely, beseeching you to continue in the same firm\nand constant purpose, assuring you that, on my part, I will surpass it\nrather than make it reciprocal, if loyalty of heart and a desire to please\nyou can accomplish this.\n\nI beg, also, if at any time before this I have in any way offended you,\nthat you would give me the same absolution that you ask, assuring you,\nthat henceforward my heart shall be dedicated to you alone. I wish my\nperson was so too. God can do it, if He pleases, to whom I pray every day\nfor that end, hoping that at length my prayers will be heard. I wish the\ntime may be short, but I shall think it long till we see one another.\n\nWritten by the hand of that secretary, who in heart, body, and will, is,\n\nYour loyal and most assured Servant,\n\nH. sultre A.B. ne cherse R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Sixth", + "body": "_TO MY MISTRESS._ Because the time seems very long since I heard\nconcerning your health and you, the great affection I have for you has\ninduced me to send you this bearer, to be better informed of your health\nand pleasure, and because, since my parting from you, I have been told\nthat the opinion in which I left you is totally changed, and that you\nwould not come to court either with your mother, if you could, or in any\nother manner; which report, if true, I cannot sufficiently marvel at,\nbecause I am sure that I have since never done any thing to offend you,\nand it seems a very poor return for the great love which I bear you to\nkeep me at a distance both from the speech and the person of the woman\nthat I esteem most in the world: and if you love me with as much affection\nas I hope you do, I am sure that the distance of our two persons would be\na little irksome to you, though this does not belong so much to the\nmistress as to the servant.\n\nConsider well, my mistress, that absence from you grieves me sorely,\nhoping that it is not your will that it should be so; but if I knew for\ncertain that you voluntarily desired it, I could do no other than mourn\nmy ill-fortune, and by degrees abate my great folly. And so, for lack of\ntime, I make an end of this rude letter, beseeching you to give credence\nto this bearer in all that he will tell you from me.\n\nWritten by the hand of your entire Servant,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Seventh", + "body": "_DARLING_, these shall be only to advertise you that this bearer and his\nfellow be despatched with as many things to compass our matter, and to\nbring it to pass as our wits could imagine or devise; which brought to\npass, as I trust, by their diligence, it shall be shortly, you and I shall\nhave our desired end, which should be more to my heart's ease, and more\nquietness to my mind, than any other thing in the world; as, with God's\ngrace, shortly I trust shall be proved, but not so soon as I would it\nwere; yet I will ensure you that there shall be no time lost that may be\nwon, and further can not be done; for _ultra posse non est esse_. Keep him\nnot too long with you, but desire him, for your sake, to make the more\nspeed; for the sooner we shall have word from him, the sooner shall our\nmatter come to pass. And thus upon trust of your short repair to London, I\nmake an end of my letter, my own sweet heart.\n\nWritten with the hand of him which desireth as much to be yours as you do\nto have him.\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Eighth", + "body": "_MY LORD_, in my most humblest wise that my heart can think, I desire you\nto pardon me that I am so bold to trouble you with my simple and rude\nwriting, esteeming it to proceed from her that is much desirous to know\nthat your grace does well, as I perceive by this bearer that you do, the\nwhich I pray God long to continue, as I am most bound to pray; for I do\nknow the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me both day and\nnight is never likely to be recompensed on my part, but alonely in loving\nyou, next unto the king's grace, above all creatures living. And I do not\ndoubt but the daily proofs of my deeds shall manifestly declare and affirm\nmy writing to be true, and I do trust you do think the same.\n\nMy lord, I do assure you, I do long to hear from you news of the legate;\nfor I do hope, as they come from you, they shall be very good; and I am\nsure you desire it as much as I, and more, an it were possible; as I know\nit is not: and thus remaining in a steadfast hope, I make an end of my\nletter.\n\nWritten with the hand of her that is most bound to be\n\nYour humble Servant,\n\nANNE BOLEYN.\n\n\n\n\nPostscript by Henry viii\n\n\nThe writer of this letter would not cease, till she had caused me likewise\nto set my hand, desiring you, though it be short, to take it in good part.\nI ensure you that there is neither of us but greatly desireth to see you,\nand are joyous to hear that you have escaped this plague so well, trusting\nthe fury thereof to be passed, especially with them that keepeth good\ndiet, as I trust you do. The not hearing of the legate's arrival in France\ncauseth us somewhat to muse; notwithstanding, we trust, by your diligence\nand vigilancy (with the assistance of Almighty God), shortly to be eased\nout of that trouble. No more to you at this time, but that I pray God send\nyou as good health and prosperity as the writer would.\n\nBy your loving Sovereign and Friend,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Anne Boleyn", + "recipient": "Cardinal Wolsey", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Ninth", + "body": "There came to me suddenly in the night the most afflicting news that could\nhave arrived. The first, to hear of the sickness of my mistress, whom I\nesteem more than all the world, and whose health I desire as I do my own,\nso that I would gladly bear half your illness to make you well. The\nsecond, from the fear that I have of being still longer harassed by my\nenemy, Absence, much longer, who has hitherto given me all possible\nuneasiness, and as far as I can judge is determined to spite me more\nbecause I pray God to rid me of this troublesome tormentor. The third,\nbecause the physician in whom I have most confidence, is absent at the\nvery time when he might do me the greatest pleasure; for I should hope, by\nhim and his means, to obtain one of my chief joys on earth--that is the\ncare of my mistress--yet for want of him I send you my second, and hope\nthat he will soon make you well. I shall then love him more than ever. I\nbeseech you to be guided by his advice in your illness. In so doing I hope\nsoon to see you again, which will be to me a greater comfort than all the\nprecious jewels in the world.\n\nWritten by that secretary, who is, and for ever will be, your loyal and\nmost assured Servant,\n\nH. (A B) R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Tenth", + "body": "The uneasiness my doubts about your health gave me, disturbed and alarmed\nme exceedingly, and I should not have had any quiet without hearing\ncertain tidings. But now, since you have as yet felt nothing, I hope, and\nam assured that it will spare you, as I hope it is doing with us. For when\nwe were at Walton, two ushers, two valets de chambres and your brother,\nmaster-treasurer, fell ill, but are now quite well; and since we have\nreturned to our house at Hunsdon, we have been perfectly well, and have\nnot, at present, one sick person, God be praised; and I think, if you\nwould retire from Surrey, as we did, you would escape all danger. There is\nanother thing that may comfort you, which is, that, in truth in this\ndistemper few or no women have been taken ill, and what is more, no person\nof our court, and few elsewhere, have died of it. For which reason I beg\nyou, my entirely beloved, not to frighten yourself nor be too uneasy at\nour absence; for wherever I am, I am yours, and yet we must sometimes\nsubmit to our misfortunes, for whoever will struggle against fate is\ngenerally but so much the farther from gaining his end: wherefore comfort\nyourself, and take courage and avoid the pestilence as much as you can,\nfor I hope shortly to make you sing, _la renvoye_. No more at present,\nfrom lack of time, but that I wish you in my arms, that I might a little\ndispel your unreasonable thoughts.\n\nWritten by the hand of him who is and alway will be yours,\n\nIm- H. R. -mutable.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Eleventh", + "body": "The cause of my writing at this time, good sweetheart, is only to\nunderstand of your good health and prosperity; whereof to know I would be\nas glad as in manner mine own, praying God that (an it be His pleasure) to\nsend us shortly together, for I promise you I long for it. How be it, I\ntrust it shall not be long to; and seeing my darling is absent, I can do\nno less than to send her some flesh, representing my name, which is hart\nflesh for Henry, prognosticating that hereafter, God willing, you may\nenjoy some of mine, which He pleased, I would were now.\n\nAs touching your sister's matter, I have caused Walter Welze to write to\nmy lord my mind therein, whereby I trust that Eve shall not have power to\ndeceive Adam; for surely, whatsoever is said, it cannot so stand with his\nhonour but that he must needs take her, his natural daughter, now in her\nextreme necessity.\n\nNo more to you at this time, mine own darling, but that with a wish I\nwould we were together an evening.\n\nWith the hand of yours,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Twelfth", + "body": "Since your last letters, mine own darling, Walter Welshe, Master Browne,\nThos. Care, Grion of Brearton, and John Coke, the apothecary, be fallen of\nthe sweat in this house, and, thanked be God, all well recovered, so that\nas yet the plague is not fully ceased here, but I trust shortly it shall.\nBy the mercy of God, the rest of us yet be well, and I trust shall pass\nit, either not to have it, or, at the least, as easily as the rest have\ndone.\n\nAs touching the matter of Wilton, my lord cardinal hath had the nuns\nbefore him, and examined them, Mr. Bell being present; which hath\ncertified me that, for a truth, she had confessed herself (which we would\nhave had abbess) to have had two children by two sundry priests; and,\nfurther, since hath been kept by a servant of the Lord Broke that was, and\nthat not long ago. Wherefore I would not, for all the gold in the world,\nclog your conscience nor mine to make her ruler of a house which is of so\nungodly demeanour; nor, I trust, you would not that neither for brother\nnor sister, I should so destain mine honour or conscience. And, as\ntouching the prioress, or Dame Eleanor's eldest sister, though there is\nnot any evident case proved against them, and that the prioress is so old\nthat for many years she could not be as she was named; yet\nnotwithstanding, to do you pleasure, I have done that neither of them\nshall have it, but that some other good and well-disposed woman shall have\nit, whereby the house shall be the better reformed (whereof I ensure you\nit had much need), and God much the better served.\n\nAs touching your abode at Hever, do therein as best shall like you, for\nyou best know what air doth best with you; but I would it were come\nthereto (if it pleased God), that neither of us need care for that, for I\nensure you I think it long. Suche is fallen sick of the sweat, and\ntherefore I send you this bearer, because I think you long to hear\ntidings from us, as we do likewise from you.\n\nWritten with the hand _de votre seul_,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Thirteenth", + "body": "The approach of the time for which I have so long waited rejoices me so\nmuch, that it seems almost to have come already. However, the entire\naccomplishment cannot be till the two persons meet, which meeting is more\ndesired by me than anything in this world; for what joy can be greater\nupon earth than to have the company of her who is dearest to me, knowing\nlikewise that she does the same on her part, the thought of which gives me\nthe greatest pleasure.\n\nJudge what an effect the presence of that person must have on me, whose\nabsence has grieved my heart more than either words or writing can\nexpress, and which nothing can cure, but that begging you, my mistress, to\ntell your father from me, that I desire him to hasten the time appointed\nby two days, that he may be at court before the old term, or, at farthest,\non the day prefixed; for otherwise I shall think he will not do the\nlover's turn, as he said he would, nor answer my expectation.\n\nNo more at present for lack of time, hoping shortly that by word of mouth\nI shall tell you the rest of the sufferings endured by me from your\nabsence.\n\nWritten by the hand of the secretary, who wishes himself at this moment\nprivately with you, and who is, and always will be,\n\nYour loyal and most assured Servant,\n\nH. no other A B seek R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Fourteenth", + "body": "_DARLING_, I heartily recommend me to you, ascertaining you that I am not\na little perplexed with such things as your brother shall on my part\ndeclare unto you, to whom I pray you give full credence, for it were too\nlong to write. In my last letters I writ to you that I trusted shortly to\nsee you, which is better known at London than with any that is about me,\nwhereof I not a little marvel; but lack of discreet handling must needs be\nthe cause thereof. No more to you at this time, but that I trust shortly\nour meetings shall not depend upon other men's light handlings, but upon\nour own.\n\nWritten with the hand of him that longeth to be yours.\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Fifteenth", + "body": "_MINE own SWEETHEART_, this shall be to advertise you of the great\nelengeness that I find here since your departing; for, I ensure you\nmethinketh the time longer since your departing now last, than I was wont\nto do a whole fortnight. I think your kindness and my fervency of love\ncauseth it; for, otherwise, I would not have thought it possible that for\nso little a while it should have grieved me. But now that I am coming\ntowards you, methinketh my pains be half removed; and also I am right\nwell comforted in so much that my book maketh substantially for my\nmatter; in looking whereof I have spent above four hours this day, which\ncauseth me now to write the shorter letter to you at this time, because of\nsome pain in my head; wishing myself (especially an evening) in my\nsweetheart's arms, whose pretty dukkys I trust shortly to kiss.\n\nWritten by the hand of him that was, is, and shall be yours by his own\nwill,\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Sixteenth", + "body": "_DARLING_, Though I have scant leisure, yet, remembering my promise, I\nthought it convenient to certify you briefly in what case our affairs\nstand. As touching a lodging for you, we have got one by my lord\ncardinal's means, the like whereof could not have been found hereabouts\nfor all causes, as this bearer shall more show you. As touching our other\naffairs, I assure you there can be no more done, nor more diligence used,\nnor all manner of dangers better both foreseen and provided for, so that\nI trust it shall be hereafter to both our comforts, the specialities\nwhereof were both too long to be written, and hardly by messenger to be\ndeclared. Wherefore, till you repair hither, I keep something in store,\ntrusting it shall not be long to; for I have caused my lord, your father,\nto make his provisions with speed; and thus for lack of time, darling, I\nmake an end of my letter, written with the hand of him which I would were\nyours.\n\nH. R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Seventeenth", + "body": "The reasonable request of your last letter, with the pleasure also that I\ntake to know them true, causeth me to send you these news. The legate\nwhich we most desire arrived at Paris on Sunday or Monday last past, so\nthat I trust by the next Monday to hear of his arrival at Calais: and then\nI trust within a while after to enjoy that which I have so long longed\nfor, to God's pleasure and our both comforts.\n\nNo more to you at this present, mine own darling, for lack of time, but\nthat I would you were in mine arms, or I in yours, for I think it long\nsince I kissed you.\n\nWritten after the killing of a hart, at eleven of the clock, minding, with\nGod's grace, to-morrow, mightily timely, to kill another, by the hand\nwhich, I trust, shortly shall be yours.\n\nHENRY R.", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter Eighteenth", + "body": "To inform you what joy it is to me to understand of your conformableness\nwith reason, and of the suppressing of your inutile and vain thoughts with\nthe bridle of reason. I assure you all the good in this world could not\ncounterpoise for my satisfaction the knowledge and certainty thereof,\nwherefore, good sweetheart, continue the same, not only in this, but in\nall your doings hereafter; for thereby shall come, both to you and me, the\ngreatest quietness that may be in this world.\n\nThe cause why the bearer stays so long, is the business I have had to\ndress up gear for you; and which I trust, ere long to cause you occupy:\nthen I trust to occupy yours, which shall be recompense enough to me for\nall my pains and labour.\n\nThe unfeigned sickness of this well-willing legate doth somewhat retard\nhis access to your person; but I trust verily, when God shall send him\nhealth, he will with diligence recompense his demur. For I know well where\nhe hath said (touching the saying and bruit that he is thought imperial)\nthat it shall be well known in this matter that he is not imperial; and\nthus, for lack of time, sweetheart, farewell.\n\nWritten with the hand which fain would be yours, and so is the heart.\n\nR. H.\n\n\n\nFinis", + "author": "Henry VIII", + "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", + "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", + "period": "c. 1527–1528" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/keats_brawne.json b/letters/keats_brawne.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0117522 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/keats_brawne.json @@ -0,0 +1,314 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "Letter I", + "body": "Shanklin, Isle of Wight, Thursday.\n\n [_Postmark_, Newport, 3 July, 1819.]\n\n My dearest Lady,\n\n I am glad I had not an opportunity of sending off a Letter\n which I wrote for you on Tuesday night—’twas too much like\n one out of Rousseau’s Heloise. I am more reasonable this\n morning. The morning is the only proper time for me to write\n to a beautiful Girl whom I love so much: for at night, when\n the lonely day has closed, and the lonely, silent, unmusical\n Chamber is waiting to receive me as into a Sepulchre, then\n believe me my passion gets entirely the sway, then I would\n not have you see those Rhapsodies which I once thought it\n impossible I should ever give way to, and which I have often\n laughed at in another, for fear you should [think me[23]]\n either too unhappy or perhaps a little mad. I am now at a\n very pleasant Cottage window, looking onto a beautiful hilly\n country, with a glimpse of the sea; the morning is very fine.\n I do not know how elastic my spirit might be, what pleasure I\n might have in living here and breathing and wandering as free\n as a stag about this beautiful Coast if the remembrance of you\n did not weigh so upon me. I have never known any unalloy’d\n Happiness for many days together: the death or sickness of some\n one[24] has always spoilt my hours—and now when none such\n troubles oppress me, it is you must confess very hard that\n another sort of pain should haunt me. Ask yourself my love\n whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so\n destroyed my freedom. Will you confess this in the Letter you\n must write immediately and do all you can to console me in\n it—make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me—write\n the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch\n my lips where yours have been. For myself I know not how to\n express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word\n than bright, a fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were\n butterflies and liv’d but three summer days—three such days\n with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years\n could ever contain. But however selfish I may feel, I am sure I\n could never act selfishly: as I told you a day or two before I\n left Hampstead, I will never return to London if my Fate does\n not turn up Pam[25] or at least a Court-card. Though I could\n centre my Happiness in you, I cannot expect to engross your\n heart so entirely—indeed if I thought you felt as much for me\n as I do for you at this moment I do not think I could restrain\n myself from seeing you again tomorrow for the delight of one\n embrace. But no—I must live upon hope and Chance. In case of\n the worst that can happen, I shall still love you—but what\n hatred shall I have for another! Some lines I read the other\n day are continually ringing a peal in my ears:\n\n To see those eyes I prize above mine own\n Dart favors on another—\n And those sweet lips (yielding immortal nectar)\n Be gently press’d by any but myself—\n Think, think Francesca, what a cursed thing\n It were beyond expression!\n\n J.\n\n Do write immediately. There is no Post from this Place, so\n you must address Post Office, Newport, Isle of Wight. I know\n before night I shall curse myself for having sent you so cold\n a Letter; yet it is better to do it as much in my senses as\n possible. Be as kind as the distance will permit to your\n\n J. KEATS.\n\n Present my Compliments to your mother, my love to Margaret[26]\n and best remembrances to your Brother—if you please so.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter II", + "body": "July 8th.\n\n [_Postmark_, Newport, 10 July, 1819.]\n\n My sweet Girl,\n\n Your Letter gave me more delight than any thing in the world\n but yourself could do; indeed I am almost astonished that any\n absent one should have that luxurious power over my senses\n which I feel. Even when I am not thinking of you I receive\n your influence and a tenderer nature stealing upon me. All my\n thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights, have I find not at all\n cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so intense that I am\n miserable that you are not with me: or rather breathe in that\n dull sort of patience that cannot be called Life. I never knew\n before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did\n not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should\n burn me up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be\n some fire, ’twill not be more than we can bear when moistened\n and bedewed with Pleasures. You mention ‘horrid people’ and\n ask me whether it depend upon them whether I see you again.\n Do understand me, my love, in this. I have so much of you in\n my heart that I must turn Mentor when I see a chance of harm\n befalling you. I would never see any thing but Pleasure in\n your eyes, love on your lips, and Happiness in your steps. I\n would wish to see you among those amusements suitable to your\n inclinations and spirits; so that our loves might be a delight\n in the midst of Pleasures agreeable enough, rather than a\n resource from vexations and cares. But I doubt much, in case\n of the worst, whether I shall be philosopher enough to follow\n my own Lessons: if I saw my resolution give you a pain I could\n not. Why may I not speak of your Beauty, since without that I\n could never have lov’d you?—I cannot conceive any beginning\n of such love as I have for you but Beauty. There may be a sort\n of love for which, without the least sneer at it, I have the\n highest respect and can admire it in others: but it has not the\n richness, the bloom, the full form, the enchantment of love\n after my own heart. So let me speak of your Beauty, though to\n my own endangering; if you could be so cruel to me as to try\n elsewhere its Power. You say you are afraid I shall think you\n do not love me—in saying this you make me ache the more to be\n near you. I am at the diligent use of my faculties here, I do\n not pass a day without sprawling some blank verse or tagging\n some rhymes; and here I must confess, that (since I am on that\n subject) I love you the more in that I believe you have liked\n me for my own sake and for nothing else. I have met with women\n whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to\n be given away by a Novel. I have seen your Comet, and only\n wish it was a sign that poor Rice would get well whose illness\n makes him rather a melancholy companion: and the more so as so\n to conquer his feelings and hide them from me, with a forc’d\n Pun. I kiss’d your writing over in the hope you had indulg’d me\n by leaving a trace of honey. What was your dream? Tell it me\n and I will tell you the interpretation thereof.\n\n Ever yours, my love!\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n Do not accuse me of delay—we have not here an opportunity of\n sending letters every day. Write speedily.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter III", + "body": "Sunday Night.\n\n [_Postmark_, 27 July, 1819.[27]]\n\n My sweet Girl,\n\n I hope you did not blame me much for not obeying your request\n of a Letter on Saturday: we have had four in our small room\n playing at cards night and morning leaving me no undisturb’d\n opportunity to write. Now Rice and Martin are gone I am at\n liberty. Brown to my sorrow confirms the account you give of\n your ill health. You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you:\n how I would die for one hour——for what is in the world? I say\n you cannot conceive; it is impossible you should look with\n such eyes upon me as I have upon you: it cannot be. Forgive\n me if I wander a little this evening, for I have been all day\n employ’d in a very abstract Poem and I am in deep love with\n you—two things which must excuse me. I have, believe me, not\n been an age in letting you take possession of me; the very\n first week I knew you I wrote myself your vassal; but burnt\n the Letter as the very next time I saw you I thought you\n manifested some dislike to me. If you should ever feel for Man\n at the first sight what I did for you, I am lost. Yet I should\n not quarrel with you, but hate myself if such a thing were to\n happen—only I should burst if the thing were not as fine as\n a Man as you are as a Woman. Perhaps I am too vehement, then\n fancy me on my knees, especially when I mention a part of your\n Letter which hurt me; you say speaking of Mr. Severn “but you\n must be satisfied in knowing that I admired you much more\n than your friend.” My dear love, I cannot believe there ever\n was or ever could be any thing to admire in me especially as\n far as sight goes—I cannot be admired, I am not a thing to be\n admired. You are, I love you; all I can bring you is a swooning\n admiration of your Beauty. I hold that place among Men which\n snub-nos’d brunettes with meeting eyebrows do among women—they\n are trash to me—unless I should find one among them with a\n fire in her heart like the one that burns in mine. You absorb\n me in spite of myself—you alone: for I look not forward with\n any pleasure to what is call’d being settled in the world;\n I tremble at domestic cares—yet for you I would meet them,\n though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die\n than do so. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks,\n your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have\n possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world:\n it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I\n could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it.\n From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonish’d to find\n myself so careless of all charms but yours—remembering as I do\n the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest\n with me. What softer words can I find for you after this—what\n it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a\n Postscript answer any thing else you may have mentioned in your\n Letter in so many words—for I am distracted with a thousand\n thoughts. I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray\n to your star like a Heathen.\n\n Your’s ever, fair Star,\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n My seal is mark’d like a family table cloth with my Mother’s\n initial F for Fanny:[28] put between my Father’s initials. You\n will soon hear from me again. My respectful Compliments to your\n Mother. Tell Margaret I’ll send her a reef of best rocks and\n tell Sam[29] I will give him my light bay hunter if he will tie\n the Bishop hand and foot and pack him in a hamper and send him\n down for me to bathe him for his health with a Necklace of good\n snubby stones about his Neck.[30]", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter IV", + "body": "Shanklin, Thursday Night.\n\n [_Postmark,_ Newport, 9 August, 1819.]\n\n My dear Girl,\n\n You say you must not have any more such Letters as the last:\n I’ll try that you shall not by running obstinate the other\n way. Indeed I have not fair play—I am not idle enough for\n proper downright love-letters—I leave this minute a scene in\n our Tragedy[31] and see you (think it not blasphemy) through\n the mist of Plots, speeches, counterplots and counterspeeches.\n The Lover is madder than I am—I am nothing to him—he has a\n figure like the Statue of Meleager and double distilled fire\n in his heart. Thank God for my diligence! were it not for\n that I should be miserable. I encourage it, and strive not to\n think of you—but when I have succeeded in doing so all day and\n as far as midnight, you return, as soon as this artificial\n excitement goes off, more severely from the fever I am left\n in. Upon my soul I cannot say what you could like me for. I\n do not think myself a fright any more than I do Mr. A., Mr.\n B., and Mr. C.—yet if I were a woman I should not like A. B.\n C. But enough of this. So you intend to hold me to my promise\n of seeing you in a short time. I shall keep it with as much\n sorrow as gladness: for I am not one of the Paladins of old\n who liv’d upon water grass and smiles for years together. What\n though would I not give tonight for the gratification of my\n eyes alone? This day week we shall move to Winchester; for I\n feel the want of a Library.[32] Brown will leave me there to\n pay a visit to Mr. Snook at Bedhampton: in his absence I will\n flit to you and back. I will stay very little while, for as I\n am in a train of writing now I fear to disturb it—let it have\n its course bad or good—in it I shall try my own strength and\n the public pulse. At Winchester I shall get your Letters more\n readily; and it being a cathedral City I shall have a pleasure\n always a great one to me when near a Cathedral, of reading them\n during the service up and down the Aisle.\n\n _Friday Morning._—Just as I had written thus far last night,\n Brown came down in his morning coat and nightcap, saying he\n had been refresh’d by a good sleep and was very hungry. I left\n him eating and went to bed, being too tired to enter into\n any discussions. You would delight very greatly in the walks\n about here; the Cliffs, woods, hills, sands, rocks &c. about\n here. They are however not so fine but I shall give them a\n hearty good bye to exchange them for my Cathedral.—Yet again\n I am not so tired of Scenery as to hate Switzerland. We might\n spend a pleasant year at Berne or Zurich—if it should please\n Venus to hear my “Beseech thee to hear us O Goddess.” And\n if she should hear, God forbid we should what people call,\n _settle_—turn into a pond, a stagnant Lethe—a vile crescent,\n row or buildings. Better be imprudent moveables than prudent\n fixtures. Open my Mouth at the Street door like the Lion’s head\n at Venice to receive hateful cards, letters, messages. Go out\n and wither at tea parties; freeze at dinners; bake at dances;\n simmer at routs. No my love, trust yourself to me and I will\n find you nobler amusements, fortune favouring. I fear you will\n not receive this till Sunday or Monday: as the Irishman would\n write do not in the mean while hate me. I long to be off for\n Winchester, for I begin to dislike the very door-posts here—the\n names, the pebbles. You ask after my health, not telling me\n whether you are better. I am quite well. You going out is no\n proof that you are: how is it? Late hours will do you great\n harm. What fairing is it? I was alone for a couple of days\n while Brown went gadding over the country with his ancient\n knapsack. Now I like his society as well as any Man’s, yet\n regretted his return—it broke in upon me like a Thunderbolt.\n I had got in a dream among my Books—really luxuriating in a\n solitude and silence you alone should have disturb’d.\n\n Your ever affectionate\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter V", + "body": "Winchester, August 17th.[33]\n\n [_Postmark_, 16 August, 1819.]\n\n My dear Girl—what shall I say for myself? I have been here\n four days and not yet written you—’tis true I have had many\n teasing letters of business to dismiss—and I have been in the\n Claws, like a serpent in an Eagle’s, of the last act of our\n Tragedy. This is no excuse; I know it; I do not presume to\n offer it. I have no right either to ask a speedy answer to\n let me know how lenient you are—I must remain some days in a\n Mist—I see you through a Mist: as I daresay you do me by this\n time. Believe in the first Letters I wrote you: I assure you I\n felt as I wrote—I could not write so now. The thousand images I\n have had pass through my brain—my uneasy spirits—my unguess’d\n fate—all spread as a veil between me and you. Remember I have\n had no idle leisure to brood over you—’tis well perhaps I\n have not. I could not have endured the throng of jealousies\n that used to haunt me before I had plunged so deeply into\n imaginary interests. I would fain, as my sails are set, sail\n on without an interruption for a Brace of Months longer—I am\n in complete cue—in the fever; and shall in these four Months\n do an immense deal. This Page as my eye skims over it I see is\n excessively unloverlike and ungallant—I cannot help it—I am\n no officer in yawning quarters; no Parson-Romeo. My Mind is\n heap’d to the full; stuff’d like a cricket ball—if I strive to\n fill it more it would burst. I know the generality of women\n would hate me for this; that I should have so unsoften’d, so\n hard a Mind as to forget them; forget the brightest realities\n for the dull imaginations of my own Brain. But I conjure you\n to give it a fair thinking; and ask yourself whether ’tis not\n better to explain my feelings to you, than write artificial\n Passion.—Besides, you would see through it. It would be vain\n to strive to deceive you. ’Tis harsh, harsh, I know it. My\n heart seems now made of iron—I could not write a proper answer\n to an invitation to Idalia. You are my Judge: my forehead is\n on the ground. You seem offended at a little simple innocent\n childish playfulness in my last. I did not seriously mean to\n say that you were endeavouring to make me keep my promise. I\n beg your pardon for it. ’Tis but _just_ your Pride should\n take the alarm—_seriously_. You say I may do as I please—I do\n not think with any conscience I can; my cash resources are for\n the present stopp’d; I fear for some time. I spend no money,\n but it increases my debts. I have all my life thought very\n little of these matters—they seem not to belong to me. It may\n be a proud sentence; but by Heaven I am as entirely above all\n matters of interest as the Sun is above the Earth—and though\n of my own money I should be careless; of my Friends’ I must be\n spare. You see how I go on—like so many strokes of a hammer.\n I cannot help it—I am impell’d, driven to it. I am not happy\n enough for silken Phrases, and silver sentences. I can no more\n use soothing words to you than if I were at this moment engaged\n in a charge of Cavalry. Then you will say I should not write at\n all.—Should I not? This Winchester is a fine place: a beautiful\n Cathedral and many other ancient buildings in the Environs.\n The little coffin of a room at Shanklin is changed for a large\n room, where I can promenade at my pleasure—looks out onto a\n beautiful—blank side of a house. It is strange I should like it\n better than the view of the sea from our window at Shanklin. I\n began to hate the very posts there—the voice of the old Lady\n over the way was getting a great Plague. The Fisherman’s face\n never altered any more than our black teapot—the knob however\n was knock’d off to my little relief. I am getting a great\n dislike of the picturesque; and can only relish it over again\n by seeing you enjoy it. One of the pleasantest things I have\n seen lately was at Cowes. The Regent in his Yatch[34] (I think\n they spell it) was anchored opposite—a beautiful vessel—and all\n the Yatchs and boats on the coast were passing and repassing\n it; and circuiting and tacking about it in every direction—I\n never beheld anything so silent, light, and graceful.—As we\n pass’d over to Southampton, there was nearly an accident.\n There came by a Boat well mann’d, with two naval officers at\n the stern. Our Bow-lines took the top of their little mast\n and snapped it off close by the board. Had the mast been a\n little stouter they would have been upset. In so trifling an\n event I could not help admiring our seamen—neither officer nor\n man in the whole Boat moved a muscle—they scarcely notic’d it\n even with words. Forgive me for this flint-worded Letter, and\n believe and see that I cannot think of you without some sort of\n energy—though mal à propos. Even as I leave off it seems to me\n that a few more moments’ thought of you would uncrystallize and\n dissolve me. I must not give way to it—but turn to my writing\n again—if I fail I shall die hard. O my love, your lips are\n growing sweet again to my fancy—I must forget them. Ever your\n affectionate\n\n KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VI", + "body": "Fleet Street,[35] Monday Morn.\n\n [_Postmark_, Lombard Street, 14 September, 1819.]\n\n My dear Girl,\n\n I have been hurried to town by a Letter from my brother George;\n it is not of the brightest intelligence. Am I mad or not?\n I came by the Friday night coach and have not yet been to\n Hampstead. Upon my soul it is not my fault. I cannot resolve\n to mix any pleasure with my days: they go one like another,\n undistinguishable. If I were to see you today it would\n destroy the half comfortable sullenness I enjoy at present\n into downright perplexities. I love you too much to venture\n to Hampstead, I feel it is not paying a visit, but venturing\n into a fire. _Que feraije?_ as the French novel writers say\n in fun, and I in earnest: really what can I do? Knowing well\n that my life must be passed in fatigue and trouble, I have\n been endeavouring to wean myself from you: for to myself alone\n what can be much of a misery? As far as they regard myself\n I can despise all events: but I cannot cease to love you.\n This morning I scarcely know what I am doing. I am going to\n Walthamstow. I shall return to Winchester tomorrow;[36] whence\n you shall hear from me in a few days. I am a Coward, I cannot\n bear the pain of being happy: ’tis out of the question: I must\n admit no thought of it.\n\n Yours ever affectionately\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VII", + "body": "College Street.[37]\n\n [_Postmark_, 11 October, 1819.]\n\n My sweet Girl,\n\n I am living today in yesterday: I was in a complete fascination\n all day. I feel myself at your mercy. Write me ever so few\n lines and tell me you will never for ever be less kind to\n me than yesterday.—You dazzled me. There is nothing in the\n world so bright and delicate. When Brown came out with that\n seemingly true story against me last night, I felt it would\n be death to me if you had ever believed it—though against any\n one else I could muster up my obstinacy. Before I knew Brown\n could disprove it I was for the moment miserable. When shall\n we pass a day alone? I have had a thousand kisses, for which\n with my whole soul I thank love—but if you should deny me the\n thousand and first—’twould put me to the proof how great a\n misery I could live through. If you should ever carry your\n threat yesterday into execution—believe me ’tis not my pride,\n my vanity or any petty passion would torment me—really ’twould\n hurt my heart—I could not bear it. I have seen Mrs. Dilke this\n morning; she says she will come with me any fine day.\n\n Ever yours\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n Ah hertè mine!", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter VIII", + "body": "25 College Street.\n\n [_Postmark_, 13 October, 1819.]\n\n My dearest Girl,\n\n This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair. I\n cannot proceed with any degree of content. I must write you a\n line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from\n my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of\n nothing else. The time is passed when I had power to advise\n and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My\n love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am\n forgetful of everything but seeing you again—my Life seems to\n stop there—I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a\n sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving—I\n should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing\n you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you. My\n sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it? I\n have no limit now to my love.... Your note came in just here. I\n cannot be happier away from you. ’Tis richer than an Argosy of\n Pearles. Do not threat me even in jest. I have been astonished\n that Men could die Martyrs for religion—I have shudder’d at it.\n I shudder no more—I could be martyr’d for my Religion—Love is\n my religion—I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed\n is Love and you are its only tenet. You have ravish’d me away\n by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I could resist till I saw\n you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavoured often\n “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no\n more—the pain would be too great. My love is selfish. I cannot\n breathe without you.\n\n Yours for ever\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter IX", + "body": "Great Smith Street, Tuesday Morn.\n\n [_Postmark_, College Street, 19 October, 1819.]\n\n My sweet Fanny,\n\n On awakening from my three days dream (“I cry to dream\n again”) I find one and another astonish’d at my idleness and\n thoughtlessness. I was miserable last night—the morning is\n always restorative. I must be busy, or try to be so. I have\n several things to speak to you of tomorrow morning. Mrs.\n Dilke I should think will tell you that I purpose living at\n Hampstead. I must impose chains upon myself. I shall be able to\n do nothing. I should like to cast the die for Love or death. I\n have no Patience with any thing else—if you ever intend to be\n cruel to me as you say in jest now but perhaps may sometimes\n be in earnest, be so now—and I will—my mind is in a tremble, I\n cannot tell what I am writing.\n\n Ever my love yours\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n\n\n\nX TO XXXII.\n\nWENTWORTH PLACE.\n\n\n\n\nX—XXXII.\n\nWENTWORTH PLACE.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter X", + "body": "Dearest Fanny, I shall send this the moment you return. They\n say I must remain confined to this room for some time. The\n consciousness that you love me will make a pleasant prison of\n the house next to yours. You must come and see me frequently:\n this evening, without fail—when you must not mind about my\n speaking in a low tone for I am ordered to do so though I _can_\n speak out.\n\n Yours ever sweetest love.—\n\n J. KEATS.\n\n turn over\n\n Perhaps your Mother is not at home and so you must wait till\n she comes. You must see me tonight and let me hear you promise\n to come tomorrow.\n\n Brown told me you were all out. I have been looking for the\n stage the whole afternoon. Had I known this I could not have\n remain’d so silent all day.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XI", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n If illness makes such an agreeable variety in the manner of\n your eyes I should wish you sometimes to be ill. I wish I had\n read your note before you went last night that I might have\n assured you how far I was from suspecting any coldness. You\n had a just right to be a little silent to one who speaks so\n plainly to you. You must believe—you shall, you will—that I\n can do nothing, say nothing, think nothing of you but what\n has its spring in the Love which has so long been my pleasure\n and torment. On the night I was taken ill—when so violent a\n rush of blood came to my Lungs that I felt nearly suffocated—I\n assure you I felt it possible I might not survive, and at that\n moment thought of nothing but you. When I said to Brown “this\n is unfortunate”[38] I thought of you. ’Tis true that since\n the first two or three days other subjects have entered my\n head.[39] I shall be looking forward to Health and the Spring\n and a regular routine of our old Walks.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XII", + "body": "My sweet love, I shall wait patiently till tomorrow before I\n see you, and in the mean time, if there is any need of such\n a thing, assure you by your Beauty, that whenever I have at\n any time written on a certain unpleasant subject, it has been\n with your welfare impress’d upon my mind. How hurt I should\n have been had you ever acceded to what is, notwithstanding,\n very reasonable! How much the more do I love you from the\n general result! In my present state of Health I feel too much\n separated from you and could almost speak to you in the words\n of Lorenzo’s Ghost to Isabella\n\n “Your Beauty grows upon me and I feel\n A greater love through all my essence steal.”\n\n My greatest torment since I have known you has been the\n fear of you being a little inclined to the Cressid; but that\n suspicion I dismiss utterly and remain happy in the surety of\n your Love, which I assure you is as much a wonder to me as a\n delight. Send me the words ‘Good night’ to put under my pillow.\n\n Dearest Fanny,\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIII", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n According to all appearances I am to be separated from you as\n much as possible. How I shall be able to bear it, or whether\n it will not be worse than your presence now and then, I cannot\n tell. I must be patient, and in the mean time you must think\n of it as little as possible. Let me not longer detain you from\n going to Town—there may be no end to this imprisoning of you.\n Perhaps you had better not come before tomorrow evening: send\n me however without fail a good night.\n\n You know our situation——what hope is there if I should be\n recovered ever so soon—my very health will not suffer me to\n make any great exertion. I am recommended not even to read\n poetry, much less write it. I wish I had even a little hope.\n I cannot say forget me—but I would mention that there are\n impossibilities in the world. No more of this. I am not strong\n enough to be weaned—take no notice of it in your good night.\n\n Happen what may I shall ever be my dearest Love\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIV", + "body": "My dearest Girl, how could it ever have been my wish to forget\n you? how could I have said such a thing? The utmost stretch my\n mind has been capable of was to endeavour to forget you for\n your own sake seeing what a chance there was of my remaining\n in a precarious state of health. I would have borne it as I\n would bear death if fate was in that humour: but I should as\n soon think of choosing to die as to part from you. Believe too\n my Love that our friends think and speak for the best, and\n if their best is not our best it is not their fault. When I\n am better I will speak with you at large on these subjects,\n if there is any occasion—I think there is none. I am rather\n nervous today perhaps from being a little recovered and\n suffering my mind to take little excursions beyond the doors\n and windows. I take it for a good sign, but as it must not be\n encouraged you had better delay seeing me till tomorrow. Do not\n take the trouble of writing much: merely send me my good night.\n\n Remember me to your Mother and Margaret.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XV", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n Then all we have to do is to be patient. Whatever violence I\n may sometimes do myself by hinting at what would appear to any\n one but ourselves a matter of necessity, I do not think I could\n bear any approach of a thought of losing you. I slept well last\n night, but cannot say that I improve very fast. I shall expect\n you tomorrow, for it is certainly better that I should see you\n seldom. Let me have your good night.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVI", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n I read your note in bed last night, and that might be the\n reason of my sleeping so much better. I think Mr Brown[40]\n is right in supposing you may stop too long with me, so very\n nervous as I am. Send me every evening a written Good night. If\n you come for a few minutes about six it may be the best time.\n Should you ever fancy me too low-spirited I must warn you to\n ascribe it to the medicine I am at present taking which is of\n a nerve-shaking nature. I shall impute any depression I may\n experience to this cause. I have been writing with a vile old\n pen the whole week, which is excessively ungallant. The fault\n is in the Quill: I have mended it and still it is very much\n inclin’d to make blind es. However these last lines are in a\n much better style of penmanship, tho’ a little disfigured by\n the smear of black currant jelly; which has made a little mark\n on one of the pages of Brown’s Ben Jonson, the very best book\n he has. I have lick’d it but it remains very purple. I did not\n know whether to say purple or blue so in the mixture of the\n thought wrote purplue which may be an excellent name for a\n colour made up of those two, and would suit well to start next\n spring. Be very careful of open doors and windows and going\n without your duffle grey. God bless you Love!\n\n J. KEATS.\n\n P.S. I am sitting in the back room. Remember me to your Mother.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVII", + "body": "My dear Fanny,\n\n Do not let your mother suppose that you hurt me by writing at\n night. For some reason or other your last night’s note was not\n so treasureable as former ones. I would fain that you call me\n _Love_ still. To see you happy and in high spirits is a great\n consolation to me—still let me believe that you are not half\n so happy as my restoration would make you. I am nervous, I\n own, and may think myself worse than I really am; if so you\n must indulge me, and pamper with that sort of tenderness you\n have manifested towards me in different Letters. My sweet\n creature when I look back upon the pains and torments I have\n suffer’d for you from the day I left you to go to the Isle of\n Wight; the ecstasies in which I have pass’d some days and the\n miseries in their turn, I wonder the more at the Beauty which\n has kept up the spell so fervently. When I send this round I\n shall be in the front parlour watching to see you show yourself\n for a minute in the garden. How illness stands as a barrier\n betwixt me and you! Even if I was well——I must make myself as\n good a Philosopher as possible. Now I have had opportunities of\n passing nights anxious and awake I have found other thoughts\n intrude upon me. “If I should die,” said I to myself, “I have\n left no immortal work behind me—nothing to make my friends\n proud of my memory—but I have lov’d the principle of beauty\n in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself\n remember’d.” Thoughts like these came very feebly whilst I\n was in health and every pulse beat for you—now you divide with\n this (may _I_ say it?) “last infirmity of noble minds” all my\n reflection.\n\n God bless you, Love.\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XVIII", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n You spoke of having been unwell in your last note: have you\n recover’d? That note has been a great delight to me. I am\n stronger than I was: the Doctors say there is very little the\n matter with me, but I cannot believe them till the weight and\n tightness of my Chest is mitigated. I will not indulge or pain\n myself by complaining of my long separation from you. God alone\n knows whether I am destined to taste of happiness with you: at\n all events I myself know thus much, that I consider it no mean\n Happiness to have lov’d you thus far—if it is to be no further\n I shall not be unthankful—if I am to recover, the day of my\n recovery shall see me by your side from which nothing shall\n separate me. If well you are the only medicine that can keep me\n so. Perhaps, aye surely, I am writing in too depress’d a state\n of mind—ask your Mother to come and see me—she will bring you a\n better account than mine.\n\n Ever your affectionate\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XIX", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n Indeed I will not deceive you with respect to my Health. This\n is the fact as far as I know. I have been confined three\n weeks[41] and am not yet well—this proves that there is\n something wrong about me which my constitution will either\n conquer or give way to. Let us hope for the best. Do you hear\n the Thrush singing over the field? I think it is a sign of mild\n weather—so much the better for me. Like all Sinners now I am\n ill I philosophize, aye out of my attachment to every thing,\n Trees, Flowers, Thrushes, Spring, Summer, Claret, &c. &c.—aye\n every thing but you.—My sister would be glad of my company a\n little longer. That Thrush is a fine fellow. I hope he was\n fortunate in his choice this year. Do not send any more of\n my Books home. I have a great pleasure in the thought of you\n looking on them.\n\n Ever yours my sweet Fanny\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XX", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n I continue much the same as usual, I think a little better. My\n spirits are better also, and consequently I am more resign’d to\n my confinement. I dare not think of you much or write much to\n you. Remember me to all.\n\n Ever your affectionate\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXI", + "body": "My dear Fanny,\n\n I think you had better not make any long stay with me when Mr.\n Brown is at home. Whenever he goes out you may bring your work.\n You will have a pleasant walk today. I shall see you pass. I\n shall follow you with my eyes over the Heath. Will you come\n towards evening instead of before dinner? When you are gone,\n ’tis past—if you do not come till the evening I have something\n to look forward to all day. Come round to my window for a\n moment when you have read this. Thank your Mother, for the\n preserves, for me. The raspberry will be too sweet not having\n any acid; therefore as you are so good a girl I shall make you\n a present of it. Good bye\n\n My sweet Love!\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXII", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n The power of your benediction is of not so weak a nature as\n to pass from the ring in four and twenty hours—it is like a\n sacred Chalice once consecrated and ever consecrate. I shall\n kiss your name and mine where your Lips have been—Lips! why\n should a poor prisoner as I am talk about such things? Thank\n God, though I hold them the dearest pleasures in the universe,\n I have a consolation independent of them in the certainty\n of your affection. I could write a song in the style of Tom\n Moore’s Pathetic about Memory if that would be any relief to\n me. No—’twould not. I will be as obstinate as a Robin, I will\n not sing in a cage. Health is my expected heaven and you are\n the Houri——this word I believe is both singular and plural—if\n only plural, never mind—you are a thousand of them.\n\n Ever yours affectionately my dearest,\n\n J. K.\n\n You had better not come to day.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIII", + "body": "My dearest Love,\n\n You must not stop so long in the cold—I have been suspecting\n that window to be open.—Your note half-cured me. When I want\n some more oranges I will tell you—these are just à propos. I am\n kept from food so feel rather weak—otherwise very well. Pray do\n not stop so long upstairs—it makes me uneasy—come every now and\n then and stop a half minute. Remember me to your Mother.\n\n Your ever affectionate\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIV", + "body": "Sweetest Fanny,\n\n You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish? My\n dear Girl I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The\n more I have known the more have I lov’d. In every way—even\n my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit\n I ever had I would have died for you. I have vex’d you too\n much. But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new. The\n last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the\n brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. When you pass’d\n my window home yesterday, I was fill’d with as much admiration\n as if I had then seen you for the first time. You uttered\n a half complaint once that I only lov’d your beauty. Have I\n nothing else then to love in you but that? Do not I see a heart\n naturally furnish’d with wings imprison itself with me? No ill\n prospect has been able to turn your thoughts a moment from me.\n This perhaps should be as much a subject of sorrow as joy—but I\n will not talk of that. Even if you did not love me I could not\n help an entire devotion to you: how much more deeply then must\n I feel for you knowing you love me. My Mind has been the most\n discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too\n small for it. I never felt my Mind repose upon anything with\n complete and undistracted enjoyment—upon no person but you.\n When you are in the room my thoughts never fly out of window:\n you always concentrate my whole senses. The anxiety shown about\n our Loves in your last note is an immense pleasure to me:\n however you must not suffer such speculations to molest you any\n more: nor will I any more believe you can have the least pique\n against me. Brown is gone out—but here is Mrs. Wylie[42]—when\n she is gone I shall be awake for you.—Remembrances to your\n Mother.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXV", + "body": "My dear Fanny,\n\n I am much better this morning than I was a week ago: indeed I\n improve a little every day. I rely upon taking a walk with you\n upon the first of May: in the mean time undergoing a babylonish\n captivity I shall not be jew enough to hang up my harp upon\n a willow, but rather endeavour to clear up my arrears in\n versifying, and with returning health begin upon something new:\n pursuant to which resolution it will be necessary to have my or\n rather Taylor’s manuscript,[43] which you, if you please, will\n send by my Messenger either today or tomorrow. Is Mr. D.[44]\n with you today? You appeared very much fatigued last night: you\n must look a little brighter this morning. I shall not suffer\n my little girl ever to be obscured like glass breath’d upon,\n but always bright as it is her _nature to_. Feeding upon sham\n victuals and sitting by the fire will completely annul me. I\n have no need of an enchanted wax figure to duplicate me, for\n I am melting in my proper person before the fire. If you meet\n with anything better (worse) than common in your Magazines let\n me see it.\n\n Good bye my sweetest Girl.\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVI", + "body": "My dearest Fanny, whenever you know me to be alone, come, no\n matter what day. Why will you go out this weather? I shall\n not fatigue myself with writing too much I promise you. Brown\n says I am getting stouter.[45] I rest well and from last\n night do not remember any thing horrid in my dream, which is a\n capital symptom, for any organic derangement always occasions a\n Phantasmagoria. It will be a nice idle amusement to hunt after\n a motto for my Book which I will have if lucky enough to hit\n upon a fit one—not intending to write a preface. I fear I am\n too late with my note—you are gone out—you will be as cold as a\n topsail in a north latitude—I advise you to furl yourself and\n come in a doors.\n\n Good bye Love.\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVII", + "body": "My dearest Fanny, I slept well last night and am no worse this\n morning for it. Day by day if I am not deceived I get a more\n unrestrain’d use of my Chest. The nearer a racer gets to the\n Goal the more his anxiety becomes; so I lingering upon the\n borders of health feel my impatience increase. Perhaps on your\n account I have imagined my illness more serious than it is:\n how horrid was the chance of slipping into the ground instead\n of into your arms—the difference is amazing Love. Death must\n come at last; Man must die, as Shallow says; but before that\n is my fate I fain would try what more pleasures than you have\n given, so sweet a creature as you can give. Let me have another\n opportunity of years before me and I will not die without\n being remember’d. Take care of yourself dear that we may both\n be well in the Summer. I do not at all fatigue myself with\n writing, having merely to put a line or two here and there, a\n Task which would worry a stout state of the body and mind, but\n which just suits me as I can do no more.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration]", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXVIII", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n I had a better night last night than I have had since my\n attack, and this morning I am the same as when you saw me. I\n have been turning over two volumes of Letters written between\n Rousseau and two Ladies in the perplexed strain of mingled\n finesse and sentiment in which the Ladies and gentlemen of\n those days were so clever, and which is still prevalent among\n Ladies of this Country who live in a state of reasoning\n romance. The likeness however only extends to the mannerism,\n not to the dexterity. What would Rousseau have said at seeing\n our little correspondence! What would his Ladies have said!\n I don’t care much—I would sooner have Shakspeare’s opinion\n about the matter. The common gossiping of washerwomen must be\n less disgusting than the continual and eternal fence and attack\n of Rousseau and these sublime Petticoats. One calls herself\n Clara and her friend Julia, two of Rousseau’s heroines—they all\n [_sic_, but qy. _at_] the same time christen poor Jean Jacques\n St. Preux—who is the pure cavalier of his famous novel. Thank\n God I am born in England with our own great Men before my eyes.\n Thank God that you are fair and can love me without being\n Letter-written and sentimentaliz’d into it.—Mr. Barry Cornwall\n has sent me another Book, his first, with a polite note.[46] I\n must do what I can to make him sensible of the esteem I have\n for his kindness. If this north east would take a turn it would\n be so much the better for me. Good bye, my love, my dear love,\n my beauty—\n\n love me for ever.\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXIX", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n Though I shall see you in so short a time I cannot forbear\n sending you a few lines. You say I did not give you yesterday a\n minute account of my health. Today I have left off the Medicine\n which I took to keep the pulse down and I find I can do very\n well without it, which is a very favourable sign, as it shows\n there is no inflammation remaining. You think I may be wearied\n at night you say: it is my best time; I am at my best about\n eight o’Clock. I received a Note from Mr. Procter[47] today.\n He says he cannot pay me a visit this weather as he is fearful\n of an inflammation in the Chest. What a horrid climate this\n is? or what careless inhabitants it has? You are one of them.\n My dear girl do not make a joke of it: do not expose yourself\n to the cold. There’s the Thrush again—I can’t afford it—he’ll\n run me up a pretty Bill for Music—besides he ought to know I\n deal at Clementi’s. How can you bear so long an imprisonment at\n Hampstead? I shall always remember it with all the gusto that a\n monopolizing carle should. I could build an Altar to you for it.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXX", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n As, from the last part of my note you must see how gratified I\n have been by your remaining at home, you might perhaps conceive\n that I was equally bias’d the other way by your going to Town,\n I cannot be easy tonight without telling you you would be\n wrong to suppose so. Though I am pleased with the one, I am\n not displeased with the other. How do I dare to write in this\n manner about my pleasures and displeasures? I will tho’ whilst\n I am an invalid, in spite of you. Good night, Love!\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXI", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n In consequence of our company I suppose I shall not see you\n before tomorrow. I am much better today—indeed all I have to\n complain of is want of strength and a little tightness in the\n Chest. I envied Sam’s walk with you today; which I will not do\n again as I may get very tired of envying. I imagine you now\n sitting in your new black dress which I like so much and if\n I were a little less selfish and more enthusiastic I should\n run round and surprise you with a knock at the door. I fear\n I am too prudent for a dying kind of Lover. Yet, there is a\n great difference between going off in warm blood like Romeo,\n and making one’s exit like a frog in a frost. I had nothing\n particular to say today, but not intending that there shall be\n any interruption to our correspondence (which at some future\n time I propose offering to Murray) I write something. God bless\n you my sweet Love! Illness is a long lane, but I see you at the\n end of it, and shall mend my pace as well as possible.\n\n J. K.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXII", + "body": "Dear Girl,\n\n Yesterday you must have thought me worse than I really was. I\n assure you there was nothing but regret at being obliged to\n forego an embrace which has so many times been the highest\n gust of my Life. I would not care for health without it. Sam\n would not come in—I wanted merely to ask him how you were\n this morning. When one is not quite well we turn for relief\n to those we love: this is no weakness of spirit in me: you\n know when in health I thought of nothing but you; when I shall\n again be so it will be the same. Brown has been mentioning\n to me that some hint from Sam, last night, occasions him\n some uneasiness. He whispered something to you concerning\n Brown and old Mr. Dilke[48] which had the complexion of being\n something derogatory to the former. It was connected with\n an anxiety about Mr. D. Sr’s death and an anxiety to set\n out for Chichester. These sort of hints point out their own\n solution: one cannot pretend to a delicate ignorance on the\n subject: you understand the whole matter. If any one, my sweet\n Love, has misrepresented, to you, to your Mother or Sam, any\n circumstances which are at all likely, at a tenth remove, to\n create suspicions among people who from their own interested\n notions slander others, pray tell me: for I feel the least\n attaint on the disinterested character of Brown very deeply.\n Perhaps Reynolds or some other of my friends may come towards\n evening, therefore you may choose whether you will come to see\n me early today before or after dinner as you may think fit.\n Remember me to your Mother and tell her to drag you to me if\n you show the least reluctance—\n\n ...\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII to XXXVII.\n\nKENTISH TOWN—PREPARING FOR ITALY.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII-XXXVII.\n\nKENTISH TOWN—PREPARING FOR ITALY.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXIII", + "body": "My dearest Girl,\n\n I endeavour to make myself as patient as possible. Hunt amuses\n me very kindly—besides I have your ring on my finger and your\n flowers on the table. I shall not expect to see you yet because\n it would be so much pain to part with you again. When the\n Books you want come you shall have them. I am very well this\n afternoon. My dearest ...\n\n [Signature cut off.[49]]", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXIV", + "body": "Tuesday Afternoon.\n\n My dearest Fanny,\n\n For this Week past I have been employed in marking the most\n beautiful passages in Spenser, intending it for you, and\n comforting myself in being somehow occupied to give you however\n small a pleasure. It has lightened my time very much. I am much\n better. God bless you.\n\n Your affectionate\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXV", + "body": "Wednesday Morning.\n\n My dearest Fanny,\n\n I have been a walk this morning with a book in my hand, but as\n usual I have been occupied with nothing but you: I wish I could\n say in an agreeable manner. I am tormented day and night. They\n talk of my going to Italy. ’Tis certain I shall never recover\n if I am to be so long separate from you: yet with all this\n devotion to you I cannot persuade myself into any confidence\n of you. Past experience connected with the fact of my long\n separation from you gives me agonies which are scarcely to be\n talked of. When your mother comes I shall be very sudden and\n expert in asking her whether you have been to Mrs. Dilke’s, for\n she might say no to make me easy. I am literally worn to death,\n which seems my only recourse. I cannot forget what has pass’d.\n What? nothing with a man of the world, but to me deathful. I\n will get rid of this as much as possible. When you were in the\n habit of flirting with Brown you would have left off, could\n your own heart have felt one half of one pang mine did. Brown\n is a good sort of Man—he did not know he was doing me to death\n by inches. I feel the effect of every one of those hours in\n my side now; and for that cause, though he has done me many\n services, though I know his love and friendship for me, though\n at this moment I should be without pence were it not for his\n assistance, I will never see or speak to him[50] until we are\n both old men, if we are to be. I _will_ resent my heart having\n been made a football. You will call this madness. I have heard\n you say that it was not unpleasant to wait a few years—you have\n amusements—your mind is away—you have not brooded over one\n idea as I have, and how should you? You are to me an object\n intensely desirable—the air I breathe in a room empty of you is\n unhealthy. I am not the same to you—no—you can wait—you have a\n thousand activities—you can be happy without me. Any party, any\n thing to fill up the day has been enough. How have you pass’d\n this month?[51] Who have you smil’d with? All this may seem\n savage in me. You do not feel as I do—you do not know what it\n is to love—one day you may—your time is not come. Ask yourself\n how many unhappy hours Keats has caused you in Loneliness. For\n myself I have been a Martyr the whole time, and for this reason\n I speak; the confession is forc’d from me by the torture. I\n appeal to you by the blood of that Christ you believe in: Do\n not write to me if you have done anything this month which it\n would have pained me to have seen. You may have altered—if\n you have not—if you still behave in dancing rooms and other\n societies as I have seen you—I do not want to live—if you have\n done so I wish this coming night may be my last. I cannot live\n without you, and not only you but _chaste you_; _virtuous you_.\n The Sun rises and sets, the day passes, and you follow the bent\n of your inclination to a certain extent—you have no conception\n of the quantity of miserable feeling that passes through me in\n a day.—Be serious! Love is not a plaything—and again do not\n write unless you can do it with a crystal conscience. I would\n sooner die for want of you than——\n\n Yours for ever\n\n J. KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXVI", + "body": "My dearest Fanny,\n\n My head is puzzled this morning, and I scarce know what I\n shall say though I am full of a hundred things. ’Tis certain I\n would rather be writing to you this morning, notwithstanding\n the alloy of grief in such an occupation, than enjoy any other\n pleasure, with health to boot, unconnected with you. Upon my\n soul I have loved you to the extreme. I wish you could know the\n Tenderness with which I continually brood over your different\n aspects of countenance, action and dress. I see you come down\n in the morning: I see you meet me at the Window—I see every\n thing over again eternally that I ever have seen. If I get\n on the pleasant clue I live in a sort of happy misery, if\n on the unpleasant ’tis miserable misery. You complain of my\n illtreating you in word, thought and deed—I am sorry,—at times\n I feel bitterly sorry that I ever made you unhappy—my excuse\n is that those words have been wrung from me by the sharpness\n of my feelings. At all events and in any case I have been\n wrong; could I believe that I did it without any cause, I\n should be the most sincere of Penitents. I could give way to\n my repentant feelings now, I could recant all my suspicions,\n I could mingle with you heart and Soul though absent, were\n it not for some parts of your Letters. Do you suppose it\n possible I could ever leave you? You know what I think of\n myself and what of you. You know that I should feel how much\n it was my loss and how little yours. My friends laugh at you!\n I know some of them—when I know them all I shall never think\n of them again as friends or even acquaintance. My friends\n have behaved well to me in every instance but one, and there\n they have become tattlers, and inquisitors into my conduct:\n spying upon a secret I would rather die than share it with any\n body’s confidence. For this I cannot wish them well, I care\n not to see any of them again. If I am the Theme, I will not be\n the Friend of idle Gossips. Good gods what a shame it is our\n Loves should be so put into the microscope of a Coterie. Their\n laughs should not affect you (I may perhaps give you reasons\n some day for these laughs, for I suspect a few people to hate\n me well enough, _for reasons I know of_, who have pretended a\n great friendship for me) when in competition with one, who if\n he never should see you again would make you the Saint of his\n memory. These Laughers, who do not like you, who envy you for\n your Beauty, who would have God-bless’d me from you for ever:\n who were plying me with disencouragements with respect to you\n eternally. People are revengful—do not mind them—do nothing\n but love me—if I knew that for certain life and health will in\n such event be a heaven, and death itself will be less painful.\n I long to believe in immortality. I shall never be able to\n bid you an entire farewell. If I am destined to be happy with\n you here—how short is the longest Life. I wish to believe in\n immortality[52]—I wish to live with you for ever. Do not let\n my name ever pass between you and those laughers; if I have no\n other merit than the great Love for you, that were sufficient\n to keep me sacred and unmentioned in such society. If I have\n been cruel and unjust I swear my love has ever been greater\n than my cruelty which last [_sic_] but a minute whereas my Love\n come what will shall last for ever. If concession to me has\n hurt your Pride God knows I have had little pride in my heart\n when thinking of you. Your name never passes my Lips—do not let\n mine pass yours. Those People do not like me. After reading\n my Letter you even then wish to see me. I am strong enough to\n walk over—but I dare not. I shall feel so much pain in parting\n with you again. My dearest love, I am afraid to see you; I am\n strong, but not strong enough to see you. Will my arm be ever\n round you again, and if so shall I be obliged to leave you\n again? My sweet Love! I am happy whilst I believe your first\n Letter. Let me be but certain that you are mine heart and soul,\n and I could die more happily than I could otherwise live. If\n you think me cruel—if you think I have sleighted you—do muse it\n over again and see into my heart. My love to you is “true as\n truth’s simplicity and simpler than the infancy of truth” as I\n think I once said before. How could I sleight you? How threaten\n to leave you? not in the spirit of a Threat to you—no—but in\n the spirit of Wretchedness in myself. My fairest, my delicious,\n my angel Fanny! do not believe me such a vulgar fellow. I will\n be as patient in illness and as believing in Love as I am able.\n\n Yours for ever my dearest\n\n JOHN KEATS.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter XXXVII", + "body": "I do not write this till the last,\n that no eye may catch it.[53]\n\n My dearest Girl,\n\n I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy\n without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in\n you; every thing else tastes like chaff in my Mouth. I feel it\n almost impossible to go to Italy—the fact is I cannot leave\n you, and shall never taste one minute’s content until it\n pleases chance to let me live with you for good. But I will\n not go on at this rate. A person in health as you are can have\n no conception of the horrors that nerves and a temper like mine\n go through. What Island do your friends propose retiring to?\n I should be happy to go with you there alone, but in company\n I should object to it; the backbitings and jealousies of\n new colonists who have nothing else to amuse themselves, is\n unbearable. Mr. Dilke came to see me yesterday, and gave me a\n very great deal more pain than pleasure. I shall never be able\n any more to endure the society of any of those who used to meet\n at Elm Cottage and Wentworth Place. The last two years taste\n like brass upon my Palate. If I cannot live with you I will\n live alone. I do not think my health will improve much while I\n am separated from you. For all this I am averse to seeing you—I\n cannot bear flashes of light and return into my gloom again.\n I am not so unhappy now as I should be if I had seen you\n yesterday. To be happy with you seems such an impossibility! it\n requires a luckier Star than mine! it will never be. I enclose\n a passage from one of your letters which I want you to alter\n a little—I want (if you will have it so) the matter express’d\n less coldly to me. If my health would bear it, I could write\n a Poem which I have in my head, which would be a consolation\n for people in such a situation as mine. I would show some one\n in Love as I am, with a person living in such Liberty as you\n do. Shakespeare always sums up matters in the most sovereign\n manner. Hamlet’s heart was full of such Misery as mine is when\n he said to Ophelia “Go to a Nunnery, go, go!” Indeed I should\n like to give up the matter at once—I should like to die. I\n am sickened at the brute world which you are smiling with. I\n hate men, and women more. I see nothing but thorns for the\n future—wherever I may be next winter, in Italy or nowhere,\n Brown will be living near you with his indecencies. I see no\n prospect of any rest. Suppose me in Rome—well, I should there\n see you as in a magic glass going to and from town at all\n hours,——I wish you could infuse a little confidence of human\n nature into my heart. I cannot muster any—the world is too\n brutal for me—I am glad there is such a thing as the grave—I am\n sure I shall never have any rest till I get there. At any rate\n I will indulge myself by never seeing any more Dilke or Brown\n or any of their Friends. I wish I was either in your arms full\n of faith or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.\n\n God bless you.\n\n J. K.\n\n\n\n\nADDITIONAL LETTERS.\n\n\n\n\nADDITIONAL LETTERS.\n\n\nII _bis_.\n\n Shanklin\n\n Thursday Evening\n\n [15 July 1819?[54]]\n\n My love,\n\n I have been in so irritable a state of health these two or\n three last days, that I did not think I should be able to\n write this week. Not that I was so ill, but so much so as only\n to be capable of an unhealthy teasing letter. To night I am\n greatly recovered only to feel the languor I have felt after\n you touched with ardency. You say you perhaps might have made\n me better: you would then have made me worse: now you could\n quite effect a cure: What fee my sweet Physician would I not\n give you to do so. Do not call it folly, when I tell you I took\n your letter last night to bed with me. In the morning I found\n your name on the sealing wax obliterated. I was startled at the\n bad omen till I recollected that it must have happened in my\n dreams, and they you know fall out by contraries. You must have\n found out by this time I am a little given to bode ill like\n the raven; it is my misfortune not my fault; it has proceeded\n from the general tenor of the circumstances of my life, and\n rendered every event suspicious. However I will no more trouble\n either you or myself with sad prophecies; though so far I am\n pleased at it as it has given me opportunity to love your\n disinterestedness towards me. I can be a raven no more; you\n and pleasure take possession of me at the same moment. I am\n afraid you have been unwell. If through me illness have touched\n you (but it must be with a very gentle hand) I must be selfish\n enough to feel a little glad at it. Will you forgive me this? I\n have been reading lately an oriental tale of a very beautiful\n color[55]—It is of a city of melancholy men, all made so by\n this circumstance. Through a series of adventures each one of\n them by turns reach some gardens of Paradise where they meet\n with a most enchanting Lady; and just as they are going to\n embrace her, she bids them shut their eyes—they shut them—and\n on opening their eyes again find themselves descending to the\n earth in a magic basket. The remembrance of this Lady and their\n delights lost beyond all recovery render them melancholy ever\n after. How I applied this to you, my dear; how I palpitated\n at it; how the certainty that you were in the same world with\n myself, and though as beautiful, not so talismanic as that\n Lady; how I could not bear you should be so you must believe\n because I swear it by yourself. I cannot say when I shall get\n a volume ready. I have three or four stories half done, but as\n I cannot write for the mere sake of the press, I am obliged\n to let them progress or lie still as my fancy chooses. By\n Christmas perhaps they may appear,[56] but I am not yet sure\n they ever will. ’Twill be no matter, for Poems are as common\n as newspapers and I do not see why it is a greater crime in\n me than in another to let the verses of an half-fledged brain\n tumble into the reading-rooms and drawing-room windows. Rice\n has been better lately than usual: he is not suffering from\n any neglect of his parents who have for some years been able\n to appreciate him better than they did in his first youth, and\n are now devoted to his comfort. Tomorrow I shall, if my health\n continues to improve during the night, take a look fa[r]ther\n about the country, and spy at the parties about here who come\n hunting after the picturesque like beagles. It is astonishing\n how they raven down scenery like children do sweetmeats. The\n wondrous Chine here is a very great Lion: I wish I had as many\n guineas as there have been spy-glasses in it. I have been,\n I cannot tell why, in capital spirits this last hour. What\n reason? When I have to take my candle and retire to a lonely\n room, without the thought as I fall asleep, of seeing you\n tomorrow morning? or the next day, or the next—it takes on the\n appearance of impossibility and eternity—I will say a month—I\n will say I will see you in a month at most, though no one but\n yourself should see me; if it be but for an hour. I should not\n like to be so near you as London without being continually with\n you: after having once more kissed you Sweet I would rather be\n here alone at my task than in the bustle and hateful literary\n chitchat. Meantime you must write to me—as I will every\n week—for your letters keep me alive. My sweet Girl I cannot\n speak my love for you. Good night! and\n\n Ever yours\n\n JOHN KEATS.\n\n\nXXXIV _bis_.\n\n Tuesday Morn.\n\n My dearest Girl,\n\n I wrote a letter[57] for you yesterday expecting to have seen\n your mother. I shall be selfish enough to send it though I know\n it may give you a little pain, because I wish you to see how\n unhappy I am for love of you, and endeavour as much as I can\n to entice you to give up your whole heart to me whose whole\n existence hangs upon you. You could not step or move an eyelid\n but it would shoot to my heart—I am greedy of you. Do not think\n of anything but me. Do not live as if I was not existing. Do\n not forget me—But have I any right to say you forget me?\n Perhaps you think of me all day. Have I any right to wish you\n to be unhappy for me? You would forgive me for wishing it if\n you knew the extreme passion I have that you should love me—and\n for you to love me as I do you, you must think of no one but\n me, much less write that sentence. Yesterday and this morning I\n have been haunted with a sweet vision—I have seen you the whole\n time in your shepherdess dress. How my senses have ached at\n it! How my heart has been devoted to it! How my eyes have been\n full of tears at it! I[n]deed I think a real love is enough\n to occupy the widest heart. Your going to town alone when I\n heard of it was a shock to me—yet I expected it—_promise me\n you will not for some time till I get better_. Promise me this\n and fill the paper full of the most endearing names. If you\n cannot do so with good will, do my love tell me—say what you\n think—confess if your heart is too much fasten’d on the world.\n Perhaps then I may see you at a greater distance, I may not be\n able to appropriate you so closely to myself. Were you to loose\n a favourite bird from the cage, how would your eyes ache after\n it as long as it was in sight; when out of sight you would\n recover a little. Perhaps if you would, if so it is, confess to\n me how many things are necessary to you besides me, I might be\n happier; by being less tantaliz’d. Well may you exclaim, how\n selfish, how cruel not to let me enjoy my youth! to wish me to\n be unhappy. You must be so if you love me. Upon my soul I can\n be contented with nothing else. If you would really what is\n call’d enjoy yourself at a Party—if you can smile in people’s\n faces, and wish them to admire you _now_—you never have nor\n ever will love me. I see _life_ in nothing but the certainty of\n your Love—convince me of it my sweetest. If I am not somehow\n convinced I shall die of agony. If we love we must not live\n as other men and women do—I cannot brook the wolfsbane of\n fashion and foppery and tattle—you must be mine to die upon the\n rack if I want you. I do not pretend to say that I have more\n feeling than my fellows, but I wish you seriously to look over\n my letters kind and unkind and consider whether the person who\n wrote them can be able to endure much longer the agonies and\n uncertainties which you are so peculiarly made to create. My\n recovery of bodily health will be of no benefit to me if you\n are not mine when I am well. For God’s sake save me—or tell me\n my passion is of too awful a nature for you. Again God bless\n you.\n\n J. K.\n\n No—my sweet Fanny—I am wrong—I do not wish you to be\n unhappy—and yet I do, I must while there is so sweet a\n Beauty—my loveliest, my darling! good bye! I kiss you—O the\n torments!\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter I", + "body": "FANNY BRAWNE’S ESTIMATE OF KEATS.\n\nIn discussing the effect which the _Quarterly Review_ article had on\nKeats, Medwin[58] quotes the following passages from a communication\naddressed to him by Fanny Brawne after her marriage:—\n\n “I did not know Keats at the time the review appeared. It was\n published, if I remember rightly, in June, 1818.[59] However\n great his mortification might have been, he was not, I should\n say, of a character likely to have displayed it in the manner\n mentioned in Mrs. Shelley’s Remains of her husband. Keats,\n soon after the appearance of the review in question, started\n on a walking expedition into the Highlands. From thence he was\n forced to return, in consequence of the illness of a brother,\n whose death a few months afterwards affected him strongly.\n\n “It was about this time that I became acquainted with Keats.\n We met frequently at the house of a mutual friend, (not Leigh\n Hunt’s), but neither then nor afterwards did I see anything\n in his manner to give the idea that he was brooding over any\n secret grief or disappointment. His conversation was in the\n highest degree interesting, and his spirits good, excepting\n at moments when anxiety regarding his brother’s health\n dejected them. His own illness, that commenced in January\n 1820,[60] began from inflammation in the lungs, from cold. In\n coughing, he ruptured a blood-vessel. An hereditary tendency to\n consumption was aggravated by the excessive susceptibility of\n his temperament, for I never see those often quoted lines of\n Dryden without thinking how exactly they applied to Keats:—\n\n The fiery soul, that working out its way,\n Fretted the pigmy body to decay.\n\n From the commencement of his malady he was forbidden to write\n a line of poetry,[61] and his failing health, joined to the\n uncertainty of his prospects, often threw him into deep\n melancholy.\n\n “The letter, p. 295 of Shelley’s Remains, from Mr. Finch,\n seems calculated to give a very false idea of Keats. That\n his sensibility was most acute, is true, and his passions\n were very strong, but not violent, if by that term violence\n of temper is implied. His was no doubt susceptible, but his\n anger seemed rather to turn on himself than on others, and in\n moments of greatest irritation, it was only by a sort of savage\n despondency that he sometimes grieved and wounded his friends.\n Violence such as the letter describes, was quite foreign to his\n nature. For more than a twelvemonth before quitting England, I\n saw him every day, often witnessed his sufferings, both mental\n and bodily, and I do not hesitate to say that he never could\n have addressed an unkind expression, much less a violent one,\n to any human being. During the last few months before leaving\n his native country, his mind underwent a fierce conflict; for\n whatever in moments of grief or disappointment he might say or\n think, his most ardent desire was to live to redeem his name\n from the obloquy cast upon it;[62] nor was it till he knew his\n death inevitable, that he eagerly wished to die. Mr. Finch’s\n letter goes on to say—‘Keats might be judged insane,’—I believe\n the fever that consumed him, might have brought on a temporary\n species of delirium that made his friend Mr. Severn’s task a\n painful one.”", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + }, + { + "heading": "Letter II", + "body": "THE LOCALITY OF WENTWORTH PLACE.\n\nThe precise locality of Wentworth Place, Hampstead, has been a matter of\nuncertainty and dispute; and I found even the children of the lady to\nwhom the foregoing letters were addressed without any exact knowledge\non the subject. The houses which went to make up Wentworth Place were\nthose inhabited respectively by the Dilke family, the Brawne family,\nand Charles Armitage Brown; but these were not three houses as might be\nsupposed, the fact being that Mrs. Brawne rented first Brown’s house\nduring his absence with Keats in the summer of 1818, and then Dilke’s\nwhen the latter removed to Westminster.\n\nAt page 98 of the late Mr. Howitt’s _Northern Heights of London_,[63] it\nis said of Keats:—\n\n “From this time till 1820, when he left—in the last stage of\n consumption—for Italy, he resided principally at Hampstead.\n During most of this time, he lived with his very dear friend\n Mr. Charles Brown, a Russia merchant, at Wentworth Place,\n Downshire Hill, by Pond Street, Hampstead. Previously, he and\n his brother Thomas had occupied apartments at the next house\n to Mr. Brown’s, at a Mrs. ——’s whose name his biographers have\n carefully omitted. With the daughter of this lady Keats was\n deeply in love—a passion which deepened to the last.”\n\nNo authority is given for the statement that John and Tom Keats lodged\nwith the mother of the lady to whom John was attached; and I think it\nmust have arisen from a misapprehension of something communicated to\nMr. Howitt, perhaps in such ambiguous terms as every investigator has\nexperienced in his time. At all events I must contradict the statement\npositively; nor is there any doubt where the brothers did lodge, namely\nin Well Walk, with the family of the local postman, Benjamin Bentley.\nCharles Cowden Clarke mentions in his Recollections that the lodging was\n“in the first or second house on the right hand, going up to the Heath”;\nand the rate books show that Bentley was rated from 1814 to 1824 for the\nhouse which, in 1838, was numbered 1, the house next to the public house\nformerly called the “Green Man,” but now known as the “Wells” Tavern. At\npage 102, Mr. Howitt says:—\n\n “It is to be regretted that Wentworth Place, where Keats\n lodged, and wrote some of his finest poetry, either no longer\n exists or no longer bears that name. At the bottom of John\n Street, on the left hand in descending, is a villa called\n Wentworth House; but no Wentworth Place exists between\n Downshire Hill and Pond Street, the locality assigned to it.\n I made the most rigorous search in that quarter, inquiring\n of the tradesmen daily supplying the houses there, and of\n two residents of forty and fifty years. None of them had\n any knowledge or recollection of a Wentworth Place. Possibly\n Keats’s friend, Mr. Brown, lived at Wentworth House, and that\n the three cottages standing in a line with it and facing\n South-End Road, but at a little distance from the road in a\n garden, might then bear the name of Wentworth Place. The end\n cottage would then, as stated in the lines of Keats, be next\n door to Mr. Brown’s. These cottages still have apartments\n to let, and in all other respects accord with the assigned\n locality.”\n\nMr. Howitt seems to have meant that Wentworth House _with_ the cottages\nmay possibly have borne the name of Wentworth Place; and he should have\nsaid that the house was on the _right_ hand in descending John Street.\nBut the fact of the case is correctly stated in Mr. Thorne’s _Handbook to\nthe Environs of London_,[64] Part I, page 291, where a bolder and more\nexplicit localization is given:\n\n “The House in which he [Keats] lodged for the greater part of\n the time, then called Wentworth Place, is now called Lawn Bank,\n and is the end house but one on the rt. side of John Street,\n next Wentworth House.”\n\nMr. Thorne adduces no authority for the statement; and it must be\nassumed that it is based on some of the private communications which he\nacknowledges generally in his preface. He may possibly have been biassed\nby the plane-tree which Mr. Howitt, at page 101 of _Northern Heights_,\nsubstitutes for the traditional plum-tree in quoting Lord Houghton’s\naccount of the composition of the _Ode to a Nightingale_. Certainly there\nis a fine old plane-tree in front of the house at Lawn Bank; and there\nis a local tradition of a nightingale and a poet connected with that\ntree; but this dim tradition may be merely a misty repetition, from mouth\nto mouth, of Mr. Howitt’s extract from Lord Houghton’s volumes. _Primâ\nfacie_, a plane-tree might seem to be a very much more likely shelter\nthan a plum-tree for Keats to have chosen to place his chair beneath;\nand yet one would think that, had Mr. Howitt purposely substituted the\nplane-tree for the plum-tree, it would have been because he found it by\nthe house which he supposed to be Brown’s. This however is not the case;\nand it should also be mentioned that at the western end of Lawn Bank,\namong some shrubs &c., there is an old and dilapidated plum-tree which\ngrows so as to form a kind of leafy roof.\n\nEleven years ago, when I attempted to identify Wentworth Place beyond\na doubt by local and other enquiries, the gardener at Wentworth House\nassured me very positively that, some fifteen or twenty years before,\nwhen Lawn Bank (then called Lawn Cottage) was in bad repair, and the\nrain had washed nearly all the colour off the front, he used to read the\nwords “Wentworth Place,” painted in large letters beside the top window\nat the extreme left of the old part of the house as one faces it; and I\nhave since had the pleasure of reading the words there myself; for the\ncolour got washed thin enough again some time afterwards. After a great\ndeal of enquiry among older inhabitants of Hampstead than this gardener,\nI found a musician, born there in 1801, and resident there ever since,\na most intelligent and clear-headed man, who had been in the habit of\nplaying at various houses in Hampstead from the year 1812 onwards. When\nasked, simply and without any “leading” remark, what he could tell about\na group of houses formerly known as Wentworth Place, he replied without\nhesitation that Lawn Bank, when he was a youth, certainly bore that name,\nthat it was two houses, with entrances at the sides, in one of which\nhe played as early as 1824, and that subsequently the two houses were\nconverted into one, at very great expense, to form a residence for Miss\nChester,[65] who called the place Lawn Cottage. This informant did not\nremember the names of the persons occupying the two houses. A surgeon\nof repute, among the oldest inhabitants of Hampstead, told me, as an\nabsolute certainty, that he was there as early as 1827, knew the Brawne\nfamily, and attended them professionally at Wentworth Place, in the house\nforming the western half of Lawn Bank. Of Charles Brown, however, this\ngentleman had no knowledge.\n\nNot perfectly satisfied with the local evidence, I forwarded to Mr.\nSevern a sketch-plan of the immediate locality, in order that he might\nidentify the houses in which he visited Keats and Brown and the Brawne\nfamily: he replied that it was in Lawn Bank that Brown and Mrs. Brawne\nhad their respective residences; and he also mentioned side entrances;\nbut Sir Charles Dilke says his grandfather’s house had the entrance\nin front, and only Brown’s had a side entrance. Two relatives of Mrs.\nBrawne’s who were still living in 1877, and were formerly residents in\nthe house, also identified this block as that in which she resided, and\nso did the late Mr. William Dilke of Chichester, by whose instructions,\nduring the absence of his brother, the name was first painted upon the\nhouse. It is hard to see what further evidence can be wanted on the\nsubject. The recollection of one person may readily be distrusted; but\nwhere so many memories converge in one result, their evidence must be\naccepted; and I leave these details on record here, mainly on the ground\nthat doubts may possibly arise again. At present it does not seem as if\nthere could be any possible question that, in Lawn Bank, we have the\nimmortalized Wentworth Place where Keats spent so much time, first as\nco-inmate with Brown in the eastern half of the block, and at last when\nhe went to be nursed by Mrs. and Miss Brawne in the western half.\n\nIt should perhaps be pointed out, in regard to Mr. Thorne’s expression\nthat Keats _lodged_ there, that this was not a case of lodging in the\nordinary sense: he was a sharing inmate; and his share of the expenses\nwas duly acquitted, as recorded by Mr. Dilke. In the hope of identifying\nthe houses by some documentary evidence, I had the parish rate-books\nsearched; in these there is no mention of John Street; but that part of\nHampstead is described as the Lower Heath Quarter: no names of houses are\ngiven; and the only evidence to the purpose is that, among the ratepayers\nof the Lower Heath Quarter, very few in number, were Charles Wentworth\nDilk (without the final _e_) and Charles Brown. The name of Mrs. Brawne\ndoes not appear; but, as she rented the house in Wentworth Place of Mr.\nDilke, it may perhaps be assumed that it was he who paid the rates.\n\nIt will perhaps be thought that the steps of the enquiry in this matter\nare somewhat “prolixly set forth”; and the only plea in mitigation to\nbe offered is that, without evidence, those who really care to know the\nfacts of the case could hardly be satisfied.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n[1] _The Poetical Works of John Keats. With a Memoir by Richard\nMonckton Milnes. A new Edition._ 1863 (and other dates). See p. ix,\nMemoir.\n\n[2] _Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats. Edited by\nRichard Monckton Milnes_ (Two Volumes, Moxon, 1848). My references,\nthroughout, are to this edition; but it will be sufficient to cite\nit henceforth simply as _Life, Letters, &c._, specifying the volume\nand page.\n\n[3] _The Poetical Works of John Keats. Chronologically arranged and\nedited, with a Memoir, by Lord Houghton, D.C.L., Hon. Fellow of\nTrin. Coll. Cambridge_ (Bell & Sons, 1876). See p. xxiii, Memoir.\n\n[4] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, pp. 234-6.\n\n[5] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, p. 240.\n\n[6] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, pp. 252-3.\n\n[7] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, p. 268, and Vol. II, p. 301.\nShould not the semicolon at _point_ change places with the comma at\n_knowledge_?\n\n[8] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, p. 270, and Vol. II, p. 302.\n\n[9] This little book, now in my collection, is of great interest.\nIt is marked throughout for Miss Brawne’s use,—according to Keats’s\nfashion of “marking the most beautiful passages” in his books for\nher. At one end is written the sonnet referred to in the text,\napparently composed by Keats with the book before him, as there are\ntwo “false starts,” as well as erasures; and at the other end, in\nthe handwriting of Miss Brawne, is copied Keats’s last sonnet,\n\n Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art.\n\nThe Spenser similarly marked, the subject of Letter XXXIV, is\nmissing.\n\n[10] See _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. II, p. 35.\n\n[11] _The Philobiblion a monthly Bibliographical Journal.\nContaining Critical Notices of, and Extracts from, Rare, Curious,\nand Valuable Old Books._ (Two Volumes. Geo. P. Philes & Co., 51\nNassau Street, New York. 1862-3.) The Keats letter is at p. 196\nof Vol. I, side by side with one purporting to be Shelley’s, a\nflagrant forgery which has been publicly animadverted on several\ntimes lately, having been reprinted as genuine.\n\n[12] The correspondent of _The World_ would seem (I only say\n_seem_; for the matter is obscure) to have used Lord Houghton’s\npages for “copy” where a cursory examination indicated that they\ngave the same matter as the original letter,—transcribing what\npresented itself as new matter from the original. The fragment\nof _Friday 27th_ was, on this supposition, in its place when the\ncopies were made for Lord Houghton, because there is the close; but\nbetween that time and 1862 it must have been separated from the\nletter.\n\n[13] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. II, p. 55.\n\n[14] It is interesting, by the way, to extract the following note\nof locality from the _Autobiography_ (Vol. II, p. 230): “It was not\nat Hampstead that I first saw Keats. It was in York-buildings, in\nthe New-road (No. 8), where I wrote part of the _Indicator_; and he\nresided with me while in Mortimer-terrace, Kentish-town (No. 13),\nwhere I concluded it.”\n\n[15] _Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. II, p. 61.\n\n[16] See Hunt’s _Autobiography_, Vol. II, p. 216. It may be noted\nin passing that the _Indicator_ version of the Sonnet varies in\nsome slight details from the Original in the volume of Dante\nreferred to at page xliv, and from Lord Houghton’s text. It is\nnatural to suppose that Hunt’s copy was the latest of the three;\nand his text is certainly an improvement on the others where it\nvaries from them.\n\n[17] _The Papers of a Critic. Selected from the Writings of the\nlate Charles Wentworth Dilke. With a Biographical Sketch by his\nGrandson, Sir Charles Wentworth Dilke, Bart., M.P., &c. In Two\nVolumes._ (London. John Murray, Albemarle Street. 1875.) See Vol.\nI, p. 11.\n\n[18] This sonnet occurs at page 128 of _The Garden of Florence;\nand other Poems. By John Hamilton_. (London: John Warren, Old\nBond-street. 1821.)\n\n[19] _The Letters and Poems of John Keats._ In three volumes.\n(Dodd, Mead & Co., New York, 1883). Vol. I is called _The Letters\nof John Keats, edited by Jno. Gilmer Speed_: Vol. II and III, _The\nPoems of John Keats, with the Annotations of Lord Houghton and a\nMemoir by Jno. Gilmer Speed_.\n\n[20] _Keats by Sidney Colvin._ (Macmillan & Co., 1887). Mr. Colvin\nhas also contributed to _Macmillan’s Magazine_ (August, 1888)\nan Article _On Some Letters of Keats_, which I have also duly\nconsulted.\n\n[21] _The Poetical Works and Other Writings of John Keats_, (Four\nvolumes, Reeves & Turner, 1883, considerably earlier than Mr.\nSpeed’s volumes appeared.)\n\n[22] Charlotte, Mr. Colvin calls her; but her name was Jane.\n\n[23] These two words are wanting in the original.\n\n[24] His brother, “poor Tom,” had died about seven months before\nthe date of this letter.\n\n[25]\n\n Ev’n mighty Pam, that kings and queens o’erthrew,\n And mow’d down armies in the fights of Loo,\n Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid,\n Falls undistinguish’d by the victor Spade!—\n\n Pope’s _Rape of the Lock_, iii, 61-4.\n\n[26] Fanny’s younger sister: see Introduction.\n\n[27] The word _Newport_ is not stamped on this letter, as on\nNumbers I, II, and IV; but it is pretty evident that Keats and his\nfriend were still at Shanklin.\n\n[28] I am not aware of any other published record that this name\nbelonged to Keats’s Mother, as well as his sister and his betrothed.\n\n[29] Samuel Brawne, the brother of Fanny: see Introduction.\n\n[30] I am unable to obtain or suggest any explanation of the\nallusion made in this strange sentence. It is not, however,\nimpossible that “the Bishop” was merely a nickname of some one in\nthe Hampstead circle.\n\n[31] The Tragedy referred to is, of course, _Otho the Great_, which\nwas composed jointly by Keats and his friend Charles Armitage\nBrown. For the first four acts Brown provided the characters, plot,\n&c., and Keats found the language; but the fifth act is wholly\nKeats’s. See Lord Houghton’s _Life, Letters, &c._ (1848), Vol.\nII, pp. 1 and 2, and foot-note at p. 333 of the Aldine edition of\nKeats’s Poetical Works (Bell & Sons, 1876). A humorous account of\nthe progress of the joint composition occurs in a letter written by\nBrown to Dilke, which is quoted at p. 9 of the memoir prefixed by\nSir Charles Dilke to _The Papers of a Critic_, referred to in the\nIntroduction to the present volume, p. lviii.\n\n[32] He did not find one; for, in a letter to B. R. Haydon, dated\nWinchester, 3 October, 1819, he says: “I came to this place in the\nhopes of meeting with a Library, but was disappointed.” For this\nletter see _Benjamin Robert Haydon: Correspondence and Table-Talk_\n(Two volumes, Chatto and Windus, 1875), Vol. II, p. 16, and also\nLord Houghton’s _Life, Letters, &c._ (1848), Vol. II, p. 10, where\nthere is an extract from the letter somewhat differently worded and\narranged.\n\n[33] The discrepancy between the date written by Keats and that\ngiven in the postmark is curious as a comment on his statement\n(_Life, Letters, &c._, 1848, Vol. I, p. 253) that he never knew the\ndate: “It is some days since I wrote the last page, but I never\nknow....”\n\n[34] This word is of course left as found in the original\nletter: an editor who should spell it _yacht_ would be guilty of\nrepresenting Keats as thinking what he did not think.\n\n[35] Written, I presume, from the house of his friends and\npublishers, Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, No. 93, Fleet Street.\n\n[36] Whether he carried out this intention to the letter, I know\nnot; but he would seem to have been at Winchester again, at all\nevents, by the 22nd of September, on which day he was writing\nthence to Reynolds (_Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. II, p. 23).\n\n[37] It would seem to have been in this street that Mr. Dilke\nobtained for Keats the rooms which the poet asked him to find in\nthe letter of the 1st of October, from Winchester, given at p.\n16, Vol. II, of the _Life, Letters, &c._ (1848). How long Keats\nremained in those rooms I have been unable to determine, to a\nday; but in Letter No. IX he writes, eight days later, from Great\nSmith Street (the address of Mr. Dilke) that he purposes “living\nat Hampstead”; and there is a letter headed “Wentworth Place,\nHampstead, 17th Nov. [1819.]” at p. 35, Vol. II, of the _Life,\nLetters, &c._\n\n[38] It may be that consideration for his correspondent induced\nthis moderation of speech: presumably the scene here referred to\nis that so graphically given in Lord Houghton’s _Life_ (Vol. II,\npp. 53-4), where we read, not that he merely “felt it possible” he\n“might not survive,” but that he said to his friend, “I know the\ncolour of that blood,—it is arterial blood—I cannot be deceived in\nthat colour; that drop is my death-warrant. I must die.”\n\n[39] This sentence indicates the lapse of perhaps about a week from\nthe 3rd of February, 1820.\n\n[40] This coupling of Brown’s name with ideas of Fanny’s absence\nor presence seems to be a curiously faint indication of a painful\nphase of feeling more fully developed in the sequel. See Letters\nXXI, XXIV, XXVI, XXXV, and XXXVII.\n\n[41] If we are to take these words literally, this letter brings us\nto the 24th of February, 1820, adopting the 3rd of February as the\nday on which Keats broke a blood-vessel.\n\n[42] George Keats’s Mother-in-law. The significant _but_ indicates\nthat the absence of Brown was still, as was natural, more or less a\ncondition of the presence of Miss Brawne. That Keats had, however,\nor thought he had, some reason for this condition, beyond the\nmere delicacy of lovers, is dimly shadowed by the cold _My dear\nFanny_ with which in Letter XXI the condition was first expressly\nprescribed, and more than shadowed by the agonized expression of a\nmorbid sensibility in Letters XXXV and XXXVII. Probably a man in\nsound health would have found the cause trivial enough.\n\n[43] The MS. of _Lamia, Isabella, &c._ (the volume containing\n_Hyperion_, and most of Keats’s finest work).\n\n[44] I presume the reference is to Mr. Dilke.\n\n[45] This statement and a general similarity of tone induce the\nbelief that this letter and the preceding one were written about\nthe same time as one to Mr. Dilke, given by Lord Houghton (in the\n_Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. II, p. 57), as bearing the postmark,\n“Hampstead, March 4, 1820.” In that letter Keats cites his friend\nBrown as having said that he had “picked up a little flesh,” and\nhe refers to his “being under an interdict with respect to animal\nfood, living upon pseudo-victuals,”—just as in Letter XXV he speaks\nto Miss Brawne of his “feeding upon sham victuals.” In the letter\nto Dilke he says: “If I can keep off inflammation for the next six\nweeks, I trust I shall do very well.” In Letter XXV he expresses\nto Miss Brawne the hope that he may go out for a walk with her on\nthe 1st of May. If these correspondences may be trusted, we are now\ndealing with letters of the first week in March, of which period\nthere are still indications in Letter XXVIII.\n\n[46] The reference to Barry Cornwall and the cold weather indicate\nthat this letter was written about the 4th of March, 1820; for in\nthe letter to Mr. Dilke, with the Hampstead postmark of that date,\nalready referred to (see page 73), Keats recounts this same affair\nof the books evidently as a quite recent transaction, and says he\n“shall not expect Mrs. Dilke at Hampstead next week unless the\nweather changes for the warmer.”\n\n[47] Misspelt _Proctor_ in the original.\n\n[48] It is of no real consequence what had been said about “old\nMr. Dilke,” the grandfather of the first baronet and the father\nof Keats’s acquaintance; but it is to be noted that this curious\nletter might have been a little more self-explanatory, had it not\nbeen mutilated. The lower half of the second leaf has been cut\noff,—by whom, the owners can only conjecture.\n\n[49] The piece cut off the original letter is in this instance so\nsmall that nothing can be wanting except the signature,—probably\ngiven to an autograph-collector.\n\n[50] This extreme bitterness of feeling must have supervened,\none would think, in increased bodily disease; for the letter was\nclearly written after the parting of Keats and Brown at Gravesend,\nwhich took place on the 7th of May, 1819, and on which occasion\nthere is every reason to think that the friends were undivided in\nattachment. I imagine Keats would gladly have seen Brown within a\nweek of this time had there been any opportunity.\n\n[51] This question may perhaps be fairly taken to indicate the\nlapse of a month from the time when Keats left the house at\nHampstead next door to Miss Brawne’s, at which he probably knew her\nemployments well enough from day to day. If so, the time would be\nabout the first week in June, 1819.\n\n[52] He was seemingly in a different phase of belief from that\nin which the death of his brother Tom found him. At that time he\nrecorded that he and Tom both firmly believed in immortality. See\n_Life, Letters, &c._, Vol. I, p. 246. A further indication of his\nhaving shifted from the moorings of orthodoxy may be found in the\nexpression in Letter XXXV, “I appeal to you by the blood of that\nChrist you believe in:”—not “_we_ believe in.”\n\n[53] This seems to mean that he wrote the letter to the end, and\nthen filled in the words _My dearest Girl_, left out lest any one\ncoming near him should chance to see them. These words are written\nmore heavily than the beginning of the letter, and indicate a state\nof pen corresponding with that shown by the words _God bless you_\nat the end.\n\n[54] This letter appears to belong between those of the 8th and\n25th of July, 1819; and of the two Thursdays between these dates\nit seems likelier that the 15th would be the one than that the\nletter should have been written so near the 25th as on the 22nd.\nThe original having been mislaid, I have not been able to take the\nevidence of the postmark. It will be noticed that at the close he\nspeaks of a weekly exchange of letters with Miss Brawne; and by\nplacing this letter at the 15th this programme is pretty nearly\nrealized so far as Keats’s letters from the Isle of Wight are\nconcerned.\n\n[55] The story in question is one of the many derivatives from the\nThird Calender’s Story in _The Thousand and One Nights_ and the\nsomewhat similar tale of “The Man who laughed not,” included in\nthe Notes to Lane’s _Arabian Nights_ and in the text of Payne’s\nmagnificent version of the complete work. I am indebted to Dr.\nReinhold Köhler, Librarian of the Grand-ducal Library of Weimar,\nfor identifying the particular variant referred to by Keats as the\n“Histoire de la Corbeille,” in the _Nouveaux Contes Orientaux_ of\nthe Comte de Caylus. Mr. Morris’s beautiful poem “The Man who never\nlaughed again,” in _The Earthly Paradise_, has familiarized to\nEnglish readers one variant of the legend.\n\n[56] It will of course be remembered that no such collection\nappeared until the following summer, when the _Lamia_ volume was\npublished.\n\n[57] I do not find in the present series any letter which I can\nregard as the particular one referred to in the opening sentence.\nIf Letter XXXV (p. 93) were headed _Tuesday_ and this _Wednesday_,\nthat might well be the peccant document which appears to be missing.\n\n[58] _The Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley. In Two Volumes._ London:\n1847 (see Vol. II, pp. 86-93).\n\n[59] It appeared in No. XXXVII, headed “April, 1818,” on page 1,\nbut described on the wrapper as “published in September, 1818.”\n\n[60] See p. liii: it was the 3rd of February, 1820.\n\n[61] See Letter XIII, pp. 49-50.\n\n[62] See Letter XVII, pp. 57-8.\n\n[63] _The Northern Heights of London or Historical Associations\nof Hampstead, Highgate, Muswell Hill, Hornsey, and Islington. By\nWilliam Howitt, author of ‘Visits to Remarkable Places.’_ (London:\nLongmans, Green, & Co. 1869.)\n\n[64] _Handbook to the Environs of London, Alphabetically Arranged,\ncontaining an account of every town and village, and of all the\nplaces of interest, within a circle of twenty miles round London.\nBy James Thorne, F.S.A. In Two Parts._ (London: John Murray,\nAlbemarle Street. 1876.)\n\n[65] She first appeared upon the London boards in 1822, and\nafterwards became “Private Reader” to George IV.", + "author": "John Keats", + "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", + "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", + "period": "1819–1820" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/mozart.json b/letters/mozart.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6f43e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/mozart.json @@ -0,0 +1,482 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "No. 2", + "body": "Verona, Jan. 1770.\n\nMY VERY DEAREST SISTER,--\n\nI have at last got a letter a span long after hoping so much for an\nanswer that I lost patience; and I had good cause to do so before\nreceiving yours at last. The German blockhead having said his say, now\nthe Italian one begins. Lei e piu franca nella lingua italiana di quel\nche mi ho immaginato. Lei mi dica la cagione perche lei non fu nella\ncommedia che hanno giocata i Cavalieri. Adesso sentiamo sempre una opera\ntitolata Il Ruggiero. Oronte, il padre di Bradamante, e un principe (il\nSignor Afferi) bravo cantante, un baritono, [Footnote: \"You are more\nversed in the Italian language than I believed. Tell me why you were not\none of the actors in the comedy performed by the Cavaliers. We are now\nhearing an opera called 'Il Ruggiero.' Oronte, the father of Bradamante,\nis a Prince (acted by Afferi, a good singer, a baritone).\"] but very\naffected when he speaks out a falsetto, but not quite so much so as\nTibaldi in Vienna. Bradamante innamorata di Ruggiero (ma [Footnote:\n\"Bradamante is enamored of Ruggiero, but\"]--she is to marry Leone, but\nwill not) fa una povera Baronessa, che ha avuto una gran disgrazia, ma\nnon so la quale; recita [Footnote: \"Pretends to be a poor Baroness who\nhas met with some great misfortune, but what it is I don't know, she\nperforms\"] under an assumed name, but the name I forget; ha una voce\npassabile, e la statura non sarebbe male, ma distuona come il diavolo.\nRuggiero, un ricco principe innamorato di Bradamante, e un musico; canta\nun poco Manzuolisch [Footnote: Manzuoli was a celebrated soprano, from\nwhom Mozart had lessons in singing when in London.] ed ha una bellissima\nvoce forte ed e gia vecchio; ha 55 anni, ed ha una [Footnote: \"She has\na tolerable voice, and her appearance is in her favor, but she sings out\nof tune like a devil Ruggiero, a rich Prince enamored of Bradamante, is\na musico, and sings rather in Manzuoli's style, and has a fine powerful\nvoice, though quite old; he is fifty-five, and has a\"] flexible voice.\nLeone is to marry Bradamante--richississimo e, [Footnote: \"Immensely\nrich.\"] but whether he is rich off the stage I can't say. La moglie di\nAfferi, che ha una bellissima voce, ma e tanto susurro nel teatro che\nnon si sente niente. Irene fa una sorella di Lolli, del gran violinista\nche habbiamo sentito a Vienna, a una [Footnote: \"Afferi's wife has a\nmost beautiful voice, but sings so softly on the stage that you really\nhear nothing at all. A sister of Lolli, the great violinist whom we\nheard at Vienna, acts Irene; she has a\"] very harsh voce, e canta sempre\n[Footnote: \"Voice, and always sings\"] a quaver too tardi o troppo a\nbuon' ora. Granno fa un signore, che non so come si chiame; e la prima\nvolta che lui recita. [Footnote: \"Slow or too fast. Ganno is acted by\na gentleman whose name I never heard. It is his first appearance on the\nstage.\"] There is a ballet between each act. We have a good dancer here\ncalled Roessler. He is a German, and dances right well. The very last\ntime we were at the opera (but not, I hope, the very last time we ever\nshall be there) we got M. Roessler to come up to our palco, (for M.\nCarlotti gives us his box, of which we have the key,) and conversed with\nhim. Apropos, every one is now in maschera, and one great convenience\nis, that if you fasten your mask on your hat you have the privilege\nof not taking off your hat when any one speaks to you; and you never\naddress them by name, but always as \"Servitore umilissimo, Signora\nMaschera.\" Cospetto di Bacco! that is fun! The most strange of all is\nthat we go to bed at half-past seven! Se lei indovinasse questo, io diro\ncertamente che lei sia la madre di tutti gli indovini. [Footnote: \"If\nyou guess this, I shall say that you are the mother of all guessers.\"]\nKiss mamma's hand for me, and to yourself I send a thousand kisses, and\nassure you that I shall always be your affectionate brother.\n\nPortez-vous bien, et aimez-moi toujours.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3", + "body": "Milan, Jan. 26, 1770.\n\nI REJOICE in my heart that you were so well amused at the sledging\nparty you write to me about, and I wish you a thousand opportunities of\npleasure, so that you may pass your life merrily. But one thing vexes\nme, which is, that you allowed Herr von Molk [an admirer of this pretty\nyoung girl of eighteen] to sigh and sentimentalize, and that you did not\ngo with him in his sledge, that he might have upset you. What a lot of\npocket-handkerchiefs he must have used that day to dry the tears he shed\nfor you! He no doubt, too, swallowed at least three ounces of cream of\ntartar to drive away the horrid evil humors in his body. I know nothing\nnew except that Herr Gellert, the Leipzig poet, [Footnote: Old Mozart\nprized Gellert's poems so highly, that on one occasion he wrote to him\nexpressing his admiration.] is dead, and has written no more poetry\nsince his death. Just before beginning this letter I composed an air\nfrom the \"Demetrio\" of Metastasio, which begins thus, \"Misero tu non\nsei.\"\n\nThe opera at Mantua was very good. They gave \"Demetrio.\" The prima donna\nsings well, but is inanimate, and if you did not see her acting, but\nonly singing, you might suppose she was not singing at all, for she\ncan't open her mouth, and whines out everything; but this is nothing new\nto us. The seconda donna looks like a grenadier, and has a very powerful\nvoice; she really does not sing badly, considering that this is her\nfirst appearance. Il primo uomo, il musico, sings beautifully, but his\nvoice is uneven; his name is Caselli. Il secondo uomo is quite old, and\ndoes not at all please me. The tenor's name is Ottini; he does not sing\nunpleasingly, but with effort, like all Italian tenors. We know him\nvery well. The name of the second I don't know; he is still young, but\nnothing at all remarkable. Primo ballerino good; prima ballerina good,\nand people say pretty, but I have not seen her near. There is a grotesco\nwho jumps cleverly, but cannot write as I do--just as pigs grunt.\nThe orchestra is tolerable. In Cremona, the orchestra is good, and\nSpagnoletta is the name of the first violinist there. Prima donna very\npassable--rather ancient, I fancy, and as ugly as sin. She does not sing\nas well as she acts, and is the wife of a violin-player at the opera.\nHer name is Masci. The opera was the \"Clemenza di Tito.\" Seconda donna\nnot ugly on the stage, young, but nothing superior. Primo uomo, un\nmusico, Cicognani, a fine voice, and a beautiful cantabile. The other\ntwo musici young and passable. The tenor's name is non lo so [I don't\nknow what]. He has a pleasing exterior, and resembles Le Roi at Vienna.\nBallerino primo good, but an ugly dog. There was a ballerina who danced\nfar from badly, and, what is a capo d'opera, she is anything but plain,\neither on the stage or off it. The rest were the usual average. I cannot\nwrite much about the Milan opera, for we did not go there, but we heard\nthat it was not successful. Primo uomo, Aprile, who sings well, and\nhas a fine even voice; we heard him at a grand church festival. Madame\nPiccinelli, from Paris, who sang at one of our concerts, acts at the\nopera. Herr Pick, who danced at Vienna, is now dancing here. The opera\nis \"Didone abbandonata,\" but it is not to be given much longer. Signor\nPiccini, who is writing the next opera, is here. I am told that the\ntitle is to be \"Cesare in Egitto.\"\n\nWOLFGANG DE MOZART,\n\nNoble of Hohenthal and attached to the Exchequer.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4", + "body": "Milan, Feb. 10, 1770.\n\nSPEAK of the wolf, and you see his ears! I am quite well, and\nimpatiently expecting an answer from you. I kiss mamma's hand, and\nsend you a little note and a little kiss; and remain, as before,\nyour----What? Your aforesaid merry-andrew brother, Wolfgang in Germany,\nAmadeo in Italy.\n\nDE MORZANTINI.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5", + "body": "Milan, Feb. 17, 1770.\n\nNow I am in for it! My Mariandel! I am so glad that you were so\ntremendously merry. Say to nurse Urserl that I still think I sent back\nall her songs, but if, engrossed by high and mighty thoughts of Italy,\nI carried one off with me, I shall not fail, if I find it, to enclose it\nin one of my letters. Addio, my children, farewell! I kiss mamma's hands\na thousand times, and send you a thousand kisses and salutes on your\nqueer monkey face. Per fare il fine, I am yours, &c.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6", + "body": "Milan, Carnival, Erchtag.\n\nMANY kisses to mamma and to you. I am fairly crazed with so much\nbusiness, [Footnote: Concerts and compositions of every kind occupied\nMozart. The principal result of his stay in Milan was, that the young\nmaestro got the scrittura of an opera for the ensuing season. As the\nlibretto was to be sent to them, they could first make a journey through\nItaly with easy minds. The opera was \"Mitridate, Re di Ponto.\"] so I\ncan't possibly write any more.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7", + "body": "Milan, March 3, 1770.\n\nCARA SORELLA MIA,--\n\nI am heartily glad that you have had so much amusement. Perhaps you may\nthink that I have not been as merry as you; but, indeed, I cannot sum\nup all we have done. I think we have been at least six or seven times at\nthe opera and the feste di ballo, which, as in Vienna, begin after the\nopera, but with this difference, that at Vienna the dancing is more\norderly. We also saw the facchinata and chiccherata. The first is\na masquerade, an amusing sight, because the men go as facchini, or\nporters; there was also a barca filled with people, and a great number\non foot besides; and five or six sets of trumpets and kettledrums,\nbesides several bands of violins and other instruments. The chiccherata\nis also a masquerade. What the people of Milan call chicchere, we call\npetits maitres, or fops. They were all on horseback, which was a pretty\nsight. I am as happy now to hear that Herr von Aman [Footnote: The\nfather had written in a previous letter, \"Herr von Aman's accident,\nof which you wrote to us, not only distressed us very much, but cost\nWolfgang many tears. You know how sensitive he is\"] is better, as I was\ngrieved when you mentioned that he had met with an accident. What\nkind of mask did Madame Rosa wear, and Herr von Molk, and Herr von\nSchiedenhofen? Pray write this to me, if you know it; your doing so will\noblige me very much. Kiss mamma's hands for me a thousand million times,\nand a thousand to yourself from \"Catch him who can!\" Why, here he is!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8", + "body": "Bologna, March 24, 1770.\n\nOh, you busy creature!\n\nHaving been so long idle, I thought it would do me no harm to set to\nwork again for a short time. On the post-days, when the German letters\ncome, all that I eat and drink tastes better than usual. I beg you will\nlet me know who are to sing in the oratorio, and also its title. Let me\nhear how you like the Haydn minuets, and whether they are better than\nthe first. From my heart I rejoice to hear that Herr von Aman is now\nquite recovered; pray say to him that he must take great care of himself\nand beware of any unusual exertion. Be sure you tell him this. I intend\nshortly to send you a minuet that Herr Pick danced on the stage, and\nwhich every one in Milan was dancing at the feste di ballo, only\nthat you may see by it how slowly people dance. The minuet itself is\nbeautiful. Of course it comes from Vienna, so no doubt it is either\nTeller's or Starzer's. It has a great many notes. Why? Because it is a\ntheatrical minuet, which is in slow time. The Milan and Italian minuets,\nhowever, have a vast number of notes, and are slow and with a quantity\nof bars; for instance, the first part has sixteen, the second twenty,\nand even twenty-four.\n\nWe made the acquaintance of a singer in Parma, and also heard her to\ngreat advantage in her own house--I mean the far-famed Bastardella. She\nhas, first, a fine voice; second, a flexible organ; third, an incredibly\nhigh compass. She sang the following notes and passages in my presence.\n\n[Here, Mozart illustrates with about 20 measures of music]", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9", + "body": "Rome, April 14, 1770.\n\nI AM thankful to say that my stupid pen and I are all right, so we send\na thousand kisses to you both. I wish that my sister were in Rome,\nfor this city would assuredly delight her, because St. Peter's is\nsymmetrical, and many other things in Rome are also symmetrical. Papa\nhas just told me that the loveliest flowers are being carried past at\nthis moment. That I am no wiseacre is pretty well known.\n\nOh! I have one annoyance--there is only a single bed in our lodgings,\nso mamma may easily imagine that I get no rest beside papa. I rejoice at\nthe thoughts of a new lodging. I have just finished sketching St. Peter\nwith his keys, St. Paul with his sword, and St. Luke with--my sister,\n&c., &c. I had the honor of kissing St. Peter's foot at San Pietro, and\nas I have the misfortune to be so short, your good old\n\nWOLFGANG MOZART\n\nwas lifted up!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15", + "body": "Naples, June 16, 1770.\n\nI AM well and lively and happy as ever, and as glad to travel. I made\nan excursion on the Mediterranean. I kiss mamma's hand and Nannerl's a\nthousand times, and am your son, Steffl, and your brother, Hansl.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17", + "body": "Bologna, July 21, 1770.\n\nI WISH mamma joy of her name-day, and hope that she may live for many\nhundred years to come and retain good health, which I always ask of\nGod, and pray to Him for you both every day. I cannot do honor to the\noccasion except with some Loretto bells, and wax tapers, and caps, and\ngauze when I return. In the mean time, good-bye, mamma. I kiss your hand\na thousand times, and remain, till death, your attached son.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19", + "body": "Bologna, August 4, 1770.\n\nI GRIEVE from my heart to hear that Jungfrau Marthe is still so ill, and\nI pray every day that she may recover. Tell her from me that she must\nbeware of much fatigue and eat only what is strongly salted [she\nwas consumptive]. A propos, did you give my letter to Robinsiegerl?\n[Sigismund Robinig, a friend of his]. You did not mention it when you\nwrote. I beg that when you see him you will tell him he is not quite\nto forget me. I can't possibly write better, for my pen is only fit to\nwrite music and not a letter. My violin has been newly strung, and I\nplay every day. I only mention this because mamma wished to know whether\nI still played the violin. I have had the honor to go at least six times\nby myself into the churches to attend their splendid ceremonies. In the\nmean time I have composed four Italian symphonies [overtures], besides\nfive or six arias, and also a motett.\n\nDoes Herr Deibl often come to see you? Does he still honor you by his\namusing conversation? And the noble Herr Carl von Vogt, does he still\ndeign to listen to your tiresome voices? Herr von Schiedenhofen\nmust assist you often in writing minuets, otherwise he shall have no\nsugar-plums.\n\nIf time permitted, it would be my duty to trouble Herr von Molk and Herr\nvon Schiedenhofen with a few lines; but as that most indispensable of\nall things is wanting, I hope they will forgive my neglect, and consider\nme henceforth absolved from this honor. I have begun various cassations\n[a kind of divertimento], so I have thus responded to your desire. I\ndon't think the piece in question can be one of mine, for who would\nventure to publish as his own composition what is, in reality, written\nby the son of the Capellmeister, and whose mother and sister are in\nthe same town? Addio--farewell! My sole recreations consist in dancing\nEnglish hornpipes and cutting capers. Italy is a land of sleep; I am\nalways drowsy here. Addio--good-bye!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25", + "body": "Milan, Oct. 20, 1770.\n\nMY DEAR MAMMA,--\n\nI cannot write much, for my fingers ache from writing out such a\nquantity of recitative. I hope you will pray for me that my opera\n[\"Mitridate Re di Ponto\"] may go off well, and that we soon may have\na joyful meeting. I kiss your hands a thousand times, and have a great\ndeal to say to my sister; but what? That is known only to God and\nmyself. Please God, I hope soon to be able to confide it to her\nverbally; in the mean time, I send her a thousand kisses. My compliments\nto all kind friends. We have lost our good Martherl, but we hope that by\nthe mercy of God she is now in a state of blessedness.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 29", + "body": "MY DARLING SISTER,--\n\nIt is long since I have written to you, having been so much occupied\nwith my opera. As I have now more time, I shall attend better to my\nduty. My opera, thank God, is popular, as the theatre is full every\nevening, which causes great surprise, for many say that during all the\ntime they have lived in Milan they never saw any first opera so crowded\nas on this occasion. I am thankful to say that both papa and I are quite\nwell, and I hope at Easter to have an opportunity of relating everything\nto mamma and you. Addio! A propos, the copyist was with us yesterday,\nand said that he was at that moment engaged in transcribing my opera for\nthe Lisbon court. Good-bye, my dear Madlle. sister,\n\nAlways and ever your attached brother.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 30", + "body": "Venice, Feb 15, 1771\n\nMY VERY DEAR SISTER,--\n\nYou have, no doubt, heard from papa that I am well. I have nothing to\nwrite about, except my love and kisses to mamma. Give the enclosed--Al\nsig. Giovanni. La signora perla ricono la riverisce tanto come anche\ntutte le altre perle, e li assicuro che tutte sono inamorata di lei,\ne che sperano che lei prendera per moglie tutte, come i Turchi per\ncontenar tutte sei. Questo scrivo in casa di Sign. Wider, il quale e un\ngalant' uomo come lei melo scrisse, ed jeri abbiamo finito il carnavale\nda lui, cenardo da lui e poi ballammo ed andammo colle perle in\ncompagnie nel ridotto nuovo, che mi piacque assai. Quando sto dal Sign.\nWider e guardando fuori della finestra vedo la casa dove lei abito\nquando lei fu in Venezia. Il nuovo non so niente. Venezia mi piace\nassai. Il mio complimento al Sign., suo padre e madre, sorelle,\nfratelli, e a tutti i miei amici ed amiche. Addio!\n\n[Footnote: \"To Herr Johannes [Hagenauer] The fair 'pearl' has the same\nhigh opinion of you that all the other 'pearls' here have. I assure\nyou that they are all in love with you, and their hope is that you will\nmarry them all (like the Turks), and so please them every one. I write\nthis in the house of Signor Wider, who is an excellent man and exactly\nwhat you wrote to me, yesterday we finished the Carnival in his house.\nWe supped there and then danced, and went afterwards, in company with\nthe 'pearls,' to the new masquerade, which amused me immensely. When\nI look out of the window at Signor Wider's, I see the house that\nyou inhabited in Venice. I have no news. I like Venice very well. My\ncompliments to your father and mother, brothers and sisters, and all my\nfriends. Adieu!\"]", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 43", + "body": "Milan, Nov. 7, 1772.\n\nDon't be startled at seeing my writing instead of papa's. These are the\nreasons: first, we are at Herr von Oste's, and the Herr Baron Christiani\nis also here, and they have so much to talk about, that papa cannot\npossibly find time to write; and, secondly, he is too lazy. We arrived\nhere at 4 o'clock this afternoon, and are both well. All our good\nfriends are in the country or at Mantua, except Herr von Taste and his\nwife, who send you and my sister their compliments. Herr Misliweczeck [a\nyoung composer of operas from Paris] is still here. There is not a word\nof truth either in the Italian war, which is so eagerly discussed in\nGermany, or in the castles here being fortified. Forgive my bad writing.\n\nAddress your letters direct to us, for it is not the custom here, as in\nGermany, to carry the letters round; we are obliged to go ourselves to\nfetch them on post-days. There is nothing new here; we expect news from\nSalzburg.\n\nNot having a word more to say, I must conclude. Our kind regards to all\nour friends. We kiss mamma 1,000,000,000 times (I have no room for more\nnoughts); and as for my sister, I would rather embrace her in persona\nthan in imagination.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 50", + "body": "Vienna, August 14, 1773.\n\nI HOPE that your Majesty [Footnote 1: O. Jahn remarks that this epithet\nis a reminiscence of a fantastic game that often amused the boy on his\njourneys. He imagined a kingdom, the inhabitants of which were endowed\nwith every gift that could make them good and happy.] enjoys the best\nstate of health; and yet that now and then--or rather sometimes--or,\nbetter still, from time to time--or, still better, qualche volta, as\nthe Italians say--your Majesty will impart to me some of your grave\nand important thoughts (emanating from that most admirable and solid\njudgment which, in addition to beauty, your Majesty so eminently\npossesses; and thus, although in such tender years, my Queen casts into\nthe shade not only the generality of men but even the gray-haired).\n\nP. S. This is a most sensible production.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 53", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 28, 1774.\n\nMy Dearest Sister,\n\nI entreat you not to forget, before your journey, [FOOTNOTE: Nannerl had\nalso the most eager desire to see the new opera, and the father at last\nsucceeded in getting a lodging for her in the large market place, in the\nhouse of a widow, \"a black-eyed brunette,\" Frau von Durst.] to perform\nyour promise, that is, to make a certain visit. I have my reasons for\nthis. Pray present my kind regards in that quarter, but in the most\nimpressive and tender manner--the most tender; and, oh!----but I need\nnot be in such anxiety on the subject, for I know my sister and her\npeculiarly loving nature, and I feel quite convinced that she will do\nall she can to give me pleasure--and from self-interest, too--rather\na spiteful hit that! [Nannerl was considered a little selfish by her\nfamily.]", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 54", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 30, 1774.\n\nI BEG my compliments to Roxalana, who is to drink tea this evening with\nthe Sultan, All sorts of pretty speeches to Madlle. Mizerl; she must not\ndoubt my love. I have her constantly before my eyes in her fascinating\nneglige. I have seen many pretty girls here, but not one whose beauty\ncan be compared with hers. Do not forget to bring the variations on\nEkart's menuet d'exaude, and also those on Fischer's minuet. I was at\nthe theatre last night. The play was \"Der Mode nach der Haushaltung,\"\nwhich was admirably acted. My kind regards to all my friends. I trust\nthat you will not fail to--Farewell! I hope to see you soon in Munich.\nFrau von Durst sends you her remembrances. Is it true that Hagenauer is\nbecome a professor of sculpture in Vienna? Kiss mamma's hand for me,\nand now I stop for to-day. Wrap yourself up warmly on your journey, I\nentreat, or else you may chance to pass the fourteen days of your visit\nin the house, stifling beside a stove, unable once to move. I see the\nvivid lightning flash, and fear there soon will be a crash!\n\nYour brother.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 56", + "body": "To HIS MOTHER.\n\nMunich, Jan. 14, 1775.\n\nGOD be praised! My opera was given yesterday, the 13th, and proved so\nsuccessful that I cannot possibly describe all the tumult. In the first\nplace, the whole theatre was so crammed that many people were obliged\nto go away. After each aria there was invariably a tremendous uproar and\nclapping of hands, and cries of Viva Maestro! Her Serene Highness the\nElectress and the Dowager (who were opposite me) also called out Bravo!\nWhen the opera was over, during the interval when all is usually quiet\ntill the ballet begins, the applause and shouts of Bravo! were renewed;\nsometimes there was a lull, but only to recommence afresh, and so forth.\nI afterwards went with papa to a room through which the Elector and\nthe whole court were to pass. I kissed the hands of the Elector and the\nElectress and the other royalties, who were all very gracious. At an\nearly hour this morning the Prince Bishop of Chiemsee [who had most\nprobably procured the scrittura for his young friend Wolfgang] sent to\ncongratulate me that the opera had proved such a brilliant success in\nevery respect. As to our return home, it is not likely to be soon, nor\nshould mamma wish it, for she must know well what a good thing it is to\nhave a little breathing time. We shall come quite soon enough to----.\nOne most just and undeniable reason is, that my opera is to be given\nagain on Friday next, and I am very necessary at the performance, or it\nmight be difficult to recognize it again. There are very odd ways here.\n1000 kisses to Miss Bimberl [the dog].\n\nThe Archbishop of Salzburg, who was very reluctant to admit the merits\nof his Concertmeister, was an involuntary witness of the universal\napprobation bestowed on Wolfgang's opera, although he would not go\nto hear it himself. On the 18th of January, 1775, Wolfgang added the\nfollowing lines to his father's letter:--", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 59", + "body": "Wasserburg, Sept. 23, 1777.\n\nMon Tres-Cher Pere,--\n\nGod be praised! we reached Waging, Stain, Ferbertshaim, and Wasserburg\nsafely. Now for a brief report of our journey. When we arrived at the\ncity gates, we were kept waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour till\nthey could be thrown open for us, as they were under repair. Near Schinn\nwe met a drove of cows, and one of these very remarkable, for each side\nwas a different color, which we never before saw. When at last we got to\nSchinn, we met a carriage, which stopped, and ecce, our postilion called\nout we must change. \"I don't care,\" said I. Mamma and I were parleying,\nwhen a portly gentleman came up, whose physiognomy I at once recognized;\nhe was a Memmingen merchant. He stared at me for some time, and at last\nsaid, \"You surely are Herr Mozart?\" \"At your service,\" said I; \"I\nknow you, too, by sight, but not your name. I saw you, a year ago, at\nMirabell's [the palace garden in Salzburg] at a concert.\" He then told\nme his name, which, thank God! I have forgotten; but I retained one of\nprobably more importance to me. When I saw this gentleman in Salzburg,\nhe was accompanied by a young man whose brother was now with him, and\nwho lives in Memmingen. His name is Herr Unhold, and he pressed me very\nmuch to come to Memmingen if possible. We sent a hundred thousand loves\nto papa by them, and to my sister, the madcap, which they promised to\ndeliver without fail. This change of carriages was a great bore to me,\nfor I wished to send a letter back from Waging by the postilion. We then\n(after a slight meal) had the honor of being conveyed as far as Stain,\nby the aforesaid post-horses, in an hour and a half. At Waging I was\nalone for a few minutes with the clergyman, who looked quite amazed,\nknowing nothing of our history. From Stain we were driven by a most\ntiresome phlegmatic postilion--N. B., in driving I mean; we thought we\nnever were to arrive at the next stage. At last we did arrive, as\nyou may see from my writing this letter. (Mamma is half asleep.) From\nFerbertshaim to Wasserburg all went on well. Viviamo come i principi;\nwe want nothing except you, dear papa. Well, this is the will of God; no\ndoubt all will go on right. I hope to hear that papa is as well as I am\nand as happy. Nothing comes amiss to me; I am quite a second papa, and\nlook after everything.[Footnote: The father had been very uneasy at the\nidea of allowing the inexperienced youth, whose unsuspicious good-nature\nexposed him still more to danger, to travel alone; for the mother also\nwas not very expert in travelling.] I settled from the first to pay the\npostilions, for I can talk to such fellows better than mamma. At the\nStern, in Wasserburg, we are capitally served; I am treated here like\na prince. About half an hour ago (mamma being engaged at the time) the\nBoots knocked at the door to take my orders about various things, and\nI gave them to him with the same grave air that I have in my portrait.\nMamma is just going to bed. We both beg that papa will be careful of\nhis health, not go out too early, nor fret, [Footnote: The Father was\nstrongly disposed to hypochondria.] but laugh and be merry and in good\nspirits. We think the Mufti H. C. [the Archbishop Hieronymus Colloredo]\na MUFF, but we know God to be compassionate, merciful, and loving. I\nkiss papa's hands a thousand times, and embrace my SISTER MADCAP as\noften as I have to-day taken snuff. I think I have left my diplomas at\nhome? [his appointment at court.] I beg you will send them to me soon.\nMy pen is rude, and I am not refined.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 61", + "body": "Munich, Sept. 29, 1777.\n\nTRUE enough, a great many kind friends, but unluckily most of them have\nlittle or nothing in their power. I was with Count Seeau yesterday, at\nhalf-past ten o'clock, and found him graver and less natural than the\nfirst time; but it was only in appearance, for to-day I was at Prince\nZeill's [Bishop of Chiemsee--No. 56], who, with all courtesy, said\nto me, \"I don't think we shall effect much here. During dinner, at\nNymphenburg, I spoke privately to the Elector, who replied: 'It is\ntoo soon at this moment; he must leave this and go to Italy and become\nfamous. I do not actually reject him, but these are too early days\nas yet.'\" There it is! Most of these grandees have such paroxysms of\nenthusiasm for Italy. Still, he advised me to go to the Elector, and\nto place my case before him as I had previously intended. I spoke\nconfidentially at dinner to-day with Herr Woschitka [violoncellist in\nthe Munich court orchestra, and a member of the Elector's private band],\nand he appointed me to come to-morrow at nine o'clock, when he will\ncertainly procure me an audience. We are very good friends now. He\ninsisted on knowing the name of my informant; but I said to him, \"Rest\nassured that I am your friend and shall continue to be so; I am in turn\nequally convinced of your friendship, so you must be satisfied with\nthis.\" But to return to my narrative. The Bishop of Chiemsee also spoke\nto the Electress when tete-a-tete with her. She shrugged her shoulders,\nand said she would do her best, but was very doubtful as to her success.\nI now return to Count Seeau, who asked Prince Zeill (after he had told\nhim everything). \"Do you know whether Mozart has not enough from his\nfamily to enable him to remain here with a little assistance? I should\nreally like to keep him.\" Prince Zeill answered: \"I don't know, but\nI doubt it much; all you have to do is to speak to himself on the\nsubject.\" This, then, was the cause of Count Seeau being so thoughtful\non the following day. I like being here, and I am of the same opinion\nwith many of my friends, that if I could only remain here for a year\nor two, I might acquire both money and fame by my works, and then more\nprobably be sought by the court than be obliged to seek it myself. Since\nmy return here Herr Albert has a project in his head, the fulfilment of\nwhich does not seem to me impossible. It is this: He wishes to form an\nassociation of ten kind friends, each of these to subscribe 1 ducat (50\ngulden) monthly, 600 florins a year. If in addition to this I had even\n200 florins per annum from Count Seeau, this would make 800 florins\naltogether. How does papa like this idea? Is it not friendly? Ought not\nI to accept it if they are in earnest? I am perfectly satisfied with\nit; for I should be near Salzburg, and if you, dearest papa, were seized\nwith a fancy to leave Salzburg (which from my heart I wish you were) and\nto pass your life in Munich, how easy and pleasant would it be! For if\nwe are obliged to live in Salzburg with 504 florins, surely we might\nlive in Munich with 800.\n\nTo-day, the 30th, after a conversation with Herr Woschitka, I went to\ncourt by appointment. Every one was in hunting-costume. Baron Kern was\nthe chamberlain on service. I might have gone there last night, but\nI could not offend M. Woschitka, who himself offered to find me an\nopportunity of speaking to the Elector. At 10 o'clock he took me into a\nnarrow little room, through which his Royal Highness was to pass on his\nway to hear mass, before going to hunt. Count Seeau went by, and greeted\nme very kindly: \"How are you, dear Mozart?\" When the Elector came up to\nme, I said, \"Will your Royal Highness permit me to pay my homage and\nto offer your Royal Highness my services?\" \"So you have finally left\nSalzburg?\" \"I have left it forever, your Royal Highness. I only asked\nleave to make a journey, and being refused, I was obliged to take this\nstep, although I have long intended to leave Salzburg, which is no place\nfor me, I feel sure.\" \"Good heavens! you are quite a young man. But your\nfather is still in Salzburg?\" \"Yes, your Royal Highness; he humbly lays\nhis homage at your feet, &c., &c. I have already been three times in\nItaly. I have written three operas, and am a member of the Bologna\nAcademy; I underwent a trial where several maestri toiled and labored\nfor four or five hours, whereas I finished my work in one. This is\na sufficient testimony that I have abilities to serve any court. My\ngreatest wish is to be appointed by your Royal Highness, who is himself\nsuch a great &c., &c.\" \"But, my good young friend, I regret that there\nis not a single vacancy. If there were only a vacancy!\" \"I can assure\nyour Royal Highness that I would do credit to Munich.\" \"Yes, but what\ndoes that avail when there is no vacancy?\" This he said as he was moving\non; so I bowed and took leave of his Royal Highness. Herr Woschitka\nadvises me to place myself often in the way of the Elector. This\nafternoon I went to Count Salern's. His daughter is a maid of honor, and\nwas one of the hunting-party. Ravani and I were in the street when the\nwhole procession passed. The Elector and the Electress noticed me very\nkindly. Young Countess Salern recognized me at once, and waved her\nhand to me repeatedly. Baron Rumling, whom I had previously seen in the\nantechamber, never was so courteous to me as on this occasion. I will\nsoon write to you what passed with Salern. He was very kind, polite, and\nstraightforward.--P. S. Ma tres-chere soeur, next time I mean to write\nyou a letter all for yourself. My remembrances to B. C. M. R. and\nvarious other letters of the alphabet. Adieu! A man built a house here\nand inscribed on it: \"Building is beyond all doubt an immense pleasure,\nbut I little thought that it would cost so much treasure.\" During the\nnight some one wrote underneath, \"You ought first to have counted the\ncost.\"", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 62", + "body": "Munich, Oct. 2, 1777.\n\nYESTERDAY, October 1st, I was again at Count Salern's, and to-day I even\ndined with him. I have played a great deal during the last three days,\nand with right good will too. Papa must not, however, imagine that I\nlike to be at Count Salern's on account of the young lady; by no means,\nfor she is unhappily in waiting, and therefore never at home, but I am\nto see her at court to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, in company with\nMadame Hepp, formerly Madlle. Tosson. On Saturday the court leaves this,\nand does not return till the 20th. To-morrow I am to dine with Madame\nand Madlle. de Branca, the latter being a kind of half pupil of mine,\nfor Sigl seldom comes, and Becke, who usually accompanies her on the\nflute, is not here. On the three days that I was at Count Salern's I\nplayed a great many things extempore--two Cassations [Divertimentos]\nfor the Countess, and the finale and Rondo, and the latter by heart.\nYou cannot imagine the delight this causes Count Salern. He understands\nmusic, for he was constantly saying Bravo! while other gentlemen were\ntaking snuff, humming and hawing, and clearing their throats, or holding\nforth. I said to him, \"How I do wish the Elector were only here, that he\nmight hear me play! He knows nothing of me--he does not know what I can\ndo. How sad it is that these great gentlemen should believe what any one\ntells them, and do not choose to judge for themselves! BUT IT IS ALWAYS\nSO. Let him put me to the test. He may assemble all the composers in\nMunich, and also send in quest of some from Italy and France, Germany,\nand England and Spain, and I will undertake to write against them all.\"\nI related to him all that had occurred to me in Italy, and begged him,\nif the conversation turned on me, to bring in these things. He said, \"I\nhave very little influence, but the little that is in my power I will\ndo with pleasure.\" He is also decidedly of opinion that if I could only\nremain here, the affair would come right of itself. It would not be\nimpossible for me to contrive to live, were I alone here, for I should\nget at least 300 florins from Count Seeau. My board would cost little,\nfor I should be often invited out; and even were it not so, Albert would\nalways be charmed to see me at dinner in his house. I eat little, drink\nwater, and for dessert take only a little fruit and a small glass\nof wine. Subject to the advice of my kind friends, I would make the\nfollowing contract with Count Seeau:--I would engage to produce every\nyear four German operas, partly buffe and partly serie; from each of\nthese I should claim the profits of one performance, for such is the\ncustom here. This alone would bring me in 500 florins, which along with\nmy salary would make up 800 florins, but in all probability more; for\nReiner, an actor and singer, cleared 200 florins by his benefit, and\nI am VERY MUCH BELOVED HERE, and how much more so should I be if I\ncontributed to the elevation of the national theatre of Germany in\nmusic! And this would certainly be the case with me, for I was inspired\nwith the most eager desire to write when I heard the German operettas.\nThe name of the first singer here is Keiserin; her father is cook to a\ncount here; she is a very pleasing girl, and pretty on the stage; I have\nnot yet seen her near. She is a native of this place. When I heard her\nit was only her third appearance on the stage. She has a fine voice, not\npowerful, though by no means weak, very pure, and a good intonation.\nHer instructor is Valesi; and her style of singing shows that her master\nknows how to sing as well as how to teach. When she sustains her\nvoice for a couple of bars, I am quite surprised at the beauty of her\ncrescendo and decrescendo. She as yet takes her shakes slowly, and this\nI highly approve of, for it will be all the more pure and clear if she\never wishes to take it quicker; besides, it is easier when quick. She is\na great favorite with the people here, and with me.\n\nMamma was in the pit; she went as early as half-past four o'clock to get\na place. I, however, did not go till half-past six o'clock, for I can go\nto any box I please, being pretty well known. I was in the Brancas' box;\nI looked at Keiserin with my opera-glass, and at times she drew tears\nfrom my eyes. I often called out bravo, bravissimo, for I always\nremembered that it was only her third appearance. The piece was Das\nFischermadchen, a very good translation of Piccini's opera, with his\nmusic. As yet they have no original pieces, but are now anxious soon\nto give a German opera seria, and a strong wish prevails that I should\ncompose it. The aforesaid Professor Huber is one of those who wish\nthis. I shall now go to bed, for I can sit up no longer. It is just ten\no'clock. Baron Rumling lately paid me the following compliment: \"The\ntheatre is my delight--good actors and actresses, good singers, and a\nclever composer, such as yourself.\" This is indeed only talk, and words\nare not of much value, but he never before spoke to me in this way.\n\nI write this on the 3d of October. To-morrow the court departs, and does\nnot return till the 20th. If it had remained here, I would have taken\nthe step I intended, and stayed on here for a time; but as it is, I hope\nto resume my journey with mamma next Tuesday. But meanwhile the project\nof the associated friends, which I lately wrote to you about, may be\nrealized, so that when we no longer care to travel we shall have a\nresource to fall back upon. Herr von Krimmel was to-day with the Bishop\nof Chiemsee, with whom he has a good deal to do on the subject of salt.\nHe is a strange man; here he is called \"your Grace,\"--that is, THE\nLACKEYS do so. Having a great desire that I should remain here, he spoke\nvery zealously to the Prince in my favor. He said to me, \"Only let me\nalone; I will speak to the Prince, and I have a right to do so, for I\nhave done many things to oblige him.\" The Prince promised him that I\nshould POSITIVELY be appointed, but the affair cannot be so quickly\nsettled. On the return of the court he is to speak to the Elector with\nall possible earnestness and zeal. At eight o'clock this morning I\ncalled on Count Seeau. I was very brief, and merely said, \"I have only\ncome, your Excellency, to explain my case clearly. I have been told that\nI ought to go to Italy, which is casting a reproach on me. I was sixteen\nmonths in Italy, I have written three operas, and all this is notorious\nenough. What further occurred, your Excellency will see from these\npapers.\" And after showing him the diplomata, I added, \"I only show\nthese and say this to your Excellency that, in the event of my being\nspoken of, and any injustice done me, your Excellency may with good\ngrounds take my part.\" He asked me if I was now going to France. I said\nI intended to remain in Germany; by this, however, he supposed I meant\nMunich, and said, with a merry laugh, \"So you are to stay here after\nall?\" I replied, \"No! to tell you the truth, I should like to have\nstayed, if the Elector had favored me with a small sum, so that I might\nthen have offered my compositions to your Excellency devoid of all\ninterested motives. It would have been a pleasure to me to do this.\" At\nthese words he half lifted his skull-cap.\n\nAt ten o'clock I went to court to call on Countess Salern. I dined\nafterwards with the Brancas. Herr Geheimrath von Branca, having been\ninvited by the French Ambassador, was not at home. He is called \"your\nExcellency.\" Countess Salern is a Frenchwoman, and scarcely knows a word\nof German; so I have always been in the habit of talking French to her.\nI do so quite boldly, and she says that I don't speak at all badly,\nand that I have the good habit of speaking slowly, which makes me more\neasily understood. She is a most excellent person, and very well-bred.\nThe daughter plays nicely, but fails in time. I thought this arose from\nwant of ear on her part, but I find I can blame no one but her teacher,\nwho is too indulgent and too easily satisfied. I practised with her\nto-day, and I could pledge myself that if she were to learn from me for\na couple of months, she would play both well and accurately.\n\nAt four o'clock I went to Frau von Tosson's, where I found mamma and\nalso Frau von Hepp. I played there till eight o'clock, and after that\nwe went home; and at half-past nine a small band of music arrived,\nconsisting of five persons--two clarionet-players, two horns, and one\nbassoon. Herr Albert (whose name-day is to-morrow) arranged this music\nin honor of me and himself. They played rather well together, and were\nthe same people whom we hear during dinner at Albert's, but it is well\nknown that they are trained by Fiala. They played some of his pieces,\nand I must say they are very pretty: he has some excellent ideas.\nTo-morrow we are to have a small musical party together, where I am\nto play. (Nota bene, on that miserable piano! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh,\ndear!) I beg you will excuse my horrid writing, but ink, haste, sleep,\nand dreams are all against me. I am now and forever amen, your dutiful\nson,\n\nA. W. MOZART.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 64", + "body": "Munich, Oct. 11, 1777.\n\nWHY have I not as yet written anything about Misliweczeck? [See No. 43.]\nBecause I was only too glad not to think of him; for when he is spoken\nof I invariably hear how highly he praises me, and what a kind and\ntrue friend he is of mine; but then follow pity and lamentation. He\nwas described to me, and deeply was I distressed. How could I bear that\nMisliweczeck, my intimate friend, should be in the same town, nay, even\nin the same corner of the world with me, and neither see him nor speak\nto him? Impossible! so I resolved to go to visit him. On the previous\nday, I called on the manager of the Duke's Hospital to ask if I might\nsee my friend in the garden, which I thought best, though the doctors\nassured me there was no longer any risk of infection. The manager agreed\nto my proposal, and said I should find him in the garden between eleven\nand twelve o'clock, and, if he was not there when I came, to send for\nhim. Next day I went with Herr von Hamm, secretary in the Crown Office,\n(of whom I shall speak presently,) and mamma to the Duke's Hospital.\nMamma went into the Hospital church, and we into the garden.\nMisliweczeck was not there, so we sent him a message. I saw him coming\nacross, and knew him at once from his manner of walking. I must tell\nyou that he had already sent me his remembrances by Herr Heller, a\nvioloncello-player, and begged me to visit him before I left Munich.\nWhen he came up to me, we shook hands cordially. \"You see,\" said he,\n\"how unfortunate I am.\" These words and his appearance, which papa is\nalready aware of from description, so went to my heart that I could only\nsay, with tears in my eyes, \"I pity you from my heart, my dear friend.\"\nHe saw how deeply I was affected, so rejoined quite cheerfully, \"Now\ntell me what you are doing; when I heard that you were in Munich, I\ncould scarcely believe it; how could Mozart be here and not long ago\nhave come to see me?\" \"I hope you will forgive me, but I had such a\nnumber of visits to make, and I have so many kind friends here.\" \"I feel\nquite sure that you have indeed many kind friends, but a truer friend\nthan myself you cannot have.\" He asked me whether papa had told me\nanything of a letter he had received. I said, \"Yes, he did write to me,\"\n(I was quite confused, and trembled so much in every limb that I could\nscarcely speak,) \"but he gave me no details.\" He then told me that\nSignor Gaetano Santoro, the Neapolitan impresario, was obliged, owing\nto impegni and protezione, to give the composition of the opera for this\nCarnival to a certain Maestro Valentini; but he added, \"Next year he\nhas three at liberty, one of which is to be at my service. But as I\nhave already composed six times for Naples, I don't in the least mind\nundertaking the less promising one, and making over to you the best\nlibretto, viz. the one for the Carnival. God knows whether I shall\nbe able to travel by that time, but if not, I shall send back the\nscrittura. The company for next year is good, being all people whom I\nhave recommended. You must know that I have such influence in Naples\nthat, when I say engage such a one, they do so at once.\" Marquesi is\nthe primo uomo, whom he, and indeed all Munich too, praises very highly;\nMarchiani is a good prima donna; and there is a tenor, whose name I\ncannot recall, but Misliweczeck says he is the best in all Italy. He\nalso said, \"I do beg of you to go to Italy; there one is esteemed and\nhighly prized.\" And in truth he is right. When I come to reflect on the\nsubject, in no country have I received such honors, or been so esteemed,\nas in Italy, and nothing contributes more to a man's fame than to have\nwritten Italian operas, and especially for Naples. He said he would\nwrite a letter for me to Santoro, which I was to copy out when I went\nto see him next day; but finding it impossible to return, he sent me\na sketch of the letter to-day. I was told that when Misliweczeck heard\npeople here speaking of Becke, or other performers on the piano, he\ninvariably said, \"Let no one deceive himself; none can play like Mozart;\nin Italy, where the greatest masters are, they speak of no one but\nMozart; when his name is mentioned, not a word is said of others.\" I can\nnow write the letter to Naples when I please; but, indeed, the sooner\nthe better. I should, however, first like to have the opinion of that\nhighly discreet Hofcapellmeister, Herr von Mozart. I have the most\nardent desire to write another opera. The distance is certainly great,\nbut the period is still a long way off when I am to write this opera,\nand there may be many changes before then. I think I might at all events\nundertake it. If, in the mean time, I get no situation, eh, bien! I\nshall then have a resource in Italy. I am at all events certain to\nreceive 100 ducats in the Carnival; and when I have once written for\nNaples I shall be sought for everywhere. As papa well knows, there is an\nopera buffa in Naples in spring, summer, and autumn, for which I might\nwrite for the sake of practice, not to be quite idle. It is true that\nthere is not much to be got by this, but still there is something,\nand it would be the means of gaining more honor and reputation than by\ngiving a hundred concerts in Germany, and I am far happier when I have\nsomething to compose, which is my chief delight and passion; and if I\nget a situation anywhere, or have hopes of one, the scrittura would be\na great recommendation to me, and excite a sensation, and cause me to be\nmore thought of. This is mere talk, but still I say what is in my heart.\nIf papa gives me any good grounds to show that I am wrong, then I\nwill give it up, though, I own, reluctantly. Even when I hear an opera\ndiscussed, or am in a theatre myself and hear voices, oh! I really am\nbeside myself!\n\nTo-morrow, mamma and I are to meet Misliweczeck in the Hospital garden\nto take leave of him; for he wished me last time to fetch mamma out\nof church, as he said he should like to see the mother of so great a\nvirtuoso. My dear papa, do write to him as often as you have time to do\nso; you cannot confer a greater pleasure on him, for the man is quite\nforsaken. Sometimes he sees no one for a whole week, and he said to me,\n\"I do assure you it does seem so strange to me to see so few people; in\nItaly I had company every day.\" He looks thin, of course, but is still\nfull of fire and life and genius, and the same kind, animated person\nhe always was. People talk much of his oratorio of \"Abraham and Isaac,\"\nwhich he produced here. He has just completed (with the exception of\na few arias) a Cantata, or Serenata, for Lent; and when he was at the\nworst he wrote an opera for Padua. Herr Heller is just come from him.\nWhen I wrote to him yesterday I sent him the Serenata that I wrote in\nSalzburg: for the Archduke Maximilian [\"Il Re Pastore\"].\n\nNow to turn to something else. Yesterday I went with mamma immediately\nafter dinner to take coffee with the two Fraulein von Freysinger. Mamma,\nhowever, took none, but drank two bottles of Tyrolese wine. At three\no'clock she went home again to make preparations for our journey. I,\nhowever, went with the two ladies to Herr von Hamm's, whose three young\nladies each played a concerto, and I one of Aichner's prima vista, and\nthen went on extemporizing. The teacher of these little simpletons,\nthe Demoiselles Hamm, is a certain clerical gentleman of the name of\nSchreier. He is a good organ-player, but no pianist. He kept staring\nat me with an eye-glass. He is a reserved kind of man who does not talk\nmuch; he patted me on the shoulder, sighed, and said, \"Yes--you are--you\nunderstand--yes--it is true--you are an out-and-outer!\" By the by, can\nyou recall the name of Freysingen--the papa of the two pretty girls I\nmentioned? He says he knows you well, and that he studied with you. He\nparticularly remembers Messenbrunn, where papa (this was quite new\nto me) played most incomparably on the organ. He said, \"It was quite\nstartling to see the pace at which both hands and feet went, but quite\ninimitable; a thorough master indeed; my father thought a great deal of\nhim; and how he humbugged the priests about entering the Church! You are\njust what he was then, as like as possible; only he was a degree shorter\nwhen I knew him.\" A propos, a certain Hofrath Effeln sends you his kind\nregards; he is one of the best Hofraths here, and would long ago have\nbeen made chancellor but for one defect--TIPPLING. When we saw him\nfor the first time at Albert's, both mamma and I thought, \"What an\nodd-looking fish!\" Just imagine a very tall man, stout and corpulent,\nand a ridiculous face. When he crosses the room to another table, he\nfolds both hands on his stomach, stoops very low, and then draws himself\nup again, and makes little nods; and when this is over he draws back his\nright foot, and does this to each individual separately. He says that\nhe knows papa intimately. I am now going for a little to the play. Next\ntime I will write more fully, but I can't possibly go on to-day, for my\nfingers do ache uncommonly.\n\nMunich, October 11th, at 1/4 to 12 at night, I write as follows:--I\nhave been at the Drittl comedy, but only went in time for the ballet, or\nrather the pantomime, which I had not before seen. It is called \"Das von\nder fur Girigaricanarimanarischaribari verfertigte Ei.\" It was very good\nand funny. We are going to-morrow to Augsburg on account of Prince Taxis\nnot being at Ratisbon but at Teschingen. He is, in fact, at present at\nhis country-seat, which is, however, only an hour from Teschingen. I\nsend my sister, with this, four preludes; she will see and hear for\nherself the different keys into which they lead. My compliments to all\nmy kind friends, particularly to young Count Arco, to Madlle. Sallerl,\nand to my best of all friends, Herr Bullinger; I do beg that next Sunday\nat the usual eleven-o'clock music he will be so good as to make an\nauthoritative oration in my name, and present my regards to all the\nmembers of the orchestra and exhort them to industry, that I may not one\nday be accused of being a humbug, for I have everywhere extolled their\norchestra, and I intend always to do so.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 65", + "body": "Augsburg, Oct. 14, 1777.\n\nI HAVE made no mistake in my date, for I write before dinner, and I\nthink that next Friday, the day after to-morrow, we shall be off again.\nPray hear how generous the gentlemen of Augsburg are. In no place was\nI ever so overwhelmed with marks of distinction as here. My first visit\nwas to the Stadtpfleger Longo Tabarro [Burgomaster Langenmantl].\nMy cousin, [Footnote: Leopold Mozart had a brother in Augsburg, a\nbookbinder, whose daughter, \"das Basle\" (the cousin), was two years\nyounger than Mozart.] a good, kind, honest man and worthy citizen, went\nwith me, and had the honor to wait in the hall like a footman till my\ninterview with the high and mighty Stadtpfleger was over. I did not\nfail first of all to present papa's respectful compliments. He deigned\ngraciously to remember you, and said, \"And pray how have things gone\nwith him?\" \"Vastly well, God be praised!\" I instantly rejoined, \"and I\nhope things have also gone well with you?\" He then became more civil,\nand addressed me in the third person, so I called him \"Sir\"; though,\nindeed, I had done so from the first. He gave me no peace till I went\nup with him to see his son-in-law (on the second floor), my cousin\nmeanwhile having the pleasure of waiting in the staircase-hall. I was\nobliged to control myself with all my might, or I must have given some\npolite hint about this. On going upstairs I had the satisfaction of\nplaying for nearly three-quarters of an hour on a good clavichord\nof Stein's, in the presence of the stuck-up young son, and his prim\ncondescending wife, and the simple old lady. I first extemporized, and\nthen played all the music he had, prima, vista, and among others some\nvery pretty pieces of Edlmann's. Nothing could be more polite than they\nall were, and I was equally so, for my rule is to behave to people just\nas they behave to me; I find this to be the best plan. I said that I\nmeant to go to Stein's after dinner, so the young man offered to take me\nthere himself. I thanked him for his kindness, and promised to return\nat two o'clock. I did so, and we went together in company with his\nbrother-in-law, who looks a genuine student. Although I had begged that\nmy name should not be mentioned, Herr von Langenmantl was so incautious\nas to say, with a simper, to Herr Stein, \"I have the honor to present to\nyou a virtuoso on the piano.\" I instantly protested against this, saying\nthat I was only an indifferent pupil of Herr Sigl in Munich, who had\ncharged me with a thousand compliments to him. Stein shook his head\ndubiously, and at length said, \"Surely I have the honor of seeing M.\nMozart?\" \"Oh, no,\" said I; \"my name is Trazom, and I have a letter for\nyou.\" He took the letter and was about to break the seal instantly, but\nI gave him no time for that, saying, \"What is the use of reading the\nletter just now? Pray open the door of your saloon at once, for I am\nso very anxious to see your pianofortes.\" \"With all my heart,\" said he,\n\"just as you please; but for all that I believe I am not mistaken.\" He\nopened the door, and I ran straight up to one of the three pianos that\nstood in the room. I began to play, and he scarcely gave himself time\nto glance at the letter, so anxious was he to ascertain the truth; so\nhe only read the signature. \"Oh!\" cried he, embracing me, and crossing\nhimself and making all sorts of grimaces from intense delight. I\nwill write to you another day about his pianos. He then took me to a\ncoffee-house, but when we went in I really thought I must bolt, there\nwas such a stench of tobacco-smoke, but for all that I was obliged to\nbear it for a good hour. I submitted to it all with a good grace, though\nI could have fancied that I was in Turkey. He made a great fuss to me\nabout a certain Graf, a composer (of flute concertos only); and\nsaid, \"He is something quite extraordinary,\" and every other possible\nexaggeration. I became first hot and then cold from nervousness. This\nGraf is a brother of the two who are in Harz and Zurich. He would\nnot give up his intention, but took me straight to him--a dignified\ngentleman indeed; he wore a dressing-gown that I would not be ashamed to\nwear in the street. All his words are on stilts, and he has a habit of\nopening his mouth before knowing what he is going to say; so he often\nshuts it again without having said anything. After a great deal of\nceremony he produced a concerto for two flutes; I was to play first\nviolin. The concerto is confused, not natural, too abrupt in its\nmodulations, and devoid of all genius. When it was over I praised it\nhighly, for, indeed, he deserves this. The poor man must have had labor\nand study enough to write it. At last they brought a clavichord of\nStein's out of the next room, a very good one, but inch-thick with dust.\nHerr Graf, who is director here, stood there looking like a man who had\nhitherto believed his own modulations to be something very clever, but\nall at once discovers that others may be still more so, and without\ngrating on the ear. In a word, they all seemed lost in astonishment.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 72", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 5, 1777.\n\nMy dear Coz--Buzz,--\n\nI have safely received your precious epistle--thistle, and from it\nI perceive--achieve, that my aunt--gaunt, and you--shoe, are quite\nwell--bell. I have to-day a letter--setter, from my papa--ah-ha, safe in\nmy hands--sands. I hope you also got--trot, my Mannheim letter--setter.\nNow for a little sense--pence. The prelate's seizure--leisure, grieves\nme much--touch, but he will, I hope, get well--sell. You write--blight,\nyou will keep--cheap, your promise to write to me--he-he, to Augsburg\nsoon--spoon. Well, I shall be very glad--mad. You further write, indeed\nyou declare, you pretend, you hint, you vow, you explain, you distinctly\nsay, you long, you wish, you desire, you choose, command, and point\nout, you let me know and inform me that I must send you my portrait\nsoon--moon. Eh, bien! you shall have it before long--song. Now I wish\nyou good night--tight.\n\nThe 5th.--Yesterday I conversed with the illustrious Electress; and\nto-morrow, the 6th, I am to play in the gala concert, and afterwards, by\ndesire of the Princess, in their private apartments. Now for something\nrational! I beg of you--why not?--I beg of you, my very dear cousin--why\nnot?--when you write to Madame Tavernier in Munich, to convey a message\nfrom me to the two Demoiselles Freysinger--why not? odd enough! but why\nnot?--and I humbly ask pardon of Madlle. Josepha--I mean the youngest,\nand pray why not? why should I not ask her pardon? strange! but I don't\nknow why I should not, so I do ask her pardon very humbly--for not\nhaving yet sent the sonata I promised her, but I mean to do so as\nsoon as possible. Why not? I don't know why not. I can now write no\nmore--which makes my heart sore. To all my kind friends much love--dove.\nAddio! Your old young, till death--breath,\n\nWOLFGANG AMADE ROSENCRANZ.\n\nMiennham, eht ht5 rebotoc, 7771.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 73", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 8, 1777.\n\nThis forenoon, at Herr Cannabich's, I wrote the Rondo of the sonata for\nhis daughter; so they would not let me leave them all day. The Elector\nand the Electress, and the whole court, are very much pleased with me.\nBoth times I played at the concert, the Elector and she stood close\nbeside me at the piano. After the music was at an end, Cannabich managed\nthat I should be noticed by the court. I kissed the Elector's hand, who\nsaid, \"I think it is now fifteen years since you were here?\" \"Yes,\nyour Highness, it is fifteen years since I had that honor.\" \"You play\ninimitably.\" The Princess, when I kissed her hand, said, \"Monsieur, je\nvous assure, on ne peut pas jouer mieux.\"\n\nYesterday I went with Cannabich to pay the visit mamma already wrote to\nyou about [to Duke Carl Theodor's children], and there I conversed with\nthe Elector as if he had been some kind friend. He is a most gracious\nand good Prince. He said to me, \"I hear you wrote an opera at Munich\"\n[\"La finta Giardiniera\"]? \"Yes, your Highness, and, with your gracious\npermission, my most anxious wish is to write an opera here; I entreat\nyou will not quite forget me. I could also write a German one, God be\npraised!\" said I, smiling. \"That may easily be arranged.\" He has one\nson and three daughters, the eldest of whom and the young Count play the\npiano. The Elector questioned me confidentially about his children.\nI spoke quite honestly, but without detracting from their master.\nCannabich was entirely of my opinion. The Elector, on going away, took\nleave of me with much courtesy.\n\nAfter dinner to-day I went, at two o'clock, with Cannabich to\nWendling's, the flute-player, where they were all complaisance. The\ndaughter, who was formerly the Elector's favorite, plays the piano very\nprettily; afterwards I played. I cannot describe to you the happy mood I\nwas in. I played extempore, and then three duets with the violin, which\nI had never in my life seen, nor do I now know the name of the author.\nThey were all so delighted that I--was desired to embrace the ladies. No\nhard task with the daughter, for she is very pretty.\n\nWe then went again to the Elector's children; I played three times, and\nfrom my heart too,--the Elector himself each time asking me to play. He\nseated himself each time close to me and never stirred. I also asked a\ncertain Professor there to give me a theme for a fugue, and worked it\nout.\n\nNow for my congratulations!\n\nMy very dearest papa,--I cannot write poetically, for I am no poet. I\ncannot make fine artistic phrases that cast light and shadow, for I am\nno painter; I can neither by signs nor by pantomime express my thoughts\nand feelings, for I am no dancer; but I can by tones, for I am\na musician. So to-morrow, at Cannabich's, I intend to play my\ncongratulations both for your name-day and birthday. Mon tres-cher pere,\nI can only on this day wish for you, what from my whole heart I wish for\nyou every day and every night--health, long life, and a cheerful spirit.\nI would fain hope, too, that you have now less annoyance than when I was\nin Salzburg; for I must admit that I was the chief cause of this. They\ntreated me badly, which I did not deserve, and you naturally took my\npart, only too lovingly. I can tell you this was indeed one of the\nprincipal and most urgent reasons for my leaving Salzburg in such haste.\nI hope, therefore, that my wish is fulfilled. I must now close by a\nmusical congratulation. I wish that you may live as many years as must\nelapse before no more new music can be composed. Farewell! I earnestly\nbeg you to go on loving me a little, and, in the mean time, to excuse\nthese very poor congratulations till I open new shelves in my small and\nconfined knowledge-box, where I can stow away the good sense which I\nhave every intention to acquire.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 74", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777.\n\nWe received your last two letters, and now I must answer them in\ndetail. Your letter desiring me to inquire about Becke's parents [in\nWallerstein, No. 68] I did not get till I had gone to Mannheim, so too\nlate to comply with your wish; but it never would have occurred to me\nto do so, for, in truth, I care very little about him. Would you like\nto know how I was received by him? Well and civilly; that is, he asked\nwhere I was going. I said, most probably to Paris. He then gave me a\nvast deal of advice, saying he had recently been there, and adding, \"You\nwill make a great deal by giving lessons, for the piano is highly prized\nin Paris.\" He also arranged that I should dine at the officers'\ntable, and promised to put me in the way of speaking to the Prince.\nHe regretted very much having at that moment a sore throat, (which\nwas indeed quite true,) so that he could not go out with me himself to\nprocure me some amusement. He was also sorry that he could have no music\nin honor of me, because most of the musical people had gone that very\nday on some pedestrian excursion to--Heaven knows where! At his\nrequest I tried his piano, which is very good. He often said Bravo! I\nextemporized, and also played the sonatas in B and D. In short, he was\nvery polite, and I was also polite, but grave. We conversed on a variety\nof topics--among others, about Vienna, and more particularly that the\nEmperor [Joseph II.] was no great lover of music. He said, \"It is true\nhe has some knowledge of composition, but of nothing else. I can still\nrecall (and he rubbed his forehead) that when I was to play before him\nI had no idea what to play; so I began with some fugues and trifles of\nthat kind, which in my own mind I only laughed at.\" I could scarcely\nresist saying, \"I can quite fancy your laughing, but scarcely so loud\nas I must have done had I heard you!\" He further said (what is the fact)\nthat the music in the Emperor's private apartments is enough to frighten\nthe crows. I replied, that whenever I heard such music, if I did not\nquickly leave the room it gave me a headache. \"Oh! no; it has no such\neffect on me; bad music does not affect my nerves, but fine music never\nfails to give me a headache.\" I thought to myself again, such a shallow\nhead as yours is sure to suffer when listening to what is beyond its\ncomprehension.\n\nNow for some of our news here. I was desired to go yesterday with\nCannabich to the Intendant, Count Savioli, to receive my present. It was\njust what I had anticipated--a handsome gold watch. Ten Carolins would\nhave pleased me better just now, though the watch and chain, with its\nappendages, are valued at twenty Carolins. Money is what is most needed\non a journey; and, by your leave, I have now five watches. Indeed, I\nhave serious thoughts of having a second watch-pocket made, and, when\nI visit a grandee, to wear two watches, (which is indeed the fashion\nhere,) that no one may ever again think of giving me another. I see from\nyour letter that you have not yet read Vogler's book. [FOOTNOTE: Ton\nWissenschaft und Ton Kunst.] I have just finished it, having borrowed it\nfrom Cannabich. His history is very short. He came here in a miserable\ncondition, performed on the piano, and composed a ballet. This excited\nthe Elector's compassion, who sent him to Italy. When the Elector was in\nBologna, he questioned Father Valoti about Vogler. \"Oh! your Highness,\nhe is a great man,\" &c., &c. He then asked Father Martini the same\nquestion. \"Your Highness, he has talent; and by degrees, when he is\nolder and more solid, he will no doubt improve, though he must first\nchange considerably.\" When Vogler came back he entered the Church, was\nimmediately appointed Court Chaplain, and composed a Miserere which\nall the world declares to be detestable, being full of false harmony.\nHearing; that it was not much commended, he went to the Elector and\ncomplained that the orchestra played badly on purpose to vex and annoy\nhim; in short, he knew so well how to make his game (entering into so\nmany petty intrigues with women) that he became Vice-Capellmeister. He\nis a fool, who fancies that no one can be better or more perfect than\nhimself. The whole orchestra, from the first to the last, detest him. He\nhas been the cause of much annoyance to Holzbauer. His book is more\nfit to teach arithmetic than composition. He says that he can make a\ncomposer in three weeks, and a singer in six months; but we have not yet\nseen any proof of this. He despises the greatest masters. To myself he\nspoke with contempt of Bach [Johann Christian, J. Sebastian's youngest\nson, called the London Bach], who wrote two operas here, the first of\nwhich pleased more than the second, Lucio Silla. As I had composed the\nsame opera in Milan, I was anxious to see it, and hearing from Holzbauer\nthat Vogler had it, I asked him to lend it to me. \"With all my heart,\"\nsaid he; \"I will send it to you to-morrow without fail, but you won't\nfind much talent in it.\" Some days after, when he saw me, he said with\na sneer, \"Well, did you discover anything very fine--did you learn\nanything from it? One air is rather good. What are the words?\" asked he\nof some person standing near. \"What air do you mean?\" \"Why, that odious\nair of Bach's, that vile--oh! yes, pupille amate. He must have written\nit after a carouse of punch.\" I really thought I must have laid hold\nof his pigtail; I affected, however, not to hear him, said nothing, and\nwent away. He has now served out his time with the Elector.\n\nThe sonata for Madlle. Rosa Cannabich is finished. Last Sunday I played\nthe organ in the chapel for my amusement. I came in while the Kyrie was\ngoing on, played the last part, and when the priest intoned the Gloria I\nmade a cadence, so different, however, from what is usually heard here,\nthat every one looked round in surprise, and above all Holzbauer.\nHe said to me, \"If I had known you were coming, I would have put out\nanother mass for you.\" \"Oh!\" said I, \"to puzzle me, I suppose?\" Old\nToeschi and Wendling stood all the time close beside me. I gave them\nenough to laugh at. Every now and then came a pizzicato, when I rattled\nthe keys well; I was in my best humor. Instead of the Benedictus here,\nthere is always a voluntary, so I took the ideas of the Sanctus and\nworked them out in a fugue. There they all stood making faces. At the\nclose, after Ita missa est, I played a fugue. Their pedal is different\nfrom ours, which at first rather puzzled me, but I soon got used to\nit. I must now conclude. Pray write to us still at Mannheim. I know all\nabout Misliweczeck's sonatas [see No. 64], and played them lately at\nMunich; they are very easy and agreeable to listen to. My advice is that\nmy sister, to whom I humbly commend myself, should play them with much\nexpression, taste, and fire, and learn them by heart. For these are\nsonatas which cannot fail to please every one, are not difficult to\ncommit to memory, and produce a good effect when played with precision.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 76", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 14-16, 1777.\n\nI, Johannes, Chrysostomus, Amadeus, Wolfgangus, Sigismundus, Mozart,\nplead guilty to having both yesterday and the day before (and very often\nbesides) stayed away from home till twelve o'clock at night, from ten\no'clock till the aforesaid hour, I being in the presence and company of\nM. Cannabich, his wife and daughter, the Herrn Schatzmeister, Ramm, and\nLang, making doggerel rhymes with the utmost facility, in thought and\nword, but not in deed. I should not, however, have conducted myself\nin so reckless a manner if our ringleader, namely, the so-called Lisel\n(Elisabeth Cannabich), had not inveigled and instigated me to mischief,\nand I am bound to admit that I took great pleasure in it myself. I\nconfess all these my sins and shortcomings from the depths of my heart;\nand in the hope of often having similar ones to confess, I firmly\nresolve to amend my present sinful life. I therefore beg for a\ndispensation if it can be granted; but, if not, it is a matter of\nindifference to me, for the game will go on all the same. Lusus enim\nsuum habet ambitum, says the pious singer Meissner, (chap. 9, p. 24,)\nand also the pious Ascenditor, patron of singed coffee, musty lemonade,\nmilk of almonds with no almonds in it, and, above all, strawberry ice\nfull of lumps of ice, being himself a great connoisseur and artist in\nthese delicacies.\n\nThe sonata I composed for Madlle. Cannabich I intend to write out as\nsoon as possible on small paper, and to send it to my sister. I began\nto teach it to Madlle. Rose three days ago, and she has learned the\nallegro. The andante will give us most trouble, for it is full of\nexpression, and must be played with accuracy and taste, and the fortes\nand pianos given just as they are marked. She is very clever, and learns\nwith facility. Her right hand is very good, but the left is unhappily\nquite ruined. I must say that I do really feel very sorry for her, when\nI see her laboring away till she is actually panting for breath; and\nthis not from natural awkwardness on her part, but because, being so\naccustomed to this method, she cannot play in any other way, never\nhaving been shown the right one. I said, both to her mother and herself,\nthat if I were her regular master I would lock up all her music, cover\nthe keys of the piano with a handkerchief, and make her exercise her\nright and left hand, at first quite slowly in nothing but passages and\nshakes, &c., until her hands were thoroughly trained; and after that\nI should feel confident of making her a genuine pianiste. They both\nacknowledged that I was right. It is a sad pity; for she has so much\ngenius, reads very tolerably, has great natural aptitude, and plays with\ngreat feeling.\n\nNow about the opera briefly. Holzbauer's music [for the first great\nGerman operetta, \"Gunther von Schwarzburg\"] is very beautiful, but the\npoetry is not worthy of such music. What surprises me most is, that so\nold a man as Holzbauer should still have so much spirit, for the\nopera is incredibly full of fire. The prima donna was Madame Elisabeth\nWendling, not the wife of the flute-player, but of the violinist. She\nis in very delicate health; and, besides, this opera was not written for\nher, but for a certain Madame Danzi, who is now in England; so it does\nnot suit her voice, and is too high for her. Herr Raaff, in four arias\nof somewhere about 450 bars, sang in a manner which gave rise to the\nremark that his want of voice was the principal cause of his singing\nso badly. When he begins an air, unless at the same moment it recurs to\nyour mind that this is Raaff, the old but once so renowned tenor, I defy\nany one not to burst out laughing. It is a fact, that in my own case I\nthought, if I did not know that this is the celebrated Raaff, I\nshould be bent double from laughing, but as it is--I only take out my\nhandkerchief to hide a smile. They tell me here that he never was a good\nactor; that people went to hear, but not to see him. He has by no means\na pleasing exterior. In this opera he was to die, singing in a long,\nlong, slow air; and he died laughing! and towards the end of the aria\nhis voice failed him so entirely that it was impossible to stand it!\nI was in the orchestra next Wendling the flute-player, and as he had\npreviously criticized the song, saying it was unnatural to sing so long\nbefore dying, adding, \"I do think he will never die!\" I said in return,\n\"Have a little patience; it will soon be all over with him, for I can\nhear he is at the last gasp!\" \"And I too,\" said he, laughing. The second\nsinger, Madlle. Strasserin, sang very well, and is an admirable actress.\n\nThere is a national stage here, which is permanent like that at Munich;\nGerman operettas are sometimes given, but the singers in them are\nwretched. Yesterday I dined with the Baron and Baroness von Hagen,\nOberstjagermeister here. Three days ago I called on Herr Schmalz, a\nbanker, to whom Herr Herzog, or rather Nocker and Schidl, had given me\na letter. I expected to have found a very civil good sort of man. When\nI gave him the letter, he read it through, made me a slight bow, and said\nnothing. At last, after many apologies for not having sooner waited on\nhim, I told him that I had played before the Elector. \"Really!\" Altum\nsilentium. I said nothing, he said nothing. At last I began again: \"I\nwill no longer intrude on you. I have the honor to\"--Here he interrupted\nme. \"If I can be of any service to you, I beg\"--\"Before I leave this I\nmust take the liberty to ask you\"--\"Not for money?\" \"Yes, if you will\nbe so good as to\"--\"Oh! that I can't do; there is nothing in the letter\nabout money. I cannot give you any money, but anything else\"--\"There\nis nothing else in which you can serve me--nothing whatever. I have the\nhonor to take my leave.\" I wrote the whole history yesterday to Herr\nHerzog in Augsburg. We must now wait here for the answer, so you may\nstill write to us at Mannheim. I kiss your hand, and am your young\nbrother and father, as in your last letter you say \"I am the old man and\nson.\" To-day is the 16th when I finish this, or else you will not know\nwhen it was sent off. \"Is the letter ready?\" \"Yes, mamma, here it is!\"", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 78", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 22, 1777.\n\nTHE first piece of information that I have to give you is, that my\ntruthful letter to Herr Herzog in Augsburg, puncto Schmalzii, has had a\ncapital effect. He wrote me a very polite letter in return, expressing\nhis annoyance that I should have been received so uncourteously by detto\nSchmalz [melted butter]; so he herewith sent me a sealed letter to detto\nHerr Milk, with a bill of exchange for 150 florins on detto Herr Cheese.\nYou must know that, though I only saw Herr Herzog once, I could not\nresist asking him to send me a draft on Herr Schmalz, or to Herrn\nButter, Milk, and Cheese, or whom he would--a ca! This joke has\nsucceeded; it is no good making a poor mouth!\n\nWe received this forenoon (the 21st) your letter of the 17th. I was not\nat home, but at Cannabich's, where Wendling was rehearsing a concerto\nfor which I have written the orchestral accompaniments. To-day at six\no'clock the gala concert took place. I had the pleasure of hearing Herr\nFranzl (who married a sister of Madame Cannabich's) play a concerto on\nthe violin; he pleased me very much. You know that I am no lover of mere\ndifficulties. He plays difficult music, but it does not appear to be so;\nindeed, it seems as if one could easily do the same, and this is\nreal talent. He has a very fine round tone, not a note wanting, and\neverything distinct and well accentuated. He has also a beautiful\nstaccato in bowing, both up and down, and I never heard such a double\nshake as his. In short, though in my opinion no WIZARD, he is a very\nsolid violin-player.--I do wish I could conquer my confounded habit of\nwriting crooked.\n\nI am sorry I was not at Salzburg when that unhappy occurrence took place\nabout Madame Adlgasserin, so that I might have comforted her; and that\nI would have done--particularly being so handsome a woman. [Footnote:\nAdlgasser was the organist of the cathedral. His wife was thought very\nstupid. See the letter of August 26, 1781.] I know already all that\nyou write to me about Mannheim, but I never wish to say anything\nprematurely; all in good time. Perhaps in my next letter I may tell you\nof something VERY GOOD in your eyes, but only GOOD in mine; or something\nyou will think VERY BAD, but I TOLERABLE; possibly, too, something only\nTOLERABLE for you, but VERY GOOD, PRECIOUS, and DELIGHTFUL for me! This\nsounds rather oracular, does it not? It is ambiguous, but still may be\ndivined.\n\nMy regards to Herr Bullinger; every time that I get a letter from you,\nusually containing a few lines from him, I feel ashamed, as it reminds\nme that I have never once written to my best and truest friend, from\nwhom I have received so much kindness and civility. But I cannot try to\nexcuse myself. I only beg of him to do so for me as far as possible,\nand to believe that, as soon as I have a little leisure, I will write to\nhim--as yet I have had none; for from the moment I know that it is even\npossible or probable that I may leave a place, I have no longer a single\nhour I can call my own, and though I have now a glimmer of hope, still\nI shall not be at rest till I know how things are. One of the oracle's\nsayings must come to pass. I think it will be the middle one or the\nlast--I care not which, for at all events it will be something settled.\n\nI no doubt wrote to you that Holzbauer's grand opera is in German. If\nnot, I write it now. The title is \"Gunther von Schwarzburg,\" but not our\nworshipful Herr Gunther, barber and councillor at Salzburg! \"Rosamunde\"\nis to be given during the ensuing Carnival, the libretto being a recent\ncomposition of Wieland's, and the music also a new composition of Herr\nSchweitzer. Both are to come here. I have already seen some parts of the\nopera and tried it over on the piano, but I say nothing about it as yet.\nThe target you have had painted for me, to be given in my name to the\nshooting-match, is first-rate, and the verses inimitable. [Footnote: For\ncross-bow practice, attended weekly by a circle of his Salzburg friends.\nOn the target was represented \"the melancholy farewell of two persons\ndissolved in tears, Wolfgang and the 'Basle.'\"] I have now no more to\nwrite, except that I wish you all a good night's rest, and that you may\nall sleep soundly till this letter comes to wake you. Adieu! I embrace\nfrom my heart--cart, my dear sister--blister, and am your dutiful and\nattached son,\n\nWOLFGANG AMADE MOZART,\n\nKnight of the Golden Spur, Member of the great Verona Academy,\nBologna--oui, mon ami!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 80", + "body": "Mannheim, Nov. 29, 1777.\n\nI RECEIVED this morning your letter of the 24th, and perceive that you\ncannot reconcile yourself to the chances of good or bad fortune, if,\nindeed, the latter is to befall us. Hitherto, we four have neither been\nvery lucky nor very unlucky, for which I thank God. You make us many\nreproaches which we do not deserve. We spend nothing but what is\nabsolutely necessary, and as to what is required on a journey, you know\nthat as well or better than we do. No one BUT MYSELF has been the cause\nof our remaining so long in Munich; and had I been alone I should have\nstayed there altogether. Why were we fourteen days in Augsburg? Surely\nyou cannot have got my letters from there? I wished to give a concert.\nThey played me false, so I thus lost eight days. I was absolument\ndetermined to go away, but was not allowed, so strong was the wish that\nI should give a concert. I wished to be urged to do so, and I was urged.\nI gave the concert; this accounts for the fourteen days. Why did we go\ndirect to Mannheim? This I answered in my last letter. Why are we still\nhere? How can you suppose that I would stay here without good cause? But\nmy father, at all events, should--Well! you shall hear my reasons and\nthe whole course of the affair; but I had quite resolved not to write to\nyou on the subject until I could say something decided, (which even yet\nI cannot do,) on purpose to avoid causing you care and anxiety, which I\nalways strive to do, for I knew that uncertain intelligence would only\nfret you. But when you ascribe this to my negligence, thoughtlessness,\nand indolence, I can only regret your having such an opinion of me,\nand from my heart grieve that you so little know your son. I am not\ncareless, I am only prepared for the worst; so I can wait and bear\neverything patiently, so long as my honor and my good name of Mozart\nremain uninjured. But if it must be so, so let it be. I only beg that\nyou will neither rejoice nor lament prematurely; for whatever may\nhappen, all will be well if we only have health; for happiness\nexists--merely in the imagination.\n\nLast Thursday week I went in the forenoon to wait on Count Savioli, and\nasked him if it were possible to induce the Elector to keep me here this\nwinter, as I was anxious to give lessons to his children. His answer\nwas, \"I will suggest it to the Elector, and if it depends on me, the\nthing will certainly be done.\" In the afternoon I went to Cannabich's,\nand as I had gone to Savioli by his advice, he immediately asked me if I\nhad been there. I told him everything, on which he said, \"I should like\nyou very much to spend the winter with us, but still more to see you in\nsome permanent situation.\" I replied, \"I could wish nothing better than\nto be settled near you, but I don't see how it is possible. You have\nalready two Capellmeisters, so I don't know what I could have, for I\nwould not be subordinate to Vogler.\" \"That you would never be,\" said\nhe. \"Here not one of the orchestra is under the Capellmeister, nor\neven under the Intendant. The Elector might appoint you Chamber Court\ncomposer; only wait a little, and I will speak to Count Savioli on the\nsubject.\" On the Thursday after there was a grand concert. When the\nCount saw me, he apologized for not having yet spoken to the Elector,\nthese being still gala days; but as soon as they were over (next Monday)\nhe would certainly speak to his Royal Highness. I let three days pass,\nand, still hearing nothing whatever, I went to him to make inquiries. He\nsaid, \"My good M. Mozart, (this was yesterday, Friday,) today there was\na chasse, so it was impossible for me to ask the Elector, but to-morrow\nat this hour I will certainly give you an answer.\" I begged him not\nto forget it. To tell you the truth, when I left him I felt rather\nindignant, so I resolved to take with me the easiest of my six\nvariations of the Fischer minuet, (which I wrote here for this express\npurpose,) to present to the young Count, in order to have an opportunity\nto speak to the Elector myself. When I went there, you cannot conceive\nthe delight of the governess, by whom I was most politely received.\nWhen I produced the variations, and said that they were intended for\nthe young Count, she said, \"Oh! that is charming, but I hope you have\nsomething for the Countess also.\" \"Nothing as yet,\" said I, \"but if I\nstay here long enough to have time to write something I will do so.\" \"A\npropos,\" said she, \"I am so glad that you stay the winter here.\" \"I? I\nhave not heard a word of it.\" \"That does surprise me; how very odd!\nfor the Elector told me so himself lately; he said, 'By the by, Mozart\nremains here all winter.'\" \"Well, when he said so, he was the only man\nwho could say so, for without the Elector I of course cannot remain\nhere;\" and then I told her the whole story. We agreed that I should come\nthe next day (that is, to-day) at four o'clock, and bring some piece of\nmusic for the Countess. She was to speak to the Elector before I came;\nand I should be certain to meet him. I went today, but he had not been\nthere at all; but I shall go again to-morrow. I have written a Rondo for\nthe Countess. Have I not then sufficient cause to stay here and await\nthe result? As this important step is finally taken, ought I at this\nmoment to set off? I have now an opportunity of speaking to the Elector\nmyself. I shall most probably spend the winter here, for I am a favorite\nwith his Royal Highness, who thinks highly of me, and knows what I can\ndo. I hope to be able to give you good news in my next letter. I entreat\nyou once more neither to rejoice nor to be uneasy too soon, and not to\nconfide the affair to any one except Herr Bullinger and my sister. I\nsend my sister the allegro and the andante of the sonata I wrote for\nMadlle. Cannabich. The Rondo will follow shortly; the packet would have\nbeen too heavy had I sent it with the others. You must be satisfied with\nthe original, for you can more easily get it copied for six kreutzers a\nsheet than I for twenty-four. Is not that dear? Adieu! Possibly you\nhave heard some stray bits of this sonata; for at Cannabich's it is\nsung three times a day at least, played on the piano and violin, or\nwhistled--only sotto voce, to be sure.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 86", + "body": "Mannheim, Dec. 20, 1777.\n\nI WISH you, dearest papa, a very happy new-year, and that your health,\nso precious in my eyes, may daily improve, for the benefit and happiness\nof your wife and children, the satisfaction of your true friends, and\nfor the annoyance and vexation of your enemies. I hope also that in the\ncoming year you will love me with the same fatherly tenderness you have\nhitherto shown me. I on my part will strive, and honestly strive, to\ndeserve still more the love of such an admirable father. I was cordially\ndelighted with your last letter of the 15th of December, for, thank God!\nI could gather from it that you are very well indeed. We, too, are in\nperfect health, God be praised! Mine is not likely to fail if constant\nwork can preserve it. I am writing this at eleven at night, because\nI have no other leisure time. We cannot very well rise before eight\no'clock, for in our rooms (on the ground-floor) it is not light till\nhalf-past eight. I then dress quickly; at ten o'clock I sit down to\ncompose till twelve or half-past twelve, when I go to Wendling's, where\nI generally write till half-past one; we then dine. At three o'clock I\ngo to the Mainzer Hof (an hotel) to a Dutch officer, to give him lessons\nin galanterie playing and thorough bass, for which, if I mistake not,\nhe gives me four ducats for twelve lessons. At four o'clock I go home to\nteach the daughter of the house. We never begin till half past four,\nas we wait for lights. At six o'clock I go to Cannabich's to instruct\nMadlle. Rose. I stay to supper there, when we converse and sometimes\nplay; I then invariably take a book out of my pocket and read, as I used\nto do at Salzburg. I have already written to you the pleasure your last\nletter caused me, which is quite true; only one thing rather vexed me,\nthe inquiry whether I had not perchance forgotten to go to confession.\nI shall not say anything further on this. Only allow me to make you one\nrequest, which is, not to think so badly of me. I like to be merry,\nbut rest assured that I can be as serious as any one. Since I quitted\nSalzburg (and even in Salzburg) I have met with people who spoke and\nacted in a way that I should have felt ashamed to do, though they\nwere ten, twenty, and thirty years older than myself. I implore of you\ntherefore once more, and most earnestly, to have a better opinion of me.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 87", + "body": "Mannheim, Dec. 27, 1777.\n\nA PRETTY sort of paper this! I only wish I could make it better; but\nit is now too late to send for any other. You know, from our previous\nletters, that mamma and I have a capital lodging. It never was my\nintention that she should live apart from me; in fact, when the\nHofkammerrath Serrarius so kindly offered me his house, I only expressed\nmy thanks, which is by no means saying yes. The next day I went to see\nhim with Herr Wendling and M. de Jean (our worthy Dutchman), and only\nwaited till he should himself begin the subject. At length he renewed\nhis offer, and I thanked him in these words: \"I feel that it is a true\nproof of friendship on your part to do me the honor to invite me to live\nin your house; but I regret that unfortunately I cannot accept your most\nkind proposal. I am sure you will not take it amiss when I say that I am\nunwilling to allow my mother to leave me without sufficient cause; and\nI certainly know no reason why mamma should live in one part of the town\nand I in another. When I go to Paris, her not going with me would be a\nconsiderable pecuniary advantage to me, but here for a couple of months\na few gulden more or less do not signify.\"\n\nBy this speech my wish was entirely fulfilled,--that is, that our board\nand lodging do not at all events make us poorer. I must go up-stairs\nto supper, for we have now chatted till half-past ten o'clock. I lately\nwent with my scholar, the Dutch officer, M. de la Pottrie, into the\nReformed church, where I played for an hour and a half on the organ. It\ncame right from my heart too. We--that is, the Cannabichs, Wendlings,\nSerrariuses, and Mozarts--are going to the Lutheran Church, where I\nshall amuse myself gloriously on the organ. I tried its tone at the\nsame rehearsal that I wrote to you about, but played very little, only a\nprelude and a fugue.\n\nI have made acquaintance with Herr Wieland. He does not, however, know\nme as I know him, for he has heard nothing of me as yet. I had not\nat all imagined him to be what I find him. He speaks in rather a\nconstrained way, and has a childish voice, his eyes very watery, and\na certain pedantic uncouthness, and yet at times provokingly\ncondescending. I am not, however, surprised that he should choose to\nbehave in this way at Mannheim, though no doubt very differently at\nWeimar and elsewhere, for here he is stared at as if he had fallen from\nthe skies. People seem to be so ceremonious in his presence, no one\nspeaks, all are as still as possible, striving to catch every word he\nutters. It is unlucky that they are kept so long in expectation, for he\nhas some impediment in his speech which causes him to speak very slowly,\nand he cannot say six words without pausing. Otherwise he is, as we all\nknow, a man of excellent parts. His face is downright ugly and seamed\nwith the small-pox, and he has a long nose. His height is rather beyond\nthat of papa.\n\nYou need have no misgivings as to the Dutchman's 200 florins. I must now\nconclude, as I should like to compose for a little time. One thing more:\nI suppose I had better not write to Prince Zeill at present. The reason\nyou no doubt already know, (Munich being nearer to Salzburg than to\nMannheim,) that the Elector is at the point of death from small-pox.\nThis is certain, so there will be a struggle there. Farewell! As for\nmamma's journey home, I think it could be managed best during Lent, by\nher joining some merchants. This is only my own idea; but what I do feel\nquite sure of is, that whatever you think right will be best, for you\nare not only the Herr Hofcapellmeister, but the most rational of all\nrational beings. If you know such a person as papa, tell him I kiss his\nhands 1000 times, and embrace my sister from my heart, and in spite of\nall this scribbling I am your dutiful son and affectionate brother.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 89", + "body": "Mannheim, Jan 10, 1778\n\nYES, indeed! I also wish that from my heart. [Footnote: In the mother's\nletter, she had written, \"May God grant us the blessing of peace'\" for\nthere was much talk about the invasion of Bavaria by the Prussians and\nAustrians, on account of the succession.] You have already learned my\ntrue desire from my last letter. It is really high time that we should\nthink of mamma's journey home, for though we have had various rehearsals\nof the opera, still its being performed is by no means certain, and if\nit is not given, we shall probably leave this on the 15th of February.\nWhen that time arrives, (after receiving your advice on the subject,)\nI mean to follow the opinions and habits of my fellow-travellers, and,\nlike them, order a suit of black clothes, reserving the laced suit for\nGermany, as it is no longer the fashion in Paris. In the first place,\nit is an economy, (which is my chief object in my Paris journey,) and,\nsecondly, it wears well and suits both country and town. You can go\nanywhere with a black coat. To-day the tailor brought Herr Wendling his\nsuit. The clothes I think of taking with me are my puce-brown spagnolet\ncoat, and the two waistcoats.\n\nNow for something else. Herr Wieland, after meeting me twice, seems\nquite enchanted with me. The last time, after every sort of eulogium, he\nsaid, \"It is really fortunate for me having met you here,\" and pressed\nmy hand. To-day \"Rosamunde\" has been rehearsed in the theatre; it is\nwell enough, but nothing more, for if it were positively bad it could\nnot be performed, I suppose,--just as some people cannot sleep without\nlying in a bed! But there is no rule without an exception, and I have\nseen an instance of this; so good night! Now for something more to the\npurpose. I know for certain that the Emperor intends to establish\na German opera in Vienna, and is eagerly looking out for a young\nCapellmeister who understands the German language, and has genius, and\nis capable of bringing something new into the world. Benda at Gotha has\napplied, but Schweitzer is determined to succeed. I think it would be\njust the thing for me, but well paid of course. If the Emperor gives\nme 1000 gulden, I will write a German opera for him, and if he does not\nchoose to give me a permanent engagement, it is all the same to me. Pray\nwrite to every kind friend you can think of in Vienna, that I am capable\nof doing credit to the Emperor. If he will do nothing else, he may at\nleast try me with an opera, and as to what may occur hereafter I care\nnot. Adieu! I hope you will put the thing in train at once, or some one\nmay forestall me.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 90", + "body": "Mannheim, Jan. 17, 1778.\n\nNEXT Wednesday I am going for some days to Kirchheim-Boland, the\nresidence of the Princess of Orange. I have heard so much praise of her\nhere, that at last I have resolved to go. A Dutch officer, a particular\nfriend of mine, [M. de la Pottrie,] was much upbraided by her for\nnot bringing me with him when he went to offer his new-year's\ncongratulations. I expect to receive at least eight louis-d'or, for as\nshe has a passionate admiration of singing, I have had four arias copied\nout for her. I will also present her with a symphony, for she has a very\nnice orchestra and gives a concert every day. Besides, the copying of\nthe airs will not cost me much, for a M. Weber who is going there with\nme has copied them. He has a daughter who sings admirably, and has\na lovely pure voice; she is only fifteen. [Footnote: Aloysia, second\ndaughter of the prompter and theatrical copyist, Weber, a brother\nof Carl Maria von Weber's father.] She fails in nothing but in stage\naction; were it not for that, she might be the prima donna of any\ntheatre. Her father is a downright honest German who brings up his\nchildren well, for which very reason the girl is persecuted here. He has\nsix children,--five girls and a son. He and his wife and children have\nbeen obliged to live for the last fourteen years on an income of\n200 florins, but as he has always done his duty well, and has lately\nprovided a very accomplished singer for the Elector, he has now actually\n400 florins. My aria for De' Amicis she sings to perfection with all its\ntremendous passages: she is to sing it at Kirchheim-Boland.\n\nNow for another subject. Last Wednesday there was a great feast in our\nhouse, [at Hofkammerrath Serrarius's,] to which I was also invited.\nThere were fifteen guests, and the young lady of the house [Pierron, the\n\"House Nymph\"] was to play in the evening the concerto I had taught her\nat eleven o'clock in the forenoon. The Herr Kammerrath and Herr Vogler\ncalled on me. Herr Vogler seems quite determined to become acquainted\nwith me, as he often importuned me to go to see him, but he has overcome\nhis pride and paid me the first visit. Besides, people tell me that he\nis now very different, being no longer so much admired; for at first\nhe was made quite an idol of here. We went up-stairs together, when by\ndegrees the guests assembled, and there was no end to talking. After\ndinner, Vogler sent for two pianos of his, which were tuned alike,\nand also his wearisome engraved sonatas. I had to play them, while he\naccompanied me on the other piano. At his urgent request I sent for my\nsonatas also. N. B.--Before dinner he had scrambled through my sonata at\nsight, (the Litzau one which the young lady of the house plays.) He\ntook the first part prestissimo--the Andante allegro--and the Rondo more\nprestissimo still. He played great part of the bass very differently\nfrom the way in which it is written, inventing at times quite another\nharmony and melody. It is impossible to do otherwise in playing at such\na pace, for the eyes cannot see the notes, nor the hands get hold of\nthem. What merit is there in this? The listeners (I mean those worthy of\nthe name) can only say that they have SEEN music and piano-playing. All\nthis makes them hear, and think, and feel as little--as he does. You may\neasily believe that this was beyond all endurance, because I could not\nventure to say to him MUCH TOO QUICK! besides, it is far easier to play\na thing quickly than slowly; some notes may then be dropped without\nbeing observed. But is this genuine music? In rapid playing the right\nand left hands may be changed, and no one either see or hear it; but is\nthis good? and in what does the art of reading prima vista consist? In\nthis--to play the piece in the time in which it ought to be played, and\nto express all the notes and apoggiaturas, &c., with proper taste and\nfeeling as written, so that it should give the impression of being\ncomposed by the person who plays it. His fingering also is miserable;\nhis left thumb is just like that of the late Adlgasser, all the runs\ndownwards with the right hand he makes with the first finger and thumb!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 91", + "body": "Mannheim, Feb. 2 1778.\n\nI COULD no delay writing to you till the usual Saturday arrived, because\nit was so long since I had the pleasure of conversing with you by\nmeans of my pen. The first thing I mean to write about is how my worthy\nfriends and I got on at Kirchheim-Boland. It was simply a holiday\nexcursion, and nothing more. On Friday morning at eight o'clock we\ndrove away from here, after I had breakfasted with Herr Weber. We had\na capital covered coach which held four; at four o'clock we arrived at\nKirchheim-Boland. We immediately sent a list of our names to the palace.\nNext morning early, Herr Concertmeister Rothfischer called on us. He had\nbeen already described to me at Mannheim as a most honorable man, and\nsuch I find him to be. In the evening we went to court, (this was on\nSaturday,) where Madlle. Weber sang three airs. I say nothing of her\nsinging, but it is indeed admirable. I wrote to you lately with regard\nto her merits; but I cannot finish this letter without writing further\nabout her, as I have only recently known her well, so now first discover\nher great powers. We dined afterwards at the officers' table. Next day\nwe went some distance to church, for the Catholic one is rather far\naway. This was on Sunday. In the forenoon we dined again with the\nofficers. In the evening there was no music, because it was Sunday. Thus\nthey have music only 300 times during the year. In the evening we might\nhave supped at court, but we preferred being all together at the inn.\nWe would gladly have made them a present also of the dinners at the\nofficers' table, for we were never so pleased as when by ourselves;\nbut economy rather entered our thoughts, since we were obliged to pay\nheavily enough at the inn.\n\nThe following day, Monday, we had music again, and also on Tuesday and\nWednesday. Madlle. Weber sang in all thirteen times, and played twice on\nthe piano, for she plays by no means badly. What surprises me most is,\nthat she reads music so well. Only think of her playing my difficult\nsonatas at sight, SLOWLY, but without missing a single note. I give you\nmy honor I would rather hear my sonatas played by her than by Vogler. I\nplayed twelve times, and once, by desire, on the organ of the Lutheran\nchurch. I presented the Princess with four symphonies, and received only\nseven louis-d'or in silver, and our poor dear Madlle. Weber only five.\nThis I certainly did not anticipate! I never expected great things,\nbut at all events I hoped that each of us would at least receive eight\nlouis-d'or. Basta! We were not, however, losers, for I have a profit\nof forty-two florins, and the inexpressible pleasure of becoming better\nacquainted with worthy upright Christian people, and good Catholics, I\nregret much not having known them long ago.\n\nThe 4th.--Now comes something urgent, about which I request an answer.\nMamma and I have discussed the matter, and we agree that we do not like\nthe sort of life the Wendlings lead. Wendling is a very honorable and\nkind man, but unhappily devoid of all religion, and the whole family\nare the same. I say enough when I tell you that his daughter was a most\ndisreputable character. Ramm is a good fellow, but a libertine. I\nknow myself, and I have such a sense of religion that I shall never do\nanything which I would not do before the whole world; but I am alarmed\neven at the very thoughts of being in the society of people, during my\njourney, whose mode of thinking is so entirely different from mine\n(and from that of all good people). But of course they must do as they\nplease. I have no heart to travel with them, nor could I enjoy one\npleasant hour, nor know what to talk about; for, in short, I have no\ngreat confidence in them. Friends who have no religion cannot be long\nour friends. I have already given them a hint of this by saying that\nduring my absence three letters had arrived, of which I could for the\npresent divulge nothing further than that it was unlikely I should be\nable to go with them to Paris, but that perhaps I might come later, or\npossibly go elsewhere; so they must not depend on me. I shall be able to\nfinish my music now quite at my ease for De Jean, who is to give me 200\nflorins for it. I can remain here as long as I please, and neither board\nnor lodging cost me anything. In the meantime Herr Weber will endeavor\nto make various engagements for concerts with me, and then we shall\ntravel together. If I am with him, it is just as if I were with\nyou. This is the reason that I like him so much; except in personal\nappearance, he resembles you in all respects, and has exactly your\ncharacter and mode of thinking. If my mother were not, as you know, too\nCOMFORTABLY LAZY to write, she would say precisely what I do. I must\nconfess that I much enjoyed my excursion with them. We were pleased\nand merry; I heard a man converse just like you; I had no occasion to\ntrouble myself about anything; what was torn I found repaired. In short,\nI was treated like a prince. I am so attached to this oppressed family\nthat my greatest wish is to make them happy, and perhaps I may be able\nto do so. My advice is that they should go to Italy, so I am all anxiety\nfor you to write to our good friend Lugiati [impresario], and the sooner\nthe better, to inquire what are the highest terms given to a prima donna\nin Verona--the more the better, for it is always easy to accept lower\nterms. Perhaps it would be possible to obtain the Ascensa in Venice. I\nwill be answerable with my life for her singing, and her doing credit to\nmy recommendation. She has, even during this short period, derived much\nprofit from me, and how much further progress she will have made by that\ntime! I have no fears either with regard to her acting. If this plan be\nrealized, M. Weber, his two daughters, and I, will have the happiness\nof visiting my dear papa and dear sister for a fortnight, on our way\nthrough Salzburg. My sister will find a friend and companion in Madlle.\nWeber, for, like my sister in Salzburg, she enjoys the best reputation\nhere, owing to the careful way in which she has been brought up; the\nfather resembles you, and the whole family that of Mozart. They have\nindeed detractors, as with us, but when it comes to the point they must\nconfess the truth; and truth lasts longest. I should be glad to go with\nthem to Salzburg, that you might hear her. My air that De' Amicis used\nto sing, and the bravura aria \"Parto m' affretto,\" and \"Dalla sponda\ntenebrosa,\" she sings splendidly. Pray do all you can to insure our\ngoing to Italy together. You know my greatest desire is--to write\noperas.\n\nI will gladly write an opera for Verona for thirty zecchini, solely that\nMadlle. Weber may acquire fame by it; for, if I do not, I fear she may\nbe sacrificed. Before then I hope to make so much money by visiting\ndifferent places that I shall be no loser. I think we shall go to\nSwitzerland, perhaps also to Holland; pray write to me soon about this.\nShould we stay long anywhere, the eldest daughter [Josepha, afterwards\nMadaine Hofer, for whom the part of the Queen of the Night in the\n\"Flauto magico\" was written] would be of the greatest use to us; for we\ncould have our own menage, as she understands cooking.\n\nSend me an answer soon, I beg. Don't forget my wish to write an opera; I\nenvy every person who writes one; I could almost weep from vexation when\nI hear or see an aria. But Italian, not German--seria, not buffa! I have\nnow written you all that is in my heart; my mother is satisfied with my\nplan.\n\nThe mother, however, adds the following postscript:--\n\n\"No doubt you perceive by the accompanying letter that when Wolfgang\nmakes new friends he would give his life for them. It is true that she\ndoes sing incomparably; still, we ought not to lose sight of our own\ninterests. I never liked his being in the society of Wendling and Ramm,\nbut I did not venture to object to it, nor would he have listened to\nme; but no sooner did he know these Webers than he instantly changed his\nmind. In short, he prefers other people to me, for I remonstrate with\nhim sometimes, and that he does not like. I write this quite secretly\nwhile he is at dinner, for I don't wish him to know it.\"\n\nA few days later Wolfgang urges his father still more strongly.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 94", + "body": "Mannheim, Feb. 19, 1778.\n\nI ALWAYS thought that you would disapprove of my journey with the\nWebers, but I never had any such intention--I mean, UNDER PRESENT\nCIRCUMSTANCES. I gave them my word of honor to write to you to that\neffect. Herr Weber does not know how we stand, and I certainly shall\ntell it to no one. I wish my position had been such that I had no cause\nto consider any one else, and that we were all independent; but in the\nintoxication of the moment I forgot the present impossibility of the\naffair, and also to tell you what I had done. The reasons of my not\nbeing now in Paris must be evident to you from my last two letters. If\nmy mother had not first begun on the subject, I certainly would have\ngone with my friends; but when I saw that she did not like it, I began\nto dislike it also. When people lose confidence in me, I am apt to lose\nconfidence in myself. The days when, standing on a stool, I sang Oragna\nfiaguta fa, [Footnote: Words sounding like Italian, but devoid of\nmeaning, for which he had invented a melody. Nissen gives it in his\nLife of Mozart, p. 35.] and at the end kissed the tip of your nose,\nare indeed gone by; but still, have my reverence, love, and obedience\ntowards yourself ever failed on that account? I say no more. As for your\nreproach about the little singer in Munich [see No. 62], I must confess\nthat I was an ass to write such a complete falsehood. She does not as\nyet know even what singing means. It was true that, for a person who\nhad only learned music for three months, she sang surprisingly; and,\nbesides, she has a pleasing pure voice. The reason why I praised her so\nmuch was probably my hearing people say, from morning to night, \"There\nis no better singer in all Europe; those who have not heard her have\nheard nothing.\" I did not venture to disagree with them, partly because\nI wished to acquire friends, and partly because I had come direct from\nSalzburg, where we are not in the habit of contradicting any one; but\nas soon as I was alone I never could help laughing. Why, then, did I not\nlaugh at her in my letter to you? I really cannot tell.\n\nThe bitter way in which you write about my merry and innocent\nintercourse with your brother's daughter, makes me justly indignant;\nbut as it is not as you think, I require to give you no answer on the\nsubject. I don't know what to say about Wallerstein; I was very grave\nand reserved with Becke, and at the officers' table also I had a very\nserious demeanor, not saying one word to anybody. But let this all pass;\nyou only wrote it in a moment of irritation [see No. 74]. Your remarks\nabout Madlle. Weber are just; but at the time I wrote to you I knew\nquite as well as you that she is still too young, and must be first\ntaught how to act, and must rehearse frequently on the stage. But with\nsome people one must proceed step by step. These good people are as\ntired of being here as--you know WHO and WHERE, [meaning the Mozarts,\nfather and son, in Salzburg,] and they think everything feasible. I\npromised them to write everything to my father; but when the letter was\nsent off to Salzburg, I constantly told her that she must have a little\npatience, for she was still rather too young, &c. They take in all I\nsay in good part, for they have a high opinion of me. By my advice,\nHerr Weber has engaged Madlle. Toscani (an actress) to give his daughter\nlessons in acting. All you write of Madlle. Weber is true, except, that\nshe sings like a Gabrielli, [see Nos. 10, 37,] for I should not at all\nlike her to sing in that style. Those who have heard Gabrielli say, and\nmust say, that she was only an adept in runs and roulades; but as she\nadopted so uncommon a reading, she gained admiration, which, however,\ndid not last longer than hearing her four times. She could not please\nin the long run, for roulades soon become very tiresome, and she had the\nmisfortune of not being able to sing. She was not capable of sustaining\na breve properly, and having no messa di voce, she could not dwell on\nher notes; in short, she sang with skill, but devoid of intelligence.\nMadlle. Weber's singing, on the contrary, goes to the heart, and she\nprefers a cantabile. I have lately made her practise the passages in\nthe Grand Aria, because, if she goes to Italy, it is necessary that she\nshould sing bravuras. The cantabile she certainly will never forget,\nbeing her natural bent. Raaff (who is no flatterer), when asked to give\nhis sincere opinion, said, \"She does not sing like a scholar, but like a\nprofessor.\"\n\nSo now you know everything. I do still recommend her to you with my\nwhole heart, and I beg you will not forget about the arias, cadenzas,\n&c. I can scarcely write from actual hunger. My mother will display the\ncontents of our large money-box. I embrace my sister lovingly. She is\nnot to lament about every trifle, or I will never come back to her.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 96", + "body": "Mannheim, Feb. 28, 1778.\n\nI HOPE to receive the arias next Friday or Saturday, although in your\nlast letter you made no further mention of them, so I don't know whether\nyou sent them off on the 22d by the post-carriage. I hope so, for I\nshould like to play and sing them to Madlle. Weber. I was yesterday at\nRaafl's to take him an aria that I lately wrote for him [Kochel, No.\n295]. The words are--\"Se al labbro mio non credi, nemica mia.\" I don't\nthink they are by Metastasio. The aria pleased him beyond all measure.\nIt is necessary to be very particular with a man of this kind. I chose\nthese words expressly, because he had already composed an aria for them,\nso of course he can sing it with greater facility, and more agreeably\nto himself. I told him to say honestly if it did not suit his voice or\nplease him, for I would alter it if he wished, or write another. \"Heaven\nforbid!\" said he; \"it must remain just as it is, for nothing can be more\nbeautiful. I only wish you to curtail it a little, for I am no longer\nable to sustain my voice through so long a piece.\" \"Most gladly,\" I\nanswered, \"as much as ever you please; I made it purposely rather long,\nfor it is always easy to shorten, but not so easy to lengthen.\" After he\nhad sung the second part, he took off his spectacles, and, looking at\nme deliberately, said, \"Beautiful! beautiful! This second part is quite\ncharming;\" and he sang it three times. When I went away he cordially\nthanked me, while I assured him that I would so arrange the aria that he\nwould certainly like to sing it. I think an aria should fit a singer as\naccurately as a well-made coat. I have also, for practice, arranged\nthe air \"Non so d' onde viene\" which has been so charmingly composed by\nBach. Just because I know that of Bach so well, and it pleases me and\nhaunts my ear, I wished to try if, in spite of all this, I could succeed\nin writing an aria totally unlike the other. And, indeed, it does not in\nthe very least resemble it. I at first intended this aria for Raaff; but\nthe beginning seemed to me too high for Raaff's voice, but it pleased\nme so much that I would not alter it; and from the orchestral\naccompaniment, too, I thought it better suited to a soprano. I therefore\nresolved to write it for Madlle. Weber. I laid it aside, and took the\nwords \"Se al labbro\" for Raaff. But all in vain, for I could write\nnothing else, as the first air always came back into my head; so I\nreturned to it, with the intention of making it exactly in accordance\nwith Madlle. Weber's voice. It is andante sostenuto, (preceded by a\nshort recitative,) then follows the other part, Nel seno destarmi, and\nafter this the sostenuto again. When it was finished, I said to Madlle.\nWeber, \"Learn the air by yourself, sing it according to your own taste,\nthen let me hear it, and I will afterwards tell you candidly what\npleases and what displeases me.\"\n\nIn the course of a couple of days I went to see her, when she sang it\nfor me and accompanied herself, and I was obliged to confess that she\nhad sung it precisely as I could have wished, and as I would have taught\nit to her myself. This is now the best aria that she has, and will\ninsure her success whereever she goes. [Footnote: This wonderfully\nbeautiful aria is appended to my Life of Mozart.--Stuttgart, Bruckmaun,\n1863.] Yesterday at Wendling's I sketched the aria I promised his wife\n[Madame Wendling was a fine singer], with a short recitative. The words\nwere chosen by himself from \"Didone\": \"Ah non lasciarmi no.\" She and her\ndaughter quite rave about this air. I promised the daughter also some\nFrench ariettes, one of which I began to-day. I think with delight\nof the Concert Spirituel in Paris, for probably I shall be desired to\ncompose something for it. The orchestra is said to be good and numerous,\nso my favorite style of composition can be well given there--I mean\nchoruses, and I am very glad to hear that the French place so much value\non this class of music. The only fault found with Piccini's [Gluck's\nwell-known rival] new opera \"Roland\" is that the choruses are too meagre\nand weak, and the music also a little monotonous; otherwise it was\nuniversally liked. In Paris they are accustomed to hear nothing but\nGluck's choruses. Only place confidence in me; I shall strive with all\nmy might to do honor to the name of Mozart. I have no fears at all on\nthe subject.\n\nMy last letters must have shown you HOW THINGS ARE, and WHAT I REALLY\nMEANT. I do entreat of you never to allow the thought to cross your mind\nthat I can ever forget you, for I cannot bear such an idea. My chief aim\nis, and always will be, to endeavor that we may meet soon and happily,\nbut we must have patience. You know even better than I do that things\noften take a perverse turn, but they will one day go straight--only\npatience! Let us place our trust in God, who will never forsake us. I\nshall not be found wanting; how can you possibly doubt me? Surely it\nconcerns me also to work with all my strength, that I may have the\npleasure and the happiness (the sooner the better, too) of embracing\nfrom my heart my dearest and kindest father. But, lo and behold! nothing\nin this world is wholly free from interested motives. If war should\nbreak out in Bavaria, I do hope you will come and join me at once.\nI place faith in three friends--and they are powerful and invincible\nones--namely, God, and your head and mine. Our heads are, indeed, very\ndifferent, but each in its own way is good, serviceable, and useful;\nand in time I hope mine may by degrees equal yours in that class of\nknowledge in which you at present surpass me. Farewell! Be merry and of\ngood cheer! Remember that you have a son who never intentionally failed\nin his filial duty towards you, and who will strive to become daily more\nworthy of so good a father.\n\nAfter these frank confessions, which would, he knew, restore the\nprevious good understanding between him and his father, Mozart's genuine\ngood heart was so relieved and lightened, that the natural balance of\nhis mind, which had for some weeks past been entirely destroyed, was\nspeedily restored, and his usual lively humor soon began to revive.\nIndeed, his old delight in doggerel rhymes and all kinds of silly puns\nseems to return. He indulges fully in these in a letter to his Basle\n(cousin), which is undoubtedly written just after the previous one.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 97", + "body": "Mannheim, Feb. 28, 1778.\n\nMADEMOISELLE, MA TRES-CHERE COUSINE,--\n\nYou perhaps think or believe that I must be dead? Not at all! I beg you\nwill not think so, for how could I write so beautifully if I were dead?\nCould such a thing be possible? I do not attempt to make any excuses\nfor my long silence, for you would not believe me if I did. But truth is\ntruth; I have had so much to do that though I have had time to think of\nmy cousin, I have had no time to write to her, so I was obliged to let\nit alone. But at last I have the honor to inquire how you are, and how\nyou fare? If we soon shall have a talk? If you write with a lump of\nchalk? If I am sometimes in your mind? If to hang yourself you're\ninclined? If you're angry with me, poor fool? If your wrath begins to\ncool?--Oh! you are laughing! VICTORIA! I knew you could not long resist\nme, and in your favor would enlist me. Yes! yes! I know well how this\nis, though I'm in ten days off to Paris. If you write to me from pity,\ndo so soon from Augsburg city, so that I may get your letter, which to\nme would be far better.\n\nNow let us talk of other things. Were you very merry during the\nCarnival? They are much gayer at Augsburg at that time than here. I only\nwish I had been there that I might have frolicked about with you. Mamma\nand I send our love to your father and mother, and to our cousin, and\nhope they are well and happy; better so, so better! A propos, how goes\non your French? May I soon write you a French letter? from Paris, I\nsuppose?\n\nNow, before I conclude, which I must soon do because I am in haste,\n(having just at this moment nothing to do,) and also have no more\nroom, as you see my paper is done, and I am very tired, and my fingers\ntingling from writing so much, and lastly, even if I had room, I don't\nknow what I could say, except, indeed, a story which I have a great mind\nto tell you. So listen! It is not long since it happened, and in this\nvery country too, where it made a great sensation, for really it seemed\nalmost incredible, and, indeed, between ourselves, no one yet knows the\nresult of the affair. So, to be brief, about four miles from here--I\ncan't remember the name of the place, but it was either a village or\na hamlet, or something of that kind. Well, after all, it don't much\nsignify whether it was called Triebetrill or Burmsquick; there is no\ndoubt that it was some place or other. There a shepherd or herdsman\nlived, who was pretty well advanced in years, but still looked strong\nand robust; he was unmarried and well-to-do, and lived happily. But\nbefore telling you the story, I must not forget to say that this man\nhad a most astounding voice when he spoke; he terrified people when he\nspoke! Well! to make my tale as short as possible, you must know that\nhe had a dog called Bellot, a very handsome large dog, white with black\nspots. Well! this shepherd was going along with his sheep, for he had a\nflock of eleven thousand under his care, and he had a staff in his hand,\nwith a pretty rose-colored topknot of ribbons, for he never went out\nwithout his staff; such was his invariable custom. Now to proceed; being\ntired, after having gone a couple of miles, he sat down on a bank beside\na river to rest. At last he fell asleep, when he dreamt that he had lost\nall his sheep, and this fear awoke him, but to his great joy he saw his\nflock close beside him. At length he got up again and went on, but not\nfor long; indeed, half an hour could scarcely have elapsed, when he came\nto a bridge which was very long, but with a parapet on both sides to\nprevent any one falling into the river. Well; he looked at his flock,\nand as he was obliged to cross the bridge, he began to drive over his\neleven thousand sheep. Now be so obliging as to wait till the eleven\nthousand sheep are all safely across, and then I will finish the story.\nI already told you that the result is not yet known; I hope, however,\nthat by the time I next write to you, all the sheep will have crossed\nthe bridge; but if not, why should I care? So far as I am concerned,\nthey might all have stayed on this side. In the meantime you must\naccept the story so far as it goes; what I really know to be true I have\nwritten, and it is better to stop now than to tell you what is false,\nfor in that case you would probably have discredited the whole, whereas\nnow you will only disbelieve one half.\n\nI must conclude, but don't think me rude; he who begins must cease, or\nthe world would have no peace. My compliments to every friend, welcome\nto kiss me without end, forever and a day, till good sense comes my\nway; and a fine kissing that will be, which frightens you as well as\nme. Adieu, ma chere cousine! I am, I was, I have been, oh! that I were,\nwould to heavens I were! I will or shall be, would, could, or should\nbe--what?--A blockhead! W. A. M.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 100", + "body": "Paris, March 24, 1778.\n\nYESTERDAY (Monday, the 23d), at four o'clock in the afternoon, we\narrived here, thank God! safely, having been nine days and a half on our\njourney. We thought we really could not have gone through with it; in my\nlife I never was so wearied. You may easily imagine what it was to leave\nMannheim and so many dear kind friends, and then to travel for ten days,\nnot only without these friends, but without any human being--without a\nsingle soul whom we could associate with or even speak to. Now, thank\nHeaven! we are at our destination, and I trust that, with the help of\nGod, all will go well. To-day we are to take a fiacre and go in quest of\nGrimm and Wendling. Early to-morrow I intend to call on the Minister of\nthe Palatinate, Herr von Sickingen, (a great connoisseur and passionate\nlover of music, and for whom I have two letters from Herr von Gemmingen\nand M. Cannabich.) Before leaving Mannheim I had the quartet transcribed\nthat I wrote at Lodi one evening in the inn there, and also the quintet\nand the Fischer variations for Herr von Gemmingen [author of the\n\"Deutsche Hausvater\"], on which he wrote me a most polite note,\nexpressing his pleasure at the souvenir I had left him, and sending me\na letter to his intimate friend Herr von Sickingen, adding, \"I feel sure\nthat you will be a greater recommendation to the letter than the letter\ncan possibly be to you;\" and, to repay the expense of writing out\nthe music, he sent me three louis-d'or; he also assured me of his\nfriendship, and requested mine in return. I must say that all those who\nknew me, Hofrathe, Kammerrathe, and other high-class people, as well as\nall the court musicians, were very grieved and reluctant to see me go;\nand really and truly so.\n\nWe left on Saturday, the 14th, and on the previous Thursday there was an\nafternoon concert at Cannabich's, where my concerto for three pianos\nwas given. Madlle. Rose Cannabich played the first, Madlle. Weber the\nsecond, and Madlle. Pierron Serrarius (our \"house-nymph\") the third.\nWe had three rehearsals of the concerto, and it went off well. Madlle.\nWeber sang three arias of mine, the \"Aer tranquillo\" from the \"Re\nPastore,\" [Footnote: A festal opera that Mozart had composed in 1775, in\nhonor of the visit of the Archduke Maximilian Francis to Salzburg.] and\nthe new \"Non so d' onde viene.\" With this last air my dear Madlle. Weber\ngained very great honor both for herself and for me. All present said\nthat no aria had ever affected them like this one; and, indeed, she\nsang it as it ought to be sung. The moment it was finished, Cannabich\nexclaimed, \"Bravo! bravissimo maestro! veramente scritta da maestro!\" It\nwas given for the first time on this occasion with instruments. I should\nlike you to have heard it also, exactly as it was executed and sung\nthere, with such precision in time and taste, and in the pianos and\nfortes. Who knows? you may perhaps still hear her. I earnestly hope so.\nThe members of the orchestra never ceased praising the aria and talking\nabout it.\n\nI have many kind friends at Mannheim (both highly esteemed and rich) who\nwished very much to keep me there. Well! where I am properly paid, I am\ncontent to be. Who can tell? it may still come to pass. I wish it may;\nand thus it ever is with me--I live always in hope. Herr Cannabich is an\nhonorable, worthy man, and a kind friend of mine. He has only one fault,\nwhich is, that although no longer very young, he is rather careless and\nabsent,--if you are not constantly before his eyes, he is very apt to\nforget all about you. But where the interests of a real friend are in\nquestion, he works like a horse, and takes the deepest interest in\nthe matter; and this is of great use, for he has influence. I cannot,\nhowever, say much in favor of his courtesy or gratitude; the Webers\n(for whom I have not done half so much), in spite of their poverty and\nobscurity, have shown themselves far more grateful. Madame Cannabich and\nher daughter never thanked me by one single word, much less thought of\noffering me some little remembrance, however trifling, merely as a proof\nof kindly feeling; but nothing of the sort, not even thanks, though I\nlost so much time in teaching the daughter, and took such pains with\nher. She can now perfectly well perform before any one; as a girl only\nfourteen, and an amateur, she plays remarkably well, and for this they\nhave to thank me, which indeed is very well known to all in Mannheim.\nShe has now neatness, time, and good fingering, as well as even shakes,\nwhich she had not formerly. They will find that they miss me much three\nmonths hence, for I fear she will again be spoiled, and spoil herself;\nunless she has a master constantly beside her, and one who thoroughly\nunderstands what he is about, she will do no good, for she is still too\nchildish and giddy to practise steadily and carefully alone. [Footnote:\nRosa Cannabich became, indeed, a remarkable virtuoso. C L. Junker\nmentions her, even in his musical almanac of 1783, among the most\neminent living artists.]\n\nMadlle. Weber paid me the compliment kindly to knit two pairs of mits\nfor me, as a remembrance and slight acknowledgment. M. Weber wrote out\nwhatever I required gratis, gave me the music-paper, and also made me a\npresent of Moliere's Comedies (as he knew that I had never read them),\nwith this inscription:--\"Ricevi, amico, le opere di Moliere, in segno\ndi gratitudine, e qualche volta ricordati di me.\" [Footnote: \"Accept, my\ndear friend, Moliere's works as a token of my gratitude; and sometimes\nthink of me.\"] And when alone with mamma he said, \"Our best friend, our\nbenefactor, is about to leave us. There can be no doubt that your son\nhas done a great deal for my daughter, and interested himself much about\nher, and she cannot be too thankful to him.\" [Footnote: Aloysia Weber\nbecame afterwards Madame Lange. She had great fame as a singer. We shall\nhear more of her in the Vienna letters.] The day before I set off, they\nwould insist on my supping with them, but I managed to give them two\nhours before supper instead. They never ceased thanking me, and saying\nthey only wished they were in a position to testify their gratitude, and\nwhen I went away they all wept. Pray forgive me, but really tears come\nto my eyes when I think of it. Weber came down-stairs with me, and\nremained standing at the door till I turned the corner and called out\nAdieu!\n\nIn Paris he at once plunged into work, so that his love-affair was for a\ntime driven into the background. Compositions for the Concert Spirituel,\nfor the theatre, and for dilettanti, as well as teaching and visits to\ngreat people, occupied him. His mother writes: \"I cannot describe to you\nhow much Wolfgang is beloved and praised here. Herr Wendling had said\nmuch in his favor before he came, and has presented him to all his\nfriends. He can dine daily, if he chooses, with Noverre [the famed\nballet-master], and also with Madame d'Epinay\" [Grimm's celebrated\nfriend]. The mother herself scarcely saw him all day, for on account of\ntheir small close apartment, he was obliged to compose at Director\nLe Gros's house. She had (womanlike) written to the father about the\ncomposition of a Miserere. Wolfgang continues the letter, more fully\nexplaining the matter.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 105", + "body": "Paris, June 12, 1778.\n\nI MUST now write something that concerns our Raaff. [Footnote: Mozart\nwrote the part of Idomeneo for Raaff in the year 1781.] You no doubt\nremember that I did not write much in his favor from Mannheim, and was\nby no means satisfied with his singing--in short, that he did not please\nme at all. The cause, however, was that I can scarcely say I really\nheard him at Mannheim. The first time was at the rehearsal of\nHolzbauer's \"Gunther,\" when he was in his every-day clothes, his hat\non his head, and a stick in his hand. When he was not singing, he stood\nlooking like a sulky child. When he began to sing the first recitative,\nit went tolerably well, but every now and then he gave a kind of shriek,\nwhich I could not bear. He sang the arias in a most indolent way, and\nyet some of the notes with too much emphasis, which is not what I like.\nThis has been an invariable habit of his, which the Bernacchi school\nprobably entails; for he is a pupil of Bernacchi's. At court, too, he\nused to sing all kinds of airs which, in my opinion, by no means suited\nhis voice; so he did not at all please me. When at length he made his\ndebut here in the Concert Spirituel, he sang Bach's scena, \"Non so d'\nonde viene\" which is, besides, my great favorite, and then for the first\ntime I really heard him sing, and he pleased me--that is, in this class\nof music; but the style itself, the Bernacchi school, is not to my\ntaste. He is too apt to fall into the cantabile. I admit that, when he\nwas younger and in his prime, this must have made a great impression and\ntaken people by surprise; I could like it also, but there is too much of\nit, and it often seems to me positively ludicrous. What does please me\nin him is when he sings short pieces--for instance, andantinos; and\nhe has likewise certain arias which he gives in a manner peculiar to\nhimself. Let each occupy his proper place. I fancy that bravura singing\nwas once his forte, which is even still perceptible in him, and so far\nas age admits of it he has a good chest and a long breath; and then his\nandantino! His voice is fine and very pleasing; if I shut my eyes and\nlisten to him, I think his singing very like Meissner's, only Raaff's\nvoice seems to me more agreeable. I speak of the present time, for I\nnever heard either in his best days. I can therefore only refer to their\nstyle or method of singing, for this a singer always retains. Meissner,\nas you know, had the bad habit of purposely making his voice tremble at\ntimes,--entire quavers and even crotchets, when marked sostenuto,--and\nthis I never could endure in him. Nothing can be more truly odious;\nbesides, it is a style of singing quite contrary to nature. The human\nvoice is naturally tremulous, but only so far as to be beautiful;\nsuch is the nature of the voice, and it is imitated not only on wind\ninstruments, but on stringed instruments, and even on the piano. But the\nmoment the proper boundary is passed it is no longer beautiful, because\nit becomes unnatural. It seems to me then just like an organ when the\nbellows are panting. Now Raaff never does this,--in fact, he cannot\nbear it. Still, so far as a genuine cantabile goes, Meissner pleases me\n(though not altogether, for he also exaggerates) better than Raaff. In\nbravura passages and roulades, Raaff is indeed a perfect master, and he\nhas such a good and distinct articulation, which is a great charm; and,\nas I already said, his andantinus and canzonetti are delightful. He\ncomposed four German songs, which are lovely. He likes me much, and\nwe are very intimate; he comes to us almost every day. I have dined\nat least six times with Count von Sickingen, and always stay from one\no'clock till ten. Time, however, flies so quickly in his house that it\npasses quite imperceptibly. He seems fond of me, and I like very much\nbeing with him, for he is a most friendly, sensible person, possessing\nexcellent judgment and a true insight into music, I was there again\nto-day with Raaff. I took some music with me, as the Count (long since)\nasked me to do so. I brought my newly completed symphony, with which,\non Corpus Christi day, the Concert Spirituel is to commence. The work\npleased them both exceedingly, and I am also well satisfied with it.\nWhether it will be popular here, however, I cannot tell, and, to say\nthe truth, I care very little about it. For whom is it to please? I can\nanswer for its pleasing the few intelligent Frenchmen who may be there;\nas for the numskulls--why, it would be no great misfortune if they were\ndissatisfied. I have some hope, nevertheless, that even the dunces among\nthem may find something to admire. Besides, I have been careful not\nto neglect le premier coup d'archet; and that is sufficient. All the\nwiseacres here make such a fuss on that point! Deuce take me if I can\nsee any difference! Their orchestra begins all at one stroke, just as\nin other places. It is too laughable! Raaff told me a story of Abaco\non this subject. He was asked by a Frenchman, in Munich or\nelsewhere,--\"Monsieur, vous avez ete a Paris?\" \"Oui.\" \"Est-ce que vous\netiez au Concert Spirituel?\" \"Oui.\" \"Que dites-vous du premier coup\nd'archet? avez-vous entendu le premier coup d'archet?\" \"Oui, j'ai\nentendu le premier et le dernier.\" \"Comment le dernier? que veut dire\ncela?\" \"Mais oui, le premier et le dernier; et le dernier meme m'a donne\nplus de plaisir.\" [Footnote: The imposing impression produced by the\nfirst grand crash of a numerous orchestra, commencing with precision,\nin tutti, gave rise to this pleasantry.] A few days afterwards his\nkind mother was taken ill. Even in her letters from Mannheim she often\ncomplained of various ailments, and in Paris also she was still exposed\nto the discomfort of cold dark lodgings, which she was obliged to\nsubmit to for the sake of economy; so her illness soon assumed the worst\naspect, and Mozart experienced the first severe trial of his life. The\nfollowing letter is addressed to his beloved and faithful friend, Abbe\nBullinger, tutor in Count Lodron's family in Salzburg.\n\n\n\n(Private.) 106.\n\nParis, July 3, 1778.\n\nMY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--\n\nMourn with me! This has been the most melancholy day of my life; I\nam now writing at two o'clock in the morning. I must tell you that my\nmother, my darling mother, is no more. God has called her to Himself; I\nclearly see that it was His will to take her from us, and I must learn\nto submit to the will of God. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.\nOnly think of all the distress, anxiety, and care I have endured for the\nlast fourteen days. She died quite unconscious, and her life went out\nlike a light. She confessed three days before, took the sacrament,\nand received extreme unction. The last three days, however, she was\nconstantly delirious, and to-day, at twenty minutes past five o'clock,\nher features became distorted, and she lost all feeling and perception.\nI pressed her hand, I spoke to her, but she did not see me, she did not\nhear me, and all feeling was gone. She lay thus till the moment of her\ndeath, five hours after, at twenty minutes past ten at night. There was\nno one present but myself, Herr Heiner, a kind friend whom my father\nknows, and the nurse. It is quite impossible for me to describe the\nwhole course of the illness to-day. I am firmly convinced that she must\nhave died, and that God had so ordained it. All I would ask of you at\npresent is to act the part of a true friend, by preparing my father by\ndegrees for this sad intelligence. I have written to him by this post,\nbut only that she is seriously ill; and now I shall wait for your answer\nand be guided by it. May God give him strength and courage! My dear\nfriend, I am consoled not only now, but have been so for some time past.\nBy the mercy of God I have borne it all with firmness and composure.\nWhen the danger became imminent, I prayed to God for only two things--a\nhappy death for my mother, and strength and courage for myself; and our\ngracious God heard my prayer and conferred these two boons fully on me.\nI entreat you, therefore, my best friend, to watch over my father for\nme; try to inspire him with courage, that the blow may not be too\nhard and heavy on him when he learns the worst. I also, from my heart,\nimplore you to comfort my sister. Pray go straight to them, but do not\ntell them she is actually dead--only prepare them for the truth. Do what\nyou think best, say what you please; only act so that my mind may be\nrelieved, and that I may not have to dread another misfortune. Support\nand comfort my dear father and my dear sister. Answer me at once, I\nentreat. Adieu! Your faithful\n\nW. A. M.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 107", + "body": "Paris, July 3, 1778.\n\nMONSIEUR MON TRES-CHER PERE,--\n\nI have very painful and sad news to give you, which has, in fact, been\nthe cause of my not having sooner replied to your letter of the 11th.\nMy dearest mother is very ill. She has been bled according to her usual\ncustom, which was indeed very necessary; it did her much good, but a\nfew days afterwards she complained of shivering and feverishness; then\ndiarrhoea came on and headache. At first we only used our home remedies,\nantispasmodic powders; we would gladly have had recourse to the black\npowder, but we had none, and could not get it here. As she became every\nmoment worse, could hardly speak, and lost her hearing, so that we were\nobliged to shout to her, Baron Grimm sent his doctor to see her. She is\nvery weak, and still feverish and delirious. They do give me some hope,\nbut I have not much. I hoped and feared alternately day and night for\nlong, but I am quite reconciled to the will of God, and hope that you\nand my sister will be the same. What other resource have we to make\nus calm? More calm, I ought to say; for altogether so we cannot be.\nWhatever the result may be, I am resigned, knowing that it comes from\nGod, who wills all things for our good, (however unaccountable they may\nseem to us;) and I do firmly believe (and shall never think otherwise)\nthat no doctor, no man living, no misfortune, no casualty, can either\nsave or take away the life of any human being--none but God alone. These\nare only the instruments that He usually employs, but not always; we\nsometimes see people swoon, fall down, and be dead in a moment. When\nour time does come, all means are vain,--they rather hurry on death than\nretard it; this we saw in the case of our friend Hefner. I do not mean\nto say by this that my mother will or must die, or that all hope is at\nan end; she may recover and be restored to health, but only if the Lord\nwills it thus. After praying to God with all my strength for health\nand life for my darling mother, I like to indulge in such consolatory\nthoughts, and, after doing so, I feel more cheerful and more calm and\ntranquil, and you may easily imagine how much I require comfort. Now for\nanother subject. Let us put aside these sad thoughts, and still hope,\nbut not too much; we must place our trust in the Lord, and console\nourselves by the thought that all must go well if it be in accordance\nwith the will of the Almighty, as he knows best what is most profitable\nand beneficial both for our temporal and spiritual welfare.\n\nI have composed a symphony for the opening of the Concert Spirituel,\nwhich was performed with great applause on Corpus Christi day. I hear,\ntoo, that there is a notice of it in the \"Courrier de l'Europe,\" and\nthat it has given the greatest satisfaction. I was very nervous during\nthe rehearsal, for in my life I never heard anything go so badly. You\ncan have no idea of the way in which they scraped and scrambled through\nmy symphony twice over; I was really very uneasy, and would gladly have\nhad it rehearsed again, but so many things had been tried over that\nthere was no time left. I therefore went to bed with an aching heart and\nin a discontented and angry spirit. Next day I resolved not to go to the\nconcert at all; but in the evening, the weather being fine, I made up\nmy mind at last to go, determined that if it went as badly as at the\nrehearsal, I would go into the orchestra, take the violin out of the\nhands of M. La Haussaye, the first violin, and lead myself. I prayed to\nGod that it might go well, for all is to His greater honor and glory;\nand ecce, the symphony began, Raaff was standing beside me, and just\nin the middle of the allegro a passage occurred which I felt sure must\nplease, and there was a burst of applause; but as I knew at the time I\nwrote it what effect it was sure to produce, I brought it in once more\nat the close, and then rose shouts of \"Da capo!\" The andante was also\nliked, but the last allegro still more so. Having observed that all\nlast as well as first allegros here begin together with all the other\ninstruments, and generally unisono, mine commenced with only two\nviolins, piano for the first eight bars, followed instantly by a forte;\nthe audience, as I expected, called out \"hush!\" at the soft beginning,\nand the instant the forte was heard began to clap their hands. The\nmoment the symphony was over I went off in my joy to the Palais Royal,\nwhere I took a good ice, told over my beads, as I had vowed, and went\nhome, where I am always happiest, and always shall be happiest, or in\nthe company of some good, true, upright German, who, so long as he is\nunmarried, lives a good Christian life, and when he marries loves his\nwife, and brings up his children properly.\n\nI must give you a piece of intelligence that you perhaps already\nknow--namely, that the ungodly arch-villain Voltaire has died miserably\nlike a dog--just like a brute. This is his reward! You must long since\nhave remarked that I do not like being here, for many reasons, which,\nhowever, do not signify as I am actually here. I never fail to do my\nvery best, and to do so with all my strength. Well, God will make all\nthings right. I have a project in my head, for the success of which I\ndaily pray to God. If it be His almighty will, it must come to pass;\nbut, if not, I am quite contented. I shall then at all events have done\nmy part. When this is in train, and if it turns out as I wish, you must\nthen do your part also, or the whole work would be incomplete. Your\nkindness leads me to hope that you will certainly do so. Don't trouble\nyourself by any useless thoughts on the subject; and one favor I must\nbeg of you beforehand, which is, not to ask me to reveal my thoughts\nmore clearly till the time comes. It is very difficult at present to\nfind a good libretto for an opera. The old ones, which are the best,\nare not written in the modern style, and the new ones are all good for\nnothing; for poetry, which was the only thing of which France had reason\nto be proud, becomes every day worse, and poetry is the only thing which\nrequires to be good here, for music they do not understand. There are\nnow two operas in aria which I could write, one in two acts, and the\nother in three. The two-act one is \"Alexandra et Roxane,\" but the\nauthor of the libretto is still in the country; the one in three acts\nis \"Demofonte\" (by Metastasio). It is a translation interspersed with\nchoruses and dancing, and specially adapted to the French stage. But\nthis one I have not yet got a sight of. Write to me whether you have\nSchroter's concertos in Salzburg, or Hullmandell's sonatas. I should\nlike to buy them to send to you. Both of them are beautiful. With regard\nto Versailles, it never was my intention to go there. I asked the advice\nof Baron Grimm and other kind friends on the point, and they all thought\njust as I did. The salary is not much, and I should be obliged to live a\ndreary life for six months in a place where nothing is to be gained,\nand my talents completely buried. Whoever enters the king's service is\nforgotten in Paris; and then to become an organist! A good appointment\nwould be most welcome to me, but only that of a Capellmeister, and a\nwell-paid one too.\n\nNow, farewell! Be careful of your health; place your trust in God, and\nthen you will find consolation. My dearest mother is in the hands of the\nAlmighty. If He still spares her to us, as I wish He may, we will thank\nHim for this blessing, but if He takes her to Himself, all our anguish,\nmisery, and despair can be of no avail. Let us rather submit with\nfirmness to His almighty will, in the full conviction that it will prove\nfor our good, as he does nothing without a cause. Farewell, dearest\npapa! Do what you can to preserve your health for my sake.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 108", + "body": "Paris, July 9, 1778.\n\nI HOPE you are prepared to receive with firmness most melancholy and\npainful intelligence. My last letter of the 3d must have shown you that\nno good news could be hoped for. That very same day, the 3d, at twenty\nminutes past ten at night, my mother fell asleep peacefully in the Lord;\nindeed, when I wrote to you she was already in the enjoyment of heavenly\nbliss, for all was then over. I wrote to you in the night, and I\nhope you and my dear sister will forgive me for this slight but very\nnecessary deception; for, judging of your grief and sorrow by my own,\nI could not prevail on myself to startle you suddenly by such dreadful\nintelligence; but I hope you have now summoned up courage to hear the\nworst, and that, after at first giving way to natural and only too just\nanguish and tears, you will eventually submit to the will of God, and\nadore His inscrutable, unfathomable, and all-wise providence. You\ncan easily conceive what I have had to endure, and what courage and\nfortitude I required to bear with composure seeing her become daily\nworse and worse; and yet our gracious God bestowed this boon on me. I\nhave, indeed, suffered and wept, but what did it avail? So I strove to\nbe comforted, and I do hope, my dear father, that my dear sister and\nyou will do likewise. Weep, weep, as you cannot fail to weep, but take\ncomfort at last; remember that God Almighty has ordained it, and how can\nwe rebel against Him? Let us rather pray to Him and thank Him for\nHis goodness, for she died a happy death. Under these heart-rending\ncircumstances there were three things that consoled me--my entire and\nsteadfast submission to the will of God, and the sight of her easy and\nblessed death, which made me feel that in a moment she had become so\nhappy; for how far happier is she now than we are! Indeed, I would fain\nat that moment have gone with her. From this wish and longing proceeded\nmy third source of consolation--namely, that she is not lost to us\nforever, that we shall see her again, and live together far more happily\nand blessedly than in this world. The time as yet we know not, but that\ndoes not disturb me; when God wills it I am ready. His heavenly and holy\nwill has been fulfilled. Let us therefore pray a pious Vater unser for\nher soul, and turn our thoughts to other matters, for there is a time\nfor everything.\n\nI write this in the house of Madame d'Epinay and M. Grimm, with whom I\nnow live; I have a pretty little room with a very agreeable prospect,\nand am as happy as it is possible to be under my present circumstances.\nIt will be a great aid in restoring my tranquillity, to hear that my\ndear father and sister submit with calmness and fortitude to the will of\nGod, and trust Him with their whole heart, in the entire belief that He\norders all for the best. My dearest father, do not give way! My dearest\nsister, be firm! You do not as yet know your brother's kind heart,\nbecause he has not yet had an opportunity to prove it. Remember, my\nloved ones both, that you have a son and a brother anxious to devote all\nhis powers to make you happy, knowing well that the day must come when\nyou will not be hostile to his wish and his desire,--not certainly such\nas to be any discredit to him,--and that you will do all that lies in\nyour power to make him happy. Oh! then we shall all live together as\npeacefully, honorably, and contentedly as it is possible to do in this\nworld, and at last in God's good time all meet again above--the purpose\nfor which we were destined and created.\n\nI received your last letter of the 29th, and see with pleasure that you\nare both, thank God! in good health. I could not help laughing heartily\nat Haydn's tipsy fit. Had I been there, I certainly should have\nwhispered in his ear \"Adlgasser!\" It is really disgraceful in so clever\na man to render himself incapable by his own folly of performing his\nduties at a festival instituted in honor of God; when the Archbishop too\nand his whole court were present, and the church full of people, it was\nquite abominable.[Footnote: The father had written, \"Haydn (organist of\nthe church of the Holy Trinity) played the organ in the afternoon at the\nLitany, and the Te Deum laudamus, but in such a dreadful manner that we\nwere quite startled, and thought he was about to undergo the fate of\nthe deceased Adlgasser [who was seized with paralysis when playing the\norgan] It turned out, however, that he was only rather intoxicated, so\nhis head and hands did not agree\"] This is one of my chief reasons for\ndetesting Salzburg--those coarse, slovenly, dissipated court musicians,\nwith whom no honest man of good breeding could possibly live! instead of\nbeing glad to associate with them, he must feel ashamed of them. It\nis probably from this very cause that musicians are neither loved nor\nrespected with us. If the orchestra were only organised like that\nat Mannheim! I wish you could see the subordination that prevails\nthere--the authority Cannabich exercises; where all is done in earnest.\nCannabich, who is the best director I ever saw, is both beloved and\nfeared by his subordinates, who, as well as himself, are respected by\nthe whole town. But certainly they behave very differently, have good\nmanners, are well dressed (and do not go to public-houses to get drunk).\nThis can never be the case in Salzburg, unless the Prince will place\nconfidence either in you or me and give us full powers, which are\nindispensable to a conductor of music; otherwise it is all in vain.\nIn Salzburg every one is master--so no one is master. If I were to\nundertake it, I should insist on exercising entire authority. The Grand\nChamberlain must have nothing to say as to musical matters, or on any\npoint relating to music. Not every person in authority can become a\nCapellmeister, but a Capellmeister must become a person of authority.\n\nBy the by, the Elector is again in Mannheim. Madame Cannabich and also\nher husband correspond with me. If what I fear were to come to pass, and\nit would be a sad pity if it did,--namely, that the orchestra were to\nbe much diminished,--I still cherish one hope. You know that there is\nnothing I desire more than a good appointment,--good in reputation, and\ngood in money,--no matter where, provided it be in a Catholic country.\nYou fenced skilfully indeed with Count Stahremberg [FOOTNOTE: A\nprebendary of Salzburg, to whom the father had \"opened his heart,\" and\ntold him all that had occurred in Salzburg. Wolfgang's reinstatement in\nhis situation was being negotiated at the time.] throughout the whole\naffair; only continue as you have begun, and do not allow yourself to\nbe deluded; more especially be on your guard if by any chance you enter\ninto conversation with that silly goose---; [FOOTNOTE: He probably\nalludes to the Archbishop's sister, Countess Franziska von Walles,\nwho did the honors of her brother's court, and who, no doubt, also\ninterfered in this matter.] I know her, and believe me, though she may\nhave sugar and honey on her lips, she has gall and wormwood in her head\nand in her heart. It is quite natural that the whole affair should still\nbe in an unsettled state, and many things must be conceded before I\ncould accept the offer; and even if every point were favorably adjusted,\nI would rather be anywhere than at Salzburg. But I need not concern\nmyself on the matter, for it is not likely that all I ask should be\ngranted, as I ask a great deal. Still it is not impossible; and if all\nwere rightly organized, I would no longer hesitate, but solely for the\nhappiness of being with you. If the Salzburgers wish to have me, they\nmust comply with my wishes, or they shall never get me.\n\nSo the Prelate of Baumburg has died the usual prelatical death; but I\nhad not heard that the Prelate of the Holy Cross [in Augsburg] was also\ndead. I grieve to hear it, for he was a good, honest, upright man. So\nyou had no faith in Deacon Zeschinger [see No. 68] being made prelate?\nI give you my honor I never conjectured anything else; indeed, I do not\nknow who else could have got it; and what better prelate could we have\nfor music?\n\nMy friend Raaff leaves this to-morrow; he goes by Brussels to\nAix-la-Chapelle and Spa, and thence to Mannheim, when he is to give me\nimmediate notice of his arrival, for we mean to correspond. He sends\nnumerous greetings to you and to my sister. You write that you have\nheard nothing for a very long time of my pupil in composition; very\ntrue, but what can I say about her? She will never be a composer; all\nlabor is vain with her, for she is not only vastly stupid, but also\nvastly lazy.\n\nI had previously answered you about the opera. As to Noverre's ballet, I\nonly wrote that he might perhaps arrange a new one. He wanted about one\nhalf to complete it, and this I set to music. That is, six pieces are\nwritten by others, consisting entirely of old trumpery French airs;\nthe symphony and contre-danses, and about twelve more pieces, are\ncontributed by me. This ballet has already been given four times with\ngreat applause. I am now positively determined to write nothing more\nwithout previously knowing what I am to get for it: but this was only\na friendly act towards Noverre. Herr Wendling left this last May. If I\nwere to see Baron Bach, I must have very good eyes, for he is not here\nbut in London. Is it possible that I did not tell you this? You shall\nfind that, in future, I will answer all your letters minutely. It is\nsaid that Baron Bach will soon return here; I should be glad of that\nfor many reasons, especially because at his house there will be always\nopportunity to try things over in good earnest. Capellmeister Bach will\nalso soon be here; I believe he is writing an opera. The French are, and\nalways will be, downright donkeys; they can do nothing themselves,\nso they must have recourse to foreigners. I talked to Piccini at the\nConcert Spirituel; he is always most polite to me and I to him when we\ndo by chance meet. Otherwise I do not seek much acquaintance, either\nwith him or any of the other composers; they understand their work and\nI mine, and that is enough. I already wrote to you of the extraordinary\nsuccess my symphony had in the Concert Spirituel. If I receive a\ncommission to write an opera, I shall have annoyance enough, but this\nI shall not much mind, being pretty well accustomed to it--if only that\nconfounded French language were not so detestable for music! It is,\nindeed, too provoking; even German is divine in comparison. And then\nthe singers--but they do not deserve the name, for they do not sing, but\nscream and bawl with all their might through their noses and throats. I\nam to compose a French oratorio for the ensuing Lent, to be given at the\nConcert Spirituel. M. Le Gros (the director) is amazingly well-disposed\ntowards me. You must know that (though I used to see him every day)\nI have not been near him since Easter; I felt so indignant at his not\nhaving my symphony performed. I was often in the same house visiting\nRaaff, and thus passed his rooms constantly. His servants often saw me,\nwhen I always sent him my compliments. It is really a pity he did not\ngive the symphony--it would have been a good hit; and now he has no\nlonger the opportunity to do so, for how seldom are four such performers\nto be found together! One day, when I went to call on Raaff, I was told\nthat he was out, but would soon be home; so I waited. M. Le Gros\ncame into the room and said, \"It is really quite a marvel to have the\npleasure of seeing you once more.\" \"Yes; I have a great deal to do.\" \"I\nhope you will stay and dine with us to-day?\" \"I regret that I cannot,\nbeing already engaged.\" \"M. Mozart, we really must soon spend a day\ntogether.\" \"It will give me much pleasure.\" A long pause; at length,\n\"A propos, are you disposed to write a grand symphony for me for Corpus\nChristi day?\" \"Why not?\" \"May I then rely on this?\" \"Oh, yes! if I may,\nwith equal confidence, rely on its being performed, and that it will\nnot fare like the sinfonie concertante.\" This opened the flood-gates; he\nexcused himself in the best way he could, but did not find much to say.\nIn short, the symphony [Kochel, No. 297] was highly approved of; and Le\nGros is so satisfied with it that he says it is his very best symphony.\nThe andante, however, has not the good fortune to please him; he\ndeclares that it has too many modulations, and is too long. He derives\nthis opinion from the audience forgetting to clap their hands as loudly,\nand to be as vociferous, as at the end of the first and last movements.\nBut this andante is a great favorite WITH MYSELF, as well as with all\nconnoisseurs, amateurs, and the greater part of those who heard it. It\nis the exact reverse of what Le Gros says, for it is both simple and\nshort. But in order to satisfy him (and no doubt some others) I have\nwritten a fresh one. Each good in its own way--each having a different\ncharacter. The last pleases me the best. The first good opportunity I\nhave, I will send you this sinfonie concertante, and also the \"School\nfor the Violin,\" some pieces for the piano, and Vogler's book (\"Ton\nWissenschaft und Kunst\"), and then I hope to have your opinion of them.\nOn August 15th, Ascension Day, my sinfonie, with the new andante, is to\nbe performed for the second time. The sinfonie is in Re, the andante in\nSol, for here one must not say in D or in G. Le Gros is now all for me.\n\nTake comfort and pray without ceasing; this is the only resource we\nhave. I hope you will cause a holy mass to be said in Maria Plain and\nin Loretto. I have done so here. As for the letter to Herr Bahr, I don't\nthink it is necessary to send it to me; I am not as yet acquainted\nwith him; I only know that he plays the clarionet well, but is in other\nrespects no desirable companion, and I do not willingly associate with\nsuch people; no credit is derived from them, and I really should feel\npositively ashamed to give him a letter recommending me to him--even if\nhe could be of service to me; but it so happens that he is by no means\nin good repute here. Many do not know him at all. Of the two Staunitz,\nthe junior only is here [Mannheim composer]. The elder of the two\n(the veritable Hafeneder composer) is in London. They are wretched\nscribblers, gamblers, and drunkards, and not the kind of people for me.\nThe one now here has scarcely a coat to his back. By the by, if Brunetti\nshould ever be dismissed, I would be glad to recommend a friend of mine\nto the Archbishop as first violin; he is a most worthy man, and very\nsteady. I think he is about forty years of age, and a widower; his\nname is Rothfischer. He is Concertmeister at Kirchheim-Boland, with\nthe Princess of Nassau-Weilberg [see No. 91]. Entre nous, he is\ndissatisfied, for he is no favorite with his Prince--that is, his music\nis not. He urged me to forward his interests, and it would cause me real\npleasure to be of use to him, for never was there such a kind man.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 109", + "body": "Paris, July 18, 1778.\n\nI HOPE you got my last two letters. Let us allude no more to their chief\npurport. All is over; and were we to write whole pages on the subject,\nwe could not alter the fact.\n\nThe principal object of this letter is to congratulate my dear sister\non her name-day. I think I wrote to you that M. Raaff had left this, but\nthat he is my very true and most particular friend, and I can entirely\ndepend on his regard. I could not possibly write to you, because I did\nnot myself know that he had so much affection for me. Now, to write a\nstory properly, one ought to begin from the beginning. I ought to tell\nyou, first, that Raaff lodged with M. Le Gros. It just occurs to me that\nyou already know this; but what am I to do? It is written, and I can't\nbegin the letter again, so I proceed. When he arrived, we happened to be\nat dinner. This, too, has nothing to do with the matter; it is only to\nlet you know that people do dine in Paris, as elsewhere. When I went\nhome I found a letter for me from Herr Weber, and the bearer of it was\nRaaff. If I wished to deserve the name of a historian, I ought here to\ninsert the contents of this letter; and I can with truth say that I am\nvery reluctant to decline giving them. But I must not be too prolix; to\nbe concise is a fine thing, which you can see by my letter. The third\nday I found him at home and thanked him; it is always advisable to be\npolite. I no longer remember what we talked about. An historian must be\nunusually dull who cannot forthwith supply some falsehood--I mean some\nromance. Well! we spoke of the fine weather; and when we had said our\nsay, we were silent, and I went away. Some days after--though what day\nit was I really forget, but one day in the week assuredly--I had\njust seated myself, at the piano of course; and Ritter, the worthy\nHolzbeisser, was sitting beside me. Now, what is to be deduced from\nthat? A great deal. Raaff had never heard me at Mannheim except at a\nconcert, where the noise and uproar was so great that nothing could\nbe heard; and HE had such a miserable piano that I could not have done\nmyself any justice on it. Here, however, the instrument was good, and\nI saw Raaff sitting opposite me with a speculative air; so, as you\nmay imagine, I played some preludes in the Fischietti method, and also\nplayed a florid sonata in the style and with the fire, spirit, and\nprecision of Haydn, and then a fugue with all the skill of Lipp, Silber,\nand Aman. [Footnote: Fischietti was Capellmeister in Salzburg; Michael\nHaydn and Lipp, organists.] My fugue-playing has everywhere gained me\nthe greatest applause. When I had quite finished, (Raaff all the time\ncalling out Bravo! while his countenance showed his true and sincere\ndelight,) I entered into conversation with Ritter, and among other\nthings said that I by no means liked being here; adding, \"The chief\ncause of this is music; besides, I can find no resources here,\nno amusement, no agreeable or sociable intercourse with any\none,--especially with ladies, many of whom are disreputable, and those\nwho are not so are deficient in good breeding.\" Ritter could not deny\nthat I was right. Raaff at last said, smiling, \"I can quite believe it,\nfor M. Mozart is not WHOLLY here to admire the Parisian beauties; one\nhalf of him is elsewhere--where I have just come from.\" This of course\ngave rise to much laughing and joking; but Raaff presently said, in a\nserious tone, \"You are quite right, and I cannot blame you; she deserves\nit, for she is a sweet, pretty, good girl, well educated, and a superior\nperson with considerable talent.\" This gave me an excellent opportunity\nstrongly to recommend my beloved Madlle. Weber to him; but there was no\noccasion for me to say much, as he was already quite fascinated by her.\nHe promised me, as soon as he returned to Mannheim, to give her lessons,\nand to interest himself in her favor. I ought, by rights, to insert\nsomething here, but I must first finish the history of our friendship;\nif there is still room, I may do so. He was in my eyes only an every-day\nacquaintance, and no more; but I often sat with him in his room, so by\ndegrees I began to place more confidence in him, and at last told him\nall my Mannheim history,--how I had been bamboozled and made a fool of,\nadding that perhaps I might still get an appointment there. He neither\nsaid yes nor no; and on every occasion when I alluded to it he seemed\neach time more indifferent and less interested in the matter. At last,\nhowever, I thought I remarked more complacency in his manner, and he\noften, indeed, began to speak of the affair himself. I introduced him\nto Herr Grimm and to Madame d'Epinay. On one occasion he came to me\nand said that he and I were to dine with Count Sickingen some day soon;\nadding, \"The Count and I were conversing together, and I said to him,\n'A propos, has your Excellency heard our Mozart?' 'No; but I should\nlike very much both to see and to hear him, for they write me most\nastonishing things about him from Mannheim.' 'When your Excellency does\nhear him, you will see that what has been written to you is rather\ntoo little than too much.' 'Is it possible?' 'Beyond all doubt, your\nExcellency.'\" Now, this was the first time that I had any reason to\nthink Raaff interested in me. Then it went on increasing, and one day I\nasked him to come home with me; and after that he often came of his\nown accord, and at length every day. The day after he left this, a\ngood-looking man called on me in the forenoon with a picture, and said,\n\"Monsieur, je viens de la part de ce Monsieur,\" showing me a portrait\nof Raaff, and an admirable likeness. Presently he began to speak German;\nand it turned out that he was a painter of the Elector's, whom Raaff\nhad often mentioned to me, but always forgot to take me to see him. I\nbelieve you know him, for it must be the very person Madame Urspringer,\nof Mayence, alludes to in her letter, because he says he often met us\nat the Urspringers'. His name is Kymli. He is a most kind, amiable man,\nwell-principled, honorable, and a good Christian; one proof of which\nis the friendship between him and Raaff. Now comes the best evidence of\nRaaff's regard for me, and the sincere interest he takes in my welfare:\nit is, that he imparts his intentions rather to those whom he can trust\nthan to those more immediately concerned, being unwilling to promise\nwithout the certainty of a happy result. This is what Kymli told me.\nRaaff asked him to call on me and to show me his portrait, to see me\noften, and to assist me in every way, and to establish an intimate\nfriendship with me. It seems he went to him every morning, and\nrepeatedly said to Kymli, \"I was at Herr Mozart's again yesterday\nevening; he is, indeed, a wonderful little fellow; he is an\nout-and-outer, and no mistake!\" and was always praising me. He told\nKymli everything, and the whole Mannheim story--in short, all. The fact\nis, that high-principled, religious, and well-conducted people always\nlike each other. Kymli says I may rest assured that I am in good hands.\n\"Raaff will certainly do all he can for you, and he is a prudent man\nwho will set to work cleverly; he will not say that it is your wish, but\nrather your due. He is on the best footing with the Oberststallmeister.\nRely on it, he will not be beat; only you must let him go his own way\nto work.\" One thing more. Father Martini's letter to Raaff, praising me,\nmust have been lost. Raaff had, some time since, a letter from him, but\nnot a word about me in it. Possibly it is still lying in Mannheim; but\nthis is unlikely, as I know that, during his stay in Paris, all his\nletters have been regularly forwarded to him. As the Elector justly\nentertains a very high opinion of the Padre Maestro, I think it would be\na good thing if you would be so kind as to apply to him to write again\nabout me to Raaff; it might be of use, and good Father Martini would not\nhesitate to do a friendly thing twice over for me, knowing that he might\nthus make my fortune. He no doubt would express the letter in such a\nmanner that it could be shown, if need be, to the Elector. Now enough as\nto this; my wish for a favorable issue is chiefly that I may soon have\nthe happiness of embracing my dear father and sister. Oh! how joyously\nand happily we shall live together! I pray fervently to God to grant me\nthis favor; a new leaf will at last be turned, please God! In the fond\nhope that the day will come, and the sooner the better, when we shall\nall be happy, I mean, in God's name, to persevere in my life here,\nthough so totally opposed to my genius, inclinations, knowledge, and\nsympathies. Believe me, this is but too true,--I write you only the\nsimple truth. If I were to attempt to give you all my reasons, I might\nwrite my fingers off and do no good. For here I am, and I must do all\nthat is in my power. God grant that I may not thus impair my talents;\nbut I hope it will not continue long enough for that. God grant it! By\nthe by, the other day an ecclesiastic called on me. He is the leader of\nthe choir at St. Peter's, in Salzburg, and knows you very well; his name\nis Zendorff; perhaps you may not remember him? He gives lessons here on\nthe piano--in Paris. N. B., have not you a horror of the very name of\nParis? I strongly recommend him as organist to the Archbishop; he says\nhe would be satisfied with three hundred florins. Now farewell! Be\ncareful of your health, and strive to be cheerful. Remember that\npossibly you may ere long have the satisfaction of tossing off a good\nglass of Rhenish wine with your son--your truly happy son. Adieu!\n\n20th.--Pray forgive my being so late in sending you my congratulations,\nbut I wished to present my sister with a little prelude. The mode of\nplaying it I leave to her own feeling. This is not the kind of prelude\nto pass from one key to another, but merely a capriccio to try over a\npiano. My sonatas [Kochel, Nos. 301-306] are soon to be published. No\none as yet would agree to give me what I asked for them, so I have been\nobliged at last to give in, and to let them go for 15 louis-d'or. It is\nthe best way too to make my name known here. As soon as they appear I\nwill send them to you by some good opportunity (and as economically\nas possible) along with your \"School for the Violin,\" Vogler's book,\nHullmandel's sonatas, Schroter's concertos, some of my pianoforte\nsonatas, the sinfonie concertante, two quartets for the flute, and a\nconcerto for harp and flute [Kochel, No. 298, 299].\n\nPray, what do you hear about the war? For three days I was very\ndepressed and sorrowful; it is, after all, nothing to me, but I am so\nsensitive that I feel quickly interested in any matter. I heard that\nthe Emperor had been defeated. At first it was reported that the King\nof Prussia had surprised the Emperor, or rather the troops commanded by\nArchduke Maximilian; that two thousand had fallen on the Austrian\nside, but fortunately the Emperor had come to his assistance with forty\nthousand men, but was forced to retreat. Secondly, it was said that the\nKing had attacked the Emperor himself, and entirely surrounded him, and\nthat if General Laudon had not come to his relief with eighteen hundred\ncuirassiers, he would have been taken prisoner; that sixteen hundred\ncuirassiers had been killed, and Laudon himself shot dead. I have not,\nhowever, seen this in any newspaper, but to-day I was told that the\nEmperor had invaded Saxony with forty thousand troops. Whether the news\nbe true I know not. This is a fine griffonage, to be sure! but I have\nnot patience to write prettily; if you can only read it, it will do well\nenough. A propos, I saw in the papers that, in a skirmish between the\nSaxons and Croats, a Saxon captain of grenadiers named Hopfgarten had\nlost his life, and was much lamented. Can this be the kind, worthy Baron\nHopfgarten whom we knew at Paris with Herr von Bose? I should grieve\nif it were, but I would rather he died this glorious death than have\nsacrificed his life, as too many young men do here, to dissipation and\nvice. You know this already, but it is now worse than ever.\n\nN. B. I hope you will be able to decipher the end of the prelude; you\nneed not be very particular about the time; it is the kind of thing that\nmay be played as you feel inclined. I should like to inflict twenty-five\nstripes on the sorry Vatel's shoulders for not having married Katherl.\nNothing is more shameful, in my opinion, than to make a fool of an\nhonest girl, and to play her false eventually; but I hope this may\nnot be the case. If I were her father, I would soon put a stop to the\naffair.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 110", + "body": "Paris, July 31, 1778.\n\nI HOPE you have got my two letters of the 11th and 18th. Meantime I have\nreceived yours of the 13th and 20th. The first brought tears of sorrow\nto my eyes, as I was reminded by it of the sad death of my darling\nmother, and the whole scene recurred vividly to me. Never can I forget\nit while I live. You know that (though I often wished it) I had never\nseen any one die, and the first time I did so it was fated to be my own\nmother! My greatest misery was the thoughts of that hour, and I prayed\nearnestly to God for strength. I was heard, and strength was given to\nme. Melancholy as your letter made me, still I was inexpressibly happy\nto find that you both bear this sorrow as it ought to be borne, and that\nmy mind may now be at ease about my beloved father and sister. As soon\nas I read your letter, my first impulse was to throw myself on my knees,\nand fervently to thank our gracious God for this blessing. I am now\ncomparatively happy, because I have no longer anything to dread on\naccount of the two persons who are dearest to me in this world; had\nit been otherwise, such a terrible misfortune would have utterly\noverwhelmed me. Be careful therefore of your precious health for my\nsake, I entreat, and grant to him who flatters himself that he is now\nwhat you love most in the world the joy and felicity soon to embrace\nyou.\n\nYour last letter also caused my tears to flow from joy, as it convinced\nme more than ever of your fatherly love and care. I shall strive with\nall my might still more to deserve your affection. I thank you for the\npowder, but am sure you will be glad to hear that I do not require to\nuse it. During my dear mother's illness it would have been very useful,\nbut now, thank God! I am perfectly well and healthy. At times I have\nfits of melancholy, but the best way to get rid of them is by writing\nor receiving letters, which always cheers me; but, believe me, these sad\nfeelings never recur without too good cause. You wish to have an account\nof her illness and every detail connected with it; that you shall have;\nbut I must ask you to let it be short, and I shall only allude to the\nprincipal facts, as the event is over, and cannot, alas! now be altered,\nand I require some space to write on business topics.\n\nIn the first place, I must tell you that NOTHING could have saved my\nmother. No doctor in the world could have restored her to health. It was\nthe manifest will of God; her time was come, and God chose to take her\nto Himself. You think she put off being bled too long? it may be so, as\nshe did delay it for a little, but I rather agree with the people here,\nwho dissuaded her from being bled at all. The cause of my mother's\nillness was internal inflammation. After being bled she rallied for some\ndays, but on the 19th she complained of headache, and for the first\ntime stayed in bed the whole day. On the 20th she was seized first with\nshivering and then with fever, so I gave her an anti-spasmodic powder. I\nwas at that time very anxious to send for another doctor, but she would\nnot allow me to do so, and when I urged her very strongly, she told me\nthat she had no confidence in any French medical man. I therefore looked\nabout for a German one. I could not, of course, go out and leave her,\nbut I anxiously waited for M. Heina, who came regularly every day to see\nus; but on this occasion two days passed without his appearing. At last\nhe came, but as our doctor was prevented paying his usual visit next\nday, we could not consult with him; in fact, he did not come till the\n24th. The previous day, when I had been expecting him so eagerly, I was\nin great trouble, for my mother suddenly lost her sense of hearing. The\ndoctor, an old German about seventy, gave her rhubarb in wine. I could\nnot understand this, as wine is usually thought heating; but when I said\nso, every one exclaimed, \"How can you say so? Wine is not heating, but\nstrengthening; water is heating.\" And all the time the poor invalid was\nlonging for a drink of fresh water. How gladly would I have complied\nwith her wish! My dear father, you cannot conceive what I went through,\nbut nothing could be done, except to leave her in the hands of the\nphysician. All that I could do with a good conscience, was to pray to\nGod without ceasing, that He would order all things for her good. I went\nabout as if I had altogether lost my head. I had ample leisure then\nto compose, but I was in such a state that I could not have written a\nsingle note. The 25th the doctor did not come; on the 26th he visited\nher again. Imagine my feelings when he all at once said to me, \"I fear\nshe will scarcely live through the night; she may die at any moment. You\nhad better see that she receives the sacrament.\" So I hurried off to\nthe end of the Chaussee d'Antin, and went on beyond the Barriere to find\nHeina, knowing that he was at a concert in the house of some count. He\nsaid that he would bring a German priest with him next morning. On my\nway back I looked in on Madame d'Epinay and M. Grimm for a moment as I\npassed. They were distressed that I had not spoken sooner, as they would\nat once have sent their doctor. I did not tell them my reason, which\nwas, that my mother would not see a French doctor. I was hard put to it,\nas they said they would send their physician that very evening. When\nI came home, I told my mother that I had met Herr Heina with a German\npriest, who had heard a great deal about me and was anxious to hear me\nplay, and that they were both to call on me next day. She seemed quite\nsatisfied, and though I am no doctor, still seeing that she was better\nI said nothing more. I find it impossible not to write at full\nlength--indeed, I am glad to give you every particular, for it will be\nmore satisfactory to you; but as I have some things to write that are\nindispensable, I shall continue my account of the illness in my next\nletter. In the mean time you must have seen from my last letter, that\nall my darling mother's affairs and my own are in good order. When I\ncome to this point, I will tell you how things were arranged. Heina and\nI regulated everything ourselves.\n\nNow for business. Do not allow your thoughts to dwell on what I wrote,\nasking your permission not to reveal my ideas till the proper time\narrived. Pray do not let it trouble you. I cannot yet tell you about\nit, and if I did, I should probably do more harm than good; but, to\ntranquillize you, I may at least say that it only concerns myself. Your\ncircumstances will be made neither better nor worse, and until I see you\nin a better position I shall think no more about the matter. If the day\never arrives when we can live together in peace and happiness, (which\nis my grand object),--when that joyful time comes, and God grant it may\ncome soon!--then the right moment will have arrived, and the rest\nwill depend on yourself. Do not, therefore, discompose yourself on\nthe subject, and be assured that in every case where I know that your\nhappiness and peace are involved, I shall invariably place entire\nconfidence in you, my kind father and true friend, and detail everything\nto you minutely. If in the interim I have not done so, the fault is\nnot solely mine. [FOOTNOTE: He had evidently in his thoughts, what was\nindeed manifest in his previous letters, a speedy marriage with his\nbeloved Aloysia.] M. Grimm recently said to me, \"What am I to write to\nyour father? What course do you intend to pursue? Do you remain here, or\ngo to Mannheim?\" I really could not help laughing: \"What could I do at\nMannheim now? would that I had never come to Paris! but so it is. Here\nI am, and I must use every effort to get forward.\" \"Well,\" said he, \"I\nscarcely think that you will do much good here.\" \"Why? I see a number of\nwretched bunglers who make a livelihood, and why, with my talents, am I\nto fail? I assure you that I like being at Mannheim, and wish very much\nto get some appointment there, but it must be one that is honorable and\nof good repute. I must have entire certainty on the subject before I\nmove a step.\" \"I fear,\" said he, \"that you are not sufficiently active\nhere--you don't go about enough.\" \"Well,\" said I, \"that is the hardest\nof all for me to do.\" Besides, I could go nowhere during my mother's\nlong illness, and now two of my pupils are in the country, and the third\n(the Duke de Guines's daughter) is betrothed, and means no longer to\ncontinue her lessons, which, so far as my credit is concerned, does not\ndistress me much. It is no particular loss to me, for the Duke only pays\nme what every one else does. Only imagine! I went to his house every day\nfor two hours, being engaged to give twenty-four lessons, (but it is\nthe custom here to pay after each twelve lessons.) They went into the\ncountry, and when they came back ten days afterwards, I was not apprised\nof it; had I not by chance inquired out of mere curiosity, I should not\nhave known that they were here. When I did go, the governess took out\nher purse and said to me, \"Pray excuse my only paying you at present\nfor twelve lessons, for I have not enough money.\" This is a noble\nproceeding! She then gave me three louis-d'or, adding, \"I hope you are\nsatisfied; if not, I beg you will say so.\" M. le Duc can have no\nsense of honor, or probably thinks that I am only a young man and a\nthick-headed German, (for this is the way in which the French always\nspeak of us,) and that I shall be quite contented. The thick-headed\nGerman, however, was very far from being contented, so he declined\nreceiving the sum offered. The Duke intended to pay me for one hour\ninstead of two, and all from economy. As he has now had a concerto of\nmine for harp and flute, for the last four months, which he has not yet\npaid me for, I am only waiting till the wedding is over to go to the\ngoverness and ask for my money. What provokes me most of all is that\nthese stupid Frenchmen think I am still only seven years old, as they\nsaw me first when I was that age. This is perfectly true, for Madame\nd'Epinay herself told me so quite seriously. I am therefore treated here\nlike a beginner, except by the musicians, who think very differently;\nbut most votes carry the day!\n\nAfter my conversation with Grimm, I went the very next day to call\non Count Sickingen. He was quite of my opinion that I ought to have\npatience and wait till Raaff arrives at his destination, who will do all\nthat lies in his power to serve me. If he should fail, Count Sickingen\nhas offered to procure a situation for me at Mayence. In the mean time\nmy plan is to do my utmost to gain a livelihood by teaching, and to earn\nas much money as possible. This I am now doing, in the fond hope that\nsome change may soon occur; for I cannot deny, and indeed at once\nfrankly confess, that I shall be delighted to be released from this\nplace. Giving lessons is no joke here, and unless you wear yourself out\nby taking a number of pupils, not much money can be made. You must not\nthink that this proceeds from laziness. No! it is only quite opposed to\nmy genius and my habits. You know that I am, so to speak, plunged\ninto music,--that I am occupied with it the whole day,--that I like\nto speculate, to study, and to reflect. Now my present mode of life\neffectually prevents this. I have, indeed, some hours at liberty, but\nthose few hours are more necessary for rest than for work.\n\nI told you already about the opera. One thing is certain--I must compose\na great opera or none. If I write only smaller ones, I shall get very\nlittle, for here everything is done at a fixed price, and if it should\nbe so unfortunate as not to please the obtuse French, it is all up with\nit. I should get no more to write, have very little profit, and find my\nreputation damaged. If, on the other hand, I write a great opera, the\nremuneration is better, I am working in my own peculiar sphere, in which\nI delight, and I have a greater chance of being appreciated, because in\na great work there is more opportunity to gain approval. I assure you\nthat if I receive a commission to write an opera, I have no fears on the\nsubject. It is true that the devil himself invented their language, and\nI see the difficulties which all composers have found in it. But, in\nspite of this, I feel myself as able to surmount these difficulties as\nany one else. Indeed, when I sometimes think in my own mind that I may\nlook on my opera as a certainty, I feel quite a fiery impulse within\nme, and tremble from head to foot, through the eager desire to teach the\nFrench more fully how to know, and value, and fear the Germans. Why is a\ngreat opera never intrusted to a Frenchman? Why is it always given to a\nforeigner? To me the most insupportable part of it will be the singers.\nWell, I am ready. I wish to avoid all strife, but if I am challenged\nI know how to defend myself. If it runs its course without a duel, I\nshould prefer it, for I do not care to wrestle with dwarfs.\n\nGod grant that some change may soon come to pass! In the mean time I\nshall certainly not be deficient in industry, trouble, and labor.\nMy hopes are centred on the winter, when every one returns from the\ncountry. My heart beats with joy at the thought of the happy day when I\nshall once more see and embrace you.\n\nThe day before yesterday my dear friend Weber, among other things, wrote\nto me that the day after the Elector's arrival it was publicly announced\nthat he was to take up his residence in Munich, which came like a\nthunder-clap on Mannheim, wholly, so to say, extinguishing the universal\nillumination by which the inhabitants had testified their joy on the\nprevious day. The fact was also communicated to all the court musicians,\nwith the addition that each was at liberty to follow the court to\nMunich or to remain in Mannheim, (retaining the same salaries,) and in\na fortnight each was to give a written and sealed decision to\nthe Intendant. Weber, who is, as you know, in the most miserable\ncircumstances, wrote as follows:--\"I anxiously desire to follow my\ngracious master to Munich, but my decayed circumstances prevent my doing\nso.\" Before this occurred there was a grand court concert, where poor\nMadlle. Weber felt the fangs of her enemies; for on this occasion she\ndid not sing! It is not known who was the cause of this. Afterwards\nthere was a concert at Herr von Gemmingen's, where Count Seeau also was.\nShe sang two arias of mine, and was so fortunate as to please, in spite\nof those Italian scoundrels [the singers of Munich], those infamous\ncharlatans, who circulated a report that she had very much gone off\nin her singing. When her songs were finished, Cannabich said to her,\n\"Mademoiselle, I hope you will always continue to fall off in this\nmanner; tomorrow I will write to M. Mozart in your praise.\" One thing is\ncertain; if war had not already broken out, the court would by this time\nhave been transferred to Munich. Count Seeau, who is quite determined\nto engage Madlle. Weber, would have left nothing undone to insure her\ncoming to Munich, so that there was some hope that the family might have\nbeen placed in better circumstances; but now that all is again quiet\nabout the Munich journey, these poor people may have to wait a long\ntime, while their debts daily accumulate. If I could only help them!\nDearest father, I recommend them to you from my heart. If they could\neven for a few years be in possession of 1000 florins!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 111", + "body": "To HERR BULLINGER.\n\nParis, August 7, 1778.\n\nMY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--\n\nAllow me above all to thank you most warmly for the proof of friendship\nyou gave me by your interest in my dear father--first in preparing, and\nthen kindly consoling him for his loss [see No. 106]. You played your\npart admirably. These are my father's own words. My kind friend, how\ncan I sufficiently thank you? You saved my father for me. I have you to\nthank that I still have him. Permit me to say no more on the subject,\nand not to attempt to express my gratitude, for I feel too weak and\nincompetent to do so. My best friend, I am forever your debtor; but\npatience! It is too true that I am not yet in a position to repay what\nI owe you, but rely on it God will one day grant me the opportunity of\nshowing by deeds what I am unable to express by words. Such is my hope;\ntill that happy time, however, arrives, allow me to beg you to continue\nyour precious and valued friendship to me, and also to accept mine\nafresh, now and forever; to which I pledge myself in all sincerity\nof heart. It will not, indeed, be of much use to you, but not on that\naccount less sincere and lasting. You know well that the best and\ntruest of all friends are the poor. The rich know nothing of friendship,\nespecially those who are born to riches, and even those whom fate\nenriches often become very different when fortunate in life. But when a\nman is placed in favorable circumstances, not by blind, but reasonable\ngood fortune and merit, who during his early and less prosperous days\nnever lost courage, remaining faithful to his religion and his God,\nstriving to be an honest man and good Christian, knowing how to\nvalue his true friends,--in short, one who really deserves better\nfortune,--from such a man no ingratitude is to be feared.\n\nI must now proceed to answer your letter. You can be under no further\nanxiety as to my health, for you must have ere this received three\nletters from me. The first, containing the sad news of my mother's\ndeath, was enclosed, my dear friend, to you. You must forgive my silence\non the subject, but my thoughts recur to it constantly. You write that\nI should now think only of my father, tell him frankly all my thoughts,\nand place entire confidence in him. How unhappy should I be if I\nrequired this injunction! It was expedient that you should suggest it,\nbut I am happy to say (and you will also be glad to hear it) that I do\nnot need this advice. In my last letter to my dear father, I wrote to\nhim all that I myself know up to this time, assuring him that I would\nalways keep him minutely informed of everything, and candidly tell him\nmy intentions, as I place entire faith in him, being confident of his\nfatherly care, love, and goodness. I feel assured that at a future\nday he will not deny me a request on which my whole happiness in life\ndepends, and which (for he cannot expect anything else from me) will\ncertainly be quite fair and reasonable. My dear friend, do not let my\nfather read this. You know him; he would only fancy all kinds of things,\nand to no purpose.\n\nNow for our Salzburg affair. You, my dear friend, are well aware how\nI do hate Salzburg, not only on account of the injustice shown to my\nfather and myself there, which was in itself enough to make us wish to\nforget such a place, and to blot it out wholly from our memory. But do\nnot let us refer to that, if we can contrive to live respectably there.\nTo live respectably and to live happily, are two very different things;\nbut the latter I never could do short of witchcraft,--it would indeed be\nsupernatural if I did,--so this is impossible, for in these days there\nare no longer any witches. Well, happen what may, it will always be the\ngreatest possible pleasure to me to embrace my dear father and sister,\nand the sooner the better. Still I cannot deny that my joy would be\ntwofold were this to be elsewhere, for I have far more hope of living\nhappily anywhere else. Perhaps you may misunderstand me, and think that\nSalzburg is on too small a scale for me. If so, you are quite mistaken.\nI have already written some of my reasons to my father. In the mean\ntime, let this one suffice, that Salzburg is no place for my talent.\nIn the first place, professional musicians are not held in much\nconsideration; and, secondly, one hears nothing. There is no theatre,\nno opera there; and if they really wished to have one, who is there to\nsing? For the last five or six years the Salzburg orchestra has always\nbeen rich in what is useless and superfluous, but very poor in what is\nuseful and indispensable; and such is the case at the present moment.\nThose cruel French are the cause of the band there being without a\nCapellmeister. [FOOTNOTE: The old Capellmeister, Lolli, had died a short\ntime previously.] I therefore feel assured that quiet and order are now\nreigning in the orchestra. This is the result of not making provision\nin time. Half a dozen Capellmeisters should always be held in readiness,\nthat, if one fails, another can instantly be substituted. But where, at\npresent, is even ONE to be found? And yet the danger is urgent. It will\nnot do to allow order, quiet, and good-fellowship to prevail in the\norchestra, or the mischief would still further increase, and in the\nlong run become irremediable. Is there no ass-eared old periwig, no\ndunderhead forthcoming, to restore the concern to its former disabled\ncondition? I shall certainly do my best in the matter. To-morrow I\nintend to hire a carriage for the day, and visit all the hospitals and\ninfirmaries, to see if I can't find a Capellmeister in one of them. Why\nwere they so improvident as to allow Misliweczeck to give them the slip,\nand he so near too? [See No. 64.] He would have been a prize, and one\nnot so easy to replace,--freshly emerged, too, from the Duke's Clementi\nConservatorio. He was just the man to have awed the whole court\norchestra by his presence. Well, we need not be uneasy: where there is\nmoney there are always plenty of people to be had. My opinion is that\nthey should not wait too long, not from the foolish fear that they might\nnot get one at all,--for I am well aware that all these gentlemen\nare expecting one as eagerly and anxiously as the Jews do their\nMessiah,--but simply because things cannot go on at all under such\ncircumstances. It would therefore be more useful and profitable to look\nout for a Capellmeister, there being NONE at present, than to write in\nall directions (as I have been told) to secure a good female singer.\n\n[FOOTNOTE: In order the better to conciliate Wolfgang, Bullinger had\nbeen desired to say that the Archbishop, no longer satisfied with\nMadlle. Haydn, intended to engage another singer; and it was hinted to\nMozart, that he might be induced to make choice of Aloysia Weber; (Jahn,\nii. 307.) Madlle. Haydn was a daughter of Lipp, the organist, and sent\nby the Archbishop to Italy to cultivate her voice. She did not enjoy a\nvery good reputation.]\n\nI really can scarcely believe this. Another female singer, when we have\nalready so many, and all admirable! A tenor, though we do not require\none either, I could more easily understand--but a prima donna, when we\nhave still Cecarelli! It is true that Madlle. Haydn is in bad health,\nfor her austere mode of life has been carried too far. There are few\nof whom this can be said. I wonder that she has not long since lost her\nvoice from her perpetual scourgings and flagellations, her hair-cloth,\nunnatural fasts, and night-prayers! But she will still long retain her\npowers, and instead of becoming worse, her voice will daily improve.\nWhen at last, however, she departs this life to be numbered among the\nsaints, we still have five left, each of whom can dispute the palm with\nthe other. So you see how superfluous a new one is. But, knowing how\nmuch changes and novelty and variety are liked with us, I see a wide\nfield before me which may yet form an epoch. [FOOTNOTE: Archbishop\nHieronymus, in the true spirit of Frederick the Great, liked to\nintroduce innovations with an unsparing hand; many, however, being both\nnecessary and beneficent.] Do your best that the orchestra may have a\nleg to stand on, for that is what is most wanted. A head they have [the\nArchbishop], but that is just the misfortune; and till a change is made\nin this respect, I will never come to Salzburg. When it does take place,\nI am willing to come and to turn over the leaf as often as I see V. S.\n[volti subito] written. Now as to the war [the Bavarian Succession]. So\nfar as I hear, we shall soon have peace in Germany. The King of Prussia\nis certainly rather alarmed. I read in the papers that the Prussians had\nsurprised an Imperial detachment, but that the Croats and two Cuirassier\nregiments were near, and, hearing the tumult, came at once to their\nrescue, and attacked the Prussians, placing them between two fires, and\ncapturing five of their cannon. The route by which the Prussians entered\nBohemia is now entirely cut up and destroyed. The Bohemian peasantry do\nall the mischief they can to the Prussians, who have besides constant\ndesertions among their troops; but these are matters which you must know\nboth sooner and better than we do. But I must write you some of our news\nhere. The French have forced the English to retreat, but it was not a\nvery hot affair. The most remarkable thing is that, friends and foes\nincluded, only 100 men were killed. In spite of this, there is a grand\njubilation here, and nothing else is talked of. It is also reported that\nwe shall soon have peace. It is a matter of indifference to me, so far\nas this place is concerned; but I should indeed be very glad if we were\nsoon to have peace in Germany, for many reasons. Now farewell! Your true\nfriend and obedient servant,\n\nWOLFGANG ROMATZ.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 113", + "body": "Paris, Sept. 11, 1778.\n\nI HAVE received your three letters. I shall only reply to the last,\nbeing the most important. When I read it, (Heina was with me and sends\nyou his regards,) I trembled with joy, for I fancied myself already in\nyour arms. True it is (and this you will yourself confess) that no\ngreat stroke of good fortune awaits me; still, when I think of once more\nembracing you and my dear sister, I care for no other advantage. This is\nindeed the only excuse I can make to the people here, who are vociferous\nthat I should remain in Paris; but my reply invariably is, \"What would\nyou have? I am content, and that is everything; I have now a place I can\ncall my home, and where I can live in peace and quiet with my excellent\nfather and beloved sister. I can do what I choose when not on duty. I\nshall be my own master, and have a certain competency; I may leave when\nI like, and travel every second year. What can I wish for more?\" The\nonly thing that disgusts me with Salzburg, and I tell you of it just as\nI feel it, is the impossibility of having any satisfactory intercourse\nwith the people, and that musicians are not in good repute there,\nand--that the Archbishop places no faith in the experience of\nintelligent persons who have seen the world. For I assure you that\npeople who do not travel (especially artists and scientific men) are but\npoor creatures. And I at once say that if the Archbishop is not prepared\nto allow me to travel every second year, I cannot possibly accept the\nengagement. A man of moderate talent will never rise above mediocrity,\nwhether he travels or not, but a man of superior talents (which,\nwithout being unthankful to Providence, I cannot deny that I possess)\ndeteriorates if he always remains in the same place. If the Archbishop\nwould only place confidence in me, I could soon make his music\ncelebrated; of this there can be no doubt. I also maintain that\nmy journey has not been unprofitable to me--I mean, with regard to\ncomposition, for as to the piano, I play it as well as I ever shall. One\nthing more I must settle about Salzburg, that I am not to take up the\nviolin as I formerly did. I will no longer conduct with the violin; I\nintend to conduct, and also accompany airs, with the piano. It would\nhave been a good thing to have got a written agreement about the\nsituation of Capellmeister, for otherwise I may have the honor to\ndischarge a double duty, and be paid only for one, and at last be\nsuperseded by some stranger. My dear father, I must decidedly say that\nI really could not make up my mind to take this step were it not for the\npleasure of seeing you both again; I wish also to get away from Paris,\nwhich I detest, though my affairs here begin to improve, and I don't\ndoubt that if I could bring myself to endure this place for a few years,\nI could not fail to succeed. I am now pretty well known--that is, the\npeople all know ME, even if I don't know them. I acquired considerable\nfame by my two symphonies; and (having heard that I was about to leave)\nthey now really want me to write an opera, so I said to Noverre, \"If you\nwill be responsible for its BEING PERFORMED as soon as it is finished,\nand will name the exact sum that I am to receive for it, I will remain\nhere for the next three months on purpose,\" for I could not at once\ndecline, or they would have thought that I distrusted myself. This was\nnot, however, done; and I knew beforehand that they could not do it,\nfor such is not the custom here. You probably know that in Paris it is\nthus:--When the opera is finished it is rehearsed, and if these stupid\nFrenchmen do not think it good it is not given, and the composer has\nhad all his trouble for nothing; if they approve, it is then put on the\nstage; as its popularity increases, so does the rate of payment. There\nis no certainty. I reserve the discussion of these matters till we meet,\nbut I must candidly say that my own affairs begin to prosper. It is no\nuse trying to hurry matters--chi va piano, va sano. My complaisance has\ngained me both friends and patrons; were I to write you all, my fingers\nwould ache. I will relate it to you personally and place it clearly\nbefore you. M. Grimm may be able to help CHILDREN, but not grown-up\npeople; and--but no, I had better not write on the subject. Yet I must!\nDo not imagine that he is the same that he was; were it not for Madame\nd'Epinay, I should be no longer in this house. And he has no great cause\nto be so proud of his good deeds towards me, for there were four houses\nwhere I could have had both board and lodging. The worthy man does not\nknow that, if I had remained in Paris, I intended to have left him next\nmonth to go to a house that, unlike his, is neither stupid nor tiresome,\nand where a man has not constantly thrown in his face that a kindness\nhas been done him. Such conduct is enough to cause me to forget a\nbenefit, but I will be more generous than he is. I regret not remaining\nhere only because I should have liked to show him that I do not require\nhim, and that I can do as much as his Piccini, although I am only\na German! The greatest service he has done me consists in fifteen\nlouis-d'or which he lent me bit by bit during my mother's life and\nat her death. Is he afraid of losing them? If he has a doubt on the\nsubject, then he deserves to be kicked, for in that case he must\nmistrust my honesty (which is the only thing that can rouse me to rage)\nand also my talents; but the latter, indeed, I know he does, for he once\nsaid to me that he did not believe I was capable of writing a French\nopera. I mean to repay him his fifteen louis-d'or, with thanks, when I\ngo to take leave of him, accompanied by some polite expressions. My poor\nmother often said to me, \"I don't know why, but he seems to me somehow\nchanged.\" But I always took his part, though I secretly felt convinced\nof the very same thing. He seldom spoke of me to any one, and when he\ndid, it was always in a stupid, injudicious, or disparaging way. He\nwas constantly urging me to go to see Piccini, and also Caribaldi,--for\nthere is a miserable opera buffa here,--but I always said, \"No, I will\nnot go a single step,\" &c. In short, he is of the Italian faction; he is\ninsincere himself, and strives to crush me. This seems incredible, does\nit not? But still such is the fact, and I give you the proof of it. I\nopened my whole heart to him as a true friend, and a pretty use he made\nof this! He always gave me bad advice, knowing that I would follow it;\nbut he only succeeded in two or three instances, and latterly I never\nasked his opinion at all, and if he did advise me to do anything, I\nnever did it, but always appeared to acquiesce, that I might not subject\nmyself to further insolence on his part.\n\nBut enough of this; we can talk it over when we meet. At all events,\nMadame d'Epinay has a better heart. The room I inhabit belongs to her,\nnot to him. It is the invalid's room--that is, if any one is ill in\nthe house, he is put there; it has nothing to recommend it except the\nview,--only four bare walls, no chest of drawers--in fact, nothing. Now\nyou may judge whether I could stand it any longer. I would have written\nthis to you long ago, but feared you would not believe me. I can,\nhowever, no longer be silent, whether you believe me or not; but you\ndo believe me, I feel sure. I have still sufficient credit with you to\npersuade you that I speak the truth. I board too with Madame d'Epinay,\nand you must not suppose that he pays anything towards it, but indeed I\ncost her next to nothing. They have the same dinner whether I am there\nor not, for they never know when I am to be at home, so they can make no\ndifference for me; and at night I eat fruit and drink one glass of wine.\nAll the time I have been in their house, now more than two months, I\nhave not dined with them more than fourteen times at most, and with the\nexception of the fifteen louis-d'or, which I mean to repay with thanks,\nhe has no outlay whatever on my account but candles, and I should really\nbe ashamed of myself more than of him, were I to offer to supply these;\nin fact I could not bring myself to say such a thing. This is my nature.\nRecently, when he spoke to me in such a hard, senseless, and stupid way,\nI had not nerve to say that he need not be alarmed about his fifteen\nlouis-d'or, because I was afraid of offending him; I only heard him\ncalmly to the end, when I asked whether he had said all he wished--and\nthen I was off! He presumes to say that I must leave this a week\nhence--IN SUCH HASTE IS HE. I told him it was impossible, and my reasons\nfor saying so. \"Oh! that does not matter; it is your father's wish.\"\n\"Excuse me, in his last letter he wrote that he would let me know in his\nnext when I was to set off.\" \"At all events hold yourself in readiness\nfor your journey.\" But I must tell you plainly that it will be\nimpossible for me to leave this before the beginning of next month, or\nat the soonest the end of the present one, for I have still six arias to\nwrite, which will be well paid. I must also first get my money from Le\nGros and the Duc de Guines; and as the court goes to Munich the end of\nthis month, I should like to be there at the same time to present my\nsonatas myself to the Electress, which perhaps might bring me a present.\nI mean to sell my three concertos to the man who has printed them,\nprovided he gives me ready money for them; one is dedicated to Jenomy,\nanother to Litzau; the third is in B. I shall do the same with my\nsix difficult sonatas, if I can; even if not much, it is better than\nnothing. Money is much wanted on a journey. As for the symphonies, most\nof them are not according to the taste of the people here; if I have\ntime, I mean to arrange some violin concertos from them, and curtail\nthem; in Germany we rather like length, but after all it is better to be\nshort and good. In your next letter I shall no doubt find instructions\nas to my journey; I only wish you had written to me alone, for I would\nrather have nothing more to do with Grimm. I hope so, and in fact it\nwould be better, for no doubt our friends Geschwender and Heina can\narrange things better than this upstart Baron. Indeed, I am under\ngreater obligations to Heina than to him, look at it as you will by the\nlight of a farthing-candle. I expect a speedy reply to this, and shall\nnot leave Paris till it comes. I have no reason to hurry away, nor am I\nhere either in vain or fruitlessly, because I shut myself up and work,\nin order to make as much money as possible. I have still a request,\nwhich I hope you will not refuse. If it should so happen, though I hope\nand believe it is not so, that the Webers are not in Munich, but still\nat Mannheim, I wish to have the pleasure of going there to visit them.\nIt takes me, I own, rather out of my way, but not much--at all events it\ndoes not appear much to me. I don't believe, after all, that it will\nbe necessary, for I think I shall meet them in Munich; but I shall\nascertain this to-morrow by a letter. If it is not the case, I feel\nbeforehand that you will not deny me this happiness. My dear father, if\nthe Archbishop wishes to have a new singer, I can, by heavens! find none\nbetter than her. He will never get a Teyberin or a De' Amicis, and the\nothers are assuredly worse. I only lament that when people from Salzburg\nflock to the next Carnival, and \"Rosamunde\" is given, Madlle. Weber\nwill not please, or at all events they will not be able to judge of her\nmerits as they deserve, for she has a miserable part, almost that of a\ndumb personage, having only to sing some stanzas between the choruses.\nShe has one aria where something might be expected from the ritournelle;\nthe voice part is, however, alla Schweitzer, as if dogs were yelping.\nThere is only one air, a kind of rondo in the second act, where she has\nan opportunity of sustaining her voice, and thus showing what she can\ndo. Unhappy indeed is the singer who falls into Schweitzer's hands; for\nnever while he lives will he learn how to write for the voice. When I\ngo to Salzburg I shall certainly not fail to plead zealously for my dear\nfriend; in the mean time you will not neglect doing all you can in her\nfavor, for you cannot cause your son greater joy. I think of nothing\nnow but the pleasure of soon embracing you. Pray see that everything\nthe Archbishop promised you is made quite secure, and also what I\nstipulated, that my place should be at the piano. My kind regards to all\nmy friends, and to Herr Bullinger in particular. How merry shall we\nbe together! I have all this already in my thoughts, already before my\neyes. Adieu!", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 115", + "body": "Strassburg, Oct. 15, 1778.\n\nI GOT your three letters safely, but could not possibly answer them\nsooner. What you write about M. Grimm, I, of course, know better than\nyou can do. That he was all courtesy and civility I do not deny; indeed,\nhad this not been the case, I would not have stood on such ceremony\nwith him. All that I owe M. Grimm is fifteen louis-d'or, and he has only\nhimself to blame for their not being repaid, and this I told him. But\nwhat avails any discussion? We can talk it over at Salzburg. I am very\nmuch obliged to you for having put my case so strongly before Father\nMartini, and also for having written about me to M. Raaff. I never\ndoubted your doing so, for I am well aware that it rejoices you to see\nyour son happy and pleased, and you know that I could never be more so\nthan in Munich; being so near Salzburg, I could constantly visit you.\nThat Madlle. Weber, or rather MY DEAR WEBERIN, should now receive a\nsalary, and justice be at last done to her merits, rejoices me to a\ndegree natural in one who feels such deep interest in all that concerns\nher. I still warmly recommend her to you; though I must now, alas! give\nup all hope of what I so much wished,--her getting an engagement in\nSalzburg,--for the Archbishop would never give her the salary she now\nhas. All we can now hope for is that she may sometimes come to Salzburg\nto sing in an opera. I had a hurried letter from her father the day\nbefore they went to Munich, in which he also mentions this news. These\npoor people were in the greatest distress about me, fearing that I must\nbe dead, a whole month having elapsed without any letter from me, (owing\nto the last one being lost;) an idea that was confirmed by a report in\nMannheim that my poor dear mother had died of a contagious disease. So\nthey have been all praying for my soul. The poor girl went every day for\nthis purpose into the Capuchin church. Perhaps you may laugh at this? I\ndid not; on the contrary, I could not help being much touched by it.\n\nTo proceed. I think I shall certainly go by Stuttgart to Augsburg,\nbecause I see by your letter that nothing, or at least not much, is to\nbe made in Donaueschingen; but I will apprise you of all this before\nleaving Strassburg. Dearest father, I do assure you that, were it not\nfor the pleasure of soon embracing you, I would never come to Salzburg;\nfor, with the exception of this commendable and delightful impulse, I\nam really committing the greatest folly in the world. Rest assured\nthat these are my own thoughts, and not borrowed from others. When my\nresolution to leave Paris was known, certain facts were placed before\nme, and the sole weapons I had to contend against or to conquer these,\nwere my true and tender love for my kind father, which could not be\notherwise than laudable in their eyes, but with the remark that if my\nfather had known my present circumstances and fair prospects, (and had\nnot got different and false impressions by means of a kind friend,) he\ncertainly would not have written to me in such a strain as to render me\nwholly incapable of offering the least resistance to his wish; and in my\nown mind I thought, that had I not been exposed to so much annoyance\nin the house where I lived, and the journey come on me like a sudden\nthunder-clap, leaving me no time to reflect coolly on the subject, I\nshould have earnestly besought you to have patience for a time, and to\nlet me remain a little longer in Paris. I do assure you that I should\nhave succeeded in gaining fame, honor, and wealth, and been thus enabled\nto defray your debts. But now it is settled, and do not for a moment\nsuppose that I regret it; but you alone, dearest father, you alone can\nsweeten the bitterness of Salzburg for me; and that you will do so,\nI feel convinced. I must also candidly say that I should arrive in\nSalzburg with a lighter heart were it not for my official capacity\nthere, for this thought is to me the most intolerable of all. Reflect on\nit yourself, place yourself in my position. At Salzburg I never know how\nI stand; at one time I am everything, at another absolutely nothing.\nI neither desire SO MUCH nor SO LITTLE, but still I wish to be\nSOMETHING--if indeed I am something! In every other place I know what my\nduties are. Elsewhere those who undertake the violin stick to it,--the\nsame with the piano, &c., &c. I trust this will be regulated hereafter,\nso that all may turn out well and for my happiness and satisfaction. I\nrely wholly on you.\n\nThings here are in a poor state; but the day after to-morrow, Saturday\nthe 17th, I MYSELF ALONE, (to save expense,) to please some kind\nfriends, amateurs, and connoisseurs, intend to give a subscription\nconcert. If I engaged an orchestra, it would with the lighting cost me\nmore than three louis-d'or, and who knows whether we shall get as\nmuch? My sonatas are not yet published, though promised for the end of\nSeptember. Such is the effect of not looking after things yourself, for\nwhich that obstinate Grimm is also to blame. They will probably be full\nof mistakes, not being able to revise them myself, for I was obliged\nto devolve the task on another, and I shall be without my sonatas in\nMunich. Such an occurrence, though apparently a trifle, may often bring\nsuccess, honor, and wealth, or, on the other hand, misfortune.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 116", + "body": "Strassburg, Oct. 20, 1778.\n\nYou will perceive that I am still here, by the advice of Herr Frank and\nother Strassburg magnates, but I leave this to-morrow. In my last\nletter I mentioned that on the 17th I was to give a kind of sample of\na concert, as concerts here fare worse than even at Salzburg. It is, of\ncourse, over. I played quite alone, having engaged no musicians, so that\nI might at least lose nothing; briefly, I took three louis-d'or. The\nchief receipts consisted in the shouts of Bravo! and Bravissimo! which\nechoed on every side. Prince Max of Zweibrucken also honored the concert\nby his presence. I need not tell you that every one was pleased. I\nintended then to pursue my journey, but was advised to stay till the\nfollowing Saturday, in order to give a grand concert in the theatre.\nI did so, and, to the surprise, indignation, and disgrace of all the\nStrassburgers, my receipts were exactly the same. The Director, M. de\nVilleneuve, abused the inhabitants of this most detestable town in the\nmost unmeasured terms. I took a little more money, certainly, but\nthe cost of the band (which is very bad, but its pay very good), the\nlighting, printing, the guard at the door, and the check-takers at the\nentrances, &c., made up a considerable sum. Still I must tell you that\nthe applause and clapping of hands almost deafened me, and made my ears\nache; it was as if the whole theatre had gone crazy. Those who were\npresent, loudly and publicly denounced their fellow-citizens, and I told\nthem all that if I could have reasonably supposed so few people would\nhave come, I would gladly have given the concert gratis, merely for the\npleasure of seeing the theatre well filled. And in truth I should have\npreferred it, for, upon my word, I don't know a more desolate sight than\na long table laid for fifty, and only three at dinner. Besides, it was\nso cold; but I soon warmed myself, for, to show the Strassburg gentlemen\nhow little I cared, I played a very long time for my own amusement,\ngiving a concerto more than I had promised, and, at the close,\nextemporizing. It is now over, but at all events I gained honor and\nfame.\n\nI have drawn on Herr Scherz for eight louis-d'or, as a precaution, for\nno one can tell what may happen on a journey; and I HAVE is better than\nI MIGHT HAVE HAD. I have read the fatherly well-meaning letter which you\nwrote to M. Frank when in such anxiety about me. [Footnote: \"Your sister\nand I confessed, and took the Holy Communion,\" writes the father, \"and\nprayed to God fervently for your recovery. Our excellent Bullinger\nprays daily for you also.\"] When I wrote to you from Nancy, not knowing\nmyself, you of course could not know, that I should have to wait so\nlong for a good opportunity. Your mind may be quite at ease about the\nmerchant with whom I am travelling; he is the most upright man in the\nworld, takes more care of me than of himself, and, entirely to oblige\nme, is to go with me to Augsburg and Munich, and possibly even to\nSalzburg. We actually shed tears when we think that we must separate. He\nis not a learned man, but a man of experience, and we live together\nlike children. When he thinks of his wife and family whom he has left in\nParis, I try to comfort him, and when I think of my own people he speaks\ncomfort to me.\n\nOn the 31st of October, my name-day, I amused myself (and, better still,\nothers) for a couple of hours. At the repeated entreaties of Herr Frank,\nde Berger, &c., &c., I gave another concert, by which, after paying the\nexpenses, (not heavy this time,) I actually cleared a louis-d'or! Now\nyou see what Strassburg is! I wrote at the beginning of this letter that\nI was to leave this on the 27th or 28th, but it proved impossible, owing\nto a sudden inundation here, when the floods caused great damage. You\nwill probably see this in the papers. Of course travelling was out of\nthe question, which was the only thing that induced me to consent to\ngive another concert, being obliged to remain at all events.\n\nTo-morrow I go by the diligence to Mannheim. Do not be startled at this.\nIn foreign countries it is expedient to follow the advice of those who\nknow from experience what ought to be done. Most of the strangers who\ngo to Stuttgart (N.B., by the diligence) do not object to this detour of\neight hours, because the road is better and also the conveyance. I\nmust now, dearest father, cordially wish you joy of your approaching\nname-day. My kind father, I wish you from my heart all that a son can\nwish for a good father, whom he so highly esteems and dearly loves. I\nthank the Almighty that He has permitted you again to pass this day in\nthe enjoyment of perfect health, and implore from Him the boon, that\nduring the whole of my life (and I hope to live for a good many years to\ncome) I may be able to congratulate you every year. However strange,\nand perhaps ridiculous, this wish may seem to you, I do assure you it is\nboth sincere and well-intended.\n\nI hope you received my last letter from Strassburg. I wish to write\nnothing further of M. Grimm, but it is entirely owing to his stupidity\nin pressing forward my departure so much, that my sonatas are not yet\nengraved, or at all events that I have not got them, and when I do I\nshall probably find them full of mistakes. If I had only stayed three\ndays longer in Paris, I could have revised them myself and brought them\nwith me. The engraver was desperate when I told him that I could not\ncorrect them, but must commission someone else to do so. Why? Because,\nbeing resolved not to be three days longer in the same house with Grimm,\nI told him that on account of the sonatas I was going to stay with Count\nSickingen, when he replied, his eyes sparkling with rage, \"If you leave\nmy house before you leave Paris, I will never in my life see you again.\nIn that case do not presume ever to come near me, and look on me as your\nbitterest enemy.\" Self-control was indeed very necessary. Had it not\nbeen for your sake, who knew nothing about the matter, I certainly\nshould have replied, \"Be my enemy; by all means be so. You are so\nalready, or you would not have prevented me putting my affairs in order\nhere, which would have enabled me to keep my word, to preserve my honor\nand reputation, and also to make money, and probably a lucky hit; for if\nI present my sonatas to the Electress when I go to Munich, I shall\nthus keep my promise, probably receive a present, and make my fortune\nbesides.\" But as it was, I only bowed, and left the room without saying\na syllable. Before quitting Paris, however, I said all this to him,\nbut he answered me like a man totally devoid of sense, or rather like\na malicious man who affects to have none. I have written twice to Herr\nHeina, but have got no answer. The sonatas ought to have appeared by the\nend of September, and M. Grimm was to have forwarded the promised copies\nimmediately to me, so I expected to have found them in Strassburg; but\nM. Grimm writes to me that he neither hears nor sees anything of them,\nbut as soon as he does they are to be forwarded, and I hope to have them\nere long.\n\nStrassburg can scarcely do without me. You cannot think how much I am\nesteemed and beloved here. People say that I am disinterested as well as\nsteady and polite, and praise my manners. Every one knows me. As soon\nas they heard my name, the two Herrn Silbermann and Herr Hepp (organist)\ncame to call on me, and also Capellmeister Richter. He has now\nrestricted himself very much; instead of forty bottles of wine a day,\nhe only drinks twenty! I played publicly on the two best organs that\nSilbermann has here, in the Lutheran and New Churches, and in the Thomas\nChurch. If the Cardinal had died, (and he was very ill when I arrived,)\nI might have got a good situation, for Herr Richter is seventy-eight\nyears of age. Now farewell! Be cheerful and in good spirits, and\nremember that your son is, thank God! well, and rejoicing that his\nhappiness daily draws nearer. Last Sunday I heard a new mass of Herr\nRichter's, which is charmingly written.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 117", + "body": "Mannheim, November 12, 1778.\n\nI arrived here safely on the 6th, agreeably surprising all my kind\nfriends. God be praised that I am once more in my beloved Mannheim!\nI assure you, if you were here you would say the same. I am living at\nMadame Cannabich's, who, as well as her family and all my good friends\nhere, was quite beside herself with joy at seeing me again. We have not\nyet done talking, for she tells me of all the events and changes that\nhave taken place during my absence. I have not been able to dine once at\nhome since I came, for people are fighting to have me; in a word, just\nas I love Mannheim, so Mannheim loves me; and, though of course I don't\nknow it positively, still I do think it possible that I may get an\nappointment here. But HERE, not in Munich, for my own belief is that the\nElector will soon once more take up his residence in Mannheim, for he\nsurely cannot long submit to the coarseness of the Bavarian gentlemen.\nYou know that the Mannheim company is in Munich. There they hissed the\ntwo best actresses, Madame Toscani and Madame Urban. There was such\nan uproar that the Elector himself leant over his box and called out,\n\"Hush!\" To this, however, no one paid any attention; so he sent down\nCount Seeau, who told some of the officers not to make such a noise, as\nthe Elector did not like it; but the only answer he got was, that they\nhad paid their money, and no man had a right to give them any orders.\nBut what a simpleton I am! You no doubt have heard this long ago through\nour....\n\nI have now something to say. I may PERHAPS make forty louis-d'or here.\nTo be sure, I should have to stay six weeks, or at most two months, in\nMannheim. Seiler's company is here, whom you no doubt already know by\nreputation. Herr von Dalberg is the director. He will not hear of my\nleaving this till I have written a duodrama for him, and indeed I did\nnot long hesitate, for I have often wished to write this style of drama.\nI forget if I wrote to you about it the first time that I was here.\nTwice at that time I saw a similar piece performed, which afforded me\nthe greatest pleasure; in fact, nothing ever surprised me so much, for\nI had always imagined that a thing of this kind would make no effect. Of\ncourse you know that there is no singing in it, but merely recitation,\nto which the music is a sort of obligato recitativo. At intervals there\nis speaking while the music goes on, which produces the most striking\neffect. What I saw was Benda's \"Medea.\" He also wrote another, \"Ariadne\nauf Naxos,\" and both are truly admirable. You are aware that of all the\nLutheran Capellmeisters Benda was always my favorite, and I like those\ntwo works of his so much that I constantly carry them about with me.\nConceive my joy at now composing the very thing I so much wished! Do you\nknow what my idea is?--that most operatic recitatives should be treated\nin this way, and the recitative only occasionally sung WHEN THE WORDS\nCAN BE THOROUGHLY EXPRESSED BY THE MUSIC. An Academie des Amateurs is\nabout to be established here, like the one in Paris, where Herr Franzl\nis violin leader, and I am at this moment writing a concerto for violin\nand piano. I found my dear friend Raaff still here, but he leaves this\non the 8th. He has sounded my praises here, and shown sincere interest\nin me, and I hope he will do the same in Munich. Do you know what that\nconfounded fellow Seeau said here?--that my opera buffa had been hissed\nat Munich! Fortunately he said so in a place where I am well known;\nstill, his audacity provokes me; but the people, when they go to Munich,\nwill hear the exact reverse. A whole flock of Bavarians are here, among\nothers Fraulein de Pauli (for I don't know her present name). I\nhave been to see her because she sent for me immediately. Oh! what a\ndifference there is between the people of the Palatinate and those\nof Bavaria! What a language it is! so coarse! and their whole mode of\naddress! It quite annoys me to hear once more their hoben and olles\n(haben and alles), and their WORSHIPFUL SIR. Now good-bye! and pray\nwrite to me soon. Put only my name, for they know where I am at the\npost-office. I am so well known here that it is impossible a letter for\nme can be lost. My cousin wrote to me, and by mistake put Franconian\nHotel instead of Palatine Hotel. The landlord immediately sent the\nletter to M. Serrarius's, where I lodged when I was last here. What\nrejoices me most of all in the whole Mannheim and Munich story is that\nWeber has managed his affairs so well. They have now 1600 florins;\nfor the daughter has 1000 florins and her father 400, and 200 more as\nprompter. Cannabich did the most for them. It is quite a history about\nCount Seeau; if you don't know it, I will write you the details next\ntime.\n\nI beg, dearest father, that you will make use of this affair at\nSalzburg, and speak so strongly and so decidedly, that the Archbishop\nmay think it possible I may not come after all, and thus be induced\nto give me a better salary, for I declare I cannot think of it with\ncomposure. The Archbishop cannot pay me sufficiently for the slavery of\nSalzburg. As I said before, I feel the greatest pleasure at the thought\nof paying you a visit, but only annoyance and misery in seeing myself\nonce more at that beggarly court. The Archbishop must no longer attempt\nto play the great man with me as he used to do, or I may possibly play\nhim a trick,--this is by no means unlikely,--and I am sure that you\nwould participate in my satisfaction.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 122", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 29, 1778.\n\nI WRITE from the house of M. Becke [flute-player; see No. 60]. I arrived\nhere safely, God be praised! on the 25th, but have been unable to write\nto you till now. I reserve everything till our glad, joyous meeting,\nwhen I can once more have the happiness of conversing with you, for\nto-day I can only weep. I have far too sensitive a heart. In the mean\ntime, I must tell you that the day before I left Kaisersheim I received\nthe sonatas; so I shall be able to present them myself to the Electress.\nI only delay leaving this till the opera [Footnote: Schweitzer's\n\"Alceste.\" (See No. 120.)] is given, when I intend immediately to leave\nMunich, unless I were to find that it would be very beneficial and\nuseful to me to remain here for some time longer. In which case I feel\nconvinced, quite convinced, that you would not only be satisfied I\nshould do so, but would yourself advise it. I naturally write very\nbadly, for I never learned to write; still, in my whole life I never\nwrote worse than this very day, for I really am unfit for anything--my\nheart is too full of tears. I hope you will soon write to me and comfort\nme. Address to me, Poste Restante, and then I can fetch the letter\nmyself. I am staying with the Webers. I think, after all, it would be\nbetter, far better, to enclose your letter to me to our friend Becke.\n\nI intend (I mention it to you in the strictest secrecy) to write a mass\nhere; all my best friends advise my doing so. I cannot tell you what\nfriends Cannabich and Raaff have been to me. Now farewell, my kindest\nand most beloved father! Write to me soon.\n\nA happy new-year! More I cannot bring myself to write to-day. This\nletter is scrawled hurriedly, quite unlike the others, and betrays\nthe most violent agitation of mind. During the whole journey there was\nnothing to which Mozart looked forward with such joy as once more seeing\nhis beloved Madlle. Weber in Munich. He had even destined \"a great part\"\nfor the Basle (his cousin) in the affair; but he was now to learn that\nAloysia had been faithless to him. Nissen relates: \"Mozart, being in\nmourning for his mother, appeared dressed, according to the French\ncustom, in a red coat with black buttons; but soon discovered that\nAloysia's feelings towards him had undergone a change. She seemed\nscarcely to recognize one for whose sake she had once shed so many\ntears. On which Mozart quickly seated himself at the piano and sang,\n\"Ich lass das Madel gern das mich nicht will,\" [\"I gladly give up the\ngirl who slights me.\"] His father, moreover, was displeased in the\nhighest degree by Wolfgang's protracted absence, fearing that the\nArchbishop might recall his appointment; so Wolfgang became very uneasy\nlest he should not meet with a kind reception from his father on his\nreturn home.\"", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 123", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 31, 1778.\n\nI HAVE this instant received your latter from my friend Becke. I wrote\nto you from his house two days ago, but a letter such as I never wrote\nbefore; for this kind friend said so much to me about your tender\npaternal love, your indulgence towards me, your complaisance and\ndiscretion in the promotion of my future happiness, that my feelings\nwere softened even to tears. But, from your letter of the 28th, I see\nonly too clearly that Herr Becke, in his conversation with me, rather\nexaggerated. Now, distinctly, and once for all, as soon as the opera\n(\"Alceste\") is given, I intend to leave this, whether the diligence goes\nthe day after or the same night. If you had spoken to Madame Robinig, I\nmight have travelled home with her. But be that as it may, the opera is\nto be given on the 11th, and on the 12th (if the diligence goes) I set\noff. It would be more for my interest to stay here a little longer, but\nI am willing to sacrifice this to you, in the hope that I shall have\na twofold reward for it in Salzburg. I don't think your idea about the\nsonatas at all good; even if I do not get them, I ought to leave Munich\nforthwith. Then you advise my not being seen at court; to a man so well\nknown as I am here such a thing is impossible. But do not be uneasy. I\nreceived my sonatas at Kaisersheim; and, as soon as they are bound, I\nmean to present them to the Electress. A. propos, what do you mean by\nDREAMS OF PLEASURE? I do not wish to give up dreaming, for what mortal\non the whole compass of the earth does not often dream? above all DREAMS\nOF PLEASURE--peaceful dreams, sweet, cheering dreams if you will--dreams\nwhich, if realized, would have rendered my life (now far rather sad than\npleasurable) more endurable.\n\nThe 1st.--I have this moment received, through a Salzburg vetturino, a\nletter from you, which really at first quite startled me. For Heaven's\nsake tell me, do you really think that I can at once fix a day for my\njourney; or is it your belief that I don't mean to come at all? When I\nam so very near, I do think you might be at ease on that point. When the\nfellow had explained his route to me, I felt a strong inclination to go\nwith him, but at present I really cannot; to-morrow or next day I\nintend to present the sonatas to the Electress, and then (no matter how\nstrongly I may be urged) I must wait a few days for a present. Of one\nthing I give you my word, that to please you I have resolved not to wait\nto see the opera, but intend to leave this the day after I receive the\npresent I expect. At the same time I confess I feel this to be very hard\non me; but if a few days more or less appear of such importance to you,\nso let it be. Write to me at once on this point. The 2d.--I rejoice at\nthe thoughts of conversing with you, for then you will first comprehend\nhow my matters stand here. You need have neither mistrust nor misgivings\nas to Raaff, for he is the most upright man in the world, though no\nlover of letter-writing. The chief cause of his silence, however, is no\ndoubt that he is unwilling to make premature promises, and yet is glad\nto hold out some hope too; besides, like Cannabich, he has worked for me\nwith might and main.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 124", + "body": "Munich, Jan. 8, 1779.\n\n[Footnote: The second grand aria that Mozart wrote for Aloysia, bears\nthe same date.]\n\nI HOPE you received my last letter, which I meant to have given to the\nvetturino, but having missed him I sent it by post. I have, in the mean\ntime, got all your letters safely through Herr Becke. I gave him my\nletter to read, and he also showed me his. I assure you, my very dear\nfather, that I am now full of joy at returning to you, (but not to\nSalzburg,) as your last letter shows that you know me better than\nformerly. There never was any other cause for my long delay in going\nhome but this doubt, which gave rise to a feeling of sadness that I\ncould no longer conceal; so I at last opened my heart to my friend\nBecke. What other cause could I possibly have? I have done nothing to\ncause me to dread reproach from you; I am guilty of no fault; (by\na fault I mean that which does not become a Christian, and a man of\nhonor;) in short, I now rejoice, and already look forward to the most\nagreeable and happy days, but only in the society of yourself and my\ndear sister. I give you my solemn word of honor that I cannot endure\nSalzburg or its inhabitants, (I speak of the natives of Salzburg.) Their\nlanguage, their manners, are to me quite intolerable. You cannot think\nwhat I suffered during Madame Robinig's visit here, for it is long\nindeed since I met with such a fool; and, for my still further\nannoyance, that silly, deadly dull Mosmayer was also there.\n\nBut to proceed. I went yesterday, with my dear friend Cannabich, to\nthe Electress to present my sonatas. Her apartments are exactly what I\nshould like mine one day to be, very pretty and neat, just like those of\na private individual, all except the view, which is miserable. We\nwere there fully an hour and a half, and she was very gracious. I have\nmanaged to let her know that I must leave this in a few days, which\nwill, I hope, expedite matters. You have no cause to be uneasy about\nCount Seeau; I don't believe the thing will come through his hands, and\neven if it does, he will not venture to say a word. Now, once for all,\nbelieve that I have the most eager longing to embrace you and my beloved\nsister. If it were only not in Salzburg! But as I have not hitherto been\nable to see you without going to Salzburg, I do so gladly. I must make\nhaste, for the post is just going.\n\nMy cousin is here. Why? To please me, her cousin; this is, indeed, the\nostensible cause. But--we can talk about it in Salzburg; and, on this\naccount, I wished very much that she would come with me there. You will\nfind a few lines, written by her own hand, attached to the fourth page\nof this letter. She is quite willing to go; so if it would really give\nyou pleasure to see her, be so kind as to write immediately to her\nbrother, that the thing may be arranged. When you see her and know her,\nshe is certain to please you, for she is a favorite with every one.\n\nWolfgang's pleasantries, in the following; letter to his cousin, show\nthat his good humor was fully restored. He was received at home with\nvery great rejoicings, and his cousin soon followed him.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 125", + "body": "Salzburg, May 10, 1779.\n\nDEAREST, sweetest, most beauteous, fascinating, and charming of all\ncousins, most basely maltreated by an unworthy kinsman! Allow me to\nstrive to soften and appease your just wrath, which only heightens your\ncharms and winning beauty, as high as the heel of your slipper! I hope\nto soften you, Nature having bestowed on me a large amount of softness,\nand to appease you, being fond of sweet pease. As to the Leipzig affair,\nI can't tell whether it may be worth stooping to pick up; were it a bag\nof ringing coin, it would be a very different thing, and nothing less do\nI mean to accept, so there is an end of it.\n\nSweetest cousin, such is life! One man has got a purse, but another has\ngot the money, and he who has neither has nothing; and nothing is even\nless than little; while, on the other hand, much is a great deal more\nthan nothing, and nothing can come of nothing. Thus has it been from the\nbeginning, is now, and ever shall be; and as I can make it neither\nworse nor better, I may as well conclude my letter. The gods know I am\nsincere. How does Probst get on with his wife? and do they live in\nbliss or in strife? most silly questions, upon my life! Adieu, angel!\nMy father sends you his uncle's blessing, and a thousand cousinly kisses\nfrom my sister. Angel, adieu!\n\nA TENDER ODE. [Footnote: A parody of Klopstock's \"Dein susses Bild,\nEdone\"]\n\nTO MY COUSIN.\n\n THY sweet image, cousin mine,\n Hovers aye before me; Would the form indeed were thine!\n How I would adore thee! I see it at the day's decline; I see it\n through the pale moonshine, And linger o'er that form divine\n\n By all the flowers of sweet perfume\n I'll gather for my cousin,--By all the wreaths of myrtle-bloom\n I'll wreathe her by the dozen,--I call upon that image there To\n pity my immense despair, And be indeed my cousin fair\n\n[Footnote: These words are written round the slightly sketched\ncaricature of a face.]\n\n\n\n\nFOURTH PART.--MUNICH.--IDOMENEO.--NOVEMBER 1780 TO JANUARY 1781.\n\n\nMOZART now remained stationary at Salzburg till the autumn of 1780,\nhighly dissatisfied at being forced to waste his youthful days in\ninactivity, and in such an obscure place, but still as busy as ever. A\nsuccession of grand instrumental compositions were the fruits of this\nperiod: two masses, some vespers, the splendid music for \"Konig Thamos,\"\nand the operetta \"Zaide\" for Schikaneder. At length, however, to his\nvery great joy, a proposal was made to him from Munich to write a grand\nopera for the Carnival of 1781. It was \"Idomeneo, Konig von Greta.\" At\nthe beginning of November he once more set off to Munich in order to\n\"prepare an exact fit,\" on the spot, of the different songs in the opera\nfor the singers, and to rehearse and practise everything with them. The\nAbbate Varesco in Salzburg was the author of the libretto, in which\nmany an alteration had yet to be made, and these were all to be effected\nthrough the intervention of the father.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 127", + "body": "Munich, Nov. 13, 1780.\n\nI WRITE in the greatest haste, for I am not yet dressed, and must go off\nto Count Seeau's. Cannabich, Quaglio, and Le Grand, the ballet-master,\nalso dine there to consult about what is necessary for the opera.\nCannabich and I dined yesterday with Countess Baumgarten, [Footnote: He\nwrote an air for her, the original of which is now in the State Library\nat Munich.] nee Lerchenteld. My friend is all in all in that family, and\nnow I am the same. It is the best and most serviceable house here to me,\nfor owing to their kindness all has gone well with me, and, please God,\nwill continue to do so. I am just going to dress, but must not omit the\nchief thing of all, and the principal object of my letter,--to wish you,\nmy very dearest and kindest father, every possible good on this your\nname-day. I also entreat the continuance of your fatherly love, and\nassure you of my entire obedience to your wishes. Countess la Rose sends\nher compliments to you and my sister, so do all the Cannabichs and both\nWendling families, Ramm, Eck father and son, Becke, and Herr del Prato,\nwho happens to be with me. Yesterday Count Seeau presented me to the\nElector, who was very gracious. If you were to speak to Count Seeau now,\nyou would scarcely recognize him, so completely have the Mannheimers\ntransformed him.\n\nI am ex commissione to write a formal answer in his name to the Abbate\nVaresco, but I have no time, and was not born to be a secretary. In the\nfirst act (eighth scene) Herr Quaglio made the same objection that we\ndid originally,--namely, that it is not fitting the king should be\nquite alone in the ship. If the Abbe thinks that he can be reasonably\nrepresented in the terrible storm forsaken by every one, WITHOUT A SHIP,\nexposed to the greatest peril, all may remain as it is; but, N. B., no\nship--for he cannot be alone in one; so, if the other mode be adopted,\nsome generals or confidants (mates) must land from the ship with him.\nThen the king might address a few words to his trusty companions, and\ndesire them to leave him alone, which in his melancholy situation would\nbe quite natural.\n\nThe second duet is to be omitted altogether, and indeed with more profit\nthan loss to the opera; for if you will read the scene it evidently\nbecomes cold and insipid by the addition of an air or a duet, and very\nirksome to the other actors, who must stand, by all the time unoccupied;\nbesides, the noble contest between Ilia and Idamante would become too\nlong, and thus lose its whole interest.\n\nMara has not the good fortune to please me. She does too little to be\ncompared to a Bastardella [see No. 8], (yet this is her peculiar style,)\nand too much to touch the heart like a Weber [Aloysia], or any judicious\nsinger.\n\nP.S.--A propos, as they translate so badly here, Count Seeau would like\nto have the opera translated in Salzburg, and the arias alone to be\nin verse. I am to make a contract that the payment of the poet and the\ntranslator should be made in one sum. Give me an answer soon about this.\nAdieu! What of the family portraits? Are they good likenesses? Is my\nsister's begun yet? The opera is to be given for the first time on the\n26th of January. Be so kind as to send me the two scores of the masses\nthat I have with me, and also the mass in B. Count Seeau is to mention\nthem soon to the Elector; I should like to be known here in this style\nalso. I have just heard a mass of Gruan's; it would be easy to compose\nhalf a dozen such in a day. Had I known that this singer, Del Prato, was\nso bad, I should certainly have recommended Cecarelli.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 129", + "body": "Munich, Nov. 22, 1780.\n\nI SEND herewith, at last, the long-promised aria for Herr Schikaneder.\nDuring the first week that I was here I could not entirely complete it,\nowing to the business that caused me to come here. Besides, Le Grand,\nthe ballet-master, a terrible talker and bore, has just been with me,\nand by his endless chattering caused me to miss the diligence. I hope\nmy sister is quite well. I have at this moment a bad cold, which in such\nweather is quite the fashion here. I hope and trust, however, that\nit will soon take its departure,--indeed, both phlegm and cough are\ngradually disappearing. In your last letter you write repeatedly, \"Oh!\nmy poor eyes! I du not wish to write myself blind--half-past eight at\nnight, and no spectacles!\" But why do you write at night, and without\nspectacles? I cannot understand it. I have not yet had an opportunity\nof speaking to Count Seeau, but hope to do so to-day, and shall give you\nany information I can gather by the next post. At present all will, no\ndoubt, remain as it is. Herr Raaff paid me a visit yesterday morning,\nand I gave him your regards, which seemed to please him much. He\nis, indeed, a worthy and thoroughly respectable man. The day before\nyesterday Del Frato sang in the most disgraceful way at the concert. I\nwould almost lay a wager that the man never manages to get through the\nrehearsals, far less the opera; he has some internal disease.\n\nCome in!--Herr Panzacchi! [who was to sing Arbace]. He has already paid\nme three visits, and has just asked me to dine with him on Sunday. I\nhope the same thing won't happen to me that happened to us with the\ncoffee. He meekly asks if, instead of se la sa, he may sing se co la, or\neven ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la.\n\nI am so glad when you often write to me, only not at night, and far less\nwithout spectacles. You must, however, forgive me if I do not say much\nin return, for every minute is precious; besides, I am obliged chiefly\nto write at night, for the mornings are so very dark; then I have to\ndress, and the servant at the Weiser sometimes admits a troublesome\nvisitor. When Del Prato comes I must sing to him, for I have to teach\nhim his whole part like a child; his method is not worth a farthing.\nI will write more fully next time. What of the family portraits? My\nsister, if she has nothing better to do, might mark down the names\nof the best comedies that have been performed during my absence. Has\nSchikaneder still good receipts? My compliments to all my friends, and\nto Gilofsky's Katherl. Give a pinch of Spanish snuff from me to Pimperl\n[the dog], a good wine-sop, and three kisses. Do you not miss me at all?\nA thousand compliments to all--all! Adieu! I embrace you both from my\nheart, and hope my sister will soon recover. [Nannerl, partly owing to\nher grief in consequence of an unfortunate love-affair, was suffering\nfrom pains in the chest, which threatened to turn to consumption.]", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 131", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 1, 1780.\n\nTHE rehearsal went off with extraordinary success; there were only six\nviolins in all, but the requisite wind-instruments. No one was admitted\nbut Count Seeau's sister and young Count Seinsheim. This day week we are\nto have another rehearsal, with twelve violins for the first act, and\nthen the second act will be rehearsed (like the first on the previous\noccasion). I cannot tell you how delighted and surprised all were; but\nI never expected anything else, for I declare I went to this rehearsal\nwith as quiet a heart as if I had been going to a banquet. Count\nSeinsheim said to me, \"I do assure you that though I expected a great\ndeal from you, I can truly say this I did not expect.\"\n\nThe Cannabichs and all who frequent their house are true friends of\nmine. After the rehearsal, (for we had a great deal to discuss with the\nCount,) when I went home with Cannabich, Madame Cannabich came to\nmeet me, and hugged me from joy at the rehearsal having passed off\nso admirably; then came Ramm and Lang, quite out of their wits with\ndelight. My true friend the excellent lady, who was alone in the house\nwith her invalid daughter Rose, had been full of solicitude on my\naccount. When you know him, you will find Ramm a true German, saying\nexactly what he thinks to your face. He said to me, \"I must honestly\nconfess that no music ever made such an impression on me, and I assure\nyou I thought of your father fifty times at least, and of the joy he\nwill feel when he hears this opera.\" But enough of this subject. My cold\nis rather worse owing to this rehearsal, for it is impossible not to\nfeel excited when honor and fame are at stake, however cool you may be\nat first. I did everything you prescribed for my cold, but it goes on\nvery slowly, which is particularly inconvenient to me at present; but\nall my writing about it will not put an end to my cough, and yet write I\nmust. To-day I have begun to take violet syrup and a little almond\noil, and already I feel relieved, and have again stayed two days in the\nhouse. Yesterday morning Herr Raaff came to me again to hear the aria\nin the second act. The man is as much enamored of his aria as a young\npassionate lover ever was of his fair one. He sings it the last thing\nbefore he goes to sleep, and the first thing in the morning when he\nawakes. I knew already, from a sure source, but now from himself, that\nhe said to Herr von Viereck (Oberststallmeister) and to Herr von Kastel,\n\"I am accustomed constantly to change my parts, to suit me better, in\nrecitative as well as in arias, but this I have left just as it was, for\nevery single note is in accordance with my voice.\" In short, he is as\nhappy as a king. He wishes the interpolated aria to be a little altered,\nand so do I. The part commencing with the word era he does not like, for\nwhat we want here is a calm tranquil aria; and if consisting of only one\npart, so much the better, for a second subject would have to be brought\nin about the middle, which leads me out of my way. In \"Achill in Sciro\"\nthere is an air of this kind, \"or che mio figlio sei.\" I thank my sister\nvery much for the list of comedies she sent me. It is singular enough\nabout the comedy \"Rache fur Rache\"; it was frequently given here with\nmuch applause, and quite lately too, though I was not there myself. I\nbeg you will present my devoted homage to Madlle. Therese von Barisani;\nif I had a brother, I would request him to kiss her hand in all\nhumility, but having a sister only is still better, for I beg she will\nembrace her in the most affectionate manner in my name. A propos, do\nwrite a letter to Cannabich; he deserves it, and it will please him\nexceedingly. What does it matter if he does not answer you? You must\nnot judge him from his manner; he is the same to every one, and means\nnothing. You must first know him well.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 132", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 5, 1780.\n\nThe death of the Empress [Maria Theresa] does not at all affect my\nopera, for the theatrical performances are not suspended, and the plays\ngo on as usual. The entire mourning is not to last more than six weeks,\nand my opera will not be given before the 20th of January. I wish you to\nget my black suit thoroughly brushed to make it as wearable as possible,\nand forward it to me by the first diligence; for next week every one\nmust be in mourning, and I, though constantly on the move, must cry with\nthe others.\n\nWith regard to Raaff's last aria, I already mentioned that we both wish\nto have more touching and pleasing words. The word era is constrained;\nthe beginning good, but gelida massa is again hard. In short,\nfar-fetched or pedantic expressions are always inappropriate in a\npleasing aria. I should also like the air to express only peace and\ncontentment; and one part would be quite as good--in fact, better, in my\nopinion. I also wrote about Panzacchi; we must do what we can to oblige\nthe good old man. He wishes to have his recitative in the third act\nlengthened a couple of lines, which, owing to the chiaro oscuro and his\nbeing a good actor, will have a capital effect. For example, after the\nstrophe, \"Sei la citta del pianto, e questa reggia quella del duol,\"\ncomes a slight glimmering of hope, and then, \"Madman that I am! whither\ndoes my grief lead me?\" \"Ah! Creta tutta io vedo.\" The Abbato Varesco is\nnot obliged to rewrite the act on account of these things, for they can\neasily be interpolated. I have also written that both I and others think\nthe oracle's subterranean speech too long to make a good effect. Reflect\non this. I must now conclude, having such a mass of writing to do. I\nhave not seen Baron Lehrbach, and don't know whether he is here or not;\nand I have no time to run about. I may easily not know whether he is\nhere, but he cannot fail to know positively that I am. Had I been a\ngirl, no doubt he would have come to see me long ago. Now adieu!\n\nI have this moment received your letter of the 4th December. You must\nbegin to accustom yourself a little to the kissing system. You can\nmeanwhile practise with Maresquelli, for each time that you come to\nDorothea Wendling's (where everything is rather in the French style) you\nwill have to embrace both mother and daughter, but--N. B., on the chin,\nso that the paint may not be rubbed off. More of this next time. Adieu!\n\nP.S.--Don't forget about my black suit; I must have it, or I shall be\nlaughed at, which is never agreeable.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 133", + "body": "Munich, Dec. 13, 1780.\n\nYour last letters seemed to me far too short, so I searched all the\npockets in my black suit to see if I could not find something more. In\nVienna and all the Imperial dominions, the gayeties are to be resumed\nsix weeks hence,--a very sensible measure, for mourning too long is\nnot productive of half as much good to the deceased as of injury to the\nliving. Is Herr Schikaneder to remain in Salzburg? If so, he might still\nsee and hear my opera. Here people, very properly, cannot comprehend\nwhy the mourning should last for three months, while that for our late\nElector was only six weeks. The theatre, however, goes on as usual. You\ndo not write to me how Herr Esser accompanied my sonatas--ill, or well?\nThe comedy, \"Wie man sich die Sache deutet,\" is charming, for I saw\nit--no, not saw it, but read it, for it has not yet been performed;\nbesides, I have been only once in the theatre, having no leisure to go,\nthe evening being the time I like best to work. If her Grace, the most\nsensible gracious Frau von Robinig, does not on this occasion change the\nperiod of her gracious journey to Munich, her Grace will be unable to\nhear one note of my opera. My opinion, however, is, that her Grace\nin her supreme wisdom, in order to oblige your excellent son, will\ngraciously condescend to stay a little longer. I suppose your portrait\nis now begun, and my sister's also, no doubt. How is it likely to turn\nout? Have you any answer yet from our plenipotentiary at Wetzlar? I\nforget his name--Fuchs, I think. I mean, about the duets for two pianos.\nIt is always satisfactory to explain a thing distinctly, and the arias\nof Esopus are, I suppose, still lying on the table? Send them to me by\nthe diligence, that I may give them myself to Herr von Dummhoff, who\nwill then remit them post-free. To whom? Why, to Heckmann--a charming\nman, is he not? and a passionate lover of music. My chief object comes\nto-day at the close of my letter, but this is always the case with me.\nOne day lately, after dining with Lisel Wendling, I drove with Le Grand\nto Cannabich's (as it was snowing heavily). Through the window\nthey thought it was you, and that we had come together. I could not\nunderstand why both Karl and the children ran down the steps to meet\nus, and when they saw Le Grand, did not say a word, but looked quite\ndiscomposed, till they explained it when we went up-stairs. I shall\nwrite nothing more, because you write so seldom to me--nothing, except\nthat Herr Eck, who has just crept into the room to fetch his sword which\nhe forgot the last time he was here, sends his best wishes to Thresel,\nPimperl, Jungfer Mitzerl, Gilofsky, Katherl, my sister, and, last of\nall, to yourself. Kiss Thresel for me; a thousand kisses to Pimperl.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 136", + "body": "Munich, Dec 27, 1780.\n\nI HAVE received the entire opera, Schachtner's letter, your note, and\nthe pills. As for the two scenes to be curtailed, it was not my own\nsuggestion, but one to which I consented--my reason being that Raaff and\nDel Prato spoil the recitative by singing it quite devoid of all spirit\nand fire, and so monotonously. They are the most miserable actors that\never trod the stage. I had a desperate battle royal with Seeau as to the\ninexpediency, unfitness, and almost impossibility of the omissions in\nquestion. However, all is to be printed as it is, which at first he\npositively refused to agree to, but at last, on rating him soundly, he\ngave way. The last rehearsal was splendid. It took place in a spacious\napartment in the palace. The Elector was also within hearing. On this\noccasion it was rehearsed with the whole orchestra, (of course I mean\nthose who belong to the opera.) After the first act the Elector called\nout Bravo! rather too audibly, and when I went into the next room to\nkiss his hand he said, \"Your opera is quite charming, and cannot fail to\ndo you honor.\" As he was not sure whether he could remain for the whole\nperformance, we played the concerted aria and the thunderstorm at the\nbeginning of the second act, by his desire, when he again testified\nhis approbation in the kindest manner, and said, laughing, \"Who could\nbelieve that such great things could be hidden in so small a head?\"\nNext day, too, at his reception, he extolled my opera much. The ensuing\nrehearsal will probably take place in the theatre. A propos, Becke\ntold me, a day or two ago, that he had written to you about the last\nrehearsal but one, and among other things had said that Raaff's aria\nin the second act is not composed in accordance with the sense of the\nwords, adding, \"So I am told, for I understand Italian too little to be\nable to judge.\" I replied, \"If you had only asked me first and\nwritten afterwards! I must tell you that whoever said such a thing can\nunderstand very little Italian. The aria is quite adapted to the words.\nYou hear the mare, and the mare funesto; and the passages dwell on the\nminacciar, and entirely express minacciar (threatening). Moreover, it\nis the most superb aria in the opera, and has met with universal\napprobation.\"\n\nIs it true that the Emperor is ill? Is it true that the Archbishop\nintends to come to Munich? Raaff is the best and most upright man alive,\nbut--so addicted to old-fashioned routine that flesh and blood cannot\nstand it; so that it is very difficult to write for him, but very easy\nif you choose to compose commonplace arias, as for instance the first\none, \"Vedromi intorno.\" When you hear it, you will say that it is good\nand pretty, but had I written it for Zonca it would have suited the\nwords better. Raaff likes everything according to rule, and does\nnot regard expression. I have had a piece of work with him about the\nquartet. The more I think of the quartet as it will be on the stage,\nthe more effective I consider it, and it has pleased all those who\nhave heard it on the piano. Raaff alone maintains that it will not be\nsuccessful. He said to me confidentially, \"There is no opportunity to\nexpand the voice; it is too confined.\" As if in a quartet the words\nshould not far rather be spoken, as it were, than sung! He does not at\nall understand such things. I only replied, \"My dear friend, if I were\naware of one single note in this quartet which ought to be altered, I\nwould change it at once; but there is no single thing in my opera with\nwhich I am so pleased as with this quartet, and when you have once\nheard it sung in concert you will speak very differently. I took every\npossible pains to conform to your taste in your two arias, and intend to\ndo the same with the third, so I hope to be successful; but with\nregard to trios and quartets, they should be left to the composer's own\ndiscretion.\" On which he said that he was quite satisfied. The other\nday he was much annoyed by some words in his last aria--rinvigorir and\nringiovenir, and especially vienmi a rinvigorir--five i's! It is true,\nthis is very disagreeable at the close of an air.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 138", + "body": "Munich, Jan. 3, 1780.\n\nMY head and my hands are so fully occupied with my third act, that it\nwould not be wonderful if I turned into a third act myself, for it alone\nhas cost me more trouble than the entire opera; there is scarcely\na scene in it which is not interesting to the greatest degree.\nThe accompaniment of the underground music consists merely of five\ninstruments, namely, three trombones and two French horns, which are\nplaced on the spot whence the voice proceeds. The whole orchestra is\nsilent at this part.\n\nThe grand rehearsal positively takes place on the 20th, and the first\nperformance on the 22d. All you will both require is to bring one\nblack dress, and another for every-day wear, when you are only visiting\nintimate friends where there is no ceremony, and thus save your black\ndress a little; and if my sister likes, one pretty dress also, that she\nmay go to the ball and the Academie Masquee.\n\nHerr von Robinig is already here, and sends his regards to you. I hear\nthat the two Barisanis are also coming to Munich; is this true? Heaven\nbe praised that the cut on the finger of the Archbishop was of no\nconsequence! Good heavens! how dreadfully I was alarmed at first!\nCannabich thanks you for your charming letter, and all his family beg\ntheir remembrances. He told me you had written very humorously. You must\nhave been in a happy mood.\n\nNo doubt we shall have a good many corrections to make in the third act\nwhen on the stage; as for instance scene sixth, after Arbace's aria, the\npersonages are marked, \"Idomeneo, Arbace, &c., &c.\" How can the latter\nso instantly reappear on the spot? Fortunately he might stay away\naltogether. In order to make the matter practicable, I have written a\nsomewhat longer introduction to the High Priest's recitative. After\nthe mourning chorus the King and his people all go away, and in the\nfollowing scene the directions are, \"Idomeneo kneels down in the\nTemple.\" This is impossible; he must come accompanied by his whole\nsuite. A march must necessarily be introduced here, so I have composed\na very simple one for two violins, tenor, bass, and two hautboys, to\nbe played a mezza voce, and during this time the King appears, and the\nPriests prepare the offerings for the sacrifice. The King then kneels\ndown and begins the prayer.\n\nIn Elettra's recitative, after the underground voice has spoken, there\nought to be marked exeunt. I forgot to look at the copy written for the\npress to see whether it is there, and whereabouts it comes. It seems\nto me very silly that they should hurry away so quickly merely to allow\nMadlle. Elettra to be alone.\n\nI have this moment received your few lines of January 1st. When I opened\nthe letter I chanced to hold it in such a manner that nothing but a\nblank sheet met my eyes. At last I found the writing. I am heartily glad\nthat I have got an aria for Raaff, as he was quite resolved to introduce\nthe air he had discovered, and I could not possibly (N. B., with a\nRaaff) have arranged in any other way than by having Varesco's air\nprinted, but Raaff's sung. I must stop, or I shall waste too much time.\nThank my sister very much for her New-Year's wishes, which I\nheartily return. I hope we shall soon be right merry together. Adieu!\nRemembrances to friends, not forgetting Ruscherle. Young Eck sends her a\nkiss, a sugar one of course.", + "author": "Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "recipient": "Constanze Mozart", + "source": "The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart", + "period": "1769–1791" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/napoleon.json b/letters/napoleon.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4639715 --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/napoleon.json @@ -0,0 +1,3162 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_Seven o'clock in the morning._\n\nMy waking thoughts are all of thee. Your portrait and the remembrance\nof last night's delirium have robbed my senses of repose. Sweet and\nincomparable Josephine, what an extraordinary influence you have over\nmy heart. Are you vexed? do I see you sad? are you ill at ease? My\nsoul is broken with grief, and there is no rest for your lover. But is\nthere more for me when, delivering ourselves up to the deep feelings\nwhich master me, I breathe out upon your lips, upon your heart, a\nflame which burns me up--ah, it was this past night I realised that\nyour portrait was not you. You start at noon; I shall see you in three\nhours. Meanwhile, _mio dolce amor_, accept a thousand kisses,[14] but\ngive me none, for they fire my blood.\n\n N. B.\n\n _A Madame Beauharnais._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _March 9th.--Bonaparte marries Josephine._\n\n _March 11th.--Bonaparte leaves Paris to join his army._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Chanceaux Post House,\n March 14, 1796._\n\nI wrote you at Chatillon, and sent you a power of attorney to enable\nyou to receive various sums of money in course of remittance to me.\nEvery moment separates me further from you, my beloved, and every\nmoment I have less energy to exist so far from you. You are the\nconstant object of my thoughts; I exhaust my imagination in thinking\nof what you are doing. If I see you unhappy, my heart is torn, and my\ngrief grows greater. If you are gay and lively among your friends\n(male and female), I reproach you with having so soon forgotten the\nsorrowful separation three days ago; thence you must be fickle, and\nhenceforward stirred by no deep emotions. So you see I am not easy to\nsatisfy; but, my dear, I have quite different sensations when I fear\nthat your health may be affected, or that you have cause to be\nannoyed; then I regret the haste with which I was separated from my\ndarling. I feel, in fact, that your natural kindness of heart exists\nno longer for me, and it is only when I am quite sure you are not\nvexed that I am satisfied. If I were asked how I slept, I feel that\nbefore replying I should have to get a message to tell me that you had\nhad a good night. The ailments, the passions of men influence me only\nwhen I imagine they may reach you, my dear. May my good genius, which\nhas always preserved me in the midst of great dangers, surround you,\nenfold you, while I will face my fate unguarded. Ah! be not gay, but a\ntrifle melancholy; and especially may your soul be free from worries,\nas your body from illness: you know what our good Ossian says on this\nsubject. Write me, dear, and at full length, and accept the thousand\nand one kisses of your most devoted and faithful friend.\n\n[This letter is translated from St. Amand's _La Citoyenne Bonaparte_,\np. 3, 1892.]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _March 27th.--Arrival at Nice and proclamation to the soldiers._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_April 3rd.--He is at Mentone._\n\n _Port Maurice, April 3rd._\n\nI have received all your letters, but none has affected me like the\nlast. How can you think, my charmer, of writing me in such terms? Do\nyou believe that my position is not already painful enough without\nfurther increasing my regrets and subverting my reason. What\neloquence, what feelings you portray; they are of fire, they inflame\nmy poor heart! My unique Josephine, away from you there is no more\njoy--away from thee the world is a wilderness, in which I stand alone,\nand without experiencing the bliss of unburdening my soul. You have\nrobbed me of more than my soul; you are the one only thought of my\nlife. When I am weary of the worries of my profession, when I mistrust\nthe issue, when men disgust me, when I am ready to curse my life, I\nput my hand on my heart where your portrait beats in unison. I look at\nit, and love is for me complete happiness; and everything laughs for\njoy, except the time during which I find myself absent from my\nbeloved.\n\nBy what art have you learnt how to captivate all my faculties, to\nconcentrate in yourself my spiritual existence--it is witchery, dear\nlove, which will end only with me. To live for Josephine, that is the\nhistory of my life. I am struggling to get near you, I am dying to be\nby your side; fool that I am, I fail to realise how far off I am, that\nlands and provinces separate us. What an age it will be before you\nread these lines, the weak expressions of the fevered soul in which\nyou reign. Ah, my winsome wife, I know not what fate awaits me, but if\nit keeps me much longer from you it will be unbearable--my strength\nwill not last out. There was a time in which I prided myself on my\nstrength, and, sometimes, when casting my eyes on the ills which men\nmight do me, on the fate that destiny might have in store for me, I\nhave gazed steadfastly on the most incredible misfortunes without a\nwrinkle on my brow or a vestige of surprise: but to-day the thought\nthat my Josephine might be ill; and, above all, the cruel, the fatal\nthought that she might love me less, blights my soul, stops my blood,\nmakes me wretched and dejected, without even leaving me the courage of\nfury and despair. I often used to say that men have no power over him\nwho dies without regrets; but, to-day, to die without your love, to\ndie in uncertainty of that, is the torment of hell, it is a lifelike\nand terrifying figure of absolute annihilation--I feel passion\nstrangling me. My unique companion! you whom Fate has destined to walk\nwith me the painful path of life! the day on which I no longer possess\nyour heart will be that on which parched Nature will be for me without\nwarmth and without vegetation. I stop, dear love! my soul is sad, my\nbody tired, my spirit dazed, men worry me--I ought indeed to detest\nthem; they keep me from my beloved.\n\nI am at Port Maurice, near Oneille; to-morrow I shall be at Albenga.\nThe two armies are in motion. We are trying to deceive each\nother--victory to the most skilful! I am pretty well satisfied with\nBeaulieu; he need be a much stronger man than his predecessor to alarm\nme much. I expect to give him a good drubbing. Don't be anxious; love\nme as thine eyes, but that is not enough; as thyself, more than\nthyself; as thy thoughts, thy mind, thy sight, thy all. Dear love,\nforgive me, I am exhausted; nature is weak for him who feels acutely,\nfor him whom you inspire.\n\n N. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nKind regards to Barras, Sussi, Madame Tallien; compliments to Madame\nChateau Renard; to Eugene and Hortense best love. Adieu, adieu! I lie\ndown without thee, I shall sleep without thee; I pray thee, let me\nsleep. Many times I shall clasp thee in my arms, but, but--it is not\nthee.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte chez la\n citoyenne Beauharnais,\n Rue Chantereine No. 6, Paris._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_Albenga, April 5th._\n\nIt is an hour after midnight. They have just brought me a letter. It\nis a sad one, my mind is distressed--it is the death of Chauvet. He\nwas _commissionaire ordinateur en chef_ of the army; you have\nsometimes seen him at the house of Barras. My love, I feel the need of\nconsolation. It is by writing to thee, to thee alone, the thought of\nwhom can so influence my moral being, to whom I must pour out my\ntroubles. What means the future? what means the past? what are we\nourselves? what magic fluid surrounds and hides from us the things\nthat it behoves us most to know? We are born, we live, we die in the\nmidst of marvels; is it astounding that priests, astrologers,\ncharlatans have profited by this propensity, by this strange\ncircumstance, to exploit our ideas, and direct them to their own\nadvantage. Chauvet is dead. He was attached to me. He has rendered\nessential service to the fatherland. His last words were that he was\nstarting to join me. Yes, I see his ghost; it hovers everywhere, it\nwhistles in the air. His soul is in the clouds, he will be propitious\nto my destiny. But, fool that I am, I shed tears for our friendship,\nand who shall tell me that I have not already to bewail the\nirreparable. Soul of my life, write me by every courier, else I shall\nnot know how to exist. I am very busy here. Beaulieu is moving his\narmy again. We are face to face. I am rather tired; I am every day on\nhorseback. Adieu, adieu, adieu; I am going to dream of you. Sleep\nconsoles me; it places you by my side, I clasp you in my arms. But on\nwaking, alas! I find myself three hundred leagues from you.\nRemembrances to Barras, Tallien, and his wife.\n\n N. B.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte chez la\n citoyenne Beauharnais,\n Rue Chantereine No. 6, Paris._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_Albenga, April 7th._\n\nI have received the letter that you break off, in order, you say, to\ngo into the country; and in spite of that you give me to understand\nthat you are jealous of me, who am here, overwhelmed with business and\nfatigue. Ah, my dear, it is true I am wrong. In the spring the country\nis beautiful, and then the lover of nineteen will doubtless find means\nto spare an extra moment to write to him who, distant three hundred\nleagues from thee, lives, enjoys, exists only in thoughts of thee, who\nreads thy letters as one devours, after six hours' hunting, the meat\nhe likes best. I am not satisfied with your last letter; it is cold as\nfriendship. I have not found that fire which kindles your looks, and\nwhich I have sometimes fancied I found there. But how infatuated I am.\nI found your previous letters weigh too heavily on my mind. The\nrevolution which they produced there invaded my rest, and took my\nfaculties captive. I desired more frigid letters, but they gave me the\nchill of death. Not to be loved by Josephine, the thought of finding\nher inconstant ... but I am forging troubles--there are so many real\nones, there is no need to manufacture more! You cannot have inspired a\nboundless love without sharing it, for a cultured mind and a soul like\nyours cannot requite complete surrender and devotion with the\ndeath-blow.\n\nI have received the letter from Madame Chateau Renard. I have written\nto the Minister. I will write to the former to-morrow, to whom you\nwill make the usual compliments. Kind regards to Madame Tallien and\nBarras.\n\nYou do not speak of your wretched indigestion--I hate it. Adieu, till\nto-morrow, _mio dolce amor_. A remembrance from my unique wife, and a\nvictory from Destiny--these are my wishes: a unique remembrance\nentirely worthy of him who thinks of thee every moment.\n\nMy brother is here; he has learnt of my marriage with pleasure. He\nlongs to see you. I am trying to prevail on him to go to Paris--his\nwife has just borne him a girl. He sends you a gift of a box of Genoa\nbonbons. You will receive oranges, perfumes, and orange-flower water,\nwhich I am sending.\n\nJunot and Murat present their respects to you.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte,_\n _Rue Chantereine No. 6,_ (Address not in B.'s writing.)\n _Chaussee d'Antin, Paris._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 10th.--Campaign opens (Napoleon's available troops about\n 35,000)._\n\n _April 11th.--Colonel Rampon, with 1200 men, breaks the attack of\n D'Argenteau, giving Napoleon time to come up._\n\n _April 12th.--Battle of Montenotte, Austrians defeated. Lose 3500\n men (2000 prisoners), 5 guns, and 4 stand of colours._\n\n _April 14th.--Battle of Millesimo, Austrians and Sardinians\n defeated. Lose over 6000 prisoners, 2 generals, 4500 killed and\n wounded, 32 guns, and 15 stand of colours. Lannes made Colonel on\n the battlefield._\n\n _April 15th.--Battle of Dego, the allies defeated and separated._\n\n _April 22nd.--Battle of Mondovi, Sardinians defeated. Lose 3000\n men, 8 guns, 10 stand of colours._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_Carru, April 24th._\n\n_To My Sweet Love._--My brother will remit you this letter. I have for\nhim the most lively affection. I trust he will obtain yours; he merits\nit. Nature has endowed him with a gentle, even, and unalterably good\ndisposition; he is made up of good qualities. I am writing Barras to\nhelp him to the Consulate of some Italian port. He wishes to live with\nhis little wife far from the great whirlwind, and from great events. I\nrecommend him to you. I have received your letters of (April) the\nfifth and tenth. You have been several days without writing me. What\n_are_ you doing then? Yes, my kind, kind love, I am not jealous, but\nsometimes uneasy. Come soon. I warn you, if you tarry you will find me\nill; fatigue and your absence are too much for me at the same time.\n\nYour letters make up my daily pleasure, and my happy days are not\noften. Junot bears to Paris twenty-two flags. You ought to return with\nhim, do you understand? Be ready, if that is not disagreeable to you.\nShould he not come, woe without remedy; should he come back to me\nalone, grief without consolation, constant anxiety. My Beloved, he\nwill see you, he will breathe on your temples; perhaps you will accord\nhim the unique and priceless favour of kissing your cheek, and I, I\nshall be alone and very far away; but you are about to come, are you\nnot? You will soon be beside me, on my breast, in my arms, over your\nmouth. Take wings, come quickly, but travel gently. The route is long,\nbad, fatiguing. If you should be overturned or be taken ill, if\nfatigue--go gently, my beloved.\n\nI have received a letter from Hortense. She is entirely lovable. I am\ngoing to write to her. I love her much, and I will soon send her the\nperfumes that she wants.\n\n N. B.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI know not if you want money, for you never speak to me of business.\nIf you do, will you ask my brother for it--he has 200 louis of mine!\nIf you want a place for any one you can send him; I will give him one.\nChateau Renard may come too.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 28th.--Armistice of Cherasco (submission of Sardinia to\n France): peace signed May 15th._\n\n _May 7th.--Bonaparte passed the Po at Placentia, and attacks\n Beaulieu, who has 40,000 Austrians._\n\n _May 8th.--Austrians defeated at Fombio. Lose 2500 prisoners,\n guns, and 3 standards. Skirmish of Codogno--death of General La\n Harpe._\n\n _May 9th.--Capitulation of Parma by the Grand Duke, who pays\n ransom of 2 million francs, 1600 artillery horses, food, and 20\n paintings._\n\n _May 10th.--Passage of Bridge of Lodi. Austrians lose 2000 men and\n 20 cannon._\n\n _May 14th.--Bonaparte was requested to divide his command, and\n thereupon tendered his resignation._\n\n _May 15th.--Bonaparte enters Milan. Lombardy pays ransom of 20\n million francs; and the Duke of Modena 10 millions, and 20\n pictures._\n\n _May 24th-25th.--Revolt of Lombardy, and punishment of Pavia by\n the French._\n\n _May 30th-31st.--Bonaparte defeats Beaulieu at Borghetto, crosses\n the Mincio, and makes French cavalry fight (a new feature for the\n Republican troops)._\n\n _June 3rd.--Occupies Verona, and secures the line of the Adige._\n\n _June 4th._--Battle of Altenkirchen (Franconia) won by Jourdan.\n\n _June 5th.--Armistice with Naples. Their troops secede from the\n Austrian army._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE.\n\n _Tortona, Noon, June 15th._\n\nMy life is a perpetual nightmare. A presentiment of ill oppresses me.\nI see you no longer. I have lost more than life, more than happiness,\nmore than my rest. I am almost without hope. I hasten to send a\ncourier to you. He will stay only four hours in Paris, and then\nbring me your reply. Write me ten pages. That alone can console me a\nlittle. You are ill, you love me, I have made you unhappy, you are in\ndelicate health, and I do not see you!--that thought overwhelms me. I\nhave done you so much wrong that I know not how to atone for it; I\naccuse you of staying in Paris, and you were ill there. Forgive me,\nmy dear; the love with which you have inspired me has bereft me of\nreason. I shall never find it again. It is an ill for which there\nis no cure. My presentiments are so ominous that I would confine\nmyself to merely seeing you, to pressing you for two hours to my\nheart--and then dying with you. Who looks after you? I expect you\nhave sent for Hortense. I love that sweet child a thousand times more\nwhen I think she can console you a little, though for me there is\nneither consolation nor repose, nor hope until the courier that I\nhave sent comes back; and until, in a long letter, you explain to me\nwhat is the nature of your illness, and to what extent it is\nserious; if it be dangerous, I warn you, I start at once for\nParis. My coming shall coincide with your illness. I have always\nbeen fortunate, never has my destiny resisted my will, and to-day I\nam hurt in what touches me solely (_uniquement_). Josephine, how\ncan you remain so long without writing to me; your last laconic\nletter is dated May 22. Moreover, it is a distressing one for me, but\nI always keep it in my pocket; your portrait and letters are\nperpetually before my eyes.\n\nI am nothing without you. I scarcely imagine how I existed without\nknowing you. Ah! Josephine, had you known my heart would you have\nwaited from May 18th to June 4th before starting? Would you have given\nan ear to perfidious friends who are perhaps desirous of keeping you\naway from me? I openly avow it to every one, I hate everybody who is\nnear you. I expected you to set out on May 24th, and arrive on June\n3rd.\n\nJosephine, if you love me, if you realise how everything depends on\nyour health, take care of yourself. I dare not tell you not to\nundertake so long a journey, and that, too, in the hot weather. At\nleast, if you are fit to make it, come by short stages; write me at\nevery sleeping-place, and despatch your letters in advance.\n\nAll my thoughts are concentrated in thy boudoir, in thy bed, on thy\nheart. Thy illness!--that is what occupies me night and day. Without\nappetite, without sleep, without care for my friends, for glory, for\nfatherland, you, you alone--the rest of the world exists no more for\nme than if it were annihilated. I prize honour since you prize it, I\nprize victory since it pleases you; without that I should leave\neverything in order to fling myself at your feet.\n\nSometimes I tell myself that I alarm myself unnecessarily; that even\nnow she is better, that she is starting, has started, is perhaps\nalready at Lyons. Vain fancies! you are in bed suffering, more\nbeautiful, more interesting, more lovable. You are pale and your eyes\nare more languishing, but when will you be cured? If one of us ought\nto be ill it is I--more robust, more courageous; I should support\nillness more easily. Destiny is cruel, it strikes at me through you.\n\nWhat consoles me sometimes is to think that it is in the power of\ndestiny to make you ill; but it is in the power of no one to make me\nsurvive you.\n\nIn your letter, dear, be sure to tell me that you are convinced that I\nlove you more than it is possible to imagine; that you are persuaded\nthat all my moments are consecrated to you; that to think of any other\nwoman has never entered my head--they are all in my eyes without\ngrace, wit, or beauty; that you, you alone, such as I see you, such as\nyou are, can please me, and absorb all the faculties of my mind; that\nyou have traversed its whole extent; that my heart has no recess into\nwhich you have not seen, no thoughts which are not subordinate to\nyours; that my strength, my prowess, my spirit are all yours; that my\nsoul is in your body; and that the day on which you change or cease to\nlive will be my death-day; that Nature, that Earth, is beautiful only\nbecause you dwell therein. If you do not believe all this, if your\nsoul is not convinced, penetrated by it, you grieve me, you do not\nlove me--there is a magnetic fluid between people who love one\nanother--you know perfectly well that I could not brook a rival, much\nless offer you one.[15] To tear out his heart and to see him would be\nfor me one and the same thing, and then if I were to carry my hands\nagainst your sacred person--no, I should never dare to do it; but I\nwould quit a life in which the most virtuous of women had deceived\nme.\n\nBut I am sure and proud of your love; misfortunes are the trials which\nreveal to each mutually the whole force of our passion. A child as\ncharming as its mamma will soon see the daylight, and will pass many\nyears in your arms. Hapless me! I would be happy with one _day_. A\nthousand kisses on your eyes, your lips, your tongue, your heart. Most\ncharming of thy sex, what is thy power over me? I am very sick of thy\nsickness; I have still a burning fever! Do not keep the courier more\nthan six hours, and let him return at once to bring me the longed-for\nletter of my Beloved.\n\nDo you remember my dream, in which I was your boots, your dress, and\nin which I made you come bodily into my heart? Why has not Nature\narranged matters in this way; she has much to do yet.\n\n N. B.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 18th.--Bonaparte enters Modena, and takes 50 cannon at\n Urbino._\n\n _June 19th.--Occupies Bologna, and takes 114 cannon._\n\n _June 23rd.--Armistice with Rome. The Pope to pay 21 millions, 100\n rare pictures, 200 MSS., and to close his ports to the English._\n\n _June 24th._--Desaix, with part of Moreau's army, forces the\n passage of the Rhine.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE.\n\n _Pistoia, Tuscany, June 26th._\n\nFor a month I have only received from my dear love two letters of\nthree lines each. Is she so busy, that writing to her dear love is not\nthen needful for her, nor, consequently, thinking about him? To live\nwithout thinking of Josephine would be death and annihilation to your\nhusband. Your image gilds my fancies, and enlivens the black and\nsombre picture of melancholy and grief. A day perhaps may come in\nwhich I shall see you, for I doubt not you will be still at Paris, and\nverily on that day I will show you my pockets stuffed with letters\nthat I have not sent you because they are too foolish (_bete_). Yes,\nthat's the word. Good heavens! tell me, you who know so well how to\nmake others love you without being in love yourself, do you know how\nto cure me of love??? I will give a good price for that remedy.\n\nYou ought to have started on May 24th. Being good-natured, I waited\ntill June 1st, as if a pretty woman would give up her habits, her\nfriends, both Madame Tallien and a dinner with Barras, and the acting\nof a new play, and Fortune; yes, Fortune, whom you love much more than\nyour husband, for whom you have only a little of the esteem, and a\nshare of that benevolence with which your heart abounds. Every day I\ncount up your misdeeds. I lash myself to fury in order to love you no\nmore. Bah, don't I love you the more? In fact, my peerless little\nmother, I will tell you my secret. Set me at defiance, stay at Paris,\nhave lovers--let everybody know it--never write me a monosyllable!\nthen I shall love you ten times more for it; and it is not folly, a\ndelirious fever! and I shall not get the better of it. Oh! would to\nheaven I could get better! but don't tell me you are ill, don't try to\njustify yourself. Good heavens! you are pardoned. I love you to\ndistraction, and never will my poor heart cease to give all for love.\nIf you did not love me, my fate would be indeed grotesque. You have\nnot written me; you are ill, you do not come. But you have passed\nLyons; you will be at Turin on the 28th, at Milan on the 30th, where\nyou will wait for me. You will be in Italy, and I shall be still far\nfrom you. Adieu, my well-beloved; a kiss on thy mouth, another on thy\nheart.\n\nWe have made peace with Rome--who gives us money. To-morrow we shall\nbe at Leghorn, and as soon as I can in your arms, at your feet, on\nyour bosom.\n\n _A la citoyenne Bonaparte, &c._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 27th.--Leghorn occupied by Murat and Vaubois._\n\n _June 29th.--Surrender of citadel of Milan; 1600 prisoners and 150\n cannon taken._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [14] _Un millier de baise_ (sic).\n\n [15] So Tennant (_t'en offrir un_): but Baron Feuillet de Conches, an\n expert in Napoleonic graphology, renders the expression _t'en\n souffrir un_.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES B\n\n(1796-97)\n\n\n\"Des 1796, lorsque, avec 30,000 hommes, il fait la conquete de l'Italie,\nil est non-seulement grand general, mais profond politique.\"--_Des\nIdees Napoleonniennes._\n\n * * * * *\n\n\"Your Government has sent against me four armies without Generals, and\nthis time a General without an army.\"--_Napoleon to the Austrian\nPlenipotentiaries, at Leoben._\n\n\n\n\nSERIES B\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 211-223.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Sortie from Mantua_ 211\n\n No. 2. _Marmirolo_ 211\n _Fortune_ 212\n\n No. 3. _The village of Virgil_ 212\n\n No. 4. _Achille_ 212\n\n No. 5. _Will-o'-the-Wisp_ 213\n\n No. 6. _The needs of the army_ 213-5\n\n No. 7. _Brescia_ 215\n\n No. 9. _I hope we shall get into Trent_ 216\n\n No. 12. _One of these nights the doors will be burst open_ 216-8\n\n No. 13. _Corsica is ours_ 218\n\n No. 14. _Verona_ 219\n\n No. 15. _Once more I breathe freely_ 220\n\n No. 18. \"_The 29th_\" 220\n\n No. 20. _General Brune_ 221\n\n No. 21. _February 3rd_ 221\n\n No. 24. _Perhaps I shall make peace with the Pope_ 222\n\n No. 25. _The unlimited power you hold over me_ 222", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_July 5th._--Archduke Charles defeated by Moreau at Radstadt.\n\n _July 6th.--Sortie from Mantua: Austrians fairly successful._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Roverbella, July 6, 1796._\n\nI have beaten the enemy. Kilmaine will send you the copy of the\ndespatch. I am tired to death. Pray start at once for Verona. I need\nyou, for I think that I am going to be very ill.\n\nI send you a thousand kisses. I am in bed.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 9th.--Bonaparte asks Kellermann for reinforcements._\n\n _July 14th._--Frankfort on the Main captured by Kleber.\n\n _July 16th.--Sortie from Mantua: Austrians defeated._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_July 17th.--Attempted coup de main at Mantua: French unsuccessful._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Marmirolo_, _July 17, 1796_, 9 P.M.\n\nI got your letter, my beloved; it has filled my heart with joy. I am\ngrateful to you for the trouble you have taken to send me news; your\nhealth should be better to-day--I am sure you are cured. I urge you\nstrongly to ride, which cannot fail to do you good.\n\nEver since I left you, I have been sad. I am only happy when by your\nside. Ceaselessly I recall your kisses, your tears, your enchanting\njealousy; and the charms of the incomparable Josephine keep constantly\nalight a bright and burning flame in my heart and senses. When, free\nfrom every worry, from all business, shall I spend all my moments by\nyour side, to have nothing to do but to love you, and to prove it to\nyou? I shall send your horse, but I am hoping that you will soon be\nable to rejoin me. I thought I loved you some days ago; but, since I\nsaw you, I feel that I love you even a thousand times more. Ever since\nI have known you, I worship you more every day; which proves how false\nis the maxim of La Bruyere that \"Love comes all at once.\" Everything\nin nature has a regular course, and different degrees of growth. Ah!\npray let me see some of your faults; be less beautiful, less gracious,\nless tender, and, especially, less kind; above all never be jealous,\nnever weep; your tears madden me, fire my blood. Be sure that it is no\nlonger possible for me to have a thought except for you, or an idea of\nwhich you shall not be the judge.\n\nHave a good rest. Haste to get well. Come and join me, so that, at\nleast, before dying, we could say--\"We were happy for so many days!!\"\n\nMillions of kisses, and even to Fortune, in spite of his naughtiness.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_July 18th.--Trenches opened before Mantua._\n\n _July 18th._--Stuttgard occupied by Saint-Cyr, who, like Kleber,\n is under Moreau.\n\n _July 18th._--Wurtzburg captured by Klein and Ney (acting under\n Jourdan).\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Marmirolo, July 18, 1796_, 2 P.M.\n\nI passed the whole night under arms. I ought to have had Mantua by a\nplucky and fortunate coup; but the waters of the lake have suddenly\nfallen, so that the column I had shipped could not land. This evening\nI shall begin a new attempt, but one that will not give such\nsatisfactory results.\n\nI got a letter from Eugene, which I send you. Please write for me to\nthese charming children of yours, and send them some trinkets. Be sure\nto tell them that I love them as if they were my own. What is yours or\nmine is so mixed up in my heart, that there is no difference there.\n\nI am very anxious to know how you are, what you are doing? I have been\nin the village of Virgil, on the banks of the lake, by the silvery\nlight of the moon, and not a moment without dreaming of Josephine.\n\nThe enemy made a general sortie on June 16th; it has killed or wounded\ntwo hundred of our men, but lost five hundred of its own in a\nprecipitous retreat.\n\nI am well. I am Josephine's entirely, and I have no pleasure or\nhappiness except in her society.\n\nThree Neapolitan regiments have arrived at Brescia; they have sundered\nthemselves from the Austrian army, in consequence of the convention I\nhave concluded with M. Pignatelli.\n\nI've lost my snuff-box; please choose me another, rather flat-shaped,\nand write something pretty inside, with your own hair.\n\nA thousand kisses as burning as you are cold. Boundless love, and\nfidelity up to every proof. Before Joseph starts, I wish to speak to\nhim.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Marmirolo, July 19, 1796._\n\nI have been without letters from you for two days. That is at least\nthe thirtieth time to-day that I have made this observation to myself;\nyou are thinking this particularly wearisome; yet you cannot doubt\nthe tender and unique anxiety with which you inspire me.\n\nWe attacked Mantua yesterday. We warmed it up from two batteries with\nred-hot shot and from mortars. All night long that wretched town has\nbeen on fire. The sight was horrible and majestic. We have secured\nseveral of the outworks; we open the first parallel to-night.\nTo-morrow I start for Castiglione with the Staff, and I reckon on\nsleeping there. I have received a courier from Paris. There were two\nletters for you; I have read them. But though this action appears to\nme quite natural, and though you gave me permission to do so the other\nday, I fear you may be vexed, and that is a great trouble to me. I\nshould have liked to have sealed them up again: fie! that would have\nbeen atrocious. If I am to blame, I beg your forgiveness. I swear that\nit is not because I am jealous; assuredly not. I have too high an\nopinion of my beloved for that. I should like you to give me full\npermission to read your letters, then there would be no longer either\nremorse or apprehension.\n\nAchille has just ridden post from Milan; no letters from my beloved!\nAdieu, my unique joy. When will you be able to rejoin me? I shall have\nto fetch you myself from Milan.\n\nA thousand kisses as fiery as my soul, as chaste as yourself.\n\nI have summoned the courier; he tells me that he crossed over to your\nhouse, and that you told him you had no commands. Fie! naughty,\nundutiful, cruel, tyrannous, jolly little monster. You laugh at my\nthreats, at my infatuation; ah, you well know that if I could shut you\nup in my breast, I would put you in prison there!\n\nTell me you are cheerful, in good health, and very affectionate.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Castiglione, July 21, 1796_, 8 A.M.\n\nI am hoping that when I arrive to-night I shall get one of your\nletters. You know, my dear Josephine, the pleasure they give me; and I\nam sure you have pleasure in writing them. I shall start to-night for\nPeschiera, for the mountains of ----, for Verona, and thence I shall\ngo to Mantua, and perhaps to Milan, to receive a kiss, since you\nassure me they are not made of ice. I hope you will be perfectly well\nby then, and will be able to accompany me to headquarters, so that we\nmay not part again. Are you not the soul of my life, and the\nquintessence of my heart's affections?\n\nYour proteges are a little excitable; they are like the will-o'-the-wisp.\nHow glad I am to do something for them which will please you. They will\ngo to Milan. A little patience is requisite in everything.\n\nAdieu, _belle et bonne_, quite unequalled, quite divine. A thousand\nloving kisses.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Castiglione, July 22, 1796._\n\nThe needs of the army require my presence hereabouts; it is impossible\nthat I can leave it to come to Milan. Five or six days would be\nnecessary, and during that time movements may occur whereby my\npresence here would be imperative.\n\nYou assure me your health is good; I beg you therefore to come to\nBrescia. Even now I am sending Murat to prepare apartments for you\nthere in the town, as you desire.\n\nI think you will do well to spend the first night (July 24th) at\nCassano, setting out very late from Milan; and to arrive at Brescia on\nJuly 25th, where the most affectionate of lovers awaits you. I am\ndisconsolate that you can believe, dear, that my heart can reveal\nitself to others as to you; it belongs to you by right of conquest,\nand that conquest will be durable and for ever. I do not know why you\nspeak of Madame T., with whom I do not concern myself in the\nslightest, nor with the women of Brescia. As to the letters which you\nare vexed at my opening, this shall be the last; your letter had not\ncome.\n\nAdieu, _ma tendre amie_, send me news often, come forthwith and join\nme, and be happy and at ease; all goes well, and my heart is yours for\nlife.\n\nBe sure to return to the Adjutant-General Miollis the box of medals\nthat he writes me he has sent you. Men have such false tongues, and\nare so wicked, that it is necessary to have everything exactly on the\nsquare.\n\nGood health, love, and a prompt arrival at Brescia.\n\nI have at Milan a carriage suitable alike for town or country; you can\nmake use of it for the journey. Bring your plate with you, and some of\nthe things you absolutely require.\n\nTravel by easy stages, and during the coolth, so as not to tire\nyourself. Troops only take three days coming to Brescia. Travelling\npost it is only a fourteen hours' journey. I request you to sleep on\nthe 24th at Cassano; I shall come to meet you on the 25th at latest.\n\nAdieu, my own Josephine. A thousand loving kisses.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 29th.--Advance of Wurmser, by the Adige valley, on Mantua,\n and of Quesdonowich on Brescia, who drives back Massena and\n Sauret._\n\n _July 31st.--Siege of Mantua raised._\n\n _August 3rd.--Bonaparte victorious at Lonato._\n\n _August 5th.--Augereau victorious at Castiglione, completing the\n Campaign of Five Days, in which 10,000 prisoners are taken._\n\n _August 8th.--Verona occupied by Serrurier._\n\n _August 15th._--(Moreau arrives on the Danube) _Wurmser retreats\n upon Trent, the capital of Italian Tyrol_.\n\n _August 18th._--Alliance, offensive and defensive, between France\n and Spain.\n\n _September 3rd._--Jourdan routed by Archduke Charles at\n Wurtzburg.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Brescia, August 30, 1796._\n\nArriving, my beloved, my first thought is to write to you. Your\nhealth, your sweet face and form have not been absent a moment from my\nthoughts the whole day. I shall be comfortable only when I have got\nletters from you. I await them impatiently. You cannot possibly\nimagine my uneasiness. I left you vexed, annoyed, and not well. If the\ndeepest and sincerest affection can make you happy, you ought to\nbe.... I am worked to death.\n\nAdieu, my kind Josephine: love me, keep well, and often, often think\nof me.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Brescia, August 31, 1796._\n\nI start at once for Verona. I had hoped to get a letter from you; and\nI am terribly uneasy about you. You were rather ill when I left; I beg\nyou not to leave me in such uneasiness. You promised me to be more\nregular; and, at the time, your tongue was in harmony with your heart.\nYou, to whom nature has given a kind, genial, and wholly charming\ndisposition, how can you forget the man who loves you with so much\nfervour? No letters from you for three days; and yet I have written to\nyou several times. To be parted is dreadful, the nights are long,\nstupid, and wearisome; the day's work is monotonous.\n\nThis evening, alone with my thoughts, work and correspondence, with\nmen and their stupid schemes, I have not even one letter from you\nwhich I might press to my heart.\n\nThe Staff has gone; I set off in an hour. To-night I get an express\nfrom Paris; there was for you only the enclosed letter, which will\nplease you.\n\nThink of me, live for me, be often with your well-beloved, and be sure\nthat there is only one misfortune that he is afraid of--that of being\nno longer loved by his Josephine. A thousand kisses, very sweet, very\naffectionate, very exclusive.\n\nSend M. Monclas at once to Verona; I will find him a place. He must\nget there before September 4th.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n_September 1st.--Bonaparte leaves Verona and directs his troops on\nTrent. Wurmser, reinforced by 20,000 men, leaves his right wing at\nRoveredo, and marches via the Brenta Gorge on Verona._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Ala, September 3, 1796._\n\nWe are in the thick of the fight, my beloved; we have driven in the\nenemy's outposts; we have taken eight or ten of their horses with a\nlike number of riders. My troops are good-humoured and in excellent\nspirits. I hope that we shall do great things, and get into Trent by\nthe fifth.\n\nNo letters from you, which really makes me uneasy; yet they tell me\nyou are well, and have even had an excursion to Lake Como. Every day I\nwait impatiently for the post which will bring me news of you--you\nare well aware how I prize it. Far from you I cannot live, the\nhappiness of my life is near my gentle Josephine. Think of me! Write\nme often, very often: in absence it is the only remedy: it is cruel,\nbut, I hope, will be only temporary.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _September 4th.--Austrian right wing defeated at Roveredo._\n\n _September 5th.--Bonaparte enters Trent, cutting off Wurmser from\n his base. Defeats Davidowich on the Lavis and leaves Vaubois to\n contain this general while he follows Wurmser._\n\n _September 6th.--Wurmser continues his advance, his outposts\n occupy Vicenza and Montebello._\n\n _September 7th.--Combat of Primolano: Austrians defeated. Austrian\n vanguard attack Verona, but are repulsed by General Kilmaine._\n\n _September 8th.--Battle of Bassano: Wurmser completely routed, and\n retires on Legnago._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Montebello, Noon, September 10, 1796._\n\n_My Dear_,--The enemy has lost 18,000 men prisoners; the rest killed\nor wounded. Wurmser, with a column of 1500 cavalry, and 500 infantry,\nhas no resource but to throw himself into Mantua.\n\nNever have we had successes so unvarying and so great. Italy, Friuli,\nthe Tyrol, are assured to the Republic. The Emperor will have to\ncreate a second army: artillery, pontoons, baggage, everything is\ntaken.\n\nIn a few days we shall meet; it is the sweetest reward for my labours\nand anxieties.\n\nA thousand fervent and very affectionate kisses.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _September 11th.--Skirmish at Cerea: Austrians successful.\n Bonaparte arrives alone, and is nearly captured._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Ronco, September 12, 1796_, 10 A.M.\n\n_My dear Josephine_,--I have been here two days, badly lodged, badly\nfed, and very cross at being so far from you.\n\nWurmser is hemmed in, he has with him 3000 cavalry and 5000 infantry.\nHe is at Porto-Legnago; he is trying to get back into Mantua, but for\nhim that has now become impossible. The moment this matter shall be\nfinished I will be in your arms.\n\nI embrace you a million times.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _September 13th.--Wurmser, brushing aside the few French who\n oppose him, gains the suburbs of Mantua._\n\n _September 14th.--Massena attempts a surprise, but is repulsed._\n\n _September 15th.--Wurmser makes a sortie from St. Georges, but is\n driven back._\n\n _September 16th.--And at La Favorite, with like result._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Verona, September 17, 1796._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write very often and you seldom. You are naughty, and\nundutiful; very undutiful, as well as thoughtless. It is disloyal to\ndeceive a poor husband, an affectionate lover. Ought he to lose his\nrights because he is far away, up to the neck in business, worries and\nanxiety. Without his Josephine, without the assurance of her love,\nwhat in the wide world remains for him. What will he do?\n\nYesterday we had a very sanguinary conflict; the enemy has lost\nheavily, and been completely beaten. We have taken from him the\nsuburbs of Mantua.\n\nAdieu, charming Josephine; one of these nights the door will be burst\nopen with a bang, as if by a jealous husband, and in a moment I shall\nbe in your arms.\n\nA thousand affectionate kisses.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 2nd._--(Moreau defeats Latour at Biberach, but then\n continues his retreat.)\n\n _October 8th._--Spain declares war against England.\n\n _October 10th.--Peace with Naples signed._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Modena, October 17, 1796_, 9 P.M.\n\nThe day before yesterday I was out the whole day. Yesterday I kept my\nbed. Fever and a racking headache both prevented me writing to my\nbeloved; but I got your letters. I have pressed them to my heart and\nlips, and the grief of a hundred miles of separation has disappeared.\nAt the present moment I can see you by my side, not capricious and out\nof humour, but gentle, affectionate, with that mellifluent kindness of\nwhich my Josephine is the sole proprietor. It was a dream, judge if it\nhas cured my fever. Your letters are as cold as if you were fifty; we\nmight have been married fifteen years. One finds in them the\nfriendship and feelings of that winter of life. Fie! Josephine. It is\nvery naughty, very unkind, very undutiful of you. What more can you do\nto make me indeed an object for compassion? Love me no longer? Eh,\nthat is already accomplished! Hate me? Well, I prefer that!\nEverything grows stale except ill-will; but indifference, with its\nmarble pulse, its rigid stare, its monotonous demeanour!...\n\nA thousand thousand very heartfelt kisses.\n\nI am rather better. I start to-morrow. The English evacuate the\nMediterranean. Corsica is ours. Good news for France, and for the\narmy.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 25th._--(Moreau recrosses the Rhine.)\n\n _November 1st.--Advance of Marshal Alvinzi. Vaubois defeated by\n Davidovich on November 5th, after two days' fight._\n\n _November 6th.--Napoleon successful, but Vaubois' defeat compels\n the French army to return to Verona._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Verona, November 9, 1796._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have been at Verona since the day before yesterday.\nAlthough tired, I am very well, very busy; and I love you passionately\nat all times. I am just off on horseback.\n\nI embrace you a thousand times.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 12th.--Combat of Caldiero: Napoleon fails to turn the\n Austrian position, owing to heavy rains. His position desperate._\n\n _November 15th.--First battle of Arcola. French gain partial\n victory._\n\n _November 16th and 17th.--Second battle of Arcola. French\n completely victorious \"Lodi was nothing to Arcola\" (Bourrienne)._\n\n _November 17th._--Death of Czarina Catherine II. of Russia.\n\n _November 18th.--Napoleon victoriously re-enters Verona by the\n Venice gate, having left it, apparently in full retreat, on the\n night of the 14th by the Milan gate._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "From BOURRIENNE'S \"LIFE OF NAPOLEON,\" vol. i. chap. 4.\n\n _Verona, November 19th, Noon._\n\n_My Adored Josephine_,--Once more I breathe freely. Death is no\nlonger before me, and glory and honour are once more re-established.\nThe enemy is beaten at Arcola. To-morrow we will repair Vaubois'\nblunder of abandoning Rivoli. In a week Mantua will be ours, and\nthen your husband will clasp you in his arms, and give you a\nthousand proofs of his ardent affection. I shall proceed to Milan as\nsoon as I can; I am rather tired. I have received letters from\nEugene and Hortense--charming young people. I will send them to\nyou as soon as I find my belongings, which are at present somewhat\ndispersed.\n\nWe have made five thousand prisoners, and killed at least six thousand\nof the enemy. Good-bye, my adored Josephine. Think of me often. If you\ncease to love your Achilles, if for him your heart grows cold, you\nwill be very cruel, very unjust. But I am sure you will always remain\nmy faithful mistress, as I shall ever remain your fond lover. Death\nalone can break the chain which sympathy, love, and sentiment have\nforged. Let me have news of your health. A thousand and a thousand\nkisses.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Verona, November 23, 1796._\n\nI don't love you an atom; on the contrary, I detest you. You are a\ngood for nothing, very ungraceful, very tactless, very tatterdemalion.\nYou never write to me; you don't care for your husband; you know the\npleasure your letters give him, and you write him barely half-a-dozen\nlines, thrown off anyhow.\n\nHow, then, do you spend the livelong day, madam? What business of\nsuch importance robs you of the time to write to your very kind lover?\nWhat inclination stifles and alienates love, the affectionate and\nunvarying love which you promised me? Who may this paragon be, this\nnew lover who engrosses all your time, is master of your days, and\nprevents you from concerning yourself about your husband? Josephine,\nbe vigilant; one fine night the doors will be broken in, and I shall\nbe before you.\n\nTruly, my dear, I am uneasy at getting no news from you. Write me four\npages immediately, and some of those charming remarks which fill my\nheart with the pleasures of imagination.\n\nI hope that before long I shall clasp you in my arms, and cover you\nwith a million kisses as burning as if under the equator.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "_Verona, November 24, 1796._\n\nI hope soon, darling, to be in your arms. I love you to distraction. I\nam writing to Paris by this courier. All goes well. Wurmser was beaten\nyesterday under Mantua. Your husband only needs Josephine's love to be\nhappy.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT GENOA.\n\n _Milan_, _November 27, 1796_, 3 P.M.\n\nI get to Milan; I fling myself into your room; I have left all in\norder to see you, to clasp you in my arms.... You were not there. You\ngad about the towns amid junketings; you run farther from me when I am\nat hand; you care no longer for your dear Napoleon. A passing fancy\nmade you love him; fickleness renders him indifferent to you.\n\nUsed to perils, I know the remedy for weariness and the ills of life.\nThe ill-luck that I now suffer is past all calculations; I did right\nnot to anticipate it.\n\nI shall be here till the evening of the 29th. Don't alter your plans;\nhave your fling of pleasure; happiness was invented for you. The whole\nworld is only too happy if it can please you, and only your husband is\nvery, very unhappy.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT GENOA.\n\n _Milan_, _November 28, 1796_, 8 P.M.\n\nI have received the courier whom Berthier had hurried on to Genoa. You\nhave not had time to write me, I feel it intuitively. Surrounded with\npleasures and pastimes, you would be wrong to make the least sacrifice\nfor me. Berthier has been good enough to show me the letter which you\nwrote him. My intention is that you should not make the least change\nin your plans, nor with respect to the pleasure parties in your\nhonour; I am of no consequence, either the happiness or the misery of\na man whom you don't love is a matter of no moment.\n\nFor my part, to love you only, to make you happy, to do nothing which\nmay vex you, that is the object and goal of my life.\n\nBe happy, do not reproach me, do not concern yourself in the happiness\nof a man who lives only in your life, rejoices only in your pleasure\nand happiness. When I exacted from you a love like my own I was wrong;\nwhy expect lace to weigh as heavy as gold? When I sacrifice to you all\nmy desires, all my thoughts, every moment of my life, I obey the sway\nwhich your charms, your disposition, and your whole personality have\nso effectively exerted over my unfortunate heart. I was wrong, since\nnature has not given me attractions with which to captivate you; but\nwhat I do deserve from Josephine is her regard and esteem, for I love\nher frantically and uniquely.\n\nFarewell, beloved wife; farewell, my Josephine. May fate concentrate\nin my breast all the griefs and troubles, but may it give Josephine\nhappy and prosperous days. Who deserves them more? When it shall be\nquite settled that she can love me no more, I will hide my profound\ngrief, and will content myself with the power of being useful and\nserviceable to her.\n\nI reopen my letter to give you a kiss.... Ah! Josephine!...\nJosephine!\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 24th._--French under Hoche sail for Ireland; return\n \"foiled by the elements.\"\n\n _January 7th, 1797.--Alvinzi begins his new attack on Rivoli,\n while Provera tries to get to Mantua with 11,000 men via Padua and\n Legnago. Alvinzi's total forces 48,000, but only 28,000 at Rivoli\n against Bonaparte's 23,000._\n\n _January 9th._--Kehl (after 48 days' siege) surrenders to Archduke\n Charles.\n\n _January 10th.--Napoleon at Bologna advised of the advance, and\n hastens to make Verona, as before, the pivot of his movements._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "_January 12th.--Combat of St. Michel: Massena defeats Austrians._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT MILAN.\n\n _Verona, January 12, 1797._\n\nScarcely set out from Roverbella, I learnt that the enemy had appeared\nat Verona. Massena made some dispositions, which have been very\nsuccessful. We have made six hundred prisoners, and have taken three\npieces of cannon. General Brune got seven bullets in his clothes,\nwithout being touched by one of them--this is what it is to be lucky.\n\nI give you a thousand kisses. I am very well. We have had only ten men\nkilled, and a hundred wounded.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _January 13th.--Joubert attacked; retires from Corona on Rivoli in\n the morning, joined by Bonaparte at night._\n\n _January 14th.--Battle of Rivoli: Austrian centre defeated.\n Bonaparte_ _at close of day hurries off with Massena's troops to\n overtake Provera, marching sixteen leagues during the night.\n Massena named next day enfant cheri de la victoire by Bonaparte,\n and later Duc de Rivoli._\n\n _January 15th.--Joubert continues battle of Rivoli: complete\n defeat of Austrians. Provera, however, has reached St. Georges,\n outside Mantua._\n\n _January 16th--Sortie of Wurmser at La Favorite repulsed. Provera,\n hurled back by Victor (named the Terrible on this day), is\n surrounded by skilful manoeuvres of Bonaparte, and surrenders with\n 6000 men. In three days Bonaparte had taken 18,000 prisoners and\n all Alvinzi's artillery. Colonel Graham gives Austrian losses at\n 14,000 to 15,000, exclusive of Provera's 6000._\n\n _January 26th.--Combat of Carpenedolo: Massena defeats the\n Austrians._\n\n _February 2nd.--Joubert occupies Lawis. Capitulation of Mantua, by\n Wurmser, with 13,000 men (and 6000 in hospital), but he, his\n staff, and 200 cavalry allowed to return. Enormous capture of\n artillery, including siege-train abandoned by Bonaparte before the\n battle of Castiglione. Advance of Victor on Rome._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT BOLOGNA.\n\n _Forli, February 3, 1797._\n\nI wrote you this morning. I start to-night. Our forces are at Rimini.\nThis country is beginning to be tranquillised. My cold makes me always\nrather tired.\n\nI idolise you, and send you a thousand kisses.\n\nA thousand kind messages to my sister.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 9th.--Capture of Ancona._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 22.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT BOLOGNA.\n\n _Ancona, February 10, 1797._\n\nWe have been at Ancona these two days. We took the citadel, after a\nslight fusillade, and by a _coup de main_. We made 1200 prisoners. I\nsent back the fifty officers to their homes.\n\nI am still at Ancona. I do not press you to come, because everything\nis not yet settled, but in a few days I am hoping that it will be.\nBesides, this country is still discontented, and everybody is\nnervous.\n\nI start to-morrow for the mountains. You don't write to me at all, yet\nyou ought to let me have news of you every day.\n\nPlease go out every day; it will do you good.\n\nI send you a million kisses. I never was so sick of anything as of\nthis vile war.\n\nGood-bye, my darling. Think of me!\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 23.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT BOLOGNA.\n\n _Ancona, February 13, 1797._\n\nI get no news from you, and I feel sure that you no longer love me. I\nhave sent you the papers, and various letters. I start immediately to\ncross the mountains. The moment that I know something definite, I will\narrange for you to accompany me; it is the dearest wish of my heart.\n\nA thousand and a thousand kisses.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 24.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT BOLOGNA.\n\n _February 16, 1797._\n\nYou are melancholy, you are ill; you no longer write to me, you want\nto go back to Paris. Is it possible that you no longer love your\ncomrade? The very thought makes me wretched. My darling, life is\nunbearable to me now that I am aware of your melancholy.\n\nI make haste to send you Moscati, so that he may look after you. My\nhealth is rather bad; my cold gets no better. Please take care of\nyourself, love me as much as I love you, and write me every day. I am\nmore uneasy than ever.\n\nI have told Moscati to escort you to Ancona, if you care to come\nthere. I will write to you there, to let you know where I am.\n\nPerhaps I shall make peace with the Pope, then I shall soon be by your\nside; it is my soul's most ardent wish.\n\nI send you a hundred kisses. Be sure that nothing equals my love,\nunless it be my uneasiness. Write to me every day yourself. Good-bye,\ndearest.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25.", + "body": "_February 19th.--Peace of Tolentino with the Pope, who has to pay\n for his equivocal attitude and broken treaty._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT BOLOGNA.\n\n _Tolentino, February 19, 1797._\n\nPeace with Rome has just been signed. Bologna, Ferrara, Romagna, are\nceded to the Republic. The Pope is to pay us thirty millions shortly,\nand various works of art.\n\nI start to-morrow morning for Ancona, and thence for Rimini, Ravenna,\nand Bologna. If your health permit, come to Rimini or Ravenna, but, I\nbeseech you, take care of yourself.\n\nNot a word from you--what on earth have I done? To think only of you,\nto love only Josephine, to live only for my wife, to enjoy happiness\nonly with my dear one--does this deserve such harsh treatment from\nher? My dear, I beg you, think often of me, and write me every day.\n\nYou are ill, or else you do not love me! Do you think, then, that I\nhave a heart of stone? and do my sufferings concern you so little? You\nmust know me very ill! I cannot believe it! You to whom nature has\ngiven intelligence, tenderness, and beauty, you who alone can rule my\nheart, you who doubtless know only too well the unlimited power you\nhold over me!\n\nWrite to me, think of me, and love me.--Yours ever, for life.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _March 16th.--Bonaparte defeats Archduke Charles on the\n Tagliamento._\n\n _March 25th.--Bonaparte writes the Directory from Goritz that \"up\n till now Prince Charles has manoeuvred worse than Beaulieu and\n Wurmser.\"_\n\n _March 29th.--Klagenfurt taken by Massena._\n\n _April 1st.--Laybach by Bernadotte._\n\n _April 17th.--Preliminaries of peace at Leoben signed by\n Bonaparte._\n\n _April 18th._--Hoche crosses the Rhine at Neuwied.\n\n _April 21st_.--Moreau at Kehl.\n\n _April 23rd._--Armistice of two Rhine armies follows preliminaries\n of Leoben.\n\n _May 16th.--Augereau enters Venice._\n\n _June 28th._--French capture Corfu, and 600 guns.\n\n _July 8th._--Death of Edmund Burke, aged sixty-eight.\n\n _July 18th._--Talleyrand becomes French Minister of Foreign\n Affairs.\n\n _September 4th._--Day of 18th Fructidor at Paris. Coup d'Etat _of\n Rewbell, Larevelliere-Lepeaux, and Barras, secretly aided by\n Bonaparte, who has sent them Augereau to command Paris_.\n\n _September 18th._--Death of Lazare Hoche, aged twenty-nine,\n _probably poisoned by the Directory, which has recalled\n Moreau, retired Bernadotte, and will soon launch Bonaparte on\n the seas, so that he may find failure and Bantry Bay at Aboukir_\n (Montgaillard).\n\n _September 30th._--National bankruptcy admitted in France, _the\n sixth time in two centuries_.\n\n _October 17th.---Treaty of Campo-Formio; Bonaparte called\n thereupon by Talleyrand \"General Pacificator.\"_\n\n _November 16th._--Death of Frederick William II., _King of\n Prussia, aged fifty-three_; _succeeded by his son, Frederick\n William III., aged twenty-seven_.\n\n _December 1st.--Bonaparte Minister Plenipotentiary at Congress of\n Rastadt, and_\n\n _December 5th.--Arrives at Paris._\n\n _December 10th.--Bonaparte presented to the Directory by\n Talleyrand._\n\n _December 27th.--Riots at Rome: Joseph Bonaparte (ambassador)\n insulted; General Duphot (engaged to Joseph's sister-in-law,\n Desiree) killed._\n\n\n\n\nSERIES C\n\nTHE MARENGO CAMPAIGN, 1800\n\nLETTERS OF THE FIRST CONSUL BONAPARTE TO HIS WIFE\n\n\n _3rd Outlaw._ \"By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,\n This fellow were a king for our wild faction!\n\n _1st Outlaw._ \"We'll have him; sirs, a word.\n\n _Speed._ \"Master, be one of them,\n It is an honourable kind of thievery.\"\n\n _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_,\n Act iv., Scene I.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES C\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 223-225.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n Christmas Day, 1799 223\n\n No. 3. Ivrea, May 29th 224\n _M.'s_ 224\n _Cherries_ 224\n\n No. 4. _Milan_ 224\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAMPAIGN OF MARENGO, 1800.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1798.\n\n NAPOLEONIC HISTORY.--_May 20th._--_Napoleon sails from Toulon for\n Egypt._\n\n _June 11th.--Takes Malta; sails for Egypt (June 20th)._\n\n _July 4th.--Captures Alexandria._\n\n _July 21st.--Defeats Mamelukes at Battle of the Pyramids, and\n enters Cairo the following day._\n\n _August 1st.--French Fleet destroyed by Nelson at the Battle of\n the Nile._\n\n _October 7th.--Desaix defeats Mourad Bey at Sedyman (Upper\n Egypt)._\n\n * * * * *\n\n GENERAL HISTORY.--_January 4th._--Confiscation of all English\n merchandise in France. Commencement of Continental system.\n\n _January 5th._--Directory fail to float a loan of 80 millions\n (francs), and\n\n _January 28th._--Forthwith invade Switzerland, ostensibly to\n defend the Vaudois, under a sixteenth-century treaty, really to\n revolutionise the country, and seize upon the treasure of Berne.\n\n _February 15th._--Republic proclaimed at Rome. French occupy the\n Vatican, and\n\n _February 20th._--Drive Pope Pius VI. into exile to the convent of\n Sienna.\n\n _March 5th._--Capture of Berne by General Brune.\n\n _April 13th._--Bernadotte, ambassador, attacked at the French\n Embassy in Vienna.\n\n _May 19th._--Fitzgerald, a leader in the Irish rebellion,\n arrested.\n\n _August 22nd._--General Humbert and 1100 French troops land at\n Killala, County Mayo.\n\n _September 8th._--Humbert and 800 men taken by Lord Cornwallis at\n Ballinamack.\n\n _September 12th._--Turkey declares war with France, and forms\n alliance with England and Russia.\n\n _November 19th._--Wolfe-Tone commits suicide.\n\n _December 5th._--Macdonald defeats Mack and 40,000 Neapolitans at\n Civita Castellana.\n\n _December 9th._--Joubert occupies Turin.\n\n _December 15th._--French occupy Rome.\n\n _December 29th._--Coalition of Russia, Austria, and England\n against France.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1799.\n\n NAPOLEONIC HISTORY.--_January 23rd._--_Desaix defeats Mourad Bey\n at Samhoud (Upper Egypt). February 3rd.--Desaix defeats Mourad Bey\n at the Isle of Philae (near Assouan)--furthest limit of the Roman\n Empire. Napoleon crosses Syrian desert and takes El Arish\n (February 20th) and Gaza (February 25th), captures Jaffa (March\n 7th) and Sour, formerly Tyre (April 3rd). Junot defeats Turks and\n Arabs at Nazareth (April 8th), and Kleber defeats them at Mount\n Tabor (April 16th). Napoleon invests Acre but retires (May 21st),\n re-enters Cairo (June 14th), annihilates Turkish army at Aboukir\n (July 25th); secretly sails for France (August 23rd), lands at\n Frejus (October 9th), arrives at Paris (October 13th); dissolves\n the Directory (November 9th) and Council of Five Hundred (November\n 10th), and is proclaimed First Consul (December 24th)._\n\n * * * * *\n\n GENERAL HISTORY.--_January 10th._--Championnet occupies Capua.\n\n _January 20th._--Pacification of La Vendee by General Hedouville.\n\n _January 23rd._--Championnet occupies Naples.\n\n _March 3rd._--Corfu taken from the French by a Russo-Turkish\n force.\n\n _March 7th._--Massena defeats the Austrians, and conquers the\n country of the Grisons.\n\n _March 25th._--Archduke Charles defeats Jourdan at Stockach.\n\n _March 30th._--Kray defeats French (under Scherer) near Verona,\n\n _April 5th._--And again at Magnano.\n\n _April 14th._--Suwarrow takes command of Austrian army at Verona;\n\n _April 22nd._--Defeats French at Cassano, with heavy loss.\n\n _April 28th._--French plenipotentiaries, returning from Radstadt,\n murdered by men in Austrian uniforms--Montgaillard thinks by\n creatures of the Directory.\n\n _May 4th._--Capture of Seringapatam by General Baird.\n\n _May 12th._--Austro-Russian army checked at Bassignana.\n\n _May 16th._--Sieyes becomes one of the Directory.\n\n _May 20th._--Suwarrow takes Brescia,\n\n _May 24th._--And Milan (citadel).\n\n _June 5th._--Massena defeated at Zurich by Archduke Charles; and\n Macdonald (_June 19th_) by Suwarrow at the Trebbia.\n\n _June 18th._--Gohier, Roger-Ducos, and Moulin replace Treilhard,\n Lareveillere-Lepeaux, and Merlin on the Directory.\n\n _June 20th._--Turin surrenders to Austro-Russians.\n\n _June 22nd._--Turkey, Portugal, and Naples join the coalition\n against France.\n\n _July 14th._--French carry their prisoner, Pope Pius VI., to\n Valence, where he dies (_August 29th_).\n\n _July 22nd._--Alessandria surrenders to Austro-Russians.\n\n _July 30th._--Mantua, after 72 days' siege, surrenders to Kray.\n\n _August 15th._--French defeated at Novi by Suwarrow. French lose\n Joubert and 20,000 men.\n\n _August 17th._--French, under Lecombe, force the St. Gothard.\n\n _August 27th._--English army disembark at the Helder.\n\n _August 30th._--Dutch fleet surrendered to the British Admiral.\n\n _September 19th._--Brune defeats Duke of York at Bergen.\n\n _September 25th._--Massena defeats allies at Zurich, who lose\n 16,000 men and 100 guns. \"Massena saves France at Zurich, as\n Villars saved it at Denain.\"--_Montgaillard._\n\n _October 6th._--Brune defeats Duke of York at Kastrikum.\n\n _October 7th._--French take Constance.\n\n _October 16th._--Saint-Cyr, without cavalry or cannon, defeats\n Austrians at Bosco.\n\n _October 18th._--Capitulation at Alkmaar by Duke of York to\n General Brune. \"The son of George III. capitulates at Alkmaar as\n little honourably as the son of George II. had capitulated at\n Kloster-Seven in 1757.\"--_Montgaillard._\n\n _November 4th._--Melas defeats French at Fossano.\n\n _November 13th._--Ancona surrendered to the Austrians by Monnier,\n after a six months' siege.\n\n _November 24th._--Moreau made commander of the armies of the Rhine\n (being in disgrace, has served as a volunteer in Italy most of\n this year); Massena sent to the army of Italy.\n\n _December 5th._--Coni, the key of Piedmont, surrenders to the\n Austrians.\n\n _December 14th._--Death of George Washington.\n\n _December 15th._--Battle of Montefaccio, near Genoa. Saint-Cyr\n defeats Austrians.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1800.\n\n _February 11th._--Bank of France constituted.\n\n _February 20th._--Kleber defeats Turks at Heliopolis.\n\n _May 3rd._--Battle of Engen. Moreau defeats Kray, who loses 10,000\n men, and--\n\n _May 5th._--Again defeats Austrians at Moeskirch.\n\n _May 6th.--Napoleon leaves Paris._\n\n _May 8th.--Arrives at Auxonne, and on the 9th at Geneva, from\n thence moves to Lausanne (May 12th), where he is delighted with\n reception accorded to the French troops, and hears of Moreau's\n victory at Bibernach (May 11th). On the 14th he hears of Desaix's\n safe arrival at Toulon from Egypt, together with Davoust, and\n orders the praises of their past achievements to be sung in the_\n Moniteur. _The same day writes Massena that in Genoa a man like\n himself (Massena) is worth 20,000. On the 16th is still at\n Lausanne._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PARIS.\n\n _Lausanne, May 15, 1800._\n\nI have been at Lausanne since yesterday. I start to-morrow. My health\nis fairly good. The country round here is very beautiful. I see no\nreason why, in ten or twelve days, you should not join me here; you\nmust travel incognito, and not say where you are going, because I want\nno one to know what I am about to do. You can say you are going to\nPlombieres.\n\nI will send you Moustache,[16] who has just arrived.\n\nMy very kindest regards to Hortense. Eugene will not be here for eight\ndays; he is _en route_.\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PARIS.\n\n _Torre di Garofolo, May 16, 1800._\n\nI start immediately to spend the night at Saint-Maurice. I have not\nreceived a single letter from you; that is not well. I have written\nyou by every courier.\n\nEugene may arrive the day after to-morrow. I have rather a cold, but\nit will have no ill effects.\n\nMy very kindest regards to you, my good little Josephine, and to all\nwho belong to you.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n _May 17th-19th.--At Martigny, \"struggling against ice, snow-storms,\n and avalanches,\" and astonishing the great St. Bernard \"with the\n passage of our 'pieces of 8,' and especially of our limbers--a new\n experience for it.\" On May 20th he climbed the St. Bernard on a\n mule, and descended it on a sledge. On May 21st he is at Aosta,\n hoping to be back in Paris within a fortnight. His army had passed\n the mountain in four days. On May 27th he is at Ivrea, taken by\n Lannes on the 24th._\n\n\nNo. 3.[17]\n\n[_From Tennant's Tour, &c._, vol. ii.]\n\n 11 P.M.\n\nI hardly know which way to turn. In an hour I start for Vercelli.\nMurat ought to be at Novaro to-night. The enemy is thoroughly\ndemoralised; he cannot even yet understand us. I hope within ten days\nto be in the arms of my Josephine, who is always very good when she is\nnot crying and not flirting. Your son arrived this evening. I have had\nhim examined; he is in excellent health. Accept a thousand tender\nthoughts. I have received M.'s letter. I will send her by the next\ncourier a box of excellent cherries.\n\nWe are here--within two months for Paris.--Yours entirely,\n\n N. B.\n\n_To Madame Bonaparte._ (Address not in Bonaparte's writing.)\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 1st._--First experiments with vaccination at Paris, with\n fluid sent from London.\n\n _On June 2nd Napoleon enters Milan, where he spends a week._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PARIS.\n\n _Milan._\n\nI am at Milan, with a very bad cold. I can't stand rain, and I have\nbeen wet to the skin for several hours, but all goes well. I don't\npersuade you to come here. I shall be home in a month. I trust to\nfind you flourishing. I am just starting for Pavia and Stradella. We\nare masters of Brescia, Cremona, and Placentia.\n\nKindest regards. Murat has borne himself splendidly.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 5th._--Massena gives up Genoa, but leaves with all the\n honours of war.\n\n _June 7th._--Lannes takes Pavia, 350 cannon, and 10,000 muskets.\n\n _June 9th.--Battle of Montebello. Bonaparte defeats Austrians, who\n lose 8000 men._\n\n _June 14th.--Bonaparte wins Marengo, but loses Desaix--\"the man I\n loved and esteemed the most.\" In his bulletin he admits the battle\n at one time was lost, until he cried to his troops \"Children,\n remember it is my custom to sleep upon the battlefield.\" He\n mentions the charges of Desaix and Kellermann, and especially\n eulogises the latter--a fact interesting on account of the false\n statements made of his ignoring it. In the bulletin of June 21st\n he blames the \"punic faith\" of Lord Keith at Genoa, a criticism\n the Admiral repaid with usury fifteen years later._\n\n _June 14th._--Assassination of Kleber, in Egypt.\n\n _June 16th.--Convention of Alessandria between Bonaparte and\n Melas; end of the \"Campaign of Thirty Days.\"_\n\n _June 19th._--Moreau defeats Kray at Hochstedt, and occupies Ulm.\n\n _June 23rd._--Genoa re-entered by the French.\n\n _June 26th.--Bonaparte leaves Massena in command of the Army of\n Reserve, now united with the Army of Italy._\n\n _July 3rd.--The First Consul is back in Paris unexpectedly--not\n wishing triumphal arches or such-like \"colifichets\" In spite of\n which the plaudits he receives are very dear to him, \"sweet as the\n voice of Josephine.\"_\n\n _September 5th._--Vaubois surrenders Malta to the English, after\n two years' blockade.\n\n _September 15th._--Armistice between France and Austria in\n Germany.\n\n _September 30th._--Treaty of Friendship and Commerce between\n France and U.S.--agreed that the flag covers the goods.\n\n _October 3rd._--To facilitate peace King George renounces his\n title of King of France.\n\n _November 12th._--Rupture of Armistice between France and\n Austria.\n\n _December 3rd._--Moreau wins the battle of Hohenlinden (Austrian\n loss, 16,000 men, 80 guns; French 3000).\n\n _December 20th._--Moreau occupies Lintz (100 miles from Vienna).\n\n _December 24th.--Royalist conspirators fail to kill Bonaparte with\n an infernal machine._\n\n _December 25th._--Armistice at Steyer between Moreau and Archduke\n Charles (sent for by the Austrians a fortnight before as their\n last hope).\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [16] Bonaparte's courier.\n\n [17] The date of this letter is May 29, 1800. See Notes.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES D\n\n \"The peace of Amiens had always been regarded from the side of\n England as an armed truce: on the side of Napoleon it had a very\n different character.... A careful reader must admit that we were\n guilty of a breach of faith in not surrendering Malta. The promise\n of its surrender was the principal article of the treaty.\"\n\n _England and Napoleon in 1803._\n\n (Edited for the R. Hist. S. by Oscar Browning, 1887.)\n\n\n\n\nSERIES D\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 225-231.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n Date 225\n\n No. 1. _The blister_ 225\n _Some plants_ 225\n _If the weather is as bad_ 226\n _Malmaison, without you_ 228\n\n No. 2. _The fat Eugene_ 228\n\n No. 3. _Your letter has come_ 229\n _Injured whilst shooting a boar_ 229\n \"_The Barber of Seville_\" 229\n\n No. 4. _The Sevres Manufactory_ 230\n\n No. 5. _Your lover, who is tired of being alone_ 230\n _General Ney_ 231\n\n\n\n\nJOSEPHINE'S TWO VISITS TO PLOMBIERES,\n\n1801 AND 1802.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1801.\n\n _January 1st._--Legislative Union of Great Britain and Ireland.\n\n _January 3rd._--French under Brune occupy Verona, and\n\n _January 8th._--Vicenza.\n\n _January 11th._--Cross the Brenta.\n\n _January 16th._---Armistice at Treviso between Brune and the\n Austrian General Bellegarde.\n\n _February 9th._--Treaty of Luneville, by which the Thalweg of the\n Rhine became the boundary of Germany and France.\n\n _March 8th._--English land at Aboukir.\n\n _March 21st._--Battle of Alexandria (Canopus). Menou defeated by\n Abercromby, with loss of 2000.\n\n _March 24th._--The Czar Paul is assassinated.\n\n _March 28th._--Treaty of Peace between France and Naples, who\n cedes Elba and Piombino.\n\n _April 2nd._--Nelson bombards Copenhagen.\n\n _May 23rd._--General Baird lands at Kosseir on the Red Sea with\n 1000 English and 10,000 Sepoys.\n\n _June 7th._--French evacuate Cairo.\n\n _July 1st._--Toussaint-Louverture elected Life-Governor of St.\n Domingo. Slavery abolished there. The new ruler declares, \"I am\n the Bonaparte of St. Domingo, and the Colony cannot exist without\n me;\" and heads his letters to the First Consul, \"From the First of\n the Blacks to the First of the Whites.\"\n\n _July 15th.--Concordat between Bonaparte and the Pope, signed at\n Paris by Bonaparte, ratified by the Pope (August 15th)._\n\n _August 4th._--Nelson attacks Boulogne flotilla and is repulsed.\n\n _August 15th._--Attacks again, and suffers severely.\n\n _August 31st._--Menou capitulates to Hutchinson at Alexandria.\n\n _September 29th._--Treaty of Peace between France and Portugal;\n boundaries of French Guiana extended to the Amazon.\n\n _October 1st._--Treaty between France and Spain, who restores\n Louisiana. Preliminaries of Peace between France and England\n signed in London.\n\n _October 8th._--Treaty of Peace between France and Russia.\n\n _October 9th._--And between France and Turkey.\n\n _December 14th._--Expedition sent out to St. Domingo by the French\n under General Leclerc.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Paris the \"27\" ..., 1801._\n\nThe weather is so bad here that I have remained in Paris. Malmaison,\nwithout you, is too dreary. The fete has been a great success; it has\nrather tired me. The blister they have put on my arm gives me constant\npain.\n\nSome plants have come for you from London, which I have sent to your\ngardener. If the weather is as bad at Plombieres as it is here, you\nwill suffer severely from floods.\n\nBest love to \"Maman\" and Hortense.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1802.\n\n _January 4th.--Louis Bonaparte marries Hortense Beauharnais, both\n unwilling._\n\n _January 9th.--The First Consul, with Josephine, leaves for Lyons,\n where,_\n\n _January 25th.--He remodels the Cisalpine Republic as the Italian\n Republic, under his Presidency._\n\n _March 25th._--Treaty of Amiens signed in London. French lose only\n Ceylon and Trinidad. Malta to be restored to the Order of Knights,\n reconstituted.\n\n _May 7th._--Toussaint surrenders to Leclerc.\n\n _May 19th._--Institution of the Legion of Honour.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Malmaison, June 19, 1802._\n\nI have as yet received no news from you, but I think you must already\nhave begun to take the waters. It is rather dull for us here, although\nyour charming daughter does the honours of the house to perfection.\nFor the last two days I have suffered slightly from my complaint. The\nfat Eugene arrived yesterday evening; he is very hale and hearty.\n\nI love you as I did the first hour, because you are kind and sweet\nbeyond compare.\n\nHortense told me that she was often writing you.\n\nBest wishes, and a love-kiss.--Yours ever,\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Malmaison, June 23, 1802._\n\n_My Good Little Josephine_,--Your letter has come. I am sorry to see\nyou have been poorly on the journey, but a few days' rest will put you\nright. I am very fairly well. Yesterday I was at the Marly hunt, and\none of my fingers was very slightly injured whilst shooting a boar.\n\nHortense is usually in good health. Your fat son has been rather\nunwell, but is getting better. I think the ladies are playing \"The\nBarber of Seville\" to-night. The weather is perfect.\n\nRest assured that my truest wishes are ever for my little\nJosephine.--Yours ever,\n\n BONAPARTE.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Malmaison, June 27, 1802._\n\nYour letter, dear little wife, has apprised me that you are out of\nsorts. Corvisart tells me that it is a good sign that the baths are\nhaving the desired effect, and that your health will soon be\nre-established. But I am most truly grieved to know that you are in\npain.\n\nYesterday I went to see the Sevres manufactory at St. Cloud.\n\nBest wishes to all.--Yours for life,\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 29th.--Pope withdraws excommunication from Talleyrand._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Malmaison, July 1, 1802._\n\nYour letter of June 29th has arrived. You say nothing of your health\nnor of the effect of the baths. I see that you expect to be home in a\nweek; that is good news for your lover, who is tired of being alone!\n\nYou ought to have seen General Ney, who started for Plombieres; he\nwill be married on his return.\n\nYesterday Hortense played Rosina in \"The Barber of Seville\" with her\nusual skill.\n\nRest assured of my love, and that I await your return impatiently.\nWithout you everything here is dreary.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _August 2nd.--Napoleon Bonaparte made First Consul for life._\n \"_The conduct and the language of Bonaparte represents at once\n Augustus, Mahomet, Louis XI., Masaniello_\" (Montgaillard, _an\n avowed enemy_).\n\n _September 22nd._--Opening of the Ourcq Waterworks for the supply\n of Paris.\n\n _September 25th.--Mass celebrated at St. Cloud for the first time.\n In this month Napoleon annexes Piedmont, and the next sends Ney to\n occupy Switzerland._\n\n _October 11th.--Birth of Napoleon Charles, son of Louis Bonaparte\n and Hortense._\n\n _October 29th.--Napoleon and Josephine visit Normandy, and,\n contrary to expectation, receive ovations everywhere. They return\n to Paris, November 14th._\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1803.\n\n _February 19th._--New constitution imposed by France on\n Switzerland.\n\n _April 14th.--Bank of France reorganised by Bonaparte; it alone\n allowed to issue notes._\n\n _April 27th._--Death of Toussaint-Louverture at Besancon.\n\n _April 30th._--France sells Louisiana to U.S. for L4,000,000 (15\n million dollars).\n\n _May 22nd.--France declares war against England, chiefly\n respecting Malta. England having seized all French ships in\n British harbours previous to war being declared, Napoleon seizes\n all British tourists in France._\n\n _May 31st.--His soldiers occupy Electorate of Hanover._\n\n _June 14th.--He visits North of France and Belgium, accompanied by\n Josephine, and returns to Paris August 12th._\n\n _September 27th._--Press censorship established in France.\n\n _November 30th._--French evacuate St. Domingo.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES E\n\n1804\n\n\n\"Everywhere the king of the earth found once more, to put a bridle on\nhis pride, the inevitable lords of the sea.\"--BIGNON, v. 130.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES E\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 232-237.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Madame_ 232\n _Pont de Bricques_ 232\n _The wind having considerably freshened_ 232\n\n No. 2. _The waters_ 233\n _All the vexations_ 233\n _Eugene has started for Blois_ 234\n\n No. 3. _Aix-la-Chapelle_ 234\n\n No. 4. _During the past week_ 235\n _The day after to-morrow_ 235\n _Hortense_ 235\n _I am very well satisfied_ 235\n\n No. 5. Its authenticity 236\n _Arras, August 29th_ 236\n _I am rather impatient to see you_ 236\n\n No. 6. _T._ 237\n _B._ 237\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING HIS\nJOURNEY ALONG THE COAST, 1804.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1804.\n\n _February 15th._--The conspiracy of Pichegru. Moreau arrested,\n Pichegru (_February 28th_), and Georges Cadoudal (_March 9th_).\n\n _March 21st._--Duc D'Enghien shot at Vincennes.\n\n _April 6th._--Suicide of Pichegru.\n\n _April 30th.--Proposal to make Bonaparte Emperor._\n\n _May 4th.--Tribune adopts the proposal._\n\n _May 18th.--The First Consul becomes the Emperor Napoleon._\n\n _May 19th.--Napoleon confers the dignity of Marshal of the Empire\n on Berthier, Murat, Moncey, Jourdan, Massena, Augereau,\n Bernadotte, Soult, Brune, Lannes, Mortier, Ney, Davoust,\n Bessieres, Kellermann, Lefebvre, Perignon, Serrurier._\n\n _July 14th._--Inauguration of the Legion of Honour.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.\n\n _Pont-de-Bricques, July 21, 1804._\n\n_Madame and dear Wife_,--During the four days that I have been away\nfrom you I have always been either on horseback or in a conveyance,\nwithout any ill effect on my health.\n\nM. Maret tells me that you intend starting on Monday; travelling by\neasy stages, you can take your time and reach the Spa without tiring\nyourself.\n\nThe wind having considerably freshened last night, one of our\ngunboats, which was in the harbour, broke loose and ran on the\nrocks about a league from Boulogne. I believed all lost--men and\nmerchandise; but we managed to save both. The spectacle was\ngrand: the shore sheeted in fire from the alarm guns, the sea\nraging and bellowing, the whole night spent in anxiety to save\nthese unfortunates or to see them perish! My soul hovered between\neternity, the ocean, and the night. At 5 A.M. all was calm,\neverything saved; and I went to bed with the feeling of having\nhad a romantic and epic dream--a circumstance which might have\nreminded me that I was all alone, had weariness and soaked garments\nleft me any other need but that of sleep.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n [_Correspondence of Napoleon I., No. 7861,\n communicated by M. Chambry._]", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.\n\n _Boulogne, August 3, 1804._\n\n_My Dear_,--I trust soon to learn that the waters have done you much\ngood. I am sorry to hear of all the vexations you have undergone.\nPlease write me often. My health is very good, although I am rather\ntired. I shall be at Dunkirk in a very few days, and shall write you\nfrom there.\n\nEugene has started for Blois.\n\n_Je te couvre de baisers._\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.\n\n _Calais, August 6, 1804._\n\n_My Dear_,--I arrived at Calais at midnight; I expect to start\nto-night for Dunkirk. I am in very fair health, and satisfied with\nwhat I see. I trust that the waters are doing you as much good as\nexercise, camp, and seascape are doing me.\n\nEugene has set off for Blois. Hortense is well. Louis is at\nPlombieres.\n\nI am longing to see you. You are always necessary to my happiness. My\nvery best love.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.\n\n _Ostend, August 14, 1804._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have had no letter from you for several days; yet I\nshould be more comfortable if I knew that the waters were efficacious,\nand how you spend your time. During the past week I have been at\nOstend. The day after to-morrow I shall be at Boulogne for a somewhat\nspecial fete. Advise me by the courier what you intend to do, and how\nsoon you expect to end your baths.\n\nI am very well satisfied with the army and the flotillas. Eugene is\nstill at Blois. I hear no more of Hortense than if she were on the\nCongo. I am writing to scold her.\n\nMy best love to all.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.\n\n _Arras, Wednesday, August 29, 1804._\n\n_Madame and dear Wife_,--I have just reached Arras. I shall stay\nthere to-morrow. I shall be at Mons on Friday, and on Sunday at\nAix-la-Chapelle. I am as well satisfied with my journey as with the\narmy. I think I shall pass through Brussels without stopping\nthere; thence I shall go to Maestricht. I am rather impatient to see\nyou. I am glad to hear you have tried the waters; they cannot fail\nto do you good. My health is excellent. Eugene is well, and is with\nme.\n\nVery kindest regards to every one.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n [_Translated from a Letter in the Collection of Baron Heath,\n Philobiblon Society, vol. xiv._]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 2nd._--Sir Sydney Smith attacks flotilla at Boulogne\n unsuccessfully.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Treves, October 6, 1804._\n\n_My Dear,_--I arrive at Treves the same moment that you arrive at St.\nCloud. I am in good health. Do not grant an audience to T----, and\nrefuse to see him. Receive B---- only in general company, and do not\ngive him a private interview. Make promises to sign marriage contracts\nonly after I have signed them.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 1st.--Plebiscite confirms election of Napoleon as\n Emperor, by 3,500,000 votes to 2000._\n\n _December 2nd.--Napoleon crowns himself Emperor, and Josephine\n Empress, in the presence and with the benediction of the Pope._\n\n GENERAL EVENTS.--_October 8th._--The negro Dessalines crowned\n Emperor of St. Domingo, under title of James I.\n\n _December 12th._--Spain declares war against England.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES F\n\nCAMPAIGN OF AUSTERLITZ, 1805.\n\n \"To convey an idea of the brilliant campaign of 1805 ... I should,\n like the almanack-makers, be obliged to note down a victory for\n every day.\"--BOURRIENNE, vol. ii. 323.\n\n \"Si jamais correspondence de mari a femme a ete intime et\n frequente, si jamais continuite et permanence de tendresse a ete\n marquee, c'est bien dans ces lettres ecrites, chaque jour presque,\n par Napoleon a sa femme durant la campagne de l'an XIV.\"--F.\n MASSON, _Josephine, Imperatrice et Reine_, 1899, p. 427.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES F\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 237-243.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _To Josephine_ 237\n _Strasburg_ 237\n _Stuttgard_ 237\n _I am well placed_ 237\n\n No. 2. _Louisburg_ 238\n _In a few days_ 238\n _A new bride_ 238\n _Electress_ 238\n\n No. 3. _I have assisted at a marriage_ 238\n\n No. 5. The abbey of Elchingen 238\n\n No. 6. _Spent the whole of to-day indoors_ 238\n _Vicenza_ 238\n\n No. 7. _Elchingen_ 239\n _Such a catastrophe_ 239\n\n No. 9. _Munich_ 239\n _Lemarois_ 239\n _I was grieved_ 239\n _Amuse yourself_ 239\n _Talleyrand has come_ 240\n\n No. 10. _We are always in forests_ 240\n _My enemies_ 240\n\n No. 11. Lintz 240\n\n No. 12. Schoenbrunn 241\n\n No. 13. _They owe everything to you_ 241\n\n No. 14. _Austerlitz_ 241\n _December 2nd_ 241\n\n No. 17. _A long time since I had news of you_ 241\n\n No. 19. _I await events_ 242\n _I, for my part, am sufficiently busy_ 242\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, DURING THE\nAUSTERLITZ CAMPAIGN, 1805.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1805.\n\n _March 13th.--Napoleon proclaimed King of Italy._\n\n _May 26th.--Crowned at Milan._\n\n _June 8th.--Prince Eugene named Viceroy of Italy._\n\n _June 23rd.--Lucca made a principality, and given to Elisa\n Bonaparte._\n\n _July 22nd._--Naval battle between Villeneuve and Sir Robert\n Calder, which saves England from invasion.\n\n _August 16th.--Napoleon breaks up camp of Boulogne._\n\n _September 8th._--Third Continental Coalition (Russia, Austria,\n and England against France). Austrians cross the Inn, and invade\n Bavaria.\n\n _September 21st._--Treaty of Paris between France and Naples,\n which engages to take no part in the war.\n\n _September 23rd._--_Moniteur_ announces invasion of Bavaria by\n Austria.\n\n _September 24th.--Napoleon leaves Paris._\n\n _September 27th.--Joins at Strasburg his Grand Army(160,000\n strong)._\n\n _October 1st.--Arrives at Ettlingen._\n\n _October 2nd.--Arrives at Louisbourg. Hostilities commence._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Imperial Headquarters, Ettlingen_,\n\n _October 2, 1805_, 10 A.M.\n\nI am well, and still here. I am starting for Stuttgard, where I shall\nbe to-night. Great operations are now in progress. The armies of\nWurtemberg and Baden have joined mine. I am well placed for the\ncampaign, and I love you.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Louisbourg, October 4, 1805, Noon._\n\nI am at Louisbourg. I start to-night. There is as yet nothing new. My\nwhole army is on the march. The weather is splendid. My junction with\nthe Bavarians is effected. I am well. I trust in a few days to have\nsomething interesting to communicate.\n\nKeep well, and believe in my entire affection. There is a brilliant\nCourt here, a new bride who is very beautiful, and upon the whole some\nvery pleasant people, even our Electress, who appears extremely kind,\nalthough the daughter of the King of England.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Louisbourg, October 5, 1805._\n\nI continue my march immediately. You will, my dear, be five or six\ndays without hearing from me; don't be uneasy, it is connected with\noperations now taking place. All goes well, and just as I could wish.\n\nI have assisted at a marriage between the son of the Elector and a\nniece of the King of Prussia. I wish to give the young princess a\nwedding present to cost 36,000 to 40,000 francs. Please attend to\nthis, and send it to the bride by one of my chamberlains, when they\nshall come to rejoin me. This matter must be attended to immediately.\n\nAdieu, dear, I love you and embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 6th-7th.--French cross the Danube and turn Mack's army._\n\n _October 8th.--Battle of Wertingen. (Murat defeats the Austrians.)_\n\n _October 9th.--Battle of Gunzburg. (Ney defeats Mack.)_", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_October 10th.--French enter Augsbourg._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Augsbourg, Thursday, October 10, 1805_,\n\n 11 A.M.\n\nI slept last night[18] with the former Elector of Treves, who is very\nwell lodged. For the past week I have been hurrying forward. The\ncampaign has been successful enough so far. I am very well, although\nit rains almost every day. Events crowd on us rapidly. I have sent to\nFrance 4000 prisoners, 8 flags, and have 14 of the enemy's cannon.\n\nAdieu, dear, I embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 11th.--Battle of Hasslach. Dupont holds his own against\n much superior forces._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_October 12th.--French enter Munich._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _October 12, 1805_, 11 P.M.\n\nMy army has entered Munich. On one side the enemy is beyond the Inn; I\nhold the other army, 60,000 strong, blocked on the Iller, between Ulm\nand Memmingen. The enemy is beaten, has lost its head, and everything\npoints to a most glorious campaign, the shortest and most brilliant\nwhich has been made. In an hour I start for Burgau-sur-l'Iller.\n\nI am well, but the weather is frightful. It rains so much that I\nchange my clothes twice a day.\n\nI love and embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n _October 14th.--Capture of Memmingen and 4OOO Austrians by\n Soult._\n\n _October 15th.--Battle of Elchingen. Ney defeats Laudon._\n\n _October 17th.--Capitulation of Ulm._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_October 19th.--Werneck and 8000 men surrender to Murat._\n\nTO JOSEPHINE, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Abbaye d'Elchingen, October 19, 1805._\n\n_My dear Josephine_,--I have tired myself more than I ought. Soaked\ngarments and cold feet every day for a week have made me rather ill,\nbut I have spent the whole of to-day indoors, which has rested me.\n\nMy design has been accomplished; I have destroyed the Austrian army by\nmarches alone; I have made 60,000 prisoners, taken 120 pieces of\ncannon, more than 90 flags, and more than 30 generals. I am about to\nfling myself on the Russians; they are lost men. I am satisfied with\nmy army. I have only lost 1500 men, of whom two-thirds are but\nslightly wounded.\n\nPrince Charles is on his way to cover Vienna. I think Massena should\nbe already at Vicenza.\n\nThe moment I can give my thoughts to Italy, I will make Eugene win a\nbattle.\n\nVery best wishes to Hortense.\n\nAdieu, my Josephine; kindest regards to every one.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 20th.--Mack and his army defile before Napoleon._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_October 21st._--Battle of Trafalgar; Franco-Spanish fleet\n destroyed after a five hours' fight. \"The result of the battle of\n Trafalgar compensates, for England, the results of the operations\n of Ulm. It has been justly observed that this power alone, of all\n those who fought France from 1793 to 1812, never experienced a\n check in her political or military combinations without seeing\n herself compensated forthwith by a signal success in some other\n part of the world\" (_Montgaillard_).\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Elchingen, October 21, 1805, Noon._\n\nI am fairly well, my dear. I start at once for Augsbourg. I have made\n33,000 men lay down their arms, I have from 60,000 to 70,000\nprisoners, more than 90 flags, and 200 pieces of cannon. Never has\nthere been such a catastrophe in military annals!\n\nTake care of yourself. I am rather jaded. The weather has been fine\nfor the last three days. The first column of prisoners files off for\nFrance to-day. Each column consists of 6000 men.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "_October 25th._--The Emperor of Russia and King of Prussia swear,\n at the tomb of the Great Frederick, to make implacable war on\n France (Convention signed November 3rd).\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Augsburg, October 25, 1805._\n\nThe two past nights have thoroughly rested me, and I am going to start\nto-morrow for Munich. I am sending word to M. de Talleyrand and M.\nMaret to be near at hand. I shall see something of them, and I am\ngoing to advance upon the Inn in order to attack Austria in the heart\nof her hereditary states. I should much have liked to see you; but do\nnot reckon upon my sending for you, unless there should be an\narmistice or winter quarters.\n\nAdieu, dear; a thousand kisses. Give my compliments to the ladies.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Munich, Sunday, October 27, 1805._\n\nI received your letter per Lemarois. I was grieved to see how\nneedlessly you have made yourself unhappy. I have heard particulars\nwhich have proved how much you love me, but you should have more\nfortitude and confidence. Besides, I had advised you that I should be\nsix days without writing you.\n\nTo-morrow I expect the Elector. At noon I start to support my advance\non the Inn. My health is fair. You need not think of crossing the\nRhine for two or three weeks. You must be cheerful, amuse yourself,\nand hope that before the end of the month[19] we shall meet.\n\nI am advancing against the Russian army. In a few days I shall have\ncrossed the Inn.\n\nAdieu, my dear; kindest regards to Hortense, Eugene, and the two\nNapoleons.\n\nKeep back the wedding present a little longer.\n\nYesterday I gave a concert to the ladies of this court. The precentor\nis a superior man.\n\nI took part in the Elector's pheasant-shoot; you see by that that I am\nnot so tired. M. de Talleyrand has come.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 28th._--Grand Army cross the Inn. Lannes occupies\n Braunau.\n\n _October 28th to October 29th-30th.--Battle of Caldiero._--Massena\n with 55,000 men attacks Archduke Charles entrenched with 70,000;\n after two days' fight French repulsed at this place, previously\n disastrous to their arms.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Haag, November 3, 1805_, 10 P.M.\n\nI am in full march; the weather is very cold, the earth covered with a\nfoot of snow. This is rather trying. Luckily there is no want of wood;\nhere we are always in forests. I am fairly well. My campaign proceeds\nsatisfactorily; my enemies must have more anxieties than I.\n\nI wish to hear from you and to learn that you are not worrying\nyourself.\n\nAdieu, dear; I am going to lie down.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 4th._--Combat of Amstetten. Lannes and Murat drive back\n the Russians. Davoust occupies Steyer. Army of Italy takes\n Vicenza.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Tuesday, November 5, 1805._\n\nI am at Lintz. The weather is fine. We are within seventy miles of\nVienna. The Russians do not stand; they are in full retreat. The house\nof Austria is at its wit's end, and in Vienna they are removing all\nthe court belongings. It is probable that something new will occur\nwithin five or six days. I much desire to see you again. My health is\ngood.\n\nI embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 7th._--Ney occupies Innsbruck.\n\n _November 9th._--Davoust defeats Meerfeldt at Marienzell.\n\n _November 10th._--Marmont arrives at Leoben.\n\n _November 11th._---Battle of Diernstein; Mortier overwhelmed by\n Russians, but saved by Dupont.\n\n _November 13th._--Vienna entered and bridge over the Danube\n seized. Massena crosses the Tagliamento.\n\n _November 14th._--Ney enters Trent.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _November 15, 1805_, 9 P.M.\n\nI have been at Vienna two days, my dear, rather fagged. I have not yet\nseen the city by day; I have traversed it by night. To-morrow I\nreceive the notables and public bodies. Nearly all my troops are\nbeyond the Danube, in pursuit of the Russians.\n\nAdieu, Josephine; as soon as it is possible I will send for you. My\nvery best love.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "_November 16th._--Jellachich surrenders to Augereau at Feldkirch\n with 7000 men.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Vienna, November 16, 1805._\n\nI am writing to M. d'Harville, so that you can set out and make your\nway to Baden, thence to Stuttgard, and from there to Munich. At\nStuttgard you will give the wedding present to the Princess Paul. If\nit costs fifteen to twenty thousand francs, that will suffice; the\nrest will do for giving presents at Munich to the daughters of the\nElectress of Bavaria. All that Madame de Serent[20] has advised you is\ndefinitely arranged. Take with you the wherewithal to make presents to\nthe ladies and officers who will wait upon you. Be civil, but receive\nfull homage; they owe everything to you, and you owe nothing save\ncivility. The Electress of Wurtemberg is daughter of the King of\nEngland. She is an excellent woman; you should be very kind to her,\nbut yet without affectation.\n\nI shall be very glad to see you, the moment circumstances permit me. I\nstart to join my vanguard. The weather is frightful; it snows heavily.\nOtherwise my affairs go excellently.\n\nAdieu, my dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 19th.--French occupy Brunn, and Napoleon establishes his\n headquarters at Wischau._\n\n _November 24th._--Massena occupies Trieste.\n\n _November 28th._--Army of Italy joins troops of the Grand Army at\n Klagenfurt.\n\n _December 2nd._--Battle of the Three Emperors (Austerlitz). French\n forces 80,000; allies 95,000.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Austerlitz, December 3, 1805._\n\nI have despatched to you Lebrun from the field of battle. I have\nbeaten the Russian and Austrian army commanded by the two Emperors. I\nam rather fagged. I have bivouacked eight days in the open air,\nthrough nights sufficiently keen. To-night I rest in the chateau of\nPrince Kaunitz, where I shall sleep for the next two or three hours.\nThe Russian army is not only beaten, but destroyed.\n\nI embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 4th.--Haugwitz, the Prussian Minister, congratulates\n Napoleon on his victory. \"Voila!\" replied the Emperor; \"un\n compliment dont la fortune a change l'addresse.\"_", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MUNICH.\n\n _Austerlitz, December 5, 1805._\n\nI have concluded a truce. The Russians have gone. The battle of\nAusterlitz is the grandest of all I have fought. Forty-five flags,\nmore than 150 pieces of cannon, the standards of the Russian Guard, 20\ngenerals, 30,000 prisoners, more than 20,000 slain--a horrible sight.\n\nThe Emperor Alexander is in despair, and on his way to Russia.\nYesterday, at my bivouac, I saw the Emperor of Germany. We conversed\nfor two hours; we have agreed to make peace quickly.\n\nThe weather is not now very bad. At last behold peace restored to the\nContinent; it is to be hoped that it is going to be to the world. The\nEnglish will not know how to face us.\n\nI look forward with much pleasure to the moment when I can once more\nbe near you. My eyes have been rather bad the last two days; I have\nnever suffered from them before.\n\nAdieu, my dear. I am fairly well, and very anxious to embrace you.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MUNICH.\n\n _Austerlitz, December 7, 1805._\n\nI have concluded an armistice; within a week peace will be made. I am\nanxious to hear that you reached Munich in good health. The Russians\nare returning; they have lost enormously--more than 20,000 dead and\n30,000 taken. Their army is reduced by three-quarters. Buxhowden,\ntheir general-in-chief, was killed. I have 3000 wounded and 700 to 800\ndead.\n\nMy eyes are rather bad; it is a prevailing complaint, and scarcely\nworth mentioning.\n\nAdieu, dear. I am very anxious to see you again.\n\nI am going to sleep to-night at Vienna.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MUNICH.\n\n _Brunn, December 10, 1805._\n\nIt is a long time since I had news of you. Have the grand fetes at\nBaden, Stuttgard, and Munich made you forget the poor soldiers, who\nlive covered with mud, rain, and blood?\n\nI shall start in a few days for Vienna.\n\nWe are endeavouring to conclude peace. The Russians have gone, and are\nin flight far from here; they are on their way back to Russia, well\ndrubbed and very much humiliated.\n\nI am very anxious to be with you again.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\nMy bad eyes are cured.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 15th.--Treaty with Prussia._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MUNICH.\n\n _December 19, 1805._\n\n_Great Empress_,--Not a single letter from you since your departure\nfrom Strasburg. You have gone to Baden, Stuttgard, Munich, without\nwriting us a word. This is neither very kind nor very affectionate.\n\nI am still at Brunn. The Russians are gone. I have a truce. In a few\ndays I shall see what I may expect. Deign from the height of your\ngrandeur to concern yourself a little with your slaves.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MUNICH.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, December 20, 1805._\n\nI got your letter of the 16th. I am sorry to learn you are in pain.\nYou are not strong enough to travel two hundred and fifty miles at\nthis time of the year. I know not what I shall do; I await events. I\nhave no will in the matter; everything depends on their issue. Stay at\nMunich; amuse yourself. That is not difficult when you have so many\nkind friends and so beautiful a country. I, for my part, am\nsufficiently busy. In a few days my decision will be made.\n\nAdieu, dear. Kindest and most affectionate regards.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 27th.[21]--Peace of Presburg._\n\n _December 31st.--Napoleon arrives outside Munich, and joins\n Josephine the next morning._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [18] _J'ai couche aujourd'hui_--_i.e._ a few hours' morning sleep.\n\n [19] The month _Brumaire--i.e._ before November 21st.\n\n [20] Countess de Serent, the Empress's lady-in-waiting.\n\n [21] _VI. Nivose_, which for the year 1805 was December 27 (see Harris\n Nicolas' \"Chronology of History\"). Haydn, Woodward, Bouillet,\n all have December 26th; Alison and _Biographie Universelle_\n have December 27th; but, as usual, the \"Correspondence of\n Napoleon I.\" is taken here as the final court of appeal.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES G\n\n\"Battles then lasted a few hours, campaigns a few days.\"\n\n --BIGNON, _On Friedland_ (vol. vi. 292).\n\n\n\n\nSERIES G\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 243-264.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Princess of Baden_ 244\n _Hortense_ 244\n _The Grand Duke_ 244\n _Florence_ 244\n\n No. 2. _Bamberg_ 244\n _Eugene_ 244\n _Her husband_ 245\n\n No. 3. _Erfurt_ 245\n _If she wants to see a battle_ 245\n\n No. 4. _I nearly captured him and\n the Queen_ 246\n _I have bivouacked_ 246\n\n No. 5. _Fatigues, bivouacs\n have made me fat_ 246\n _The great M. Napoleon_ 247\n\n No. 7. _Potsdam_ 247\n\n No. 8. _You do nothing but cry_ 247\n\n No. 9_a_. _Madame Tallien_ 247\n\n No. 10. _The bad things I say\n about women_ 248\n\n No. 11. _Lubeck_ 250\n\n No. 13. _Madame L._ 250\n\n No. 17. _December 2nd_ 250\n\n No. 18. _Jealousy_ 250\n\n No. 19. _Desir de femme est un feu\n qui devore_ 251\n\n No. 23. _I am dependent on events_ 251\n\n No. 26. _The fair ones of Great\n Poland_ 251\n _A wretched barn_ 252\n _Such things become common\n property_ 252\n\n No. 27. _Warsaw, January 3rd_ 252\n\n No. 28. _Be cheerful--gai_ 253\n\n No. 29. _Roads unsafe and detestable_ 253\n\n No. 35. _I hope that you are at Paris_ 254\n _T._ 254\n\n No. 36. _Paris_ 254\n\n No. 38. Arensdorf 254\n\n No. 39. _The Battle of Preussich-Eylau_ 254\n\n No. 40. _Corbineau_ 256\n _Dahlmann_ 256\n\n No. 41. _Young Tascher_ 256\n\n No. 42. Napoleon's Correspondence 256\n\n No. 43. _I am still at Eylau_ 257\n _This country is covered\n with dead and wounded_ 257\n\n No. 50. _Osterode_ 257\n _It is not as good as the\n great city_ 258\n _I have ordered what you\n wish for Malmaison_ 258\n\n No. 54. _Minerva_ 259\n\n No. 55. The first use of _Vous_ 259\n\n No. 56. _Dupuis_ 260\n\n No. 58. _M. de T._ 260\n\n No. 60. _Marshal Bessieres_ 260\n\n No. 63. Date 260\n\n No. 67. _Sweet, pouting, and capricious_ 260\n\n No. 68. _Madame_ ---- 261\n _Measles_ 261\n\n No. 69. _I trust I may hear you\n have been rational_ 261\n\n No. 71. _May 20th_ 262\n\n No. 74. _I am vexed with Hortense_ 262\n\n No. 78. _Friedland_ 263\n\n No. 79. _Tilsit_ 264\n\n\n\n\n LETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\n THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING THE\n CAMPAIGN AGAINST PRUSSIA AND RUSSIA,\n 1806-7.\n\n\n1806.\n\n _January 1st.--The Elector of Bavaria and the Duke of Wurtemberg\n created Kings by France._\n\n _January 23rd._--Death of William Pitt, aged 47.\n\n _February 15th.--Joseph Bonaparte enters Naples, and on_\n\n _March 10th is declared King of the Two Sicilies._\n\n _April 1st.--Prussia seizes Hanover._\n\n _June 5th.--Louis Bonaparte made King of Holland._\n\n _July 6th.--Battle of Maida (Calabria. English defeat General\n Reynier. French loss 4000; English 500)._\n\n _July 12th.--Napoleon forms Confederation of the Rhine, with\n himself as Chief and Protector._\n\n _July 18th.--Gaeta surrenders to Massena._\n\n _August 6th.--Francis II., Emperor of Germany, becomes Emperor of\n Austria as Francis I._\n\n _August 15th.--Russia refuses to ratify peace preliminaries signed\n by her ambassador at Paris on July 25th._\n\n _September 13th._--Death of Charles James Fox, aged 57.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_October 5th.--Proclamation by the Prince of the Peace against\n France (germ of Spanish War)._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _October 5, 1806._\n\nIt will be quite in order for the Princess of Baden to come to\nMayence. I cannot think why you weep; you do wrong to make yourself\nill. Hortense is inclined to pedantry; she loves to air her views. She\nhas written me; I am sending her a reply. She ought to be happy and\ncheerful. Pluck and a merry heart--that's the recipe.\n\nAdieu, dear. The Grand Duke has spoken to me about you; he saw you at\nFlorence at the time of the retreat.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Bamberg, October 7, 1806._\n\nI start this evening, my dear, for Cronach. The whole of my army is\nadvancing. All goes well. My health is perfect. I have only received\nas yet one letter from you. I have some from Eugene and from Hortense.\nStephanie should now be with you. Her husband wishes to make the\ncampaign; he is with me.\n\nAdieu. A thousand kisses and the best of health.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 8th.--Prussia, assisted by Saxony, Russia, and England,\n declares war against France._\n\n _October 9th.--Campaign opens. Prussians defeated at Schleitz._\n\n _October 10th.--Lannes defeats them at Saalfeld. Prince Louis of\n Prussia killed; 1000 men and 30 guns taken._\n\n _October 11th.--French peace negotiations with England broken\n off._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Gera_, _October 13, 1806_, 2 A.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I am at Gera to-day. My affairs go excellently well, and\neverything as I could wish. With the aid of God, they will, I believe,\nin a few days have taken a terrible course for the poor King of\nPrussia, whom I am sorry for personally, because he is a good man.\nThe Queen is at Erfurt with the King. If she wants to see a battle,\nshe shall have that cruel pleasure. I am in splendid health. I have\nalready put on flesh since my departure; yet I am doing, in person,\ntwenty and twenty-five leagues a day, on horseback, in my carriage, in\nall sorts of ways. I lie down at eight, and get up at midnight. I\nfancy at times that you have not yet gone to bed.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 14th.--Battles of Jena and Auerstadt._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_October 15th.--Napoleon at Weimar, He releases 6000 Saxon\n prisoners, which soon causes peace with Saxony._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Jena_, _October 15, 1806_, 3 A.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have made excellent manoeuvres against the Prussians.\nYesterday I won a great victory. They had 150,000 men. I have made\n20,000 prisoners, taken 100 pieces of cannon, and flags. I was in\npresence of the King of Prussia, and near to him; I nearly captured\nhim and the Queen. For the past two days I have bivouacked. I am in\nexcellent health.\n\nAdieu, dear. Keep well, and love me.\n\nIf Hortense is at Mayence, give her a kiss; also to Napoleon and to\nthe little one.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_October 16th.--Soult routs Kalkreuth at Greussen; Erfurt and\n 16,000 men capitulate to Murat._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Weimar_, _October 16, 1806_, 5 P.M.\n\nM. Talleyrand will have shown you the bulletin, my dear; you will see\nmy successes therein. All has happened as I calculated, and never was\nan army more thoroughly beaten and more entirely destroyed. I need\nonly add that I am very well, and that fatigue, bivouacs, and\nnight-watches have made me fat.\n\nAdieu, dear. Kindest regards to Hortense and to the great M.\nNapoleon.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 17th.--Bernadotte defeats Prussian reserve at Halle._\n\n _October 18th.--Davoust takes Leipsic, and an enormous stock of\n English merchandise._\n\n _October 19th.--Napoleon at Halle._\n\n _October 20th.--Lannes takes Dessau, and Davoust Wittenberg._\n\n _October 21st.--Napoleon at Dessau._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_October 23rd.--Napoleon makes Wittenberg central depot for his\n army._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Wittenberg, October 23, 1806, Noon._\n\nI have received several of your letters. I write you only a line. My\naffairs prosper. To-morrow I shall be at Potsdam, and at Berlin on the\n25th. I am wonderfully well, and thrive on hard work. I am very glad\nto hear you are with Hortense and Stephanie, _en grande compagnie_. So\nfar, the weather has been fine.\n\nKind regards to Stephanie, and to everybody, not forgetting M.\nNapoleon.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_October 24th.--Lannes occupies Potsdam._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Potsdam, October 24, 1806._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have been at Potsdam since yesterday, and shall remain\nthere to-day. I continue satisfied with my undertakings. My health is\ngood; the weather very fine. I find Sans-Souci very pleasant.\n\nAdieu, dear. Best wishes to Hortense and to M. Napoleon.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 25th.--Marshal Davoust enters Berlin; Bernadotte occupies\n Brandenburg._\n\n _October 28th.--Prince Hohenlohe surrenders at Prenzlau to Murat\n with 16,000 men, including the Prussian Guard._\n\n _October 30th.--Stettin surrenders with 5000 men and 150 cannon._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "_November 1st.--Anklam surrenders, with 4000 men, to General\n Becker._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _November 1, 1806_, 2 A.M.\n\nTalleyrand has just arrived and tells me, my dear, that you do nothing\nbut cry. What on earth do you want? You have your daughter, your\ngrandchildren, and good news; surely these are sufficient reasons for\nbeing happy and contented.\n\nThe weather here is superb; there has not yet fallen during the whole\ncampaign a single drop of water. I am very well, and all goes\nexcellently.\n\nAdieu, dear; I have received a letter from M. Napoleon; I do not\nbelieve it is from him, but from Hortense. Kindest regards to\neverybody.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 2nd.--Kustrin surrenders, with 4000 men and 90 guns, to\n Davoust._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Berlin, November 2, 1806._\n\nYour letter of October 26th to hand. We have splendid weather here.\nYou will see by the bulletin that we have taken Stettin--it is a very\nstrong place. All my affairs go as well as possible, and I am\nthoroughly satisfied. One pleasure is alone wanting--that of seeing\nyou, but I hope that will not long be deferred.\n\nKindest regards to Hortense, Stephanie, and to the little Napoleon.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n\nNo. 9A.\n\nFrom the Memoirs of Mademoiselle d'Avrillon (vol. i. 128).\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Berlin, Monday, Noon._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. I am glad to know that you\nare in a place which pleases me, and especially to know that you are\nvery well there. Who should be happier than you? You should live\nwithout a worry, and pass your time as pleasantly as possible; that,\nindeed, is my intention.\n\nI forbid you to see Madame Tallien, under any pretext whatever. I will\nadmit of no excuse. If you desire a continuance of my esteem, if you\nwish to please me, never transgress the present order. She may\npossibly come to your apartments, to enter them by night; forbid your\nporter to admit her.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI shall soon be at Malmaison. I warn you to have no lovers there that\nnight; I should be sorry to disturb them. Adieu, dear; I long to see\nyou and assure you of my love and affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _November 6, 1806_, 9 P.M.\n\nYours to hand, in which you seem annoyed at the bad things I say about\nwomen; it is true that I hate intriguing women more than anything. I\nam used to kind, gentle, persuasive women; these are the kind I like.\nIf I have been spoilt, it is not my fault, but yours. Moreover, you\nshall learn how kind I have been to one who showed herself sensible\nand good, Madame d'Hatzfeld. When I showed her husband's letter to her\nshe admitted to me, amid her sobs, with profound emotion, and frankly,\n\"Ah! it is indeed his writing!\" While she was reading, her voice went\nto my heart; it pained me. I said, \"Well, madame, throw that letter on\nthe fire, I shall then have no longer the power to punish your\nhusband.\" She burnt the letter, and seemed very happy. Her husband now\nfeels at ease; two hours later he would have been a dead man. You see\nthen how I like kind, frank, gentle women; but it is because such\nalone resemble you.\n\nAdieu, dear; my health is good.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 6th and 7th.--Blucher and his army (17,000 men)\n surrender at Lubeck to Soult, Murat, and Bernadotte._\n\n _November 8th.--Magdeburg surrenders to Ney, with 20,000 men,\n immense stores, and nearly 800 cannon._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "_November 9th.--Napoleon levies a contribution of 150 million\n francs on Prussia and her allies._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Berlin, November 9, 1806._\n\n_My Dear_,--I am sending good news. Magdeburg has capitulated, and on\nNovember 7th I took 20,000 men at Lubeck who escaped me last week. The\nwhole Prussian army, therefore, is captured; even beyond the Vistula\nthere does not remain to Prussia 20,000 men. Several of my army corps\nare in Poland. I am still at Berlin. I am very fairly well.\n\nAdieu, dear; heartiest good wishes to Hortense, Stephanie, and the two\nlittle Napoleons.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 10th.--Davoust occupies Posen. Hanover occupied by\n Marshal Mortier._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Berlin, November 16, 1806._\n\nI received your letter of November 11th. I note with satisfaction that\nmy convictions give you pleasure. You are wrong to think flattery was\nintended; I was telling you of yourself as I see you. I am grieved to\nthink that you are tired of Mayence. Were the journey less long, you\nmight come here, for there is no longer an enemy, or, if there is, he\nis beyond the Vistula; that is to say, more than three hundred miles\naway. I will wait to hear what you think about it. I should also be\ndelighted to see M. Napoleon.\n\nAdieu, my dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nI have still too much business here for me to return to Paris.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 17th.--Suspension of arms signed at Charlottenburg._\n\n _November 19th.--French occupy Hamburg._\n\n _November 20th.--French occupy Hameln._\n\n _November 21st.--French occupy Bremen. Berlin decree. Napoleon\n interdicts trade with England._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _November 22, 1806_, 10 P.M.\n\nYour letter received. I am sorry to find you in the dumps; yet you\nhave every reason to be cheerful. You are wrong to show so much\nkindness to people who show themselves unworthy of it. Madame L----\nis a fool; such an idiot that you ought to know her by this time, and\npay no heed to her. Be contented, happy in my friendship, and in the\ngreat influence you possess. In a few days I shall decide whether to\nsummon you hither or send you to Paris.\n\nAdieu, dear; you can go at once, if you like, to Darmstadt, or to\nFrankfort; that will make you forget your troubles.\n\nKindest regards to Hortense.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 25th.--Napoleon leaves Berlin._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Kustrin, November 26, 1806._\n\nI am at Kustrin, making a tour and spying out the land a little; I\nshall see in a day or two whether you should come. You can keep ready.\nI shall be very pleased if the Queen of Holland be of the party. The\nGrand Duchess of Baden must write to her husband about it.\n\nIt is 2 A.M. I am just getting up; it is the usage of war.\n\nKindest regards to you and to every one.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "_November 27th.--Napoleon arrives at Posen._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Meseritz, November 27, 1806_, 2 A.M.\n\nI am about to make a tour in Poland. This is the first town there.\nTo-night I shall be at Posen, after which I shall send for you to come\nto Berlin, so that you can arrive there the same day as I. My health\nis good, the weather rather bad; it has rained for the past three\ndays. My affairs prosper. The Russians are in flight.\n\nAdieu, dear; kindest regards to Hortense, Stephanie, and the little\nNapoleons.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 28th.--Murat enters Warsaw. French occupy Duchies of\n Mecklenburg._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Posen, November 29, 1806, Noon._\n\nI am at Posen, capital of Great Poland. The cold weather has set in; I\nam in good health. I am about to take a circuit round Poland. My\ntroops are at the gates of Warsaw.\n\nAdieu, dear; very kindest regards, and a hearty embrace.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "_December 2nd.--Glogau surrenders to Vandamme._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Posen, December 2, 1806._\n\nTo-day is the anniversary of Austerlitz. I have been to a city ball.\nIt is raining; I am in good health. I love you and long for you. My\ntroops are at Warsaw. So far the cold has not been severe. All these\nfair Poles are Frenchwomen at heart; but there is only one woman\nfor me. Would you know her? I could draw her portrait very well;\nbut I should have to flatter it too much for you to recognise\nyourself;--yet, to tell the truth, my heart would only have nice\nthings to say to you. These nights are long, all alone.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n_December 3, 1806, Noon._\n\nYours of November 26th received. I notice two things in it. You say I\ndo not read your letters: it is an unkind thought. I take your bad\nopinion anything but kindly. You tell me that perhaps it is a mere\nphantasy of the night, and you add that you are not jealous. I found\nout long ago that angry persons always assert that they are not angry;\nthat those who are afraid keep on repeating that they have no fear;\nyou therefore are convinced of jealousy. I am delighted to hear it!\nNevertheless, you are wrong; I think of nothing less, and in the\ndesert plains of Poland one thinks little about beauties....\n\nI had yesterday a ball of the provincial nobility--the women\ngood-looking enough, rich enough, dowdy enough, although in Paris\nfashions.\n\nAdieu, dear; I am in good health.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Posen, December 3, 1806_, 6 P.M.\n\nYours of November 27th received, from which I see that your little\nhead is quite turned. I am reminded of the verse--\n\n \"Desir de femme est un feu qui devore.\"\n\nStill you must calm yourself. I wrote you that I was in Poland; that,\nwhen we were established in winter quarters, you could come; you will\nhave to wait a few days. The greater one becomes, the less one can\nconsult one's wishes--being dependent on events and circumstances. You\ncan come to Frankfort or Darmstadt. I am hoping to send for you in a\nfew days; that is, if circumstances will permit. The warmth of your\nletter makes me realise that you, like other pretty women, know no\nbounds. What you will, must be; but, as for me, I declare that of all\nmen I am the greatest slave; my master has no pity, and this master is\nthe nature of things.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well. The person that I wished to speak to you about\nis Madame L----, of whom every one is speaking ill; they assure me\nthat she is more Prussian than French woman. I don't believe it, but I\nthink her an idiot who talks nothing but trash.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 6th.--Thorn (on the Vistula) occupied by Ney._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n_Posen, December 9, 1806._\n\nYours of December 1st received. I see with pleasure that you are more\ncheerful; that the Queen of Holland wishes to come with you. I long to\ngive the order; but you must still wait a few days. My affairs\nprosper.\n\nAdieu, dear; I love you and wish to see you happy.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n_Posen, December 10, 1806_, 5 P.M.\n\nAn officer has just brought me a rug, a gift from you; it is somewhat\nshort and narrow, but I thank you for it none the less. I am in fair\nhealth. The weather is very changeable. My affairs prosper pretty\nwell. I love you and long for you much.\n\nAdieu, dear; I shall write for you to come with at least as much\npleasure as you will have in coming.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nA kiss to Hortense, Stephanie, and Napoleon.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 11th.--Davoust forces the passage of the Bug._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 22.", + "body": "_December 12th.--Treaty of peace and alliance between France and\n Saxony signed at Posen._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Posen, December 12th, 1806_, 7 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have not received any letters from you, but know,\nnevertheless, that you are well. My health is good, the weather very\nmild; the bad season has not begun yet, but the roads are bad in a\ncountry where there are no highways. Hortense will come then with\nNapoleon; I am delighted to hear it. I long to see things shape\nthemselves into a position to enable you to come.\n\nI have made peace with Saxony. The Elector is King and one of the\nconfederation.\n\nAdieu, my well-beloved Josephine.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nA kiss to Hortense, Napoleon, and Stephanie.\n\nPaeer, the famous musician, his wife, a virtuoso whom you saw at Milan\ntwelve years ago, and Brizzi are here; they give me a little music\nevery evening.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 23.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _December 15, 1806_, 3 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I start for Warsaw. In a fortnight I shall be back; I hope\nthen to be able to send for you. But if that seems a long time, I\nshould be very glad if you would return to Paris, where you are\nwanted. You well know that I am dependent on events. All my affairs go\nexcellently. My health is very good; I am as well as possible.\n\nAdieu, dear. I have made peace with Saxony.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 17th._--Turkey declares war on Russia. (_So Montgaillard;\n but Napoleon refers to it in the thirty-ninth bulletin, dated\n December 7th, while Haydn dates it January 7th._)", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 24.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, December 20, 1806_, 3 P.M.\n\nI have no news from you, dear. I am very well. The last two days I\nhave been at Warsaw. My affairs prosper. The weather is very mild, and\neven somewhat humid. It has as yet barely begun to freeze; it is\nOctober weather.\n\nAdieu, dear; I should much have liked to see you, but trust that in\nfive or six days I shall be able to send for you.\n\nKindest regards to the Queen of Holland and to her little\nNapoleons.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 22nd.--Napoleon crosses the Narew, and the next day\n defeats Russians at Czarnowo; also_\n\n _December 24th.--At Nasielsk._\n\n _December 26th.--Ney defeats Lestocq at Soldau; Lannes defeats\n Beningsen at Pultusk_;\n\n _December 28th.--And Augereau defeats Buxhowden at Golymin._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Golymin, December 29, 1806_, 5 A.M.\n\nI write you only a line, my dear. I am in a wretched barn. I have\nbeaten the Russians, taken thirty pieces of cannon, their baggage,\nand 6000 prisoners; but the weather is frightful. It is raining; we\nhave mud up to our knees.\n\nIn two days I shall be at Warsaw, whence I shall write you.--Yours\never,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 26.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Pultusk, December 31, 1806._\n\nI have had a good laugh over your last letters. You idealise the fair\nones of Great Poland in a way they do not deserve. I have had for two\nor three days the pleasure of hearing Paeer and two lady singers, who\nhave given me some very good music. I received your letter in a\nwretched barn, having mud, wind, and straw for my only bed. To-morrow\nI shall be at Warsaw. I think all is over for this year. The army is\nentering winter quarters. I shrug my shoulders at the stupidity of\nMadame de L----; still you should show her your displeasure, and\ncounsel her not to be so idiotic. Such things become common property,\nand make many people indignant.\n\nFor my part, I scorn ingratitude as the worst fault in a human heart.\nI know that instead of comforting you, these people have given you\npain.\n\nAdieu, dear; I am in good health. I do not think you ought to go to\nCassel; that place is not suitable. You may go to Darmstadt.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 27.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 3, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. Your grief pains me; but one\nmust bow to events. There is too much country to travel between\nMayence and Warsaw; you must, therefore, wait till circumstances\nallow me to come to Berlin, in order that I may write you to come\nthither. It is true that the enemy, defeated, is far away; but I have\nmany things here to put to rights. I should be inclined to think that\nyou might return to Paris, where you are needed. Send away those\nladies who have their affairs to look after; you will be better\nwithout people who have given you so much worry.\n\nMy health is good; the weather bad. I love you from my heart.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _January 5th.--Capture of Breslau, with 7000 men, by Vandamme and\n Hedouville._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 28.", + "body": "_January 7th.--English Orders in Council against Berlin Decree._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 7, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I am pained by all that you tell me; but the season being\ncold, the roads very bad and not at all safe, I cannot consent to\nexpose you to so many fatigues and dangers. Return to Paris in order\nto spend the winter there. Go to the Tuileries; receive, and lead the\nsame life as you are accustomed to do when I am there; that is my\nwish. Perhaps I shall not be long in rejoining you there; but it is\nabsolutely necessary for you to give up the idea of making a journey\nof 750 miles at this time of the year, through the enemy's country,\nand in the rear of the army. Believe that it costs me more than you to\nput off for some weeks the pleasure of seeing you, but so events and\nthe success of my enterprise order it.\n\nAdieu, my dear; be cheerful, and show character.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 29.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 8, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I received your letter of the 27th with those of M.\nNapoleon and Hortense, which were enclosed with it. I had begged you\nto return to Paris. The season is too inclement, the roads unsafe and\ndetestable; the distances too great for me to permit you to come\nhither, where my affairs detain me. It would take you at least a month\nto come. You would arrive ill; by that time it might perhaps be\nnecessary to start back again; it would therefore be folly. Your\nresidence at Mayence is too dull; Paris reclaims you; go there, it is\nmy wish. I am more vexed about it than you. I should have liked to\nspend the long nights of this season with you, but we must obey\ncircumstances.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 30.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 11, 1807._\n\nYour letter of the 27th received, from which I note that you are\nsomewhat uneasy about military events. Everything is settled, as I\nhave told you, to my satisfaction; my affairs prosper. The distance is\ntoo great for me to allow you to come so far at this time of year. I\nam in splendid health, sometimes rather wearied by the length of the\nnights.\n\nUp to the present I have seen few people here.\n\nAdieu, dear. I wish you to be cheerful, and to give a little life to\nthe capital. I would much like to be there.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nI hope that the Queen has gone to the Hague with M. Napoleon.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 31.", + "body": "_January 16th.--Capture of Brieg by the French._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _January 16, 1807._\n\nMY DEAR,--I have received your letter of the 5th of January; all that\nyou tell me of your unhappiness pains me. Why these tears, these\nrepinings? Have you then no longer any fortitude? I shall see you\nsoon. Never doubt my feelings; and if you wish to be still dearer to\nme, show character and strength of mind. I am humiliated to think that\nmy wife can distrust my destinies.\n\nAdieu, dear. I love you, I long to see you, and wish to learn that you\nare content and happy.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 32.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 18, 1807._\n\nI fear that you are greatly grieved at our separation and at your\nreturn to Paris, which must last for some weeks longer. I insist on\nyour having more fortitude. I hear you are always weeping. Fie! how\nunbecoming it is! Your letter of January 7th makes me unhappy. Be\nworthy of me; assume more character. Cut a suitable figure at Paris;\nand, above all, be contented.\n\nI am very well, and I love you much; but, if you are always crying, I\nshall think you without courage and without character. I do not love\ncowards. An empress ought to have fortitude.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 33.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 19, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter to hand. I have laughed at your fear of fire.\nI am in despair at the tone of your letters and at what I hear. I\nforbid you to weep, to be petulant and uneasy; I want you to be\ncheerful, lovable, and happy.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 34.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _Warsaw, January 23, 1807._\n\nYour letter of January 15th to hand. It is impossible to allow women\nto make such a journey as this--bad roads, miry and unsafe. Return to\nParis; be cheerful and content there. Perhaps even I shall soon be\nthere. I have laughed at what you say about your having taken a\nhusband to be with him. I thought, in my ignorance, that the wife was\nmade for the husband, the husband for his country, his family, and\nglory. Pardon my ignorance; one is always learning from our fair\nladies.\n\nAdieu, my dear. Think how much it costs me not to send for you. Say to\nyourself, \"It is a proof how precious I am to him.\"\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 35.", + "body": "_January 25th.--Russians defeated at Mohrungen by Bernadotte._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MAYENCE.\n\n _January 25, 1807._\n\nI am very unhappy to see you are in pain. I hope that you are at\nParis; you will get better there. I share your griefs, and do not\ngroan. For I could not risk losing you by exposing you to fatigues and\ndangers which befit neither your rank nor your sex.\n\nI wish you never to receive T---- at Paris; he is a black sheep. You\nwould grieve me by doing otherwise.\n\nAdieu, my dear. Love me, and be courageous.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 36.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Warsaw, January 26, 1807, Noon._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. It pains me to see how you\nare fretting yourself. The bridge of Mayence neither increases nor\ndecreases the distance which separates us. Remain, therefore, at\nParis. I should be vexed and uneasy to know that you were so miserable\nand so isolated at Mayence. You must know that I ought, that I can,\nconsider only the success of my enterprise. If I could consult my\nheart I should be with you, or you with me; for you would be most\nunjust if you doubted my love and entire affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 37.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Willemberg, February 1, 1807, Noon._\n\nYour letter of the 11th, from Mayence, has made me laugh.\n\nTo-day, I am a hundred miles from Warsaw; the weather is cold, but\nfine.\n\nAdieu, dear; be happy, show character.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 38.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter of January 20th has given me pain; it is too\nsad. That's the fault of not being a little more devout! You tell me\nthat your glory consists in your happiness. That is narrow-minded; one\nshould say, my glory consists in the happiness of others. It is not\nconjugal; one should say, my glory consists in the happiness of my\nhusband. It is not maternal; one should say, my glory consists in the\nhappiness of my children. Now, since nations--your husband, your\nchildren--can only be happy with a certain amount of glory, you must\nnot make little of it. Fie, Josephine! your heart is excellent and\nyour arguments weak. You feel acutely, but you don't argue as well.\n\nThat's sufficient quarrelling. I want you to be cheerful, happy in\nyour lot, and that you should obey, not with grumbling and tears, but\nwith gaiety of heart and a little more good temper.\n\nAdieu, dear; I start to-night to examine my outposts.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 5th.--Combats of Bergfriede, Waltersdorf, and Deppen;\n Russians forced back._\n\n _February 6th.--Combat of Hof. Murat victorious._\n\n _February 8th.--Battle of Eylau; retreat of Russians._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 39.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Eylau, February 9, 1807_, 3 A.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--Yesterday there was a great battle; the victory has\nremained with me, but I have lost many men. The loss of the enemy,\nwhich is still more considerable, does not console me. To conclude, I\nwrite you these two lines myself, although I am very tired, to tell\nyou that I am well and that I love you.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 40.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Eylau, February 9, 1807_, 6 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you a line in order that you may not be uneasy.\nThe enemy has lost the battle, 40 pieces of cannon, 10 flags, 12,000\nprisoners; he has suffered frightfully. I have lost many: 1600 killed,\n3000 or 4000 wounded.\n\nYour cousin Tascher conducts himself well; I have summoned him near me\nwith the title of orderly officer.\n\nCorbineau has been killed by a shell; I was singularly attached to\nthat officer, who had much merit; I am very unhappy about him. My\nmounted guard has covered itself with glory. Dahlman is dangerously\nwounded.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 41.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Eylau, February 11, 1807_, 3 A.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you a line; you must have been very anxious. I\nhave beaten the enemy in a fight to be remembered, but it has cost\nmany brave lives. The bad weather that has set in forces me to take\ncantonments.\n\nDo not afflict yourself, please; all this will soon be over, and the\nhappiness of seeing you will make me promptly forget my fatigues.\nBesides, I have never been in better health.\n\nYoung Tascher, of the 4th Regiment, has behaved well; he has had a\nrough time of it. I have summoned him near me; I have made him an\norderly officer--there's an end to his troubles. This young man\ninterests me.\n\nAdieu, dear; a thousand kisses.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 42.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Preussich-Eylau, February 12, 1807._\n\nI send you a letter from General Darmagnac. He is a very good soldier,\nwho commanded the 32nd. He is much attached to me. If this Madame de\nRichmond be well off, and it is a good match, I shall see this\nmarriage with pleasure. Make this known to both of them.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 43.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Eylau, February 14, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I am still at Eylau. This country is covered with dead and\nwounded. It is not the bright side of warfare; one suffers, and the\nmind is oppressed at the sight of so many victims. My health is good.\nI have done as I wished, and driven back the enemy, while making his\nprojects fail.\n\nYou are sure to be uneasy, and that thought troubles me. Nevertheless,\ncalm yourself, my dear, and be cheerful.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nTell Caroline and Pauline that the Grand Duke and the Prince[22] are\nin excellent health.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 16th.--Savary defeats Russians at Ostrolenka._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 44.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Eylau_, _February 17, 1807_, 3 A.M.\n\nYour letter to hand, informing me of your arrival at Paris. I am very\nglad to know you are there. My health is good.\n\nThe battle of Eylau was very sanguinary, and very hardly contested.\nCorbineau was slain. He was a very brave man. I had grown very fond of\nhim.\n\nAdieu, dear; it is as warm here as in the month of April; everything\nis thawing. My health is good.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 45.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Landsberg_, _February 18, 1807_, 3 A.M.\n\nI write you two lines. My health is good. I am moving to set my army\nin winter quarters.\n\nIt rains and thaws as in the month of April. We have not yet had one\ncold day.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 46.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Liebstadt_, _February 20, 1807_, 2 A.M.\n\nI write you two lines, dear, in order that you may not be uneasy. My\nhealth is very good, and my affairs prosper.\n\nI have again put my army into cantonments.\n\nThe weather is extraordinary; it freezes and thaws; it is wet and\nunsettled.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 47.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Liebstadt_, _February 21, 1807_, 2 A.M.\n\nYour letter of the 4th February to hand; I see with pleasure that your\nhealth is good. Paris will thoroughly re-establish it by giving you\ncheerfulness and rest, and a return to your accustomed habits.\n\nI am wonderfully well. The weather and the country are vile. My affairs\nare fairly satisfactory. It thaws and freezes within twenty-four hours;\nthere can never have been known such an extraordinary winter.\n\nAdieu, dear; I love you, I think of you, and wish to know that you are\ncontented, cheerful, and happy.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 48.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Liebstadt, February 21, 1807, Noon._\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter of the 8th received; I see with pleasure that\nyou have been to the opera, and that you propose holding receptions\nweekly. Go occasionally to the theatre, and always into the Royal box.\nI notice also with pleasure the banquets you are giving.\n\nI am very well. The weather is still unsettled; it freezes and thaws.\n\nI have once more put my army into cantonments in order to rest them.\n\nNever be doleful, love me, and believe in my entire affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 49.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode_, _February 23, 1807_, 2 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter of the 10th received. I am sorry to see you\nare a little out of sorts.\n\nI have been in the country for the past month, experiencing frightful\nweather, because it has been unsettled, and varying from cold to warm\nwithin a week. Still, I am very well.\n\nTry and pass your time pleasantly; have no anxieties, and never doubt\nthe love I bear you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 26th.--Dupont defeats Russians at Braunsberg._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 50.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode, March 2, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--It is two or three days since I wrote to you; I reproach\nmyself for it; I know your uneasiness. I am very well; my affairs\nprosper. I am in a wretched village, where I shall pass a considerable\ntime; it is not as good as the great city! I again assure you, I was\nnever in such good health; you will find me very much stouter.\n\nIt is spring weather here; the snow has gone, the streams are\nthawing--which is what I want.\n\nI have ordered what you wish for Malmaison; be cheerful and happy; it\nis my will.\n\nAdieu, dear; I embrace you heartily.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _March 9th._--The Grand Sanhedrim, which assembled at Paris on\n February 9, terminates its sittings.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 51.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode_, _March 10, 1807_, 4 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter of the 25th. I see with\npleasure that you are well, and that you sometimes make a pilgrimage\nto Malmaison.\n\nMy health is good, and my affairs prosper.\n\nThe weather has become rather cold again. I see that the winter has\nbeen very variable everywhere.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well, be cheerful, and never doubt my affection,--Yours\never,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 52.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode, March 11, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I received your letter of the 27th. I am sorry to see from\nit that you are ill; take courage. My health is good; my affairs\nprosper. I am waiting for fine weather, which should soon be here. I\nlove you and want to know that you are content and cheerful.\n\nA great deal of nonsense will be talked of the battle of Eylau; the\nbulletin tells everything; our losses are rather exaggerated in it\nthan minimised.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 53.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode_, _March 13, 1807_, 2 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I learn that the vexatious tittle-tattle that occurred in\nyour salon at Mayence has begun again; make people hold their tongues.\nI shall be seriously annoyed with you if you do not find a remedy. You\nallow yourself to be worried by the chatter of people who ought to\nconsole you. I desire you to have a little character, and to know how\nto put everybody into his (or her) proper place.\n\nI am in excellent health. My affairs here are good. We are resting a\nlittle, and organising our food supply.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 54.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode, March 15, 1807._\n\nI received your letter of the 1st of March, from which I see that you\nwere much upset by the catastrophe of Minerva at the opera. I am very\nglad to see that you go out and seek distractions.\n\nMy health is very good. My affairs go excellently. Take no heed of all\nthe unfavourable rumours that may be circulated. Never doubt my\naffection, and be without the least uneasiness.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 55.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n Osterode, March 17, 1807.\n\n_My Dear_,--It is not necessary for you to go to the small plays and\ninto a private box; it ill befits your rank; you should only go to the\nfour great theatres, and always into the Royal box. Live as you would\ndo if I were at Paris.\n\nMy health is very good. The cold weather has recommenced. The\nthermometer has been down to 8 deg..--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 56.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode_, _March 17, 1807_, 10 P.M.\n\nI have received yours of March 5th, from which I see with pleasure\nthat you are well. My health is perfect. Yet the weather of the past\ntwo days has been cold again; the thermometer to-night has been at\n10 deg., but the sun has given us a very fine day.\n\nAdieu, dear. Very kindest regards to everybody.\n\nTell me something about the death of that poor Dupuis; have his\nbrother told that I wish to help him.\n\nMy affairs here go excellently.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 57.", + "body": "_March 25th.--Abolition of slave trade in Great Britain by\n Parliament._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _March 25, 1807._\n\nI have received your letter of March 13th. If you really wish to\nplease me, you must live exactly as you live when I am at Paris. Then\nyou were not in the habit of visiting the second-rate theatres or\nother places. You ought always to go into the Royal box. As for your\nhome life: hold receptions there, and have your fixed circles of\nfriends; that, my dear, is the only way to deserve my approbation.\nGreatness has its inconveniences; an Empress cannot go where a private\nindividual may.\n\nVery best love. My health is good. My affairs prosper.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 58.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode_, _March 27, 1807_, 7 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter pains me. There is no question of your dying.\nYou are in good health, and you can have no just ground for grief.\n\nI think you should go during May to St. Cloud; but you must spend the\nwhole month of April at Paris.\n\nMy health is good. My affairs prosper.\n\nYou must not think of travelling this summer; nothing of that sort is\nfeasible. You ought not to frequent inns and camps. I long as much as\nyou for our meeting and for a quiet life.\n\nI can do other things besides fight; but duty stands first and\nforemost. All my life long I have sacrificed everything to my\ndestiny--peace of mind, personal advantage, happiness.\n\nAdieu, dear. See as little as possible of that Madame de P----. She\nis a woman who belongs to the lowest grade of society; she is\nthoroughly common and vulgar.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nI have had occasion to find fault with M. de T----. I have sent him to\nhis country house in Burgundy. I wish no longer to hear his name\nmentioned.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 59.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Osterode, April 1, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have just got your letter of the 20th. I am sorry to see\nyou are ill. I wrote you to stay at Paris the whole month of April,\nand to go to St. Cloud on May 1st. You may go and spend the Sundays,\nand a day or two, at Malmaison. At St. Cloud you may have your usual\nvisitors.\n\nMy health is good. It is still quite cold enough here. All is quiet.\n\nI have named the little princess Josephine.[23] Eugene should be well\npleased.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 60.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein, April 2, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you a line. I have just moved my headquarters into\na very fine chateau, after the style of Bessieres', where I have\nseveral fireplaces, which is a great comfort to me; getting up often\nin the night, I like to see the fire.\n\nMy health is perfect. The weather is fine, but still cold. The\nthermometer is at four to five degrees.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 61.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein_, _April 6, 1807_, 3 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter, from which I see you have\nspent Holy Week at Malmaison, and that your health is better. I long\nto hear that you are thoroughly well.\n\nI am in a fine chateau, where there are fireplaces, which I find a\ngreat comfort. It is still very cold here; everything is frozen.\n\nYou will have seen that I have good news from Constantinople.\n\nMy health is good. There is nothing fresh here.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 62.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein_, _April 10, 1807_, 6 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--My health is excellent. Here spring is beginning; but as\nyet there is no vegetation. I wish you to be cheerful and contented,\nand never to doubt my attachment. Here all goes well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 63.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein_, _April 14, 1807_, 7 P.M.\n\nI have received your letter of April 3rd. I see from it that you are\nwell, and that it has been very cold in Paris. The weather here is\nvery unsettled; still I think the spring has come at length; already\nthe ice has almost gone. I am in splendid health.\n\nAdieu, dear. I ordered some time ago for Malmaison all that you ask\nfor,--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 64.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein, April 18, 1807._\n\nI have received your letter of April 5th. I am sorry to see from it\nthat you are grieved at what I have told you. As usual, your little\nCreole head becomes flurried and excited in a moment. Let us not,\ntherefore, speak of it again. I am very well, but yet the weather is\nrainy. Savary is very ill of a bilious fever, before Dantzic; I hope\nit will be nothing serious.\n\nAdieu, dear; my very best wishes to you.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 65.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein_, _April 24, 1807_, 7 P.M.\n\nI have received your letter of the 12th. I see from it that your\nhealth is good, and that you are very happy at the thought of going to\nMalmaison.\n\nThe weather has changed to fine; I hope it may continue so.\n\nThere is nothing fresh here. I am very well.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 66.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein_, _May 2, 1807_, 4 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have just received your letter of the 23rd; I see with\npleasure that you are well, and that you are as fond as ever of\nMalmaison. I hear the Arch-Chancellor is in love. Is this a joke, or a\nfact? It has amused me; you might have given me a hint about it!\n\nI am very well, and the fine season commences. Spring shows itself at\nlength, and the leaves begin to shoot.\n\nAdieu, dear; very best wishes.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 67.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 10, 1807._\n\nI have just received your letter. I know not what you tell me about\nladies in correspondence with me. I love only my little Josephine,\nsweet, pouting, and capricious, who can quarrel with grace, as she\ndoes everything else, for she is always lovable, except when she is\njealous; then she becomes a regular shrew.[24] But let us come back to\nthese ladies. If I had leisure for any among them, I assure you that I\nshould like them to be pretty rosebuds.\n\nAre those of whom you speak of this kind?\n\nI wish you to have only those persons to dinner who have dined with\nme; that your list be the same for your assemblies; that you never\nmake intimates at Malmaison of ambassadors and foreigners. If you\nshould do the contrary, you would displease me. Finally, do not allow\nyourself to be duped too much by persons whom I do not know, and who\nwould not come to the house, if I were there.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 68.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 12, 1807._\n\nI have just received your letter of May 2nd, in which I see that you\nare getting ready to go to St. Cloud. I was sorry to see the bad\nconduct of Madame ----. Might you not speak to her about mending her\nways, which at present might easily cause unpleasantness on the part\nof her husband?\n\nFrom what I hear, Napoleon is cured; I can well imagine how unhappy\nhis mother has been; but measles is an ailment to which every one is\nliable. I hope that he has been vaccinated, and that he will at least\nbe safe from the smallpox.\n\nAdieu, dear. The weather is very warm, and vegetation has begun; but\nit will be some days before there is any grass.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 69.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 14, 1807._\n\nI realise the grief which the death of this poor Napoleon[25] must\ncause you; you can imagine what I am enduring. I should like to be by\nyour side, in order that your sorrow might be kept within reasonable\nbounds. You have had the good fortune never to lose children; but it\nis one of the pains and conditions attached to our miseries here\nbelow. I trust I may hear you have been rational in your sorrow, and\nthat your health remains good! Would you willingly augment my grief?\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 70.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 16, 1807._\n\nI have just received your letter of May 6th. I see from it how ill you\nare already; and I fear that you are not rational, and that you are\nmaking yourself too wretched about the misfortune which has come upon\nus.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 71.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT LACKEN.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 20, 1807._\n\nI have just received your letter of May 10th. I see that you have gone\nto Lacken. I think you might stay there a fortnight; it would please\nthe Belgians and serve to distract you.\n\nI am sorry to see that you have not been rational. Grief has bounds\nwhich should not be passed. Take care of yourself for the sake of your\nfriend, and believe in my entire affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 72.", + "body": "_May 24th.--Dantzic surrenders to Lefebvre after two months'\n siege, with 800 guns and immense stores._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT LACKEN.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 24, 1807._\n\nYour letter from Lacken just received. I am sorry to see your grief\nundiminished, and that Hortense has not yet come; she is unreasonable,\nand does not deserve our love, since she only loves her children.\n\nTry to calm her, and do not make me wretched. For every ill without a\nremedy consolations must be found.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 73.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT LACKEN.\n\n _Finckenstein, May 26, 1807._\n\nI have just received your letter of the 16th. I have seen with\npleasure that Hortense has arrived at Lacken. I am annoyed at what you\ntell me of the state of stupor in which she still is. She must have\nmore courage, and force herself to have it. I cannot imagine why they\nwant her to go to take the waters; she will forget her trouble much\nbetter at Paris, and find more sources of consolation.\n\nShow force of character, be cheerful, and keep well. My health is\nexcellent.\n\nAdieu, dear. I suffer much from all your griefs; it is a great trouble\nto me not to be by your side.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _May 28th.--Lefebvre made Duke of Dantzic by Napoleon._\n\n _May 29th._--Selim III. deposed in Turkey by Mustapha IV., his\n nephew.\n\n _June 1st.--22,000 Spanish troops, sent by Charles IV., join the\n French army in Germany._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 74.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Dantzig, June 2, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I note your arrival at Malmaison. I have no letters from\nyou; I am vexed with Hortense, she has never written me a line. All\nthat you tell me about her grieves me. Why have you not found her some\ndistractions? Weeping won't do it! I trust you will take care of\nyourself in order that I may not find you utterly woebegone.\n\nI have been the two past days at Dantzic; the weather is very fine, my\nhealth excellent. I think more of you than you are thinking of a\nhusband far away.\n\nAdieu, dear; very kindest regards. Pass on this letter to Hortense.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 75.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Marienburg, June 3, 1807._\n\nThis morning I slept at Marienburg. Yesterday I left Dantzic; my\nhealth is very good. Every letter that comes from St. Cloud tells me\nyou are always weeping. That is not well; it is necessary for you to\nkeep well and be cheerful.\n\nHortense is still unwell; what you tell me of her makes me very sorry\nfor her.\n\nAdieu, dear; think of all the affection I bear for you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 5th.--Russians defeated at Spanden; Bernadotte wounded._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 76.", + "body": "_June 6th.--Russians defeated at Deppen by Soult._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Finckenstein, June 6, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I am in flourishing health. Your yesterday's letter pained\nme; it seems to me that you are always grieving, and that you are not\nreasonable. The weather is very fine.\n\nAdieu, dear; I love you and wish to see you cheerful and contented.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 9th.--Russians defeated at Guttstadt by Napoleon, and_\n\n _June 10th.--At Heilsberg._\n\n _June 14th.--Battle of Friedland, completing the \"Campaign of Ten\n Days.\"_", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 77.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Friedland, June 15, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you only a line, for I am very tired, by reason of\nseveral days' bivouacking. My children have worthily celebrated the\nanniversary of the battle of Marengo.\n\nThe battle of Friedland will be as celebrated for my people, and\nequally glorious. The entire Russian army routed, 80 pieces of cannon\ncaptured, 30,000 men taken or slain, 25 Russian generals killed,\nwounded, or taken, the Russian Guard wiped out. The battle is worthy\nof her sisters--Marengo, Austerlitz, Jena. The bulletin will tell you\nthe rest. My loss is not considerable. I out-manoeuvred the enemy\nsuccessfully.\n\nBe content and without uneasiness.\n\nAdieu, dear; my horse is waiting.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nYou may give this news as official, if it arrives before the bulletin.\nThey may also fire salvoes. Cambaceres will make the proclamation.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 78.", + "body": "_June 16th.--Koenigsberg captured by Soult--\"what was left to the\n King of Prussia is conquered.\"_\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Friedland_, _June 16, 1807_, 4 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--Yesterday I despatched Moustache with the news of the\nbattle of Friedland. Since then I have continued to pursue the enemy.\nKoenigsberg, which is a town of 80,000 souls, is in my power. I have\nfound there many cannon, large stores, and, lastly, more than 160,000\nmuskets, which have come from England.\n\nAdieu, dear. My health is perfect, although I have a slight\ncatarrh caused by bivouacking in the rain and cold. Be happy and\ncheerful.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 17th.--Neisse, in Silesia, with 6000 men, surrenders to the\n French; also_\n\n _June 18th--Glatz._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 79.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, June 19, 1807._\n\nThis morning I despatched Tascher to you, to calm all your fears. Here\nall goes splendidly. The battle of Friedland has decided everything.\nThe enemy is confounded, overwhelmed, and greatly weakened.\n\nMy health is good, and my army is superb.\n\nAdieu, dear. Be cheerful and contented.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 21st.--Armistice concluded at Tilsit._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 80.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, June 22, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter of June 10th. I am sorry to see you are\nso depressed. You will see by the bulletin that I have concluded a\nsuspension of arms, and that we are negotiating peace. Be contented\nand cheerful.\n\nI despatched Borghese to you, and, twelve hours later, Moustache;\ntherefore you should have received in good time my letters and the\nnews of the grand battle of Friedland.\n\nI am wonderfully well, and wish to hear that you are happy.--Yours\never,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 81.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, June 25, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have just seen the Emperor Alexander. I was much pleased\nwith him. He is a very handsome, young, and kind-hearted Emperor; he\nhas more intelligence than people usually give him credit for.\nTo-morrow he will lodge in the town of Tilsit.\n\nAdieu, dear. I am very anxious to hear that you are well and happy. My\nhealth is very good.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 82.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, July 3, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--M. de Turenne will give you full details of all that\nhas occurred here. Everything goes excellently. I think I told you\nthat the Emperor of Russia drinks your health with much cordiality.\nHe, as well as the King of Prussia, dines with me every day. I\nsincerely trust that you are happy. Adieu, dear. A thousand loving\nremembrances.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 83.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, July 6, 1807._\n\nI have your letter of June 25th. I was grieved to see that you were\nselfish, and that the success of my arms should have no charm for\nyou.\n\nThe beautiful Queen of Prussia is to come to-morrow to dine with me.\n\nI am well, and am longing to see you again, when destiny shall so\norder it. Still, it may be sooner than we expect.\n\nAdieu, dear; a thousand loving remembrances.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 84.", + "body": "_July 7th.--Peace signed between France and Russia._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, July 7, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--Yesterday the Queen of Prussia dined with me. I had to be\non the defence against some further concessions she wished me to make\nto her husband; but I was very polite, and yet held firmly to my\npolicy. She is very charming. I shall soon give you the details, which\nI could not possibly give you now unless at great length. When you\nread this letter, peace with Prussia and Russia will be concluded, and\nJerome acknowledged King of Westphalia, with a population of three\nmillions. This news is for yourself alone.\n\nAdieu, dear; I love you, and wish to know that you are cheerful and\ncontented.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 85.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Tilsit, July 8,[26] 1807._\n\nThe Queen of Prussia is really charming; she is full of _coquetterie_\nfor me; but don't be jealous; I am an oil-cloth over which all that\ncan only glide. It would cost me too much to play the lover.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nNo. 12,875 of the _Correspondence_ (taken from Las Cases).\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 9th.--Peace signed between France and Prussia, the latter\n resigning all its possessions between the Rhine and the Elbe._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 86.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Dresden, July 18, 1807, Noon._\n\n_My Dear_,--Yesterday I arrived at Dresden at 5 P.M., in excellent\nhealth, although I remained a hundred hours in the carriage without\ngetting out. I am staying here with the King of Saxony, with whom I am\nhighly pleased. I have now therefore traversed more than half the\ndistance that separates us.\n\nIt is very likely that one of these fine nights I may descend upon St.\nCloud like a jealous husband, so beware.\n\nAdieu, dear; I shall have great pleasure in seeing you.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 25th._--Plot of Prince Ferdinand of Asturias against his\n parents, the King and Queen of Spain.\n\n _July 27th.--Napoleon arrives at St. Cloud,_ 5 A.M.\n\n _August 19th.--Napoleon suppresses the French Tribunate._\n\n _August 20th.--Marshal Brune captures Stralsund from the Swedes._\n\n _September 1st.--The Ionian Isles become part of the French\n Empire._\n\n _September 5th to 7th._--Bombardment of Copenhagen by the\n English.\n\n _September 7th.--Occupation of Rugen by Marshal Brune._\n\n _October 6th._--War between Russia and Sweden.\n\n _October 16th.--Treaty of alliance between France and Denmark._\n\n _October 17th.--Junot with 27,000 men starts for Portugal, with\n whom France has been nominally at war since 1801._\n\n _October 27th.--Treaty of Fontainebleau signed between France and\n Spain. (Plot of Prince Ferdinand against his father discovered at\n Madrid the same day.)_\n\n _November 8th._--Russia declares war against England.\n\n _November 15th.--Napoleon constitutes the kingdom of Westphalia,\n with his brother Jerome as king._\n\n _November 26th.--Junot enters Abrantes, and on_\n\n _November 30th, enters Lisbon._\n\n _December 9th._--Trade suspended between England and the United\n States (_re_ rights of neutrals).\n\n _December 23rd.--France levies a contribution of 100 million\n francs on Portugal._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [22] Murat and Borghese.\n\n [23] Eugene's eldest daughter, the Princess Josephine Maximilienne\n Auguste, born March 14, 1807; married Bernadotte's son, Prince\n Oscar, June 18, 1827.\n\n [24] _Toute diablesse._\n\n [25] Charles Napoleon, Prince Royal of Holland, died at the Hague, May\n 5, 1807.\n\n [26] Presumed date.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES H\n\n\n\"Napoleon was received with unbounded adulation by all the towns of\nItaly.... He was the Redeemer of France, but the Creator of\nItaly.\"--ALISON, _Hist. of Europe_ (vol. xi. 280).\n\n\n\n\nSERIES H\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 264-267.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Milan_ 264\n _Mont Cenis_ 264\n _Eugene_ 264\n\n No. 2. _Venice_ 265\n _November 30th_ 265\n\n No. 3. _Udine_ 265-7\n _I may soon be in Paris_ 267\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING THE\nJOURNEY HE MADE IN ITALY, 1807.\n\n\n _November 16th.--Napoleon leaves Fontainebleau._\n\n _November 22nd-25th.--At Milan._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Milan, November 25, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have been here two days. I am very glad that I did not\nbring you here; you would have suffered dreadfully in crossing Mont\nCenis, where a storm detained me twenty-four hours.\n\nI found Eugene in good health; I am very pleased with him. The Princess\nis ill; I went to see her at Monza. She has had a miscarriage; she is\ngetting better.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 29th to December 7th.--At Venice (writes Talleyrand,\n \"This land is a phenomenon of the power of commerce\")._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Venice, November 30, 1807._\n\nI have your letter of November 22nd. The last two days I have been at\nVenice. The weather is very bad, which has not prevented me from\nsailing over the lagoons in order to see the different forts.\n\nI am glad to see you are enjoying yourself at Paris.\n\nThe King of Bavaria, with his family, as well as the Princess Eliza,\nare here.\n\nI am spending December 2nd[27] here, and that past I shall be on my\nway home, and very glad to see you.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Udine, December 11, 1807._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter of December 3rd, from which I note that\nyou were much pleased with the Jardin des Plantes. Here I am at the\nextreme limit of my journey; it is possible I may soon be in Paris,\nwhere I shall be very glad to see you again. The weather has not as\nyet been cold here, but very rainy. I have profited by this good\nseason up to the last moment, for I suppose that at Christmas the\nwinter will at length make itself felt.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 12th.--At Udine._\n\n _December 14th.--At Mantua._\n\n _December 16th.--At Milan (till December 26th)._\n\n _December 17th.--His Milan decree against English commerce._\n\n _December 27th-28th.--At Turin._\n\n\n1808.\n\n _January 1st.--At Paris._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [27] His Coronation Day.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES I\n\n\n\"The imbecility of Charles IV., the vileness of Ferdinand, and the\ncorruption of Godoy were undoubtedly the proximate causes of the\ncalamities which overwhelmed Spain.\"--NAPIER'S _Peninsular War_ (vol.\ni. preface).\n\n\n\n\nSERIES I\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 267-269.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Bayonne_ 267\n\n No. 2. _A country-house_ 267\n _Everything is still most primitive_ 267\n\n No. 3. _Prince of the Asturias_ 268\n _The Queen_ 268\n\n No. 4. _A son has been born_ 268\n _Arrive on the 27th_ 269\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING THE\nSTAY THAT HE MADE AT BAYONNE,\n1808.\n\n\n \"This year offers a strange picture. The Emperor Napoleon was at\n Venice in the month of January, surrounded by the homage of all\n the courts and princes of Italy; in the month of April he was at\n Bayonne, surrounded by that of Spain, and the great personages of\n that country; and, finally, in the month of October he is at\n Erfurth, with his _parterre_ of kings.\"--_Memoires du Duc de\n Rovigo._\n\n * * * * *\n\n _January 27th.--Queen and Prince Regent of Portugal reach Rio de\n Janeiro._\n\n _February 2nd.--French troops enter Rome._\n\n _February 17th.--French occupy Pampeluna, and_\n\n _February 29th.--Barcelona._\n\n _March 19th.--Charles IV. abdicates, and his son proclaimed\n Ferdinand VII._\n\n _March 20th.--Godoy imprisoned by Ferdinand._\n\n _March 23rd.--Murat enters Madrid._\n\n _March 27th.--Napoleon excommunicated._\n\n _April 15th.--Napoleon arrives at Bayonne._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT BORDEAUX.\n\n _Bayonne, April 16, 1808._\n\nI have arrived here in good health, rather tired by a dull journey and\na very bad road.\n\nI am very glad you stayed behind, for the houses here are wretched and\nvery small.\n\nI go to-day into a small house in the country, about a mile from the\ntown.\n\nAdieu, dear. Take care of yourself.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT BORDEAUX.\n\n _Bayonne, April 17, 1808._\n\nI have just received yours of April 15th. What you tell me of the\nowner of the country-house pleases me. Go and spend the day there\nsometimes.\n\nI am sending an order for you to have 20,000 francs per month\nadditional while I am away, counting from the 1st of April.\n\nI am lodged atrociously. I am leaving this place in an hour, to occupy\na country-house (_bastide_) about a mile away. The Infant Don Carlos\nand five or six Spanish grandees are here, the Prince of the Asturias\nfifty miles away. King Charles and the Queen are due. I know not how I\nshall lodge all these people. Everything here is still most primitive\n(_a l'auberge_). The health of my troops in Spain is good.\n\nIt took me some time to understand your little jokes; I have laughed\nat your recollections. O you women, what memories you have!\n\nMy health is fairly good, and I love you most affectionately. I wish\nyou to give my kind regards to everybody at Bordeaux; I have been too\nbusy to send them to anybody.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 20th.--Ferdinand arrives at Bayonne._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT BORDEAUX.\n\n _April 21, 1808._\n\nI have just received your letter of April 19th. Yesterday I had the\nPrince of the Asturias and his suite to dinner, which occasioned me\nconsiderable embarrassment. I am waiting for Charles IV. and the\nQueen.\n\nMy health is good. I am now sufficiently recovered for the campaign.\n\nAdieu, dear. Your letters always give me much pleasure.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT BORDEAUX.\n\n _Bayonne, April 23, 1808._\n\n_My Dear_,--A son has been born to Hortense;[28] I am highly\ndelighted. I am not surprised that you tell me nothing of it, since\nyour letter is dated the 21st, and the child was only born on the\n20th,[29] during the night.\n\nYou can start on the 26th, sleep at Mont de Marsan, and arrive here on\nthe 27th. Have your best dinner-service sent on here on the 25th, in\nthe evening. I have made arrangements for you to have a little house\nin the country, next to the one I have. My health is good.\n\nI am waiting for Charles IV. and his wife.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 30th.--Charles IV. and the Queen arrive at Bayonne._\n\n _May 1st.--Ferdinand gives back the crown to his father._\n\n _May 2nd.--Murat subdues insurrection at Madrid._\n\n _May 5th.--Treaty of Bayonne; Charles IV. and Ferdinand (May 6)\n surrender to Napoleon their rights to the Spanish crown._\n\n _May 13th.--Spanish Junta ask for Joseph Bonaparte to be their\n king._\n\n _June 6th.--King Joseph proclaimed King of Spain and the Indies by\n Napoleon, in an imperial decree, dated Bayonne._\n\n _June 7th.--French, under Dupont, sacked Cordova._\n\n _June 9th.--Emperor of Austria calls out his militia._\n\n _June 15th.--French fleet at Cadiz surrender to the Spanish._\n\n _July 4th.--English cease hostilities with Spain, and recognise\n Ferdinand VII._\n\n _July 7th.--Spanish new constitution sworn to by Joseph and by the\n Junta._\n\n _July 9th.--Commences the siege of Saragossa._\n\n _July 14th.--Bessieres defeats 40,000 Spaniards at Medina de Rio\n Seco._\n\n _July 15th.--Murat declared King of Naples._\n\n _July 20th.--Joseph enters Madrid._ Mahmoud deposed by his younger\n brother at Constantinople.\n\n _July 22nd.--Dupont capitulates at Baylen--\"the only stain on\n French arms for twenty years (1792-1812).\"_--Montgaillard.\n\n _July 30th.--French protest against Austrian armaments._\n\n _August 1st.--Wellington landed in Portugal._\n\n _August 21st.--Battle of Vimiera, creditable to Junot._\n\n _August 25th.--Spanish troops reoccupy Madrid._\n\n _August 30th.--Convention of Cintra. French only hold Barcelona,\n Biscay, Navarre, and Alava, in the whole of Spain._\n\n _September 8th.--Convention of Paris (Prussia and France);\n Prussian army not to exceed 40,000 men._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [28] Charles Louis Napoleon, afterwards Napoleon III.\n\n [29] At 17 Rue Lafitte.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES J\n\n\n \"When he shows as seeking quarter, with paws like hands in prayer,\n _That_ is the time of peril--the time of the truce of the Bear!\"\n\n --KIPLING.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES J\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 269-273.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _I have rather a cold_ 270\n _I am pleased with the Emperor_ 270\n\n No. 2. _Shooting over the battlefield of Jena_ 271\n _The Weimar ball_ 271\n _A few trifling ailments_ 271\n\n No. 3. _I am pleased with Alexander_ 272\n _He ought to be with me_ 272\n _Erfurt_ 273\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING HIS\nSTAY AT ERFURT, 1808.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _Erfurt, September 29, 1808._\n\nI have rather a cold. I have received your letter, dated Malmaison. I\nam well pleased with the Emperor and every one here.\n\nIt is an hour after midnight, and I am tired.\n\nAdieu, dear; take care of yourself.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n _October 9, 1808._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. I note with pleasure that you\nare well. I have just been shooting over the battlefield of Jena. We\nhad breakfast (_dejeune_) at the spot where I bivouacked on the night\nof the battle.\n\nI assisted at the Weimar ball. The Emperor Alexander dances; but not\nI. Forty years are forty years.\n\nMy health is really sound, in spite of a few trifling ailments.\n\nAdieu, dear; I hope to see you soon.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT ST. CLOUD.\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you seldom; I am very busy. Conversations which\nlast whole days, and which do not improve my cold. Still all goes\nwell. I am pleased with Alexander; he ought to be with me. If he were\na woman, I think I should make him my sweetheart.\n\nI shall be back to you shortly; keep well and let me find you plump\nand rosy.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES K\n\n\n\"The winter campaign commenced on the 1st of November 1808, and\nterminated on the 1st of March 1809, to the advantage of the\nFrench, who, for that reason, denominate it the _Imperial Campaign_.\nThe Spaniards were long before they could recover from the terror\ncaused by the defeat of their armies, the capture of Madrid, the\nsurrender of Saragossa, and the departure of the English from\nCorunna.\"--_Sarrazin's History of the War in Spain and Portugal_,\n1815.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES K\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 273-278.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 5. Aranda 273\n\n No. 6. Madrid 273\n _Parisian weather_ 273\n\n No. 8. _Kourakin_ 274\n\n No. 9. _The English_ appear to have received reinforcements 274\n\n No. 10. _Benavente_ 274\n _The English flee panic-stricken_ 274\n _The weather_ 274\n _Lefebvre_ 275\n\n No. 11. _Your letters_ 275-6\n\n No. 12. _The English are in utter rout_ 276\n\n Nos. 13 & 14. Valladolid 277\n _Eugene has a daughter_ 277\n _They are foolish in Paris_ 277\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO\nTHE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING THE\nSPANISH CAMPAIGN, 1808 AND 1809.\n\n\n _October 29th.--English enter Spain._\n\n _October 31st.--Blake defeated by Lefebvre at Tornosa._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _November 3, 1808._\n\nI arrived to-night[30] with considerable trouble. I had ridden several\nstages at full speed. Still, I am well.\n\nTo-morrow I start for Spain.\n\nMy troops are arriving in force.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 4th.--Napoleon enters Spain._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Tolosa, November 5, 1808._\n\nI am at Tolosa. I am starting for Vittoria, where I shall be in a few\nhours. I am fairly well, and I hope everything will soon be\ncompleted.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Vittoria, November 7._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have been the last two days at Vittoria. I am in good\nhealth. My troops are arriving daily; the Guard arrived to-day.\n\nThe King is in very good health. I am very busy.\n\nI know that you are in Paris. Never doubt my affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 10th._--Battle of Burgos. _Soult and Bessieres defeat\n Spaniards, who lose 3000 killed and 3000 prisoners, and 20\n cannon._\n\n _November 12th._--Battle of Espinosa. _Marshal Victor defeats La\n Romana and Blake, who lose 20,000 men and 50 cannon._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_November 14th._--Third revolution at Constantinople. _Mahmoud IV.\n assassinated (November 15th)._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Burgos, November 14, 1808._\n\nMatters here are progressing at a great rate. The weather is very\nfine. We are successful. My health is very good.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 23rd.--Battle of Tudela. Castanos and Palafox\n defeated, with loss of 7000 men and 30 cannon, by Marshal\n Lannes. \"The battle of Tudela makes the pendant of that of\n Espinosa.\"_--NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _November 26, 1808._\n\nI have received your letter. I trust that your health be as good as\nmine is, although I am very busy. All goes well here.\n\nI think you should return to the Tuileries on December 21st, and from\nthat date give a concert daily for eight days.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nKind regards to Hortense and to M. Napoleon.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 3rd.--French voluntarily evacuate Berlin._\n\n _December 4th.--Surrender of Madrid. Napoleon abolishes the\n Inquisition and feudal rights._ (\"_He regards the taking of a\n capital as decisive for the submission of a whole kingdom; thus in\n 1814 will act his adversaries, pale but judicious imitators of his\n strategy._\"--Montgaillard.)", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _December 7, 1808._\n\nYour letter of the 28th to hand. I am glad to see that you are well.\nYou will have seen that young Tascher has distinguished himself, which\nhas pleased me. My health is good.\n\nHere we are enjoying Parisian weather of the last fortnight in May. We\nare hot, and have no fires; but the nights are rather cool.\n\nMadrid is quiet. All my affairs prosper.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nKind regards to Hortense and to M. Napoleon.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Chamartin, December 10, 1808._\n\n_My Dear_,--Yours to hand, in which you tell me what bad weather you\nare having in Paris; here it is the best weather imaginable. Please\ntell me what mean these alterations Hortense is making; I hear she is\nsending away her servants. Is it because they have refused to do what\nwas required? Give me some particulars. Reforms are not desirable.\n\nAdieu, dear. The weather here is delightful. All goes excellently, and\nI pray you to keep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _December 21, 1808._\n\nYou ought to have been at the Tuileries on the 12th. I trust you may\nhave been pleased with your rooms.\n\nI have authorised the presentation of Kourakin to you and the family;\nbe kind to him, and let him take part in your plays.\n\nAdieu, dear. I am well. The weather is rainy; it is rather cold.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "_December 22nd.--Napoleon quits Madrid._\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Madrid, December 22, 1808._\n\nI start at once to outmanoeuvre the English, who appear to have\nreceived reinforcements and wish to look big.\n\nThe weather is fine, my health perfect; don't be uneasy.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Benavento, December 31, 1808._\n\n_My Dear_,--The last few days I have been in pursuit of the English,\nbut they flee panic-stricken. They have pusillanimously abandoned the\nremnant of La Romana's army in order not to delay its retreat a single\nhalf day. More than a hundred waggons of their baggage have already\nbeen taken. The weather is very bad.\n\nLefebvre[31] has been captured. He took part in a skirmish with 300 of\nhis chasseurs; these idiots crossed a river by swimming and threw\nthemselves in the midst of the English cavalry; they killed several,\nbut on their return Lefebvre had his horse wounded; it was swimming,\nthe current took him to the bank where the English were; he was taken.\nConsole his wife.\n\nAdieu, dear. Bessieres, with 10,000 cavalry, is at Astorga.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nA happy New Year to everybody.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _January 3, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letters of the 18th and 21st. I am\nclose behind the English.\n\nThe weather is cold and rigorous, but all goes well.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nA happy New Year, and a very happy one, to my Josephine.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Benavento, January 5, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you a line. The English are in utter rout; I have\ninstructed the Duke of Dalmatia to pursue them closely (_l'epee dans\nles reins_). I am well; the weather bad.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _January 8, 1809._\n\nI have received yours of the 23rd and 26th. I am sorry to see you have\ntoothache. I have been here two days. The weather is what we must\nexpect at this season. The English are embarking. I am in good\nhealth.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\nI am writing Hortense. Eugene has a daughter.\n\nYours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _January 9, 1809._\n\nMoustache brings me your letter of 31st December. I see from it, dear,\nthat you are sad and have very gloomy disquietudes. Austria will not\nmake war on me; if she does, I have 150,000 men in Germany and as many\non the Rhine, and 400,000 Germans to reply to her. Russia will not\nseparate herself from me. They are foolish in Paris; all goes well.\n\nI shall be at Paris the moment I think it worth while. I advise you to\nbeware of ghosts; one fine day, at two o'clock in the morning.\n\nBut adieu, dear; I am well, and am yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [30] At Bayonne.\n\n [31] General Lefebvre--Desnouettes.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES L\n\n\n\"Berthier, incapable of acting a principal part, was surprised, and\nmaking a succession of false movements that would have been fatal to\nthe French army, if the Emperor, journeying night and day, had not\narrived at the very hour when his lieutenant was on the point of\nconsummating the ruin of the army. But then was seen the supernatural\nforce of Napoleon's genius. In a few hours he changed the aspect of\naffairs, and in a few days, maugre their immense number, his enemies,\nbaffled and flying in all directions, proclaimed his mastery in an art\nwhich, up to that moment, was imperfect; for never, since troops first\ntrod a field of battle, was such a display of military genius made by\nman.\"--NAPIER.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES L\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 278-295.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n Napoleon's position in Europe 278\n\n No. 1. _Donauwerth_ 281\n The Ratisbon proclamation, and first successes of\n the campaign up to April 23rd 281-2\n\n No. 2. _May 6th_ 282\n _The ball that touched me_ 283\n\n No. 3. Baron Marbot's foray; and memories of Richard\n Coeur de Lion 284\n\n No. 4. _Schoenbrunn_ 284-5\n _May 12th_ 285\n\n No. 5. _Ebersdorf_ 286\n _Eugene... has completely performed the task_ 287\n\n No. 6. _May 29th_ 288\n\n No. 7. _I have ordered the two princes_ 288-9\n _The Duke of Montebello_ 289\n _Thus everything ends_ 289\n\n No. 9. _Eugene won a battle_ 290\n\n No. 11. _Wagram_ 290\n _Lasalle_ 291\n _I am sunburnt_ 291\n\n No. 12. _A surfeit of bile_ 291\n _Wolkersdorf_ 291\n\n No. 16. _My affairs follow my wishes_ 292\n\n No. 17. _August 21st_ 292\n\n No. 18. _Comedians_ 292\n _Women ... not having been presented_ 293\n\n No. 19. _All this is very suspicious_ 293\n\n No. 20. _Krems_ 293\n _My health has never been better_ 293\n\n No. 23. _October 14th_ 294\n\n No. 24. _Stuttgard_ 295\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE DURING THE\nAUSTRIAN CAMPAIGN, 1809.\n\n\nEVENTS OF 1809.\n\n _January 7th._--King and Queen of Prussia visit Alexander at St.\n Petersburg.\n\n _January 12th._--Cayenne and French Guiana captured by Spanish and\n Portuguese South Americans.\n\n _January 13th._--Combat of Alcazar. Victor defeats Spaniards.\n\n _January 14th._--Treaty of Alliance between England and Spain.\n\n _January 16th._--Battle of Corunna. Moore killed; Baird wounded.\n\n _January 17th._--English army sails for England.\n\n _January 22nd._--King Joseph returns to Madrid.\n\n _January 27th._--Soult takes Ferrol (retaken by English, June\n 22nd).\n\n _February 21st._--Lannes takes Saragossa.\n\n _February 23rd._--English capture Martinique.\n\n _March 4th._--Madison made President of United States.\n\n _March 29th._--Soult fights battle of Oporto. Spaniards lose\n 20,000 men and 200 guns. Gustavus Adolphus abdicates throne of\n Sweden.\n\n _April 9th._--Austrians under Archduke Charles cross the Inn,\n enter Bavaria, and take Munich. _Napoleon receives this news April\n 12th, and reaches Strasburg April 15th._\n\n _April 15th._--Eugene defeated on the Tagliamento.\n\n _April 16th._--And at Sacile.\n\n _April 19th._--Combat of Pfafferhofen. Oudinot repulses Austrians,\n while Davoust wins the Battle of Thann. _Napoleon joins the\n army._\n\n _April 20th._--Battle of Abensberg. Archduke Louis defeated.\n Austrians take Ratisbon, and 1800 prisoners. Poles defeated by\n Archduke Ferdinand at Baszy.\n\n _April 21st._--Combat of Landshut; heavy Austrian losses.\n Austrians under Archduke Ferdinand take Warsaw.\n\n _April 22nd.--Battle of Eckmuehl. Napoleon defeats Archduke\n Charles._\n\n _April 23rd._--French take Ratisbon.\n\n _April 25th._--King of Bavaria re-enters Munich.\n\n _April 26th._--French army crosses the Inn.\n\n _April 28th-30th._--French force the Salza, and cut in two the\n main Austrian army--\"One of the most beautiful manoeuvres of\n modern tactics\" (_Montgaillard_).\n\n _April 29th._--Combat of Caldiero. Eugene defeats Archduke John.\n\n _May 3rd._--Russia declares war on Austria, and enters Galicia.\n\n _May 4th._--Combat of Ebersberg. Massena defeats Austrians, but\n loses a large number of men.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Donauwoerth, April 17, 1809._\n\nI arrived here yesterday at 4 A.M.; I am just leaving it. Everything\nis under way. Military operations are in full activity. Up to the\npresent, there is nothing new.\n\nMy health is good.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Enns, May 6, 1809, Noon._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. The ball that touched me has\nnot wounded me; it barely grazed the tendon Achilles.\n\nMy health is very good. You are wrong to be uneasy.\n\nMy affairs here go excellently.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nKind regards to Hortense and the Duke de Berg.[32]\n\n * * * * *\n\n _May 8th._--Eugene crosses the Piave, and defeats Archduke John.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Saint-Polten, May 9, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write you from Saint-Polten. To-morrow I shall be before\nVienna; it will be exactly a month to the day after the Austrians\ncrossed the Inn, and violated peace.\n\nMy health is good, the weather splendid, and the soldiery very\ncheerful; there is wine here.\n\nKeep well.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _May 13th._--French occupy Vienna, after a bombardment of\n thirty-six hours.\n\n _May 17th._--Roman States united to the French Empire.\n\n _May 18th._--French occupy Trieste.\n\n _May 19th._--Lefebvre occupies Innsbruck.\n\n _May 20th._--Eugene reaches Klagenfurt.\n\n _May 21st-22nd._--Battle of Essling. A drawn battle, unfavourable\n to the French, who lose Marshal Lannes, three generals killed, and\n 500 officers and 18,000 men wounded. The Archduke admits a loss of\n 4200 killed and 16,000 wounded.\n\n _May 22nd._--Meerveldt with 4000 men surrenders at Laybach to\n Macdonald.\n\n _May 25th._--Eugene reaches Leoben in Styria, and captures most of\n the corps of Jellachich.\n\n _May 26th._--Eugene joins the army of Germany, at Bruck in\n Styria.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_May 12th._--Soult evacuates Portugal. Wellington crosses the\n Douro, and enters Spain.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, May 12, 1809._\n\nI am despatching the brother of the Duchess of Montebello to let you\nknow that I am master of Vienna, and that everything here goes\nperfectly. My health is very good.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Ebersdorf, May 27, 1809._\n\nI am despatching a page to tell you that Eugene has rejoined me with\nall his army; that he has completely performed the task that I\nentrusted him with; and has almost entirely destroyed the enemy's army\nopposed to him.\n\nI send you my proclamation to the army of Italy, which will make you\nunderstand all this.\n\nI am very well.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n_P.S._--You can have this proclamation printed at Strasburg, and have\nit translated into French and German, in order that it may be\nscattered broadcast over Germany. Give a copy of the proclamation to\nthe page who goes on to Paris.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _May 28th._--Hofer defeats Bavarians at Innsbruck.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Ebersdorf_, _May 29, 1809_, 7 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have been here since yesterday; I am stopped by the\nriver. The bridge has been burnt; I shall cross at midnight.\nEverything here goes as I wish it, viz., very well.\n\nThe Austrians have been overwhelmed (_frappes de la foudre_).\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Ebersdorf May 31, 1809._\n\nYour letter of the 26th to hand. I have written you that you can go to\nPlombieres. I do not care for you to go to Baden; it is not necessary\nto leave France. I have ordered the two princes to re-enter\nFrance.[33]\n\nThe loss of the Duke of Montebello, who died this morning, has grieved\nme exceedingly. Thus everything ends!!\n\nAdieu, dear; if you can help to console the poor Marechale, do\nso.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 1st._--Archduke Ferdinand evacuates Warsaw.\n\n _June 6th._--Regent of Sweden proclaimed King as Charles XIII.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT STRASBURG.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, June 9, 1809._\n\nI have received your letter; I see with pleasure that you are going to\nthe waters at Plombieres, they will do you good.\n\nEugene is in Hungary with his army. I am well, the weather very fine.\nI note with pleasure that Hortense and the Duke of Berg are in\nFrance.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 10th._--Union of the Papal States to France promulgated in\n Rome.\n\n _June 11th.--Napoleon and all his abettors excommunicated._\n\n _June 14th._--Eugene, aided by Macdonald and Lauriston, defeats\n Archduke Ferdinand at Raab.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, June 16, 1809._\n\nI despatch a page to tell you that, on the 14th, the anniversary of\nMarengo, Eugene won a battle against the Archduke John and the\nArchduke Palatine, at Raab, in Hungary; that he has taken 3000 men,\nmany pieces of cannon, 4 flags, and pursued them a long way on the\nroad to Buda-Pesth.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 18th._--Combat of Belchite. Blake defeated by Suchet near\n Saragossa.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, June 19, 1809, Noon._\n\nI have your letter, which tells me of your departure for Plombieres. I\nam glad you are making this journey, because I trust it may do you\ngood.\n\nEugene is in Hungary, and is well. My health is very good, and the\narmy in fighting trim.\n\nI am very glad to know that the Grand Duke of Berg is with you.\n\nAdieu, dear. You know my affection for my Josephine; it never\nvaries.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 4th-5th._--French cross Danube, and win battle of\n Enzersdorff.\n\n _July 5th-6th._--Pope Pius VII. carried off from Rome by order of\n Murat; eventually kept at Savona.\n\n _July 6th.--Battle of Wagram._ The most formidable artillery\n battle ever fought up to this date (900 guns in action). The\n Austrians had 120,000 men, with more guns and of larger calibre\n than those of the French.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "_July 7th._--St. Domingo surrenders to the English.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Ebersdorf_, _July 7, 1809_, 5 A.M.\n\nI am despatching a page to bring you the good tidings of the victory\nof Enzersdorf, which I won on the 5th, and that of Wagram, which I won\non the 6th.\n\nThe enemy's army flies in disorder, and all goes according to my\nprayers (_voeux_).\n\nEugene is well. Prince Aldobrandini is wounded, but slightly.\n\nBessieres has been shot through the fleshy part of his thigh; the\nwound is very slight. Lasalle was killed. My losses are full heavy,\nbut the victory is decisive and complete. We have taken more than 100\npieces of cannon, 12 flags, many prisoners.\n\nI am sunburnt.\n\nAdieu, dear. I send you a kiss. Kind regards to Hortense.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Wolkersdorf_, _July 9, 1809_, 2 A.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--All goes here as I wish. My enemies are defeated, beaten,\nutterly routed. They were in great numbers; I have wiped them out.\nTo-day my health is good; yesterday I was rather ill with a surfeit of\nbile, occasioned by so many hardships, but it has done me much good.\n\nAdieu, dear. I am in excellent health.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 12th._--Armistice of Znaim. Archduke Charles resigns his\n command.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _In the Camp, before Znaim, July 13, 1809._\n\nI send you the suspension of arms concluded yesterday with the\nAustrian General. Eugene is on the Hungary side, and is well. Send a\ncopy of the suspension of arms to Cambaceres, in case he has not yet\nreceived one.\n\nI send you a kiss, and am very well.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\nYou may cause this suspension of arms to be printed at Nancy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 14th._--English seize Senegal. Oudinot, Marmont, Macdonald\n made Marshals.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, July 17, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have sent you one of my pages. You will have learnt the\nresult of the battle of Wagram, and, later, of the suspension of arms\nof Znaim.\n\nMy health is good. Eugene is well, and I long to know that you, as\nwell as Hortense, are the same.\n\nGive a kiss for me to Monsieur, the Grand Duke of Berg.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, July 24, 1809._\n\nI have just received yours of July 18th. I note with pleasure that the\nwaters are doing you good. I see no objection to you going back to\nMalmaison after you have finished your treatment.\n\nIt is hot enough here in all conscience. My health is excellent.\n\nAdieu, dear. Eugene is at Vienna, in the best of health.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 28th.--Battle of Talavera._ Wellington repulses Victor, who\n attacks by King Joseph's order, without waiting for the arrival of\n Soult with the main army. Wellington retires on Portugal.\n\n _July 29th-31st._--Walcheren Expedition; 17,000 English land in\n Belgium.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PLOMBIERES.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, August 7, 1809._\n\nI see from your letter that you are at Plombieres, and intend to stay\nthere. You do well; the waters and the fine climate can only do you\ngood.\n\nI remain here. My health and my affairs follow my wishes.\n\nPlease give my kind regards to Hortense and the Napoleons.--Yours\never,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _August 8th._--Combat of Arzobispo. Soult defeats the Spaniards.\n\n _August 15th._--Flushing surrenders to the English.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT PARIS.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, August 21, 1809._\n\nI have received your letter of August 14th, from Plombieres; I see\nfrom it that by the 18th you will be either at Paris or Malmaison. The\nheat, which is very great here, will have upset you. Malmaison must be\nvery dry and parched at this time of year.\n\nMy health is good. The heat, however, has brought on a slight\ncatarrh.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, August 26, 1809._\n\nI have your letter from Malmaison. They bring me word that you are\nplump, florid, and in the best of health, I assure you Vienna is not\nan amusing city. I would very much rather be back again in Paris.\n\nAdieu, dear. Twice a week I listen to the comedians (_bouffons_); they\nare but very middling; it, however, passes the evenings. There are\nfifty or sixty women of Vienna, but outsiders (_au parterre_), as not\nhaving been presented.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, August 31, 1809._\n\nI have had no letter from you for several days; the pleasures of\nMalmaison, the beautiful greenhouses, the beautiful gardens, cause the\nabsent to be forgotten. It is, they say, the rule of your sex. Every\none speaks only of your good health; all this is very suspicious.\n\nTo-morrow I am off with Eugene for two days in Hungary.\n\nMy health is fairly good.\n\nAdieu, dear.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Krems, September 9, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I arrived here yesterday at 2 A.M.; I have come here to\nsee my troops. My health has never been better. I know that you are\nvery well.\n\nI shall be in Paris at a moment when nobody will expect me. Everything\nhere goes excellently and to my satisfaction.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, September 23, 1809._\n\nI have received your letter of the 16th, and note that you are well.\nThe old maid's house is only worth 120,000[34] francs; they will never\nget more for it. Still, I leave you mistress to do what you like,\nsince it amuses you; only, once purchased, don't pull it down to put a\nrockery there.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 22.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, September 25, 1809._\n\nI have received your letter. Be careful, and I advise you to be\nvigilant, for one of these nights you will hear a loud knocking.\n\nMy health is good. I know nothing about the rumours; I have never been\nbetter for many a long year. Corvisart was no use to me.\n\nAdieu, dear; everything here prospers.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _September 26th._--Battle of Silistria; Turks defeat Russians.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 23.", + "body": "_October 14th._--Treaty of Vienna, between France and Austria.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Schoenbrunn, October 14, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I write to advise you that Peace was signed two hours ago\nbetween Champagny and Prince Metternich.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 19th._--Mortier routs Spaniards at Ocana.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 24.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Nymphenburg, near Munich, October 21, 1809._\n\nI arrived here yesterday in the best of health, but shall not start\ntill to-morrow. I shall spend a day at Stuttgard. You will be advised\ntwenty-four hours in advance of my arrival at Fontainebleau.\n\nI look forward with pleasure to seeing you again, and I await that\nmoment impatiently.\n\nI send you a kiss.--Yours ever,\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Munich, October 22, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I start in an hour. I shall be at Fontainebleau from the\n26th to 27th; you may meet me there with some of your ladies.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _November 25th._--Disappearance of Benjamin Bathurst, erroneously\n thought to have been murdered by the French, really by robbers.\n\n _December 1st._--Capture of Gerona and 200 cannon by Augereau.\n\n _December 16th.--French Senate pronounce the divorce of Napoleon\n and Josephine._\n\n _December 24th._--English re-embark from Flushing.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [32] Napoleon Louis, Prince Royal of Holland, and Grand Duke of Berg\n from March 3, 1809.\n\n [33] Her two grandsons, who, with Hortense, their mother, were at\n Baden.\n\n [34] Boispreau, belonging to Mademoiselle Julien.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES M\n\n\n\"Josephine, my excellent Josephine, thou knowest if I have loved thee!\nTo thee, to thee alone do I owe the only moments of happiness which I\nhave enjoyed in this world. Josephine, my destiny overmasters my will.\nMy dearest affections must be silent before the interests of\nFrance.\"--BOURRIENNE'S _Napoleon_.[35]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [35] Also MEME'S _Memoirs of Josephine_, p. 333.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES M\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 295-304.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. A Family Council 295\n\n No. 2. _Savary_ 297\n _Queen of Naples_ 298\n _The hunt_ 298\n\n No. 4. _The weather is very damp_ 298\n\n No. 5. _King of Bavaria_ 299\n\n No. 6. Their last dinner together 299\n\n No. 7. _Tuileries_ 299\n\n No. 8. _A house vacant in Paris_ 299\n\n No. 9. _Hortense_ 300\n\n No. 10. A visit to Josephine 300\n\n No. 11. _What charms your society has_ 300\n\n No. 12. _King of Westphalia_ 301\n\n No. 13. _Sensible_ 301\n\n No. 14. _D'Audenarde_ 302\n\n No. 16. The choosing of a bride 302\n\n No. 17. Date 302\n\n Nos. 18 & 19. _L'Elysee_ 302-3\n\n No. 20. _Bessieres' country-house_ 303\n\n No. 21. _Rambouillet_ 303\n _Adieu_ 303\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE AFTER THE\nDIVORCE AND BEFORE HIS MARRIAGE WITH MARIE LOUISE.\n\nDECEMBER, 1809, TO APRIL 2, 1810.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _December 1809_, 8 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I found you to-day weaker than you ought to be. You have\nshown courage; it is necessary that you should maintain it and not\ngive way to a doleful melancholy. You must be contented and take\nspecial care of your health, which is so precious to me.\n\nIf you are attached to me and if you love me, you should show strength\nof mind and force yourself to be happy. You cannot question my\nconstant and tender friendship, and you would know very imperfectly\nall the affection I have for you if you imagined that I can be happy\nif you are unhappy, and contented if you are ill at ease.\n\nAdieu, dear. Sleep well; dream that I wish it.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Tuesday, 6 o'clock._\n\nThe Queen of Naples, whom I saw at the hunt in the Bois de Boulogne,\nwhere I rode down a stag, told me that she left you yesterday at 1\nP.M. in the best of health.\n\nPlease tell me what you are doing to-day. As for me, I am very well.\nYesterday, when I saw you, I was ill. I expect you will have been for\na drive.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Trianon_, 7 P.M.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have just received your letter. Savary tells me that you\nare always crying; that is not well. I trust that you have been for a\ndrive to-day. I sent you my quarry. I shall come to see you when you\ntell me you are reasonable, and that your courage has the upper hand.\n\nTo-morrow, the whole day, I am receiving Ministers.\n\nAdieu, dear. I also am sad to-day; I need to know that you are\nsatisfied and to learn that your equilibrium (_aplomb_) is restored.\nSleep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Thursday, Noon, 1809._\n\n_My Dear_,--I wished to come and see you to-day, but I was very busy\nand rather unwell. Still, I am just off to the Council.\n\nPlease tell me how you are.\n\nThis weather is very damp, and not at all healthy.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Trianon._\n\nI should have come to see you to-day if I had not been obliged to come\nto see the King of Bavaria, who has just arrived in Paris. I shall\ncome to see you to-night at eight o'clock, and return at ten.\n\nI hope to see you to-morrow, and to see you cheerful and placid.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Trianon, Tuesday._\n\n_My Dear_,--I lay down after you left me yesterday;[36] I am going to\nParis. I wish to hear that you are cheerful. I shall come to see you\nduring the week.\n\nI have received your letters, which I am going to read in the\ncarriage.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Paris, Wednesday, Noon, 27th December 1809._\n\nEugene told me that you were very miserable all yesterday. That is not\nwell, my dear; it is contrary to what you promised me.\n\nI have been thoroughly tired in revisiting the Tuileries; that great\npalace seemed empty to me, and I felt lost in it.\n\nAdieu, dear. Keep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Paris, Sunday, December 31_, 10 A.M., 1809.\n\n_My Dear_,--To-day I have a grand parade; I shall see all my Old Guard\nand more than sixty artillery trains.\n\nThe King of Westphalia is returning home, which will leave a house\nvacant in Paris. I am sad not to see you. If the parade finishes\nbefore 3 o'clock, I will come; otherwise, to-morrow.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Thursday Evening_, 1810.\n\n_My Dear_,--Hortense, whom I saw this afternoon, has given me news of\nyou. I trust that you will have been able to see your plants to-day,\nthe weather having been fine. I have only been out for a few minutes\nat three o'clock to shoot some hares.\n\nAdieu, dear; sleep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Friday_, 8 P.M., 1810.\n\nI wished to come and see you to-day, but I cannot; it will be, I hope,\nin the morning. It is a long time since I heard from you. I learnt\nwith pleasure that you take walks in your garden these cold days.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well, and never doubt my affection.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Sunday_, 8 P.M., 1810.\n\nI was very glad to see you yesterday; I feel what charms your society\nhas for me.\n\nTo-day I walked with Esteve.[37] I have allowed L4000 for 1810, for\nthe extraordinary expenses at Malmaison. You can therefore do as much\nplanting as you like; you will distribute that sum as you may require.\nI have instructed Esteve to send L8000 the moment the contract for the\nMaison Julien shall be made. I have ordered them to pay for your\n_parure_ of rubies, which will be valued by the Department, for I do\nnot wish to be robbed by jewellers. So, there goes the L16,000 that\nthis may cost me.\n\nI have ordered them to hold the million which the Civil List owes you\nfor 1810 at the disposal of your man of business, in order to pay your\ndebts.\n\nYou should find in the coffers of Malmaison twenty to twenty-five\nthousand pounds; you can take them to buy your plate and linen.\n\nI have instructed them to make you a very fine porcelain service; they\nwill take your commands in order that it may be a very fine one.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Wednesday_, 6 P.M., 1810.\n\n_My Dear_,--I see no objection to your receiving the King of\nWestphalia whenever you wish. The King and Queen of Bavaria will\nprobably come to see you on Friday.\n\nI long to come to Malmaison, but you must really show fortitude and\nself-restraint; the page on duty this morning told me that he saw you\nweeping.\n\nI am going to dine quite alone.\n\nAdieu, dear. Never doubt the depth of my feelings for you; you would\nbe unjust and unfair if you did.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Saturday_, 1 P.M., 1810.\n\n_My Dear_,--Yesterday I saw Eugene, who told me that you gave a\nreception to the kings. I was at the concert till eight o'clock, and\nonly dined, quite alone, at that hour.\n\nI long to see you. If I do not come to-day, I will come after mass.\n\nAdieu, dear. I hope to find you sensible and in good health. This\nweather should indeed make you put on flesh.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _January 9.--The clergy of Paris annul the religious marriage of\n Napoleon with Josephine_ (so _Biographie Universelle_, Michaud;\n Montgaillard gives January 18). _Confirmed by the Metropolitan\n Officialite, January 12_ (Pasquier).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Trianon, January 17, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--D'Audenarde, whom I sent to you this morning, tells me\nthat since you have been at Malmaison you have no longer any courage.\nYet that place is full of our happy memories, which can and ought\nnever to change, at least on my side.\n\nI want badly to see you, but I must have some assurance that you are\nstrong and not weak; I too am rather like you, and it makes me\nfrightfully wretched.\n\nAdieu, Josephine; good-night. If you doubted me, you would be very\nungrateful.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _January 20, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I send you the box that I promised you the day before\nyesterday--representing the Island of Lobau. I was rather tired\nyesterday. I work much, and do not go out.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Noon, Tuesday, 1810._\n\nI hear that you are making yourself miserable; this is too bad. You\nhave no confidence in me, and all the rumours that are being spread\nstrike you; this is not knowing me, Josephine. I am much annoyed, and\nif I do not find you cheerful and contented, I shall scold you right\nwell.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Sunday_, 9 P.M., 1810.\n\n_My Dear_,--I was very glad to see you the day before yesterday.\n\nI hope to go to Malmaison during the week. I have had all your affairs\nlooked after here, and ordered that everything be brought to the\nElysee-Napoleon.\n\nPlease take care of yourself.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _January 30, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--Your letter to hand. I hope the walk you had yesterday, in\norder to show people your conservatories, has done you good.\n\nI will gladly see you at the Elysee, and shall be very glad to see you\noftener, for you know how I love you.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Saturday_, 6 P.M., 1810.\n\nI told Eugene that you would rather give ear to the vulgar gossip of a\ngreat city than to what I told you; yet people should not be allowed\nto invent fictions to make you miserable.\n\nI have had all your effects moved to the Elysee. You shall come to\nParis at once; but be at ease and contented, and have full confidence\nin me.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 2._--Soult occupies Seville. The Junta takes refuge at\n Cadiz.\n\n _February 6._--Guadeloupe surrenders to the English.\n\n _February 7.--Convention of marriage between the Emperor Napoleon\n and the Archduchess Marie Louise._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT THE ELYSEE-NAPOLEON.\n\n _February 19, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. I long to see you, but the\nreflections that you make may be true. It is, perhaps, not desirable\nthat we should be under the same roof for the first year. Yet\nBessieres' country-house is too far off to go and return in one day;\nmoreover I have rather a cold, and am not sure of being able to go\nthere.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT THE ELYSEE-NAPOLEON.\n\n _Friday_, 6 P.M., 1810.\n\nSavary, as soon as he arrived, brought me your letter; I am sorry to\nsee you are unhappy. I am very glad that you saw nothing of the fire.\n\nI had fine weather at Rambouillet.\n\nHortense told me that you had some idea of coming to a dinner at\nBessieres, and of returning to Paris to sleep. I am sorry that you\nhave not been able to manage it.\n\nAdieu, dear. Be cheerful, and consider how much you please me\nthereby.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 22.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _March 12, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I trust that you will be pleased with what I have done for\nNavarre. You must see from that how anxious I am to make myself\nagreeable to you.\n\nGet ready to take possession of Navarre; you will go there on March\n25, to pass the month of April.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 1.--Civil marriage of Napoleon and Marie Louise._\n (_Religious marriage, April 2._)\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [36] The Empress, with Hortense, had been to dine at Trianon.\n\n [37] General Treasurer of the Crown.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES N\n\n1810\n\nAPRIL 2ND--DECEMBER 31ST\n\n(_after the Marriage with Marie Louise_).\n\n\"Bella gerant alii, tu, felix Austria! nube.\"\n\n\n\n\nSERIES N\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 304-310.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _Navarre_ 304\n _To Malmaison_ 305\n\n No. 1_a_. _It is written in a bad style_ 305\n\n No. 2. Josephine's wishes 305\n\n No. 2_a_. _Two letters_ 306\n\n No. 3. The northern tour of 1810 306\n _I will come to see you_ 307\n\n No. 4. _July 8th_ 308\n _You will have seen Eugene_ 308\n _That unfortunate daughter_ 308\n\n No. 5. _The conduct of the King of Holland_ 308\n\n No. 6. _To die in a lake_ 309\n\n No. 8. _Paris, this Friday_ 309\n\n No. 9. _The only suitable places_ 310\n\n No. 10. Malmaison 310\n _The Empress progresses satisfactorily_ 310", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "LETTER OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE TO THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON.\n\n _Navarre, April 19, 1810._\n\n_Sire_,-I have received, by my son, the assurance that your Majesty\nconsents to my return to Malmaison, and grants to me the advances\nasked for in order to make the chateau of Navarre habitable. This\ndouble favour, Sire, dispels to a great extent the uneasiness, nay,\neven the fears which your Majesty's long silence had inspired. I was\nafraid that I might be entirely banished from your memory; I see that\nI am not. I am therefore less wretched to-day, and even as happy as\nhenceforward it will be possible for me to be.\n\nI shall go at the end of the month to Malmaison, since your Majesty\nsees no objection to it. But I ought to tell you, Sire, that I should\nnot so soon have taken advantage of the latitude which your Majesty\nleft me in this respect had the house of Navarre not required, for my\nhealth's sake and for that of my household, repairs which are urgent.\nMy idea is to stay at Malmaison a very short time; I shall soon leave\nit in order to go to the waters. But while I am at Malmaison, your\nMajesty may be sure that I shall live there as if I were a thousand\nleagues from Paris. I have made a great sacrifice, Sire, and every day\nI realise more its full extent. Yet that sacrifice will be, as it\nought to be, a complete one on my part. Your Highness, amid your\nhappiness, shall be troubled by no expression of my regret.\n\nI shall pray unceasingly for your Majesty's happiness, perhaps even I\nshall pray that I may see you again; but your Majesty may be assured\nthat I shall always respect our new relationship. I shall respect it\nin silence, relying on the attachment that you had to me formerly; I\nshall call for no new proof; I shall trust to everything from your\njustice and your heart.\n\nI limit myself to asking from you one favour: it is, that you will\ndeign to find a way of sometimes convincing both myself and my\n_entourage_ that I have still a small place in your memory and a great\nplace in your esteem and friendship. By this means, whatever happens,\nmy sorrows will be mitigated without, as it seems to me, compromising\nthat which is of permanent importance to me, the happiness of your\nMajesty.\n\n JOSEPHINE.\n\n\nNo. 1A.\n\n(_Reply of the Emperor Napoleon to the preceding._)\n\nTO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT NAVARRE.\n\n _Compiegne, April 21, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have yours of April 18th; it is written in a bad style.\nI am always the same; people like me do not change. I know not what\nEugene has told you. I have not written to you because you have not\nwritten to me, and my sole desire is to fulfil your slightest\ninclination.\n\nI see with pleasure that you are going to Malmaison and that you are\ncontented; as for me, I shall be so likewise on hearing news from you\nand in giving you mine. I say no more about it until you have compared\nthis letter with yours, and after that I will leave you to judge which\nof us two is the better friend.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well, and be just for your sake and mine.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _April 23rd._--Battle of Lerida. Suchet defeats Spaniards.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "REPLY OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.\n\nA thousand, thousand loving thanks for not having forgotten me. My son\nhas just brought me your letter. With what impetuosity I read it, and\nyet I took a long time over it, for there was not a word which did not\nmake me weep; but these tears were very pleasant ones. I have found my\nwhole heart again--such as it will always be; there are affections\nwhich are life itself, and which can only end with it.\n\nI was in despair to find my letter of the 19th had displeased you; I\ndo not remember the exact expressions, but I know what torture I felt\nin writing it--the grief at having no news from you.\n\nI wrote you on my departure from Malmaison, and since then how often\nhave I wished to write you! but I appreciated the causes of your\nsilence and feared to be importunate with a letter. Yours has been the\ntrue balm for me. Be happy, be as much so as you deserve; it is my\nwhole heart which speaks to you. You have also just given me my share\nof happiness, and a share which I value the most, for nothing can\nequal in my estimation a proof that you still remember me.\n\nAdieu, dear; I again thank you as affectionately as I shall always\nlove you.\n\n JOSEPHINE.\n\n\nNo. 2A.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT THE CHATEAU NAVARRE.\n\n _Compiegne, April 28, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have just received two letters from you. I am writing to\nEugene. I have ordered that the marriage of Tascher with the Princess\nde la Leyen shall take place.\n\nTo-morrow I shall go to Antwerp to see my fleet and to give orders\nabout the works. I shall return on May 15th.\n\nEugene tells me that you wish to go to the waters; trouble yourself\nabout nothing. Do not listen to the gossip of Paris; it is idle and\nfar from knowing the real state of things. My affection for you does\nnot change, and I long to know that you are happy and contented.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter. Eugene will give you tidings of my\njourney and of the Empress. I am very glad that you are going to the\nwaters. I trust they may do you good.\n\nI wish very much to see you. If you are at Malmaison at the end of the\nmonth, I will come to see you. I expect to be at St. Cloud on the 30th\nof the month. My health is very good ... it only needs to hear that\nyou are contented and well. Let me know in what name you intend to\ntravel.\n\nNever doubt the whole truth of my affection for you; it will last as\nlong as I. You would be very unjust if you doubted it.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 1st.--Louis Bonaparte, King of Holland, abdicates in favour\n of his son._", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT THE WATERS OF AIX, IN SAVOY.\n\n _Rambouillet, July 8, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter of July 8th. You will have seen Eugene,\nand his presence will have done you good. I learn with pleasure that\nthe waters are beneficial to you. The King of Holland has just\nabdicated the throne, while leaving the Regency, according to the\nConstitution, in the hands of the Queen. He has quitted Amsterdam and\nleft the Grand Duke of Berg behind.\n\nI have reunited Holland to France, which has, however, the advantage\nof setting the Queen at liberty, and that[38] unfortunate girl is\ncoming to Paris with her son the Grand Duke of Berg--that will make\nher perfectly happy.\n\nMy health is good. I have come here to hunt for a few days. I shall\nsee you this autumn with pleasure. Never doubt my friendship; I never\nchange.\n\nKeep well, be cheerful, and believe in the truth of my attachment.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _July 9th._--Holland incorporated with the French Empire.\n\n _July 10th._--Ney takes Ciudad Rodrigo, after twenty-five days\n open trenches.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT THE WATERS OF AIX, IN SAVOY.\n\n _St. Cloud, July 20, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter of July 14th, and note with\npleasure that the waters are doing you good, and that you like Geneva.\nI think that you are doing well to go there for a few weeks.\n\nMy health is fairly good. The conduct of the King of Holland has\nworried me.\n\nHortense is shortly coming to Paris. The Grand Duke of Berg is on his\nway; I expect him to-morrow.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT THE WATERS OF AIX, IN SAVOY.\n\n _Trianon, August 10, 1810._\n\nYour letter to hand. I was pained to see what a risk you had run. For\nan inhabitant of the isles of the ocean to die in a lake would have\nbeen a fatality indeed!\n\nThe Queen is better, and I hope her health will be re-established. Her\nhusband is in Bohemia, apparently not knowing what to do.\n\nI am fairly well, and beg you to believe in my sincere attachment.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _August 21st._--Swedes elect Marshal Bernadotte Crown Prince of\n Sweden.\n\n _August 27th._--Massena takes Almeida.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT THE WATERS OF AIX, IN SAVOY.\n\n _St. Cloud, September 14, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter of September 9th. I learn with pleasure\nthat you keep well. There is no longer the slightest doubt that the\nEmpress has entered on the fourth month of her pregnancy; she is well,\nand is much attached to me. The young Princes Napoleon are very well;\nthey are in the Pavillon d'Italie, in the Park of St. Cloud.\n\nMy health is fairly good. I wish to learn that you are happy and\ncontented. I hear that one of your _entourage_ has broken a leg while\ngoing on the glacier.\n\nAdieu, dear. Never doubt the interest I take in you and the affection\nthat I bear towards you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _September 27th.--Battle of Busaco._ Like Ebersburg, another of\n Massena's expensive and unnecessary frontal attacks. He loses 5000\n men, but next day turns the position of Wellington, who continues\n to retire.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Paris, this Friday._\n\n_My Dear_,--Yours to hand. I am sorry to see that you have been ill; I\nfear it must be this bad weather.\n\nMadame de la T---- is one of the most foolish women of the Faubourg. I\nhave borne her cackle for a very long time; I am sick of it, and have\nordered that she does not come again to Paris. There are five or six\nother old women that I equally wish to send away from Paris; they are\nspoiling the young ones by their follies.\n\nI will name Madame de Makau Baroness since you wish it, and carry out\nyour other commissions.\n\nMy health is pretty good. The conduct of B---- appears to me very\nridiculous. I trust to hear that you are better.\n\nAdieu, dear.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT GENEVA.\n\n _Fontainebleau, October 1, 1810._\n\nI have received your letter. Hortense, whom I have seen, will have\ntold you what I think. Go to see your son this winter; come back to\nthe waters of Aix next year, or, still better, wait for the spring at\nNavarre. I would advise you to go to Navarre at once, if I did not\nfear you would get tired of it. In my view, the only suitable places\nfor you this winter are either Milan or Navarre; after that, I approve\nof whatever you may do, for I do not wish to vex you in anything.\n\nAdieu, dear. The Empress is as I told you in my last letter. I am\nnaming Madame de Montesquiou governess of the Children of France. Be\ncontented, and do not get excited; never doubt my affection for you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 6th._--Wellington reaches the lines of Torres Vedras.\n\n _November 9th._--Opening of St. Quentin Canal at Paris.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT NAVARRE.\n\n _Fontainebleau, November 14, 1810._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have received your letter. Hortense has spoken to me\nabout it. I note with pleasure that you are contented. I hope that you\nare not very tired of Navarre.\n\nMy health is very good. The Empress progresses satisfactorily. I will\ndo the various things you ask regarding your household. Take care of\nyour health, and never doubt my affection for you.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT NAVARRE.\n\nI have your letter. I see no objection to the marriage of Mackau with\nWattier, if he wishes it; this general is a very brave man. I am in\ngood health. I hope to have a son; I shall let you know immediately.\n\nAdieu, dear. I am very glad that Madame d'Arberg[39] has told you\nthings which please you. When you see me, you will find me with my old\naffection for you.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _December 3rd._--English take Mauritius.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [38] So _Collection Didot_, followed by Aubenas. St. Amand has \"ton\n infortunee fille.\"\n\n [39] Josephine's chief maid-of-honour.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES O\n\n\n1811\n\n \"Nun steht das Reich gesichert, wie gegruendet,\n Nun fuehlt er froh im Sohne sich gegruendet.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Und sei durch Sie dies letzte Glueck beschieden--\n Der alles wollen kann, will auch den Frieden.\"\n\n --GOETHE (_Ihro der Kaiserin von Frankreich Majestaet_).\n\n\n\n\nSERIES O\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 311-312.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. _The New Year_ 311\n _More women than men_ 311\n _Keep well_ 311\n\n No. 2. Birth of the King of Rome 311\n _Eugene_ 311\n\n No. 4. _As fat as a good Normandy farmeress_ 312", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT NAVARRE.\n\n _Paris, January 8th, 1811._\n\nI have your New Year's letter. I thank you for its contents. I note\nwith pleasure that you are well and happy. I hear that there are more\nwomen than men at Navarre.\n\nMy health is excellent, though I have not been out for a fortnight.\nEugene appears to have no fears about his wife; he gives you a\ngrandson.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _February 19th._--Soult defeats Spaniards at the Gebora, near\n Badajoz.\n\n _February 28th._--French occupy Duchy of Oldenburg, to complete\n the line of the North Sea blockade against England. This\n occupation embitters the Emperor of Russia and his family.\n\n _March 10th._--Mortier captures Badajoz after a siege of 54 days.\n\n _March 20th._--Birth of the _King of Rome_--\"a pompous title\n buried in the tomb of the Ostrogoths.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT NAVARRE.\n\n _Paris, March 22nd, 1811._\n\n_My Dear_,--I have your letter. I thank you for it.\n\nMy son is fat, and in excellent health. I trust he may continue to\nimprove. He has my chest, my mouth, and my eyes. I hope he may fulfil\nhis destiny. I am always well pleased with Eugene; he has never given\nme the least anxiety.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n _April 4th._--Battle of Fuentes d'Onoro. Massena attacks English,\n and is repulsed.\n\n _June 18th._--Wellington raises siege of Badajoz, and retires on\n Portugal.\n\n _June 29th._--French storm Tarragona, whereupon Suchet created\n Marshal.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Trianon, August 25th, 1811._\n\nI have your letter. I see with pleasure that you are in good health. I\nhave been for some days at Trianon. I expect to go to Compiegne. My\nhealth is very good.\n\nPut some order into your affairs. Spend only L60,000, and save as much\nevery year; that will make a reserve of L600,000 in ten years for your\ngrandchildren. It is pleasant to be able to give them something, and\nbe helpful to them. Instead of that, I hear you have debts, which\nwould be really too bad. Look after your affairs, and don't give to\nevery one who wants to help himself. If you wish to please me, let me\nhear that you have accumulated a large fortune. Consider how ill I\nmust think of you, if I know that you, with L125,000 a year, are in\ndebt.\n\nAdieu, dear; keep well.\n\n NAPOLEON.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Friday_, 8 A.M., 1811.\n\nI send to know how you are, for Hortense tells me you were in bed\nyesterday. I was annoyed with you about your debts. I do not wish you\nto have any; on the contrary, I wish you to put a million aside every\nyear, to give to your grandchildren when they get married.\n\nNevertheless, never doubt my affection for you, and don't worry any\nmore about the present embarrassment.\n\nAdieu, dear. Send me word that you are well. They say that you are as\nfat as a good Normandy farmeress.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _October 25th-26th._--Battle of Murviedro and capture of Sagunto:\n Blake and O'Donnell heavily defeated by Suchet.\n\n _December 20th._--Senatus Consultus puts 120,000 conscripts (born\n in 1792) at disposal of Government for 1812.\n\n _December 26th._--Suchet defeats Spanish, and crosses Guadalaviar.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES P\n\n\n1812\n\n \"'Tis the same landscape which the modern Mars saw\n Who march'd to Moscow, led by Fame, the siren!\n To lose by one month's frost, some twenty years\n Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers.\"\n\n --BYRON (_Don Juan_, canto x. stanza 58).\n\n\n\n\nSERIES P\n\n(For subjoined Notes to this Series see pages 312-315.)\n\n\n LETTER PAGE\n\n No. 1. Konigsberg 312\n\n No. 2. _Gumbinnen_ 313\n\n\n1812.\n\n Montgaillard sums up his tirade against Napoleon for the Russian\n campaign by noting that it took the Romans _ten_ years to conquer\n Gaul, while Napoleon \"would not give _two_ to the conquest of that\n vast desert of Scythia which forced Darius to flee, Alexander to\n draw back, Crassus to perish; where Julian terminated his career,\n where Valerian covered himself with shame, and which saw the\n disasters of Charles XII.\"\n\n _January 9th._--Suchet captures Valencia, 18,000 Spanish troops,\n and 400 cannon. The marshal is made Duke of Albufera.\n\n _January 15th._--Imperial decree ordains 100,000 acres to be put\n under cultivation of beetroot, for the manufacture of indigenous\n sugar.\n\n _January 19th._--Taking of Ciudad Rodrigo by Wellington.\n\n _January 26th._--French, under General Friand, occupy Stralsund\n and Swedish Pomerania.\n\n _February 24th._--Treaty of alliance between France and Prussia;\n the latter to support France in case of a war with Russia.\n\n _March 13th._--Senatus Consultus divides the National Guards into\n three bans, to include all capable men not already in military\n service. They are not to serve outside France. A hundred cohorts,\n each 970 strong, of the first ban (men between 20 and 26), put at\n disposal of Government.\n\n _March 14th._--Treaty between France and Austria; reciprocal help,\n in need, of 30,000 men and 60 guns. The integrity of European\n Turkey mutually guaranteed.\n\n _March 26th._--Treaty between Russia and Sweden. Bernadotte is\n promised Norway by Alexander.\n\n _April 7th._--The English take Badajoz by assault. \"The French\n General, Philippon, with but 3000 men, has been besieged thrice\n within thirteen months by armies of 50,000 men\" (_Montgaillard_).\n\n _April 24th._--Alexander leaves St. Petersburg, to take command of\n his Grand Army.\n\n _May 9th.--Napoleon leaves Paris for Germany._\n\n _May 11th._--Assassination of English Prime Minister, Perceval.\n\n _May 17th-28th.--Napoleon at Dresden; joined there by the Emperor\n and Empress of Austria, and a fresh_ \"parterre _of kings\"._\n\n _May 28th._---Treaty of Bucharest, between Turkey and Russia. The\n Pruth as boundary, and Servia restored to Turkey. This treaty, so\n fatal to Napoleon, and of which he only heard in October, was\n mainly the work of Stratford de Redcliffe, then aged twenty-five.\n Wellington, thinking the treaty his brother's work, speaks of it\n as \"the most important service that ever fell to the lot of any\n individual to perform.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_June 12th._--Suchet defeats an Anglo-Spanish army outside\n Tarragona.\n\nTO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _June 12th, 1812._\n\n_My Dear_,--I shall always receive news from you with great interest.\n\nThe waters will, I hope, do you good, and I shall see you with much\npleasure on your return.\n\nNever doubt the interest I feel in you. I will arrange all the matters\nof which you speak.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 16th._--Lord Liverpool Prime Minister of England.\n\n _June 18th._--United States declares war against England\n concerning rights of neutrals.\n\n _June 19th._--The captive Pope (Pius VII.) brought to Fontainebleau.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Gumbinnen, June 20th, 1812._\n\nI have your letter of June 10th. I see no obstacle to your going to\nMilan, to be near the Vice-Reine. You will do well to go _incognito_.\nYou will find it very hot.\n\nMy health is very good. Eugene is well, and is doing good work. Never\ndoubt the interest I have in you, and my friendship.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n * * * * *\n\n _June 22nd.--Napoleon from his headquarters, Wilkowyszki, declares\n war against Russia. His army comprised 550,000 men and 1200\n cannon, and he held sway at this epoch over 85,000,000 souls--half\n the then population of Europe._\n\n _June 24th._--French cross the Niemen, over 450,000 strong.[40] Of\n these 20,000 are Italians, 80,000 from Confederation of the Rhine,\n 30,000 Poles, 30,000 Austrians, and 20,000 Prussians. The Russian\n army numbers 360,000.\n\n _June 28th._--French enter Wilna, the old capital of Lithuania.\n _Napoleon remains here till July 16th, establishing a provisional\n government, and leaving his Foreign Minister, Maret, there._\n\n _July 12th._--Americans invade Canada.\n\n _July 18th._--Treaty of peace between England and Sweden; and\n between Russia and the Spanish Regency at Cadiz.\n\n _July 22nd._--_Battle of Salamanca_ (Arapiles). Marmont defeated\n by Wellington, and badly wounded. French lose nearly 8000 men and\n 5000 prisoners; English loss, 5200. The Spanish Regency had\n decided to submit to Joseph Bonaparte, but this battle deters\n them. French retire behind the Douro.\n\n _July 23rd._--Combat of Mohilow, on the Dneiper. Davoust defeats\n Bagration.\n\n _July 28th._--French enter Witepsk.\n\n _August 1st._--Treaty of alliance between Great Britain and\n Russia. English fleet henceforward guards the Gulf of Riga. Combat\n of Obaiarzma, on the bank of the Drissa. Marshal Oudinot defeats\n Wittgenstein. Russians lose 5000 men and 14 guns.\n\n _August 9th._--Battle of Brownstown (near Toronto). Americans\n defeated; surrender August 16th with 2500 men and 33 guns to\n General Brock.\n\n _August 12th._--Wellington enters Madrid.\n\n _August 17th-18th.--Battle and capture of Smolensk. Napoleon\n defeats Barclay de Tolly; Russians lose 12,000, French less than\n half._\n\n _August 18th._--Battle of Polotsk, fifty miles from Witepsk, down\n the Dwina. St. Cyr defeats Wittgenstein's much larger army, and\n takes 20 guns. (St. Cyr made marshal for this battle, August\n 27th.)\n\n _August 19th._--Combat of Volontino-Cova, beyond Smolensk. Ney\n defeats Russians.\n\n _August 27th._--Norway guaranteed Sweden in lieu of Finland by\n Russia.\n\n _August 28th._--Interview at Abo, in Finland, between Alexander,\n Bernadotte, and Lord Cathcart (English ambassador). Decided that\n Sweden shall join the crusade against France, and that Moreau be\n imported from U.S.A. to command another army.\n\n _August 29th._--Viazma, burnt by Russians, entered by the French.\n\n _September 7th._--Battle of Borodino (_La Moskowa_). Nearly all\n the Russian generals are present: Barclay de Tolly, Beningsen,\n Bagration (who is killed), all under Kutusoff. Russians lose\n 30,000 men, French 20,000, including many generals who had\n survived all the campaigns of the Revolution. The French, hungry\n and soaked in rain, have no energy to pursue.\n\n _September 14th._--Occupation of Moscow; fired by emissaries of\n Rostopchin, its late governor. Of 4000 stone houses only 200\n remain, of 8000 wooden ones 500. Over 20,000 sick and wounded\n burnt in their beds. Fire lasts till September 20th.\n\n _September 18th._--Russian Army of the Danube under Admiral\n Tschitchagow joins the Army of Reserve.\n\n _September 26th._--Russian troops from Finland disembark at Riga.\n\n _September 30th.--Napoleon finds a copy of Treaty of Bucharest at\n Moscow._\n\n _October 11th._--Admiral Tschitchagow with 36,000 men reaches\n Bresc, on the Bug, threatening the French communications with\n Warsaw.\n\n _October 17th-19th._--Second combat of Polotsk. Wittgenstein again\n defeated by St. Cyr, who is wounded.\n\n _October 18th._--Combat of Winkowo; Kutusoff defeats Murat.\n Americans defeated at Queenston Heights, on the Niagara, and lose\n 900 men.\n\n _October 19th._--Commencement of the Retreat from Moscow.\n\n _October 22nd._--Burgos captured by Wellington.\n\n _October 23rd._--Conspiracy of Malet at Paris; Cambaceres to the\n rescue. Evacuation of Moscow by Mortier after forty days'\n occupation. The French army now retreating has only half its\n original strength, and the best cavalry regiments boast only 100\n horses.\n\n _October 24th.--Battle of Malo-Jaroslavitz. Eugene with 17,000_\n _men defeats Kutusoff with 60,000; but Napoleon finds the enemy\n too strong and too tenacious to risk the fertile Kaluga route._\n\n _November 3rd._--Battle of Wiazma. Rearguard action, in which Ney\n and Eugene are distinguished.\n\n _November 9th.--Napoleon reaches Smolensk and hears of Malet\n conspiracy._\n\n _November 14th._--Evacuation of Smolensk.\n\n _November 16th._--Russian Army (of the Danube) takes Minsk, and\n cuts off the French from the Niemen.\n\n _November 16th-19th._--Combat of Krasnoi, twenty-five miles west\n of Smolensk. Kutusoff with 30,000 horse and 70,000 foot tries to\n stop the French, who have only 25,000 effective combatants.\n Magnificent fighting by Ney with his rearguard of 6000.\n\n _November 21st._--Russians seize at Borizow the bridges over the\n Beresina, which are\n\n _November 23rd._--Retaken by Oudinot.\n\n _November 26th-28th._--French cross the Beresina, but lose 20,000\n prisoners and nearly all their cannon (150).\n\n _November 29th.--Napoleon writes Maret he has heard nothing of\n France or Spain for fifteen days._\n\n _December 3rd._--Twenty-ninth bulletin dated Malodeczna, fifty\n miles west of Borisow.\n\n _December 5th.--Napoleon reaches Smorgoni, and starts for\n France._\n\n _December 10th._--Murat, left in command, evacuates Wilna. French\n retreat in utter rout; \"It is not General Kutusoff who routed the\n French, it is General Morosow\" (the frost), said the Russians.\n\n _December 14th.--Napoleon reaches Dresden, and_\n\n _December 18th.--Paris._\n\n _December 19th._--Evacuation of Kovno and passage of the Niemen.\n\n _December 20th.--Napoleon welcomed by the Senate in a speech by\n the naturalist Lacepede: \"The absence of your Majesty, sire, is\n always a national calamity.\"_\n\n _December 30th._--Defection of the Prussian General York and\n Convention of Taurogen, near Tilsit, between Russia and Prussia.\n This defection is the signal for the uprising of Germany from the\n Oder to the Rhine, from the Baltic to the Julienne Alps.\n\n\n1813.\n\n _January 5th._--Konigsberg occupied by the Russians.\n\n _January 13th._--Senatus Consultus calls up 250,000 conscripts.\n\n _January 22nd._--Americans defeated at Frenchtown, near Detroit,\n and lose 1200 men.\n\n _January 25th.--Concordat at Fontainebleau between Napoleon and\n Pope Pius VII., with advantageous terms for the Papacy. The Pope,\n however, soon breaks faith._\n\n _January 28th.--Murat deserts the French army for Naples, and\n leaves Posen. \"Your husband is very brave on the battlefield, but\n he is weaker than a woman or a monk when he is not face to face\n with an enemy. He has no moral courage\"_ (_Napoleon to his sister\n Caroline, January 24, 1813._ Brotonne, 1032). _Replaced by Eugene\n (Napoleon's letter dated January 22nd)._\n\n _February 1st._--Proclamation of Louis XVIII. to the French people\n (dated London).\n\n _February 8th._--Warsaw surrenders to Russia.\n\n _February 10th._--Proclamation of Emperor Alexander calling on the\n people of Germany to shake off the yoke of \"one man.\"\n\n _February 28th._--Sixth Continental Coalition against France.\n Treaty signed between Russia and Prussia at Kalisch.\n\n _March 3rd._--New treaty between England and Sweden at Stockholm:\n Sweden to receive a subsidy of a million sterling and the island\n of Guadaloupe in return for supporting the Coalition with 30,000\n men.\n\n _March 4th._--Cossacks occupy Berlin. Madison inaugurated\n President U.S.A.\n\n _March 9th._--Eugene removes his headquarters to Leipsic.\n\n _March 12th._--French evacuate Hamburg.\n\n _March 21st._--Russians and Prussians take new town of Dresden.\n\n _April 1st._--France declares war on Prussia.\n\n _April 10th._--_Death of Lagrange, mathematician_; _greatly bemoaned\n by Napoleon, who considered his death as a \"presentiment\"_\n (D'Abrantes).\n\n _April 14th._--Swedish army lands in Germany.\n\n _April 15th.--Napoleon leaves Paris; arrives Erfurt (April 25th)._\n Americans take Mobile.\n\n _April 16th._--Thorn (garrisoned by 900 Bavarians) surrenders to\n the Russians. Fort York (now Toronto) and\n\n _April 27th._--Upper Canada taken by the Americans.\n\n _May 1st._--Death of the Abbe Delille, poet. Opening of campaign.\n French forces scattered in Germany, 166,000 men; Allies' forces\n ready for action, 225,000 men. Marshal Bessieres killed by a\n cannon-ball at Poserna.\n\n _May 2nd.--Napoleon with 90,000 men defeats Prussians and Russians\n at Lutzen (Gross-Goerschen) with 110,000; French loss, 10,000.\n Battle won_ _chiefly by French artillery. Emperor of Russia and\n King of Prussia present._\n\n _May 8th.--Napoleon and the French reoccupy Dresden._\n\n _May 18th._--Eugene reaches Milan, and enrols an Italian army\n 47,000 strong.\n\n _May 19th-21st.--Combats of Konigswartha, Bautzen, Hochkirch,\n Wuerschen. Napoleon defeats Prussians and Russians; French loss,\n 12,000; Allies, 20,000._\n\n _May 23rd.--Duroc (shot on May 22nd) dies. \"Duroc,\" said the\n Emperor, \"there is another life. It is there you will go to await\n me, and there we shall meet again some day.\"_\n\n _May 27th._--Americans capture Fort George (Lake Ontario) and\n\n _May 29th._--Defeat English at Sackett's Harbour.\n\n _May 30th._--French re-enter Hamburg and\n\n _June 1st._--Occupy Breslau. British frigate _Shannon_ captures\n _Chesapeake_ in fifteen minutes outside Boston harbour.\n\n _June 4th.--Armistice of Plesswitz, between Napoleon and the\n Allies._\n\n _June 6th._--Americans (3500) surprised at Burlington Heights by\n 700 British.\n\n _June 15th.--Siege of Tarragona raised by Suchet; English\n re-embark, leaving their artillery. \"If I had had two marshals\n such as Suchet, I should not only have conquered Spain, but I\n should have kept it\"_ (_Napoleon in_ Campan's Memoirs).\n\n _June 21st._--Battle of Vittoria; total rout of the French under\n Marshal Jourdan and King Joseph. In retreat the army is much more\n harassed by the guerillas than by the English.\n\n _June 23rd._--Admiral Cockburn defeated at Craney Island by\n Americans.\n\n _June 24th._--Five hundred Americans surrender to two hundred\n Canadians at Beaver's Dams.\n\n _June 25th._--Combat of Tolosa. Foy stops the advance of the\n English right wing.\n\n _June 30th.--Convention at Dresden. Napoleon accepts the mediation\n of Austria; armistice prolonged to August 10th._\n\n _July 1st._--Soult sent to take chief command in Spain.\n\n _July 10th._--Alliance between France and Denmark.\n\n _July 12th.--Congress of Prague. Austria, Prussia, and Russia\n decide that Germany must be independent, and the French Empire\n bounded by the Rhine and the Alps; \"but to reign over 36,000,000\n men did not appear to Napoleon a sufficiently great destiny\"_\n (Montgaillard). _Congress breaks up July 28th._\n\n _July 26th._--Moreau arrives from U.S., and lands at Gothenburg.\n\n _July 31st._--Soult attacks Anglo-Spanish army near Roncesvalles\n in order to succour Pampeluna. Is repulsed, with loss of 8000\n men.\n\n _August 12th._--Austria notifies its adhesion to the Allies.\n\n _August 15th.--Jomini, the Swiss tactician, turns traitor and\n escapes to the Allies. He advises them of Napoleon's plans to\n seize Berlin and relieve Dantzic [see letter to Ney, No. 19,714,\n 20,006, and especially 20,360 (August 12th) in_ Correspondence].\n _On August 16th Napoleon writes to Cambaceres: \"Jomini, Ney's\n chief of staff, has deserted. It is he who published some volumes\n on the campaigns and who has been in the pay of Russia for a long\n time. He has yielded to corruption. He is a soldier of little\n value, yet he is a writer who has grasped some of the sound\n principles of war.\"_\n\n _August 17th.--Renewal of hostilities in Germany. Napoleon's army,\n 280,000, of whom half recruits who had never seen a battle; the\n Allies 520,000, excluding militia. In his counter-manifesto to\n Austria, dated Bautzen, Napoleon declares \"Austria, the enemy of\n France, and cloaking her ambition under the mask of a mediation,\n complicated everything.... But Austria, our avowed foe, is in a\n truer guise, and one perfectly obvious. Europe is therefore much\n nearer peace; there is one complication the less.\"_\n\n _August 18th._--Suchet, having blown up fortifications of\n Tarragona, evacuates Valentia.\n\n _August 21st._--Opening of the campaign in Italy. Eugene, with\n 50,000 men, commands the Franco-Italian army.\n\n _August 23rd._--Combats of Gross-Beeren and Ahrensdorf, near\n Berlin. Bernadotte defeats Oudinot with loss of 1500 men and 20\n guns. Berlin is preserved to the Allies. Oudinot replaced by Ney.\n Lauriston defeats Army of Silesia at Goldberg with heavy loss.\n\n _August 26th-27th.--Battle of Dresden.--Napoleon marches a hundred\n miles in seventy hours to the rescue. With less than 100,000 men\n he defeats the Allied Army of 180,000 under Schwartzenberg,\n Wittgenstein, and Kleist. Austrians lose 20,000 prisoners and 60\n guns. Moreau is mortally wounded (dies September 1st)._ Combat of\n the Katzbach, in Silesia. Blucher defeats Macdonald with heavy\n loss, who loses 10,000 to 12,000 men in his retreat.\n\n _August 30th._--Combat of Kulm. Vandamme enveloped in Bohemia, and\n surrenders with 12,000 men.\n\n _August 31st._--Combat of Irun. Soult attacks Wellington to save\n San Sebastian, but is repulsed. Graham storms San Sebastian.\n\n _September 6th._--Combat of Dennewitz (near Berlin). Ney routed by\n Bulow and Bernadotte; loses his artillery, baggage, and 12,000\n men.\n\n _September 10th_--Americans capture the English flotilla on Lake\n Erie.\n\n _September 12th._--Combat of Villafranca (near Barcelona). Suchet\n defeats English General Bentinck.\n\n _October 7th._--Wellington crosses the Bidassoa into France. \"It\n is on the frontier of France itself that ends the enterprise of\n Napoleon on Spain. The Spaniards have given the first conception\n of a people's war versus a war of professionals. For it would be a\n mistake to think that the battles of Salamanca (July 22nd, 1812)\n and Vittoria (June 21st, 1813) forced the French to abandon the\n Peninsula.... It was the daily losses, the destruction of man by\n man, the drops of French blood falling one by one, which in five\n years aggregated a death-roll of 150,000 men. As to the English,\n they appeared in this war only as they do in every world-crisis,\n to gather, in the midst of general desolation, the fruits of their\n policy, and to consolidate their plans of maritime despotism, of\n exclusive commerce\" (Montgaillard).\n\n _October 15th._--Bavarian army secedes and joins the Austrians.\n\n _October 16th-19th.--Battles of Leipsic._ _Allied army_ 330,000\n men (_Schwartzenberg_, _Bernadotte_, _Blucher_, _Beningsen_),\n _Napoleon_ 175,000. _Twenty-six battalions and ten squadrons of\n Saxon and Wurtemberg men leave Napoleon and turn their guns\n against the French. Napoleon is not defeated, but determines to\n retreat. The rearguard (20,000 men) and 200 cannon taken.\n Poniatowski drowned; Reynier and Lauriston captured._\n\n _October 20th._--Blucher made Field-Marshal.\n\n _October 23rd._--French army reach Erfurt.\n\n _October 30th.--Combat of Hanau. Napoleon defeats Wrede with heavy\n loss._\n\n _October 31st._--Combat and capture of Bassano by Eugene. English\n capture Pampeluna.\n\n _November 2nd.--Napoleon arrives at Mayence (where typhus carries\n off 40,000 French), and is_\n\n _November 9th.--At St. Cloud._\n\n _November 10th._--Wellington defeats Soult at St. Jean de Luz.\n\n _November 11th._--Surrender of Dresden by Gouvion St. Cyr; its\n French soldiers to return under parole to France. Austrians refuse\n to ratify the convention, and 1700 officers and 23,000 men remain\n prisoners of war.\n\n _November 14th.--Napoleon addresses the Senate: \"All Europe\n marched with us a year ago; all Europe marches against us to-day.\n That is because the world's opinion is directed either by France\n or England.\"_\n\n _November 15th._--Eugene defeats Austrians at Caldiero.\n Senatus-Consultus puts 300,000 conscripts at disposal of\n government.\n\n _November 24th._--Capture of Amsterdam by Prussian General Bulow.\n\n _December 1st._--Allies declare at Frankfort that they are at war\n with the Emperor and not with France.\n\n _December 2nd._--Bulow occupies Utrecht. Holland secedes from the\n French Empire.\n\n _December 5th._--Capture of Lubeck by the Swedes, and surrender of\n Stettin (7000 prisoners), Zamosk (December 22nd), Modlin (December\n 25th), and Torgau (December 26th, with 10,000 men).\n\n _December 8th-13th._--Soult defends the passage of the Nive--costly\n to both sides. Murat (now hostile to Napoleon) enters Ancona.\n\n _December 9th-10th._--French evacuate Breda.\n\n _December 11th.--Treaty of Valencay between Napoleon and his\n prisoner Ferdinand VII., who is to reign over Spain, but not to\n cede Minorca or Ceuta (now in their power} to the English._\n\n _December 15th._--Denmark secedes from French alliance.\n\n _December 21st._--Allies, 100,000 strong, cross the Rhine in ten\n divisions (Bale to Schaffhausen). Jomini is said to have\n contributed to this violation of Swiss territory.\n\n _December 24th._--Final evacuation of Holland by the French.\n\n _December 28th._--Austrians capture Ragusa.\n\n _December 31st.--Napoleon, having trouble with his Commons,\n dissolves the Corps Legislatif._ Austrians capture Geneva. Blucher\n crosses the Rhine at Mannheim and Coblentz. Exclusive of Landwehr\n and levies en masse, there are now a million trained men in arms\n against Napoleon.\n\n * * * * *\n\n1814.\n\n \"The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon was\n the sole obstacle to the re-establishment of the Peace of Europe,\n the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath, declares that he\n renounces, for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and\n Italy, and that there is no personal sacrifice, even that of life\n itself, that he will not be ready to make for the sake of\n France.\"--(_Act of Abdication._)\n\n * * * * *\n\n _January 1st._--Capitulation of Danzic, which General Rapp had\n defended for nearly a year, having lost 20,000 (out of 30,000) men\n by fever. Russians, who had promised to send the French home,\n break faith, following the example of Schwartzenberg at Dresden.\n\n _January 2nd._--Russians take Fort Louis (Lower Rhine); and\n\n _January 3rd._--Austrians Montbeliard; and Bavarians Colmar.\n\n _January 6th._--General York occupies Treves. Convention between\n Murat and England and (January 11th) with Austria. Murat is to\n join Allies with 30,000 men.\n\n _January 7th._--Austrians occupy Vesoul.\n\n _January 8th._--French Rentes 5 per cents. at 47.50. Wurtemberg\n troops occupy Epinal.\n\n _January 10th._--General York reaches Forbach (on the Moselle).\n\n _January 15th._--Cossacks occupy Cologne.\n\n _January 16th._--Russians occupy Nancy.\n\n _January 19th._--Austrians occupy Dijon; Bavarians, Neufchateau.\n Murat's troops occupy Rome.\n\n _January 20th._--Capture of Toul by the Russians; and of Chambery\n by the Austrians.\n\n _January 21st._--Austrians occupy Chalons-sur-Saone. General York\n crosses the Meuse.\n\n _January 23rd._--Pope Pius VII. returns to Rome.\n\n _January 25th._--General York and Army of Silesia established at\n St. Dizier and Joinville on the Marne. Austrians occupy\n Bar-sur-Aube. _Napoleon leaves Paris; and_\n\n _January 26th.--Reaches Chalons-sur-Marne; and_\n\n _January 27th.--Retakes St. Dizier in person._\n\n _January 29th.--Combat of Brienne. Napoleon defeats Blucher._\n\n _February 1st._--Battle of La Rothiere, six miles north of\n Brienne. French, 40,000; Allies, 110,000. Drawn battle, but French\n retreat on Troyes; French evacuate Brussels.\n\n _February 4th._--Eugene retires upon the Mincio.\n\n _February 5th.--Cortes disavow Napoleon's treaty of Valencay with\n Ferdinand VII._ Opening of Congress of Chatillon. General York\n occupies Chalons-sur-Marne.\n\n _February 7th._--Allies seize Troyes.\n\n _February 8th._--Battle of the Mincio. Eugene with 30,000\n conscripts defeats Austrians under Bellegarde with 50,000\n veterans.\n\n _February 10th.--Combat of Champaubert. Napoleon defeats\n Russians._\n\n _February 11th.--Combat of Montmirail. Napoleon defeats Sacken.\n Russians occupy Nogent-sur-Seine; and_\n\n _February 12th.--Laon._\n\n _February 14th.--Napoleon routs Blucher at Vauchamp. His losses,\n 10,000 men; French loss, 600 men. In five days Napoleon has wiped\n out the five corps of the Army of Silesia, inflicting a loss of\n 25,000 men._\n\n _February 17th.--Combat near Nangis. Napoleon defeats Austro-Russians\n with loss of 10,000 men and 12 cannon._\n\n _February 18th._--Combat of Montereau. Prince Royal of Wurtemberg\n defeated with loss of 7000.\n\n _February 21st._--Comte d'Artois arrives at Vesoul.\n\n _February 22nd._--Combat of Mery-sur-Seine. Sacken defeated by\n Boyer's Division, who fight in masks--it being Shrove Tuesday.\n\n _February 24th._--French re-enter Troyes.\n\n _February 27th._--Bulow captures La Fere with large stores. Battle\n of Orthes (Pyrenees), Wellington with 70,000 defeats Soult\n entrenched with 38,000. Foy badly wounded.\n\n _February 27th-28th._--Combats of Bar and Ferte-sur-Aube. Marshals\n Oudinot and Macdonald forced to retire on the Seine.\n\n _March 1st._--Treaty of Chaumont--Allies against Napoleon.\n\n _March 2nd._--Bulow takes Soissons.\n\n _March 4th._--Macdonald evacuates Troyes.\n\n _March 7th.--Battle of Craonne between Napoleon (30,000 men) and\n Sacken (100,000)._ Indecisive.\n\n _March 9th._--English driven from Berg-op-Zoom.\n\n _March 9th-10th.--Combat under Laon: depot of Allied army.\n Napoleon fails to capture it._\n\n _March 12th._--Duc d'Angouleme arrives at Bordeaux. This town is\n the first to declare for the Bourbons, and to welcome him as Louis\n XVIII.\n\n _March 13th._--Ferdinand VII. set at liberty.\n\n _March 14th.--Napoleon retakes Rheims from the Russians._\n\n _March 19th._--Rupture of Treaty of Chatillon.\n\n _March 20th._--Battle of Tarbes. Wellington defeats French.\n\n _March 20th-21st._--Battle of Arcis-sur-Aube. Indecisive.\n\n _March 21st._--Austrians enter Lyons. Augereau retires on Valence.\n Had Eugene joined him with his 40,000 men he might have saved\n France after Vauchamp.\n\n _March 25th._--Combat of Fere-Champenoise. Marmont and Mortier\n defeated with loss of 9000 men.\n\n _March 26th.--Combat of St. Dizier. Napoleon defeats Russians, and\n starts to save Paris._\n\n _March 29th.--Allies outside Paris. Napoleon at Troyes (125 miles\n off)._\n\n _March 30th.--Battle of Paris._ The Emperor's orders disobeyed.\n Heavy cannon from Cherbourg left outside Paris, also 20,000\n men. Clarke deserts to the Allies. Joseph runs away, leaving\n Marmont permission to capitulate. After losing 5000 men (and\n Allies 8000) Marmont evacuates Paris and retires. _Napoleon\n reaches Fontainebleau in the evening, and hears the bad news._\n\n _March 31st._--Emperor of Russia, King of Prussia, and 36,000 men\n enter Paris. Stocks and shares advance. Emperor Alexander states,\n \"The Allied Sovereigns will treat no longer with Napoleon\n Bonaparte, nor any of his family.\"\n\n _April 1st._--Senate, with Talleyrand as President, institute a\n Provisional Government.\n\n _April 2nd._--Provisional Government address the army: \"You are no\n longer the soldiers of Napoleon; the Senate and the whole of\n France absolve you from your oaths.\" They also declare Napoleon\n deposed from the throne, and his family from the succession.\n\n _April 4th.--Napoleon signs a declaration of abdication in favour\n of his son, but after two days' deliberation, and Marmont's\n defection, Alexander insists on an absolute abdication._\n\n _April 5th._--Convention of Chevilly. Marmont agrees to join the\n Provisional Government, and disband his army under promise that\n Allies will guarantee life and liberty to Napoleon Bonaparte.\n Funds on March 29th at 45, now at 63.75.\n\n _April 6th._--New Constitution decreed by the Senate. The National\n Guard ordered to wear the White Cockade in lieu of the Tricolor.\n\n _April 10th._--Battle of Toulouse. Hotly contested; almost a\n defeat for Wellington.\n\n _April 11th.--Treaty of Paris between Napoleon and Allies\n (Austria, Russia, and Prussia). Isle of Elba reserved for Napoleon\n and his family, with a revenue of L200,000; the Duchies of Parma\n and Placentia for Marie Louise and her son. England accedes to\n this Treaty. Act of Abdication of the Emperor Napoleon._\n\n _April 12th._--Count d'Artois enters Paris.\n\n _April 16th._--Convention between Eugene and Austrian General\n Bellegarde. Emperor of Austria sees Marie Louise at the little\n Trianon, and decides upon his daughter's return to Vienna.\n\n _April 18th._--Armistice of Soult and Wellington.\n\n _April 20th.--Napoleon leaves Fontainebleau, and bids adieu to his\n Old Guard: \"Do not mourn over my fate; if I have determined to\n survive, it is in order still to dedicate myself to your glory; I\n wish to write about the great things we have done together.\"_\n\n _April 24th._--Louis XVIII. lands at Calais, and\n\n _May 3rd._---Enters Paris.\n\n _May 4th.---Napoleon reaches Elba._\n\n _May 29th.--Death of Josephine, aged 51._\n\n _May 30th.--Peace of Paris._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [40] Averaged from early historians of the campaigns. Marbot gives the\n numbers 155,400 French and 175,000 Allies. Allowing for the\n secession of the Austrian and Prussian contingents and for\n 30,000 prisoners, he gives the actual French death-roll by\n February 1813 at 65,000. This is a minimum estimate.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n_THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGNS, 1796-97_\n\n\n\n\nSERIES A\n\n(_The numbers correspond to the numbers of the Letters._)", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_Bonaparte made Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Italy._--Marmont's\naccount of how this came to pass is probably substantially correct, as\nhe has less interest in distorting the facts than any other writer as\nwell fitted for the task. The winter had rolled by in the midst of\npleasures--soirees at the Luxembourg, dinners of Madame Tallien,\n\"nor,\" he adds, \"were we hard to please.\" \"The Directory often\nconversed with General Bonaparte about the army of Italy, whose\ngeneral--Scherer--was always representing the position as difficult,\nand never ceasing to ask for help in men, victuals, and money. General\nBonaparte showed, in many concise observations, that all that was\nsuperfluous. He strongly blamed the little advantage taken from the\nvictory at Loano, and asserted that, even yet, all that could be put\nright. Thus a sort of controversy was maintained between Scherer and\nthe Directory, counselled and inspired by Bonaparte.\" At last when\nBonaparte drew up plans--afterwards followed--for the invasion of\nPiedmont, Scherer replied roughly that he who had drawn up the plan of\ncampaign had better come and execute it. They took him at his word,\nand Bonaparte was named General-in-Chief of the army of Italy (vol. i.\n93).\n\n\"_7 A.M._\"--Probably written early in March. Leaving Paris on March\n11th, Napoleon writes Letourneur, President of the Directory, of his\nmarriage with the \"citoyenne Tascher Beauharnais,\" and tells him that\nhe has already asked Barras to inform them of the fact. \"The\nconfidence which the Directory has shown me under all circumstances\nmakes it my duty to keep it advised of all my actions. It is a new\nlink which binds me to the fatherland; it is one more proof of my\nfixed determination to find safety only in the Republic.\"[41]", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "\"_Our good Ossian._\"--The Italian translation of Ossian by Cesarotti\nwas a masterpiece; better, in fact, than the original. He was a friend\nof Macpherson, and had learnt English in order to translate his work.\nCesarotti lived till an advanced age, and was sought out in his\nretirement in order to receive honours and pensions from the Emperor\nNapoleon.\n\n\"Our good Ossian\" speaks, like Homer, of the joy of grief.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "\"_Chauvet is dead._\"--Chauvet is first mentioned in Napoleon's\ncorrespondence in a letter to his brother Joseph, August 9, 1795.\nMdme. Junot, _Memoirs_, i. 138, tells us that Bonaparte was very fond\nof him, and that he was a man of gentle manners and very ordinary\nconversation. She declares that Bonaparte had been a suitor for the\nhand of her mother shortly before his marriage with Josephine, and\nthat because the former rejected him, the general had refused a favour\nto her son; this had caused a quarrel which Chauvet had in vain tried\nto settle. On March 27th Bonaparte had written Chauvet from Nice that\nevery day that he delayed joining him, \"takes away from my operations\none chance of probability for their success.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "St. Amand notes that Bonaparte begins to suspect his wife in this\nletter, while the previous ones, especially that of April 3rd, show\nperfect confidence. Napoleon is on the eve of a serious battle, and\nhas only just put his forces into fighting trim. On the previous day\n(April 6th) he wrote to the Directory that the movement against Genoa,\nof which he does not approve, has brought the enemy out of their\nwinter quarters almost before he has had time to make ready. \"The army\nis in a state of alarming destitution; I have still great difficulties\nto surmount, but they are surmountable: misery has excused want of\ndiscipline, and without discipline never a victory. I hope to have all\nin good trim shortly--there are signs already; in a few days we shall\nbe fighting. The Sardinian army consists of 50,000 foot, and 5000\nhorse; I have only 45,000 men at my disposal, all told. Chauvet, the\ncommissary-general, died at Genoa: it is a heavy loss to the army, he\nwas active and enterprising.\"\n\nTwo days later Napoleon, still at Albenga, reports that he has found\nRoyalist traitors in the army, and complains that the Treasury had not\nsent the promised pay for the men, \"but in spite of all, we shall\nadvance.\" Massena, eleven years older than his new commander-in-chief,\nhad received him coldly, but soon became his right-hand man, always\ngenial, and full of good ideas. Massena's men are ill with too much\nsalt meat, they have hardly any shoes, but, as in 1800,[42] he has\nnever a doubt that Bonaparte will make a good campaign, and determines\nto loyally support him. Poor Laharpe, so soon to die, is a man of a\ndifferent stamp--one of those, doubtless, of whom Bonaparte thinks\nwhen he writes to Josephine, \"Men worry me.\" The Swiss, in fact, was a\nchronic grumbler, but a first-rate fighting man, even when his men\nwere using their last cartridges.\n\n\"_The lovers of nineteen._\"--The allusion is lost. Aubenas, who\nreproduces two or three of these letters, makes a comment to this\nsentence, \"Nous n'avons pu trouver un nom a mettre sous cette\nfantasque imagination\" (vol. i. 317).\n\n\"_My brother_,\" viz. Joseph.--He and Junot reached Paris in five days,\nand had a great ovation. Carnot, at a dinner-party, showed Napoleon's\nportrait next to his heart, because \"I foresee he will be the saviour\nof France, and I wish him to know that he has at the Directory only\nadmirers and friends.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_Unalterably good._--\"C'est Joseph peint d'un seul trait.\"--Aubenas\n(vol. i. 320).\n\n\"_If you want a place for any one, you can send him here. I will give\nhim one._\"--Bonaparte was beginning to feel firm in the saddle,\nwhile at Paris Josephine was treated like a princess. Under date\nApril 25th, Letourneur, as one of the Directory, writes him, \"A vast\ncareer opens itself before you; the Directory has measured the\nwhole extent of it.\" They little knew! The letter concludes by\nexpressing confidence that their general will never be reproached\nwith the shameful repose of Capua. In a further letter, bearing\nthe same date, Letourneur insists on a full and accurate account of\nthe battles being sent, as they will be necessary \"for the history of\nthe triumphs of the Republic.\" In a private letter to the Directory\n(No. 220, vol. i. of the _Correspondence_, 1858), dated Carru, April\n24th, Bonaparte tells them that when he returns to camp, worn-out,\nhe has to work all night to put matters straight, and repress\npillage. \"Soldiery without bread work themselves into an excess of\nfrenzy which makes one blush to be a man.\"[43]... \"I intend to make\nterrible examples. I shall restore order, or cease to command these\nbrigands. The campaign is not yet decided. The enemy is desperate,\nnumerous, and fights well. He knows I am in want of everything, and\ntrusts entirely to time; but I trust entirely to the good genius of\nthe Republic, to the bravery of the soldiers, to the harmony of the\nofficers, and even to the confidence they repose in me.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "Aubenas goes into ecstasies over this letter, \"the longest, most\neloquent, and most impassioned of the whole series\" (vol. i. 322).\n\nFacsimile of Letter dated April 24, 1796.\n\n_June 15._--Here occurs the first gap in the correspondence, but\nhis letters to the Directory between this date and the last letter\nto Josephine extant (April 24) are full of interest, including his\nconscientious disobedience at Cherasco, and the aura of his destiny\nto \"ride the whirlwind and direct the storm\" which first inspired him\nafter Lodi. On April 28th was signed the armistice of Cherasco, by\nwhich his rear was secured by three strong fortresses.[44] He writes\nthe Directory that Piedmont is at their mercy, and that in making the\narmistice into a definite peace he trusts they will not forget the\nlittle island of Saint-Pierre, which will be more useful in the\nfuture than Corsica and Sardinia combined. He looks upon northern\nItaly as practically conquered, and speaks of invading Bavaria\nthrough the Tyrol. \"Prodigious\" is practically the verdict of the\nDirectory, and later of Jomini. \"My columns are marching; Beaulieu\nflees. I hope to catch him. I shall impose a contribution of some\nmillions on the Duke of Parma: he will sue for peace: don't be in a\nhurry, so that I may have time to make him also contribute to the\ncost of the campaign, by replenishing our stores and rehorsing our\nwaggons at his expense.\" Bonaparte suggests that Genoa should pay\nfifteen millions indemnity for the frigates and vessels taken in the\nport. Certain risks had to be run in invading Lombardy, owing to want\nof horse artillery, but at Cherasco he secured artillery and horses.\nWhen writing to the Directory for a dozen companies, he tells them\nnot to entrust the execution of this measure \"to the men of the\nbureaus, for it takes them ten days to forward an order.\" Writing to\nCarnot on the same day he states he is marching against Beaulieu,\nwho has 26,000 foot out of 38,000 at commencement of campaign.\nNapoleon's force is 28,000, but he has less cavalry. On May 1st, in a\nletter dated Acqui to Citizen Faipoult, he asks for particulars of\nthe pictures, statues, &c., of Milan, Parma, Placentia, Modena, and\nBologna. On the same day Massena writes that his men are needing\nshoes. On May 6th Bonaparte announces the capture of Tortona, \"a very\nfine fortress, which cost the King of Sardinia over fifteen\nmillions,\" while Cherasco has furnished him with twenty-eight guns.\nMeanwhile Massena has taken possession of Alessandria, with all its\nstores. On May 9th Napoleon writes to Carnot, \"We have at last\ncrossed the Po. The second campaign is begun; Beaulieu ... has\nfool-hardiness but no genius. One more victory, and Italy is ours.\" A\nclever commissary-general is all he needs, and his men are growing\nfat--with good meat and good wine. He sends to Paris twenty old\nmasters, with fine examples of Correggio and Michael-Angelo. It is\npleasant to find Napoleon's confidence in Carnot, in view of Barras'\ninsinuations that the latter had cared only for Moreau--his type\nof Xenophon. In this very letter Napoleon writes Carnot, \"I owe you\nmy special thanks for the care that you have kindly given to my wife;\nI recommend her to you, she is a sincere patriot, and I love her to\ndistraction.\" He is sending \"a dozen millions\" to France, and hopes\nthat some of it will be useful to the army of the Rhine. Meanwhile,\nand two days before Napoleon's letter to Carnot just mentioned, the\nlatter, on behalf of the Directory, suggests the division of his\ncommand with the old Alsatian General Kellermann. The Directory's\nidea of a gilded pill seems to be a prodigiously long letter. It is\none of those heart-breaking effusions that, even to this day,\nemanate from board-rooms, to the dismay and disgust of their\nrecipients. After plastering him with sickening sophistries as to\nhis \"sweetest recompense,\" it gives the utterly unnecessary\nmonition, \"March! no fatal repose, there are still laurels to\ngather\"! Nevertheless, his plan of ending the war by an advance\nthrough the Tyrol strikes them as too risky. He is to conquer the\nMilanais, and then divide his army with Kellermann, who is to guard\nthe conquered province, while he goes south to Naples and Rome. As an\nimplied excuse for not sending adequate reinforcements, Carnot adds,\n\"The exaggerated rumours that you have skilfully disseminated as to\nthe numbers of the French troops in Italy, will augment the fear\nof our enemies and almost double your means of action.\" The\nMilanais is to be heavily mulcted, but he is to be prudent. If Rome\nmakes advances, his first demand should be that the Pope may order\nimmediate public prayers for the prosperity and success of the French\nRepublic! The sending of old masters to France to adorn her National\nGalleries seems to have been entirely a conception of Napoleon's. He\nhas given sufficiently good reasons, from a patriotic point of view;\nfor money is soon spent, but a masterpiece may encourage Art among\nhis countrymen a generation later. The plunderers of the Parthenon of\n1800 could not henceforward throw stones at him in this respect. But\nhis real object was to win the people of Paris by thus sending them\nGlory personified in unique works of genius.\n\nThe Directory, already jealous of his fame, endeavour to neutralise\nthe effect of his initiative by hearty concurrence, and write, \"Italy\nhas been illumined and enriched by their possession, but the time is\nnow come when their reign should pass to France to stablish and\nbeautify that of Liberty.\" The despatch adds somewhat naively that the\neffects of the vandalism committed during their own Republican orgies\nwould be obliterated by this glorious campaign, which should \"join to\nthe splendour of military trophies the charm of beneficent and restful\narts.\" The Directory ends by inviting him to choose one or two artists\nto select the most valuable pictures and other masterpieces.\n\nMeanwhile, the Directory's supineness in pushing on the war on the\nRhine is enabling the Austrians to send large reinforcements against\nNapoleon. Bonaparte, who has recently suffered (Jomini, vol. viii.\n113) from Kellermann's tardiness in sending reinforcements at an\nimportant moment, replies to the letters of May 7th a week later, and\nwrites direct to Citizen Carnot from Lodi, as well as to the Executive\nDirectory. \"On the receipt of the Directory's letter of the 7th your\nwishes were fulfilled, and the Milanais is ours. I shall shortly\nmarch, to carry out your intentions, on Leghorn and Rome; all that\nwill soon be done. I am writing the Directory relatively to their idea\nof dividing the army. I swear that I have no thought beyond the\ninterest of my country. Moreover, you will always find me straight\n(_dans la ligne droite_).... As it might happen that this letter to\nthe Directory may be badly construed, and since you have assured me\nof your friendship, I take this opportunity of addressing you, begging\nyou to make what use of it your prudence and attachment for me may\nsuggest.... Kellermann will command the army as well as I, for no one\nis more convinced than I am that the victories are due to the courage\nand pluck of the army; but I think joining Kellermann and myself in\nItaly is to lose everything. I cannot serve willingly with a man who\nconsiders himself the first general in Europe; and, besides, I believe\none bad general is better than two good ones. War is like government:\nit is an affair of tact. To be of any use, I must enjoy the same\nconfidence that you testified to me in Paris. Where I make war, here\nor there, is a matter of indifference. To serve my country, to deserve\nfrom posterity a page in our history, to give the Government proofs of\nmy attachment and devotion--that is the sum of my ambition. But I am\nvery anxious not to lose in a week the fatigues, anxieties, and\ndangers of two months, and to find myself fettered. I began with a\ncertain amount of fame; I wish to continue worthy of you.\" To the\nDirectory he writes that the expeditions to Leghorn, Rome, and Naples\nare small affairs, but to be safely conducted must have one general in\ncommand. \"I have made the campaign without consulting a soul; I should\nhave done no good if I had had to share my views with another. I have\ngained some advantages over superior forces, and in utter want of\neverything, because, certain of your confidence, my marches have been\nas quick as my thoughts.\" He foretells disaster if he is shackled with\nanother general. \"Every one has his own method of making war. General\nKellermann has more experience, and will do it better than I; but both\ntogether will do it very badly.\" With Barras he knew eloquence was\nuseless, and therefore bribed him with a million francs. On May 10th\nwas gained the terrible battle of the Bridge of Lodi, where he won\npromotion from his soldiers, and became their \"little corporal,\" and\nwhere he told Las Cases that he \"was struck with the possibility of\nbecoming famous. It was then that the first spark of my ambition was\nkindled.\" On entering Milan he told Marmont, \"Fortune has smiled on me\nto-day, only because I despise her favours; she is a woman, and the\nmore she does for me, the more I shall exact from her. In our day no\none has originated anything great; it is for me to give the example.\"\n\nOn May 15th, thirty-five days after the commencement of the campaign,\nhe entered Milan, under a triumphal arch and amid the acclamations of\nthe populace. On the previous evening he was guilty of what Dr.\nJohnson would have considered a fitting herald of his spoliation of\npicture-galleries--the perpetration of a pun. At a dinner-table the\nhostess observed that his youth was remarkable in so great a\nconqueror, whereat he replied, \"Truly, madam, I am not very old at\npresent--barely twenty-seven--but in less than twenty-four hours I\nshall count many more, for I shall have attained Milan\" (_mille\nans_).\n\nOn May 22nd he returned to Lodi, but heard immediately that Lombardy\nin general, and Pavia in particular, was in open revolt. He makes a\nterrible example of Pavia, shooting its chief citizens, and, for the\nonly time, giving up a town to three hours' pillage. The Directory\ncongratulates him on these severe measures: \"The laws of war and the\nsafety of the army render them legitimate in such circumstances.\" He\nwrites them that had the blood of a single Frenchman been spilt, he\nwould have erected a column on the ruins of Pavia, on which should\nhave been inscribed, \"Here was the town of Pavia.\"\n\nOn May 21st, Carnot replies to the letter from Lodi: \"You appear\ndesirous, citizen general, of continuing to conduct the whole series\nof military operations in Italy, at the actual seat of war. The\nDirectory has carefully considered your proposition, and the\nconfidence that they place in your talents and republican zeal has\ndecided this question in the affirmative.... The rest of the military\noperations towards the Austrian frontier and round Mantua are\nabsolutely dependent on your success against Beaulieu. The Directory\nfeels how difficult it would be to direct them from Paris. It leaves\nto you in this respect the greatest latitude, while recommending the\nmost extreme prudence. Its intention is, however, that the army shall\ncross into the Tyrol only after the expedition to the south of\nItaly.\"\n\nThis was a complete victory for Bonaparte (Bingham calls it the\nDirectory's \"abject apology\"), and, as Scott points out, he now\n\"obtained an ascendency which he took admirable care not to\nrelinquish; and it became the sole task of the Directory, so far as\nItaly was concerned, to study phrases for intimating their approbation\nof the young general's measures.\"\n\nHe had forged a sword for France, and he now won her heart by gilding\nit. On May 16th the Directory had asked him to supply Kellermann with\nmoney for the army of the Alps, and by May 22nd he is able to write\nthat six or eight million francs in gold, silver, ingots, or jewels is\nlying at their disposal with one of the best bankers in Genoa, being\nsuperfluous to the needs of the army. \"If you wish it, I can have a\nmillion sent to Bale for the army of the Rhine.\" He has already helped\nKellermann, and paid his men. He also announces a further million\nrequisitioned from Modena. \"As it has neither fortresses nor muskets,\nI could not ask for them.\"\n\nHenceforth he lubricates the manifold wheels of French policy with\nItalian gold, and gains thereby the approbation and gratitude of the\nFrench armies and people. Meanwhile he does not neglect those who\nmight bear him a grudge. To Kellermann and to all the Directors he\nsends splendid chargers. From Parma he has the five best pictures\nchosen for Paris--the Saint Jerome and the Madonna della Scodella,\nboth by Correggio; the Preaching of St. John in the Desert, a Paul\nVeronese, and a Van Dyck, besides fine examples of Raphael, Caracci,\n&c.\n\nThe Directory is anxious that he shall chastise the English at\nLeghorn, as the fate of Corsica is somewhat dependent on it, whose\nloss \"will make London tremble.\" They secretly dread a war in the\nTyrol, forgetting that Bonaparte is a specialist in mountain fighting,\neducated under Paoli. They remind him that he has not sent the plans\nof his battles. \"You ought not to lack draughtsmen in Italy. Eh! what\nare your young engineer officers doing?\"\n\nOn May 31st Carnot writes to urge him to press the siege of Mantua,\nreasserting that the reinforcements which Beaulieu has received will\nnot take from that army its sense of inferiority, and that ten\nbattalions of Hoche's army are on the way. It approves and confirms\nthe \"generous fraternity\" with which Bonaparte offers a million francs\nto the armies on the Rhine. On June 7th he tells the Directory that\nRome is about to fulminate a bull against the French Royalists, but\nthat he thinks the expedition to Naples should be deferred, and also a\nquarrel with Venice--at least till he has beaten his other enemies; it\nis not expedient to tackle every one at once. On June 6th he thanks\nCarnot for a kind letter, adding that the best reward to sweeten\nlabour and perils is the esteem of the few men one really admires. He\nfears the hot weather for his men: \"we shall soon be in July, when\nevery march will cost us 200 sick.\" The same day he writes General\nClarke that all is flourishing, but that the dog-star is coming on at\na gallop, and that there is no remedy against its malign influence.\n\"Luckless beings that we are! Our position with nature is merely\nobservation, without control.\" He holds that the only safe way to end\nthe campaign without being beaten is not to go to the south of Italy.\nOn the 9th he thanks Kellermann for the troops he sends, and their\nexcellent discipline. On the 11th--always as anxious to help his\ngenerals as himself--he urges the Directory to press the Swiss\nGovernment to refund La Harpe's property to his children.\n\n\"_Presentiment of ill._\"--Marmont tells us what this was. The glass of\nhis wife's portrait, which he always carried with him, was found to be\nbroken. Turning frightfully pale, he said to Marmont, \"My wife is\neither very ill, or unfaithful.\" She left Paris June 24th. Marmont\nsays, \"Once at Milan, General Bonaparte was very happy, for at that\ntime he lived only for his wife.... Never love more pure, more true,\nmore exclusive, has possessed the heart of any man.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "Between June 15th and the renewal of Josephine's correspondence a\nglance at the intervening dates will show that Bonaparte and his army\nwere not wasting time. The treaty with Rome was a masterpiece, as in\naddition to money and works of art, he obtained the port of Ancona,\nsiege-guns with which to bombard Mantua, and best of all, a letter\nfrom the Pope to the faithful of France, recommending submission to\nthe new government there. In consideration of this, and possibly\nyielding to the religious sentiments of Josephine, he spared Rome his\npresence--the only capital which he abstained from entering, when he\nhad, as in the present case, the opportunity. It was not, however,\nuntil February 1797 that the Pope fulfilled his obligations under this\nTreaty, and then under new compulsion.\n\n_Fortune._--Josephine's dog (see note to Letter 2, Series B).\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [41] No. 89 of Napoleon III.'s Correspondence of Napoleon I., vol. i.,\n the last letter signed Buonaparte; after March 24 we only find\n Bonaparte.\n\n [42] Compelled to surrender Genoa, before Marengo takes place, he\n swears to the Austrian general he will be back there in\n fourteen days, and keeps his word.\n\n [43] Two days later he evidently feels this letter too severe, and\n writes: \"All goes well. Pillage is less pronounced. This first\n thirst of an army destitute of everything is quenched. The poor\n fellows are excusable; after having sighed for three years at\n the top of the Alps, they arrive in the Promised Land, and wish\n to taste of it.\"\n\n [44] Bingham, with his customary ill-nature, remarks that Bonaparte,\n \"in spite of the orders of the Directory, took upon himself to\n sign the armistice.\" These orders, dated March 6th, were\n intended for a novice, and no longer applicable to the\n conqueror of two armies, and which a Despatch on the way, dated\n April 25th, already modified. Jomini admits the wisdom of this\n advantageous peace, which secured Nice and Savoy to France, and\n gave her all the chief mountain-passes leading into Italy.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES B", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_July 6, Sortie from Mantua of the Austrians._--According to Jomini\nthe French on this occasion were not successful (vol. viii. 162). In\none of his several letters to the Directory on this date is seen\nBonaparte's anxiety for reinforcements; the enemy has already 67,000\nmen against his available 40,000. Meanwhile he is helping the\nCorsicans to throw off the British yoke, and believes that the French\npossession of Leghorn will enable the French to gain that island\nwithout firing a shot.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Marmirolo._--On July 12th he writes to the Directory from Verona that\nfor some days he and the enemy have been watching each other. \"Woe to\nhim who makes a false move.\" He indicates that he is about to make a\n_coup de main_ on Mantua, with 300 men dressed in Austrian uniforms.\nHe is by no means certain of success, which \"depends entirely on\nluck--either on a dog[45] or a goose.\" He complains of much sickness\namong his men round Mantua, owing to the heat and miasmata from the\nmarshes, but so far no deaths. He will be ready to make Venice\ndisgorge a few millions shortly, if the Directory make a quarrel in\nthe interim.\n\nOn the 13th he was with Josephine, as he writes from Milan, but leaves\non the 14th, and on the 17th is preparing a _coup de_ _main_ with 800\ngrenadiers, which, as we see from the next letter, fails.\n\n_Fortune._--Arnault tells an anecdote of this lap-dog, which in 1794,\nin the days of the Terror, had been used as a bearer of secret\ndespatches between Josephine in prison and the governess of her\nchildren outside the grille. Henceforward Josephine would never be\nparted from it. One day in June 1797 the dog was lying on the same\ncouch as its mistress, and Bonaparte, accosting Arnault and pointing\nto the dog with his finger, said, \"You see that dog there. He is my\nrival. He was in possession of Madame's bed when I married her. I\nwished to make him get out--vain hope! I was told I must resign\nmyself to sleep elsewhere, or consent to share with him. That was\nsufficiently exasperating, but it was a question of taking or\nleaving, and I resigned myself. The favourite was less accommodating\nthan I. I bear the proof of it in this leg.\"\n\nNot content with barking at every one, he bit not only men but other\ndogs, and was finally killed by a mastiff, much to Bonaparte's secret\nsatisfaction; for, as St. Amand adds, \"he could easily win battles,\naccomplish miracles, make or unmake principalities, but could not show\na dog the door.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "\"_The village of Virgil._\"--Michelet (Jusqu'au 18 _Brumaire_) thinks\nthat here he got the idea of the Fete of Virgil, established a few\nmonths later. In engravings of the hero of Italy we see him near the\ntomb of Virgil, his brows shaded by a laurel crown.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_Achille._--Murat. He had been appointed one of Bonaparte's\naides-de-camp February 29th, made General of Brigade after the Battle\nof Lodi (May 10th); is sent to Paris after Junot with nine trophies,\nand arrives there first. He flirts there outrageously with Josephine,\nbut does not escort her back to her husband.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "'_Will o' the wisp_,' _i.e._ _l'ardent_.--This word, according to\nMenage, was given by the Sieur de St. Germain to those lively young\nsparks who, about the year 1634, used to meet at the house of Mr.\nMarsh (M. de Marest), who was one of them.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_The needs of the army._--Difficulties were accumulating, and Napoleon\nwas, as he admits at St. Helena, seriously alarmed. Wurmser's force\nproves to be large, Piedmont is angry with the Republic and ready to\nrise, and Venice and Rome would willingly follow its example; the\nEnglish have taken Porto-Ferrajo, and their skilful minister, Windham,\nis sowing the seeds of discord at Naples. Although on July 20th he has\nwritten a friend in Corsica that \"all smiles on the Republic,\" he\nwrites Saliceti, another brother Corsican, very differently on August\n1st. \"Fortune appears to oppose us at present.... I have raised the\nsiege of Mantua; I am at Brescia with nearly all my army. I shall take\nthe first opportunity of fighting a battle with the enemy which will\ndecide the fate of Italy--if I'm beaten, I shall retire on the Adda;\nif I win, I shall not stop in the marshes of Mantua.... Let the\ncitadels of Milan, Tortona, Alessandria, and Pavia be provisioned....\nWe are all very tired; I have ridden five horses to death.\" Reading\nbetween the lines of this letter to Josephine, it is evident that he\nthinks she will be safer with him than at Milan--Wurmser having the\noption of advancing _via_ Brescia on Milan, and cutting off the French\ncommunications. The Marshal's fatal mistake was in using only half his\narmy for the purpose. This raising of the siege of Mantua (July 31st)\nwas heart-rending work for Bonaparte, but, as Jomini shows, he had no\nartillery horses, and it was better to lose the siege train,\nconsisting of guns taken from the enemy, than to jeopardise the whole\narmy. Wurmser had begun his campaign successfully by defeating\nMassena, and pushing back Sauret at Salo. \"The Austrians,\" wrote\nMassena, \"are drunk with brandy, and fight furiously,\" while his men\nare famished and can only hang on by their teeth. Bonaparte calls his\nfirst war council, and thinks for a moment of retreat, but Augereau\ninsists on fighting, which is successfully accomplished while Wurmser\nis basking himself among the captured artillery outside Mantua.\nBonaparte had been perfectly honest in telling the Directory his\ndifficulties, and sends his brother Louis to the Directory for that\npurpose on the eve of battle. He is complimented in a letter from the\nDirectory dated August 12th--a letter probably the more genuine as\nthey had just received a further despatch announcing a victory. On\nAugust 3rd Bonaparte won a battle at Lonato, and the next day Augereau\ngained great laurels at Castiglione; in later years the Emperor often\nincited Augereau by referring to those \"fine days of Castiglione.\"\nBetween July 29th and August 12th the French army took 15,000\nprisoners, 70 guns, and wounded or killed 25,000, with little more\nthan half the forces of the Austrians. Bonaparte gives his losses at\n7000, exclusive of the 15,000 sick he has in hospital; from July 31st\nto August 6th he never changed his boots, or lay down in a bed.\nNevertheless, Jomini thinks that he showed less vigour in the\nexecution of his plans than in the earlier part of the campaign; but,\nas an opinion _per contra_, we may note that the French grenadiers\nmade their \"little Corporal\" _Sergeant_ at Castiglione. Doubtless the\nproximity of his wife at the commencement (July 31st) made him more\ncareful, and therefore less intrepid. On August 18th he wrote\nKellermann with an urgent request for troops. On August 17th Colonel\nGraham, after hinting at the frightful excesses committed by the\nAustrians in their retreat, adds in a postscript--\"From generals to\nsubalterns the universal language of the army is that we must make\npeace, as we do not know how to make war.\"[46]\n\nOn August 13th Bonaparte sent to the Directory his opinion of most of\nhis generals, in order to show that he required some better ones. Some\nof his criticisms are interesting:--\n\n Berthier--\"Talents, activity, courage, character; he has them\n all.\"\n\n Augereau--\"Much character, courage, firmness, activity; is\n\n accustomed to war, beloved by the soldiers, lucky in his\n operations.\"\n\n Massena--\"Active, indefatigable, has boldness, grasp, and\n promptitude in making his decisions.\"\n\n Serrurier--\"Fights like a soldier, takes no responsibility;\n determined, has not much opinion of his troops, is often ailing.\"\n\n Despinois--\"Flabby, inactive, slack, has not the genius for war,\n is not liked by the soldiers, does not fight with his head; has\n nevertheless good, sound political principles: would do well to\n command in the interior.\"\n\n Sauret--\"A good, very good soldier, not sufficiently enlightened\n to be a general; unlucky.\"\n\nOf eight more he has little good to say, but the Directory in\nacknowledging his letter of August 23rd remarks that he has forgotten\nseveral officers, and especially the Irish general Kilmaine.\n\nAbout the same time Colonel Graham (Lord Lynedoch) was writing to the\nBritish Government from Trent that the Austrians, despite their\ndefeats, were \"undoubtedly brave fine troops, and an able chief would\nput all to rights in a little time.\"[47] On August 18th he adds--\"When\nthe wonderful activity, energy, and attention that prevail in the\nFrench service, from the commander-in-chief downward, are compared to\nthe indecision, indifference, and indolence universal here, the\nsuccess of their rash but skilful manoeuvres is not surprising.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_Brescia._--Napoleon was here on July 27th, meeting Josephine about\nthe date arranged (July 25th), and she returned with him. On July 29th\nthey were nearly captured by an Austrian ambuscade near Ceronione, and\nJosephine wept with fright. \"Wurmser,\" said Napoleon, embracing her,\n\"shall pay dearly for those tears.\" She accompanies him to Castel\nNova, and sees a skirmish at Verona; but the sight of wounded men\nmakes her leave the army, and, finding it impossible to reach Brescia,\nshe flees _via_ Ferrara and Bologna to Lucca. She leaves the French\narmy in dire straits and awaits news anxiously, while the Senate of\nLucca presents her with the oil kept exclusively for royalty. Thence\nshe goes _via_ Florence to Milan. By August 7th the Austrian army was\nbroken and in full retreat, and Bonaparte conducts his correspondence\nfrom Brescia from August 11th to 18th. On the 25th he is at Milan,\nwhere he meets his wife after her long pilgrimage, and spends four\ndays. By August 30th he is again at Brescia, and reminds her that he\nleft her \"vexed, annoyed, and not well.\" From a letter to her aunt,\nMadame de Renaudin, at this time, quoted by Aubenas, we can see her\nreal feelings: \"I am feted wherever I go; all the princes of Italy\ngive me fetes, even the Grand Duke of Tuscany, brother of the Emperor.\nAh, well, I prefer being a private individual in France. I care not\nfor honours bestowed in this country. I get sadly bored. My health has\nundoubtedly a great deal to do with making me unhappy; I am often out\nof sorts. If happiness could assure health, I ought to be in the best\nof health. I have the most amiable husband imaginable. I have no time\nto long for anything. My wishes are his. He is all day long in\nadoration before me, as if I were a divinity; there could not possibly\nbe a better husband. M. Serbelloni will tell you how he loves me. He\noften writes to my children; he loves them dearly. He is sending\nHortense, by M. Serbelloni, a lovely repeater, jewelled and enamelled;\nto Eugene a splendid gold watch.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "\"_I hope we shall get into Trent by the 5th._\"--He entered the city on\nthat day. In his pursuit of Wurmser, he and his army cover sixty miles\nin two days, through the terrific Val Saguna and Brenta gorges,\nbrushing aside opposition by the way.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "\"_One of these nights the doors will be burst open with a\nbang._\"--Apparently within two or three days, for Bonaparte is at\nMilan on September 21st, and stays with his wife till October 12th.\nOn October 1st he writes to the Directory that his total forces are\nonly 27,900; and that the Austrians, within six weeks, will have\n50,000. He asks for 26,000 more men to end the war satisfactorily: \"If\nthe preservation of Italy is dear to you, citizen directors, send me\nhelp.\" On the 8th they reply with the promise of 10,000 to 12,000, to\nwhich he replies (October 11th) that if 10,000 have started only 5000\nwill reach him. The Directory at this time are very poverty stricken,\nand ask him once more to pay Kellermann's Army of the Alps, as being\n\"to some extent part of that which you command.\" This must have been\n\"nuts and wine\" for the general who was to have been superseded by\nKellermann a few months earlier. On October 1st they advise him that\nWurmser's name is on the list of emigrants, and that if the Marshal\nwill surrender Mantua at once he need not be sent to Paris for trial.\nIf, however, Bonaparte thinks that this knowledge will make the old\nMarshal more desperate, he is not to be told. Bonaparte, of course,\ndoes not send the message. For some time these letters had been signed\nby the President Lareveillere Lepeaux, but on September 19th there was\na charming letter from Carnot: \"Although accustomed to unprecedented\ndeeds on your part, our hopes have been surpassed by the victory of\nBassano. What glory is yours, immortal Bonaparte! Moreau was about to\neffect a juncture with you when that wretched _reculade_ of Jourdan\nupset all our plans. Do not forget that immediately the armies go into\nwinter quarters on the Rhine the Austrians will have forces available\nto help Wurmser.\" At Milan Bonaparte advises the Directory that he is\ndealing with unpunished \"fripponeries\" in the commissariat department.\nHere he receives from young Kellermann, afterwards the hero of\nMarengo, a _precis_ of the condition of the Brescia fever-hospitals,\ndated October 6th: \"A wretched mattress, dirty and full of vermin, a\ncoarse sheet to each bed, rarely washed, no counterpanes, much\ndilatoriness, such is the spectacle that the fever-hospitals of\nBrescia present; it is heart-rending. The soldiers justly complain\nthat, having conquered opulent Italy at the cost of their life-blood,\nthey might, without enjoying comforts, at least find the help and\nattention which their situation demands. Bread and rice are the only\npassable foods, but the meat is hard. I beg that the general-in-chief\nwill immediately give attention to his companions in glory, who wish\nfor restored health only that they may gather fresh laurels.\" Thus\nBonaparte had his Bloemfontein, and perhaps his Burdett-Coutts.\n\nOn October 12th he tells the Directory that Mantua will not fall till\nFebruary--the exact date of its capitulation. One is tempted to wonder\nif Napoleon was human enough to have inserted one little paragraph of\nhis despatch of October 12th from Milan with one eye on its perusal by\nhis wife, as it contains a veiled sneer at Hoche's exploits: \"Send me\nrather generals of brigade than generals of division. All that comes\nto us from La Vendee is unaccustomed to war on a large scale; we have\nthe same reproach against the troops, but they are well-hardened.\" On\nthe same day he shows them that all the marvels of his six months'\ncampaign have cost the French Government only L440,000 (eleven million\nfrancs). He pleads, however, for special auditors to have charge of\nthe accounts. Napoleon had not only made war support war, but had sent\ntwenty million francs requisitioned in Italy to the Republic. On\nOctober 12th he leaves Milan for Modena, where he remains from the\n14th to the 18th, is at Bologna on the 19th, and Ferrara from the 19th\nto the 22nd, reaching Verona on the 24th.\n\nJomini has well pointed out that Napoleon's conception of making two\nor three large Italian republics in place of many small ones minimised\nthe power of the Pope, and also that of Austria, by abolishing its\nfeudal rigours.\n\nBy this time Bonaparte is heartily sick of the war. On October 2nd he\nwrites direct to the Emperor of Germany: \"Europe wants peace. This\ndisastrous war has lasted too long;\" and on the 16th to Marshal\nWurmser: \"The siege of Mantua, sir, is more disastrous than two\ncampaigns.\" His weariness is tempered with policy, as Alvinzi was _en\nroute_, and the French reinforcements had not arrived, not even the\n10,000 promised in May.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "\"_Corsica is ours._\"--At St. Helena he told his generals, \"The King of\nEngland wore the Corsican crown only two years. This whim cost the\nBritish treasury five millions sterling. John Bull's riches could not\nhave been worse employed.\" He writes to the Directory on the same day:\n\"The expulsion of the English from the Mediterranean has considerable\ninfluence on the success of our military operations in Italy. We can\nexact more onerous conditions from Naples, which will have the\ngreatest moral effect on the minds of the Italians, assures our\ncommunications, and makes Naples tremble as far as Sicily.\" On October\n25th he writes: \"Wurmser is at his last gasp; he is short of wine,\nmeat, and forage; he is eating his horses, and has 15,000 sick. In\nfifty days Mantua will either be taken or delivered.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "_Verona._--Bonaparte had made a long stay at Verona, to November 4th,\nwaiting reinforcements which never came. On November 5th he writes to\nthe Directory: \"All the troops of the Directory arrive post-haste at\nan alarming rate, and we--we are left to ourselves. Fine promises and\na few driblets of men are all we have received;\" and on November 13th\nhe writes again: \"Perchance we are on the eve of losing Italy. None of\nthe expected reinforcements have arrived.... I am doing my duty, the\nofficers and men are doing theirs; my heart is breaking, but my\nconscience is at rest. Help--send me help!... I despair of preventing\nthe relief of Mantua, which in a week would have been ours. The\nwounded are the pick of the army; all our superior officers, all our\npicked generals are _hors de combat_; those who have come to me are so\nincompetent, and they have not the soldiers' confidence. The army of\nItaly, reduced to a handful of men, is exhausted. The heroes of Lodi,\nMillesimo, Castiglione, and Bassano have died for their country, or\nare in hospital;[48] to the corps remain only their reputation and\ntheir glory. Joubert, Lannes, Lanusse, Victor, Murat, Chabot, Dupuy,\nRampon, Pijon, Menard, Chabran, and St. Hilaire are wounded.... In a\nfew days we shall make a last effort. Had I received the 83rd, 3500\nstrong, and of good repute in the army, I would have answered for\neverything. Perhaps in a few days 40,000 will not suffice.\" The reason\nfor this unwonted pessimism was the state of his troops. His brother\nLouis reported that Vaubois' men had no shoes and were almost naked,\nin the midst of snow and mountains; that desertions were taking place\nof soldiers with bare and bleeding feet, who told the enemy the plans\nand conditions of their army. Finally Vaubois bungles, through not\nknowing the ground, and is put under the orders of Massena, while two\nof his half-brigades are severely censured by Napoleon in person for\ntheir cowardice.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 15.", + "body": "\"_Once more I breathe freely._\"--Thrice had Napoleon been foiled, as\nmuch by the weather and his shoeless soldiers as by numbers (40,000\nAustrians to his 28,000), and his position was well-nigh hopeless on\nNovember 14th. He trusts Verona to 3000 men, and the blockade of\nMantua to Kilmaine, and the defence of Rivoli to Vaubois--the weakest\nlink in the chain--and determines to manoeuvre by the Lower Adige upon\nthe Austrian communications. He gets forty-eight hours' start, and\nwins Arcola; in 1814 he deserved equal success, but bad luck and\ntreachery turned the scale. The battle of Arcola lasted seventy-two\nhours, and for forty-eight hours was in favour of the Austrians.\nPending the arrival of the promised reinforcements, the battle was\nbought too dear, and weakened Bonaparte more than the Austrians, who\nreceived new troops almost daily. He replaced Vaubois by Joubert.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "\"_The 29th._\"--But he is at Milan from November 27th to December 16th.\nMost people know, from some print or other, the picture by Gros of\nBonaparte, flag in hand, leading his men across the murderous bridge\nof Arcola. It was during this visit to Milan that his portrait was\ntaken, and Lavalette has preserved for us the domestic rather than the\ndignified manner of the sitting accorded. He refused to give a fixed\ntime, and the artist was in despair, until Josephine came to his aid\nby taking her husband on her knees every morning after breakfast, and\nkeeping him there a short time. Lavalette assisted at three of these\nsittings--apparently to remove the bashful embarrassment of the young\npainter. St. Amand suggests that Gros taking the portrait of Bonaparte\nat Milan, just after Arcola, would, especially under such novel\nconditions, prove a fitting theme for our artists to-day! From\nDecember 16th to 21st Bonaparte is at Verona, whence he returns to\nMilan. There is perhaps a veiled innuendo in Barras' letter of\nDecember 30th. Clarke had advised the Directory that Alvinzi was\nplanning an attack, which Barras mentions, but adds: \"Your return to\nMilan shows that you consider another attack in favour of Wurmser\nunlikely, or, at least, not imminent.\" He is at Milan till January\n7th, whence he goes to Bologna, the city which, he says, \"of all the\nItalian cities has constantly shown the greatest energy and the most\nconsiderable share of real information.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "_General Brune._--This incident fixes the date of this letter to be 23\n_Nivose_ (January 12), and not 23 _Messidor_ (July 11), as hitherto\npublished in the French editions of this letter. On January 12, 1797,\nhe wrote General Clarke from Verona (No. 1375 of the _Correspondence_)\nalmost an exact duplicate of this letter--a very rare coincidence in\nthe epistles of Napoleon. \"Scarcely set out from Roverbella, I learnt\nthat the enemy had appeared at Verona. Massena made his dispositions,\nwhich have been very successful; we have made 600 prisoners, and we\nhave taken three pieces of cannon. General Brune has had seven bullets\nin his clothes, without having been touched by one of them; this is\nwhat it is to be lucky. We have had only ten men killed, and a hundred\nwounded.\" Bonaparte had left Bologna on January 10, reaching Verona\n_via_ Roverbella on the 12th.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "_February 3rd._--\"_I wrote you this morning._\"--This and probably\nother letters describing Rivoli, La Favorite, and the imminent fall\nof Mantua, are missing. In summing up the campaign Thiers declares\nthat in ten months 55,000 French (all told, including reinforcements)\nhad beaten more than 200,000 Austrians, taken 80,000 of them\nprisoners, killed and wounded 20,000. They had fought twelve pitched\nbattles, and sixty actions. These figures are probably as much above\nthe mark as those of Napoleon's detractors are below it.\n\nOne does not know which to admire most, Bonaparte's absence from\nMarshal Wurmser's humiliation, or his abstention from entering Rome as\na conqueror. The first was the act of a perfect gentleman, worthy of\nthe best traditions of chivalry, the second was the very quintessence\nof far-seeing sagacity, not \"baulking the end half-won, for an instant\ndole of praise.\" As he told Mdme. de Remusat at Passeriano, \"I\nconquered the Pope better by not going to Rome than if I had burnt his\ncapital.\" Scott has compared his treatment of Wurmser to that of the\nBlack Prince with his royal prisoner, King John of France. Wurmser was\nan Alsatian on the list of _emigres_, and Bonaparte gave the Marshal\nhis life by sending him back to Austria, a fact which Wurmser requited\nby warning Bonaparte of a conspiracy to poison him[49] in Romagna,\nwhich Napoleon thinks would otherwise have been successful.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 24.", + "body": "\"_Perhaps I shall make peace with the Pope._\"--On February 12th the\nPope had written to \"his dear son, General Bonaparte,\" to depute\nplenipotentiaries for a peace, and ends by assuring him \"of our\nhighest esteem,\" and concluding with the paternal apostolic\nbenediction. Meanwhile Napoleon, instead of sacking Faenza, has just\ninvoked the monks and priests to follow the precepts of the Gospel.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 25.", + "body": "\"_The unlimited power you hold over me._\"--There seems no question\nthat during the Italian campaigns he was absolutely faithful to\nJosephine, although there was scarcely a beauty in Milan who did not\naspire to please him and to conquer him. In his fidelity there was,\nsays St. Amand, much love and a little calculation. As Napoleon has\nsaid himself, his position was delicate in the extreme; he commanded\nold generals; every one of his movements was jealously watched; his\ncircumspection was extreme. His fortune lay in his wisdom. He would\nhave to forget himself for one hour, and how many of his victories\ndepended upon no more! The celebrated singer, La Grassini, who had all\nItaly at her feet, cared only for the young general who would not at\nthat time vouchsafe her a glance.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [45] Murat, says Marmont, who hated him, was the culprit here.\n\n [46] J. H. Rose in _Eng. Hist. Review_, January 1899.\n\n [47] See Essay by J. H. Rose in _Eng. Hist. Review_, January 1899.\n\n [48] With fevers caught in the rice-swamps of Lombardy.\n\n [49] With aqua tofana, says Marmont.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES C\n\n_THE CAMPAIGN OF MARENGO_, 1800\n\n\nElected to the joint consulate by the events of the 18th _Brumaire_\n(November 9), 1799, Napoleon spent the first Christmas Day after his\nreturn from Egypt in writing personal letters to the King of England\nand Emperor of Austria, with a view to peace. He asks King George how\nit is that the two most enlightened nations of Europe do not realise\nthat peace is the chief need as well as the chief glory ... and\nconcludes by asserting that the fate of all civilised nations is bound\nup in the conclusion of a war \"which embraces the entire world.\" His\nefforts fail in both cases. On December 27th he makes the _Moniteur_\nthe sole official journal. On February 7th, 1800, he orders ten days'\nmilitary mourning for the death of Washington--that \"great man who,\nlike the French, had fought for equality and liberty.\" On April 22nd\nhe urges Moreau to begin his campaign with the army of the Rhine, an\norder reiterated on April 24th through Carnot, again made Minister of\nWar. A diversion to save the army of Italy was now imperative. On May\n5th he congratulated Moreau on the battle of Stockach, but informs him\nthat Massena's position is critical, shut up in Genoa, and with food\nonly till May 25th. He advises Massena the same day that he leaves\nParis that night to join the Army of Reserve, that the cherished\nchild of victory must hold out as long as possible, at least until May\n30th. At Geneva he met M. Necker. On May 14th he writes General\nMortier, commandant of Paris, to keep that city quiet, as he will have\nstill to be away a few days longer, which he trusts \"will not be\nindifferent to M. de Melas.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "This letter was written from Ivrea, May 29th, 1800. On the 30th\nNapoleon is at Vercelli, on June 1st at Novara, and on June 2nd in\nMilan. Eugene served under Murat at the passage of the Ticino, May\n31st.\n\n_M.'s_; probably \"Maman,\" _i.e._ his mother.\n\n_Cherries._--This fruit had already tender associations. Las Cases\ntells us that when Napoleon was only sixteen he met at Valence\nMademoiselle du Colombier, who was not insensible to his merits. It\nwas the first love of both.... \"We were the most innocent creatures\nimaginable,\" the Emperor used to say; \"we contrived little meetings\ntogether. I well remember one which took place on a midsummer morning,\njust as daylight began to dawn. It will scarcely be believed that all\nour happiness consisted in eating cherries together\" (vol. i. 81,\n1836).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_Milan._--He arrived here on June 2nd, and met with a great reception.\nIn his bulletin of June 5th we find him assisting at an improvised\nconcert. It ends, somewhat quaintly for a bulletin, as follows:\n\"Italian music has a charm ever new. The celebrated singers,\nBillington,[50] La Grassini, and Marchesi are expected at Milan. They\nsay they are about to start for Paris to give concerts there.\"\nAccording to M. Frederic Masson, this Paris visit masked ulterior\nmotives, and was arranged at a _dejeuner_ on the same day, where La\nGrassini, Napoleon, and Berthier breakfasted together. Henceforward to\nMarengo Napoleon spends every spare day listening to the marvellous\nsongstress, and as at Eylau, seven years later, runs great risks by\nadmitting Venus into the camp of Mars. At St. Helena he declares that\nfrom June 3rd to 8th he was busy \"receiving deputations, and showing\nhimself to people assembled from all parts of Lombardy to see their\nliberator.\" The Austrians had declared that he had died in Egypt. The\ndate of No. 4 should probably be June 9th, on which day the rain was\nvery heavy. He reached Stradella the next day.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [50] On reaching London a few months later Mistress Billington was\n engaged simultaneously by Drury Lane and Covent Garden, and\n during the following year harvested L10,000 from these two\n engagements.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES D", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "The date is doubtless 27 _Messidor_ (July 16), and the fete alluded to\nthat of July 14. The following day Napoleon signed the Concordat with\nthe Pope, which paved the way for the restoration of the Roman\nCatholic religion in France (September 11).\n\n_The blister._--On July 7 he quaintly writes Talleyrand: \"They have\nput a second blister on my arm, which prevented me giving audience\nyesterday. Time of sickness is an opportune moment for coming to terms\nwith the priests.\"\n\n_Some plants._--No trait in Josephine's character is more characteristic\nthan her love of flowers--not the selfish love of a mere collector,[51]\nbut the bountiful joy of one who wishes to share her treasures.\nMalmaison had become the \"veritable Jardin des Plantes\" of the\nepoch,[52] far better than its Paris namesake in those days. The\nsplendid hothouses, constructed by M. Thibaut, had been modelled on\nthose of Kew, and enabled Josephine to collect exotics from every\nclime, and especially from her beloved Martinique. No jewel was so\nprecious to her as a rare and beautiful flower. The Minister of\nMarine never forgot to instruct the deep-sea captains to bring back\nfloral tributes from the far-off tropics. These often fell, together\nwith the ships, into the hands of the British sea-dogs, but the\nPrince Regent always had them sent on from London, and thus\nrendered, says Aubenas, \"the gallant homage of a courtly enemy to the\ncharming tastes and to the popularity already acquired by this\nuniversally beloved woman.\" Her curator, M. Aime Bonpland, was an\naccomplished naturalist, who had been with Humboldt in America, and\nbrought thence 6000 new plants. On his return in 1804 he was nominated\nby Josephine manager of the gardens of Malmaison and Navarre.\n\nIn the splendid work, _Le Jardin de la Malmaison_, in three volumes,\nare plates, with descriptions of 184 plants, mostly new, collected\nthere from Egypt, Arabia, the United States, the Antilles, Mexico,\nMadeira, the Cape of Good Hope, Mauritius, the East Indies, New\nCaledonia, Australia, and China. To Josephine we owe the Camellia, and\nthe Catalpa, from the flora of Peru, whilst her maiden name (La\nPagerie) was perpetuated by Messrs. Pavon and Ruiz in the Lapageria.\n\n_If the weather is as bad._--As we shall see later, Bourrienne was\ninvaluable to Josephine's court for his histrionic powers, and he\nseems to have been a prime favourite. On the present occasion he\nreceived the following \"Account of the Journey to Plombieres. To the\nInhabitants of Malmaison,\"--probably the work of Count Rapp, touched\nup by Hortense (Bourrienne's _Napoleon_, vol. ii. 85. Bentley,\n1836):--\n\n\"The whole party left Malmaison in tears, which brought on such\ndreadful headaches that all the amiable company were quite overcome by\nthe idea of the journey. Madame Bonaparte, mere, supported the\nfatigues of this memorable day with the greatest courage; but Madame\nBonaparte, consulesse, did not show any. The two young ladies who sat\nin the dormeuse, Mademoiselle Hortense and Madame Lavalette, were\nrival candidates for a bottle of Eau de Cologne; and every now and\nthen the amiable M. Rapp made the carriage stop for the comfort of his\npoor little sick heart, which overflowed with bile; in fact, he was\nobliged to take to bed on arriving at Epernay, while the rest of the\namiable party tried to drown their sorrows in champagne. The second\nday was more fortunate on the score of health and spirits, but\nprovisions were wanting, and great were the sufferings of the stomach.\nThe travellers lived on in the hope of a good supper at Toul, but\ndespair was at its height when on arriving there they found only a\nwretched inn, and nothing in it. We saw some odd-looking folks there,\nwhich indemnified us a little for spinach dressed with lamp-oil, and\nred asparagus fried with curdled milk. Who would not have been amused\nto see the Malmaison gourmands seated at a table so shockingly\nserved!\n\n\"In no record of history is there to be found a day passed in distress\nso dreadful as that on which we arrived at Plombieres. On departing\nfrom Toul we intended to breakfast at Nancy, for every stomach had\nbeen empty for two days, but the civil and military authorities came\nout to meet us, and prevented us from executing our plan. We continued\nour route, wasting away, so that you might see us growing thinner\nevery moment. To complete our misfortune, the dormeuse, which seemed\nto have taken a fancy to embark on the Moselle for Metz, barely\nescaped an overturn. But at Plombieres we have been well compensated\nfor this unlucky journey, for on our arrival we were received with all\nkinds of rejoicings. The town was illuminated, the cannon fired, and\nthe faces of handsome women at all the windows gave us reason to hope\nthat we shall bear our absence from Malmaison with the less regret.\n\n\"With the exception of some anecdotes, which we reserve for chit-chat\non our return, you have here a correct account of our journey, which\nwe, the undersigned, hereby certify.\n\n \"JOSEPHINE BONAPARTE.\n BEAUHARNAIS LAVALETTE.\n HORTENSE BEAUHARNAIS.\n RAPP.\n BONAPARTE, MERE.\n\n\"The company ask pardon for the blots.\"\n\n _\"21 Messidor (July 10)._\n\n\"It is requested that the person who receives this journal will show\nit to all who take an interest in the fair travellers.\"\n\nAt this time Hortense was madly in love with Napoleon's favourite\ngeneral, Duroc, who, however, loved his master more, and preferred not\nto interfere with his projects, especially as a marriage with Hortense\nwould mean separation from Napoleon. Hortense and Bourrienne were both\nexcellent billiard players, and the latter used this opportunity to\ncarry letters from Hortense to her lukewarm lover.\n\n_Malmaison, without you, is too dreary._--Although Madame la Grassini\nhad been specially summoned to sing at the Fete de la Concorde the day\nbefore.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "This is the third pilgrimage Josephine has made, under the doctor's\norders, to Plombieres; but the longed-for heir will have to be sought\nfor elsewhere, by fair means or foul. Lucien, who as Spanish\nAmbassador had vainly spent the previous year in arranging the divorce\nand remarriage of Napoleon to a daughter of the King of Spain,\nsuggests adultery at Plombieres, or a \"warming-pan conspiracy,\" as the\nlast alternatives.[53] Josephine complains to Napoleon of his\nbrother's \"poisonous\" suggestions, and Lucien is again disgraced. In a\nfew months an heir is found in Hortense's first-born, Napoleon\nCharles, born October 10.\n\n_The fat Eugene_ had come partly to be near his sister in her mother's\nabsence, and partly to receive his colonelcy. Josephine is wretched to\nbe absent, and writes to Hortense (June 16):--\"I am utterly wretched,\nmy dear Hortense, to be separated from you, and my mind is as sick as\nmy body. I feel that I was not born, my dear child, for so much\ngrandeur.... By now Eugene should be with you; that thought consoles\nme.\" Aubenas has found in the Tascher archives a charming letter from\nJosephine to her mother in Martinique, announcing how soon she may\nhope to find herself a great-grandmother.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_Your letter has come._--Possibly the one to Hortense quoted above, as\nJosephine was not fond of writing many letters.\n\n_Injured whilst shooting a boar._--Constant was not aware of this\noccurrence, and was therefore somewhat incredulous of Las Cases\n(vol. i. 289). The account in the \"Memorial of St. Helena\" is as\nfollows:--\"Another time, while hunting the wild boar at Marly, all his\nsuite were put to flight; it was like the rout of an army. The\nEmperor, with Soult and Berthier,[54] maintained their ground against\nthree enormous boars. 'We killed all three, but I received a hurt\nfrom my adversary, and nearly lost this finger,' said the Emperor,\npointing to the third finger of his left hand, which indeed bore the\nmark of a severe wound. 'But the most laughable circumstance of all\nwas to see the multitude of men, surrounded by their dogs, screening\nthemselves behind the three heroes, and calling out lustily \"Save the\nEmperor![55] save the Emperor!\" while not one advanced to my\nassistance'\" (vol. ii. 202. Colburn, 1836).\n\n\"_The Barber of Seville._\"--This was their best piece, and spectators\n(except Lucien) agree that in it the little theatre at Malmaison and\nits actors were unsurpassed in Paris. Bourrienne as Bartholo, Hortense\nas Rosina, carried off the palm. According to the Duchesse d'Abrantes,\nWednesday was the usual day of representation, when the First Consul\nwas wont to ask forty persons to dinner, and a hundred and fifty for\nthe evening. As the Duchess had reason to know, Bonaparte was the\nseverest of critics. \"Lauriston made a noble lover,\" says the\nDuchess--\"rather heavy\" being Bourrienne's more professional comment.\nEugene, says Meneval, excelled in footman's parts.[56] Michot, from\nthe Theatre Francais, was stage manager; and Bonaparte provided what\nConstant has called \"the Malmaison Troupe,\" with their dresses and a\ncollection of dramas. He was always spurring them on to more ambitious\nflights, and by complimenting Bourrienne on his prodigious memory,\nwould stimulate him to learn the longest parts. Lucien, who refused to\nact, declares that Bonaparte quoted the saying of Louis XVI.\nconcerning Marie Antoinette and her company, that the performances\n\"were royally badly played.\" Junot, however, even in these days played\nthe part of a drunkard only too well (Jung, vol. ii. 256).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_The Sevres Manufactory._--After his visit, he wrote Duroc: \"This\nmorning I gave, in the form of gratuity, a week's wages to the workmen\nof the Sevres manufactory. Have the amount given to the director. It\nshould not exceed a thousand ecus.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_Your lover, who is tired of being alone._--So much so that he got up\nat five o'clock in the morning to read his letters in a young bride's\nbed-chamber. The story is brightly told by the lady in question,\nMadame d'Abrantes (vol. ii. ch. 19). A few days before the Marly hunt,\nmentioned in No. 3, the young wife of seventeen, whom Bonaparte had\nknown from infancy, and whose mother (Madame Permon) he had wished to\nmarry, found the First Consul seated by her bedside with a thick\npacket of letters, which he was carefully opening and making marginal\nnotes upon. At six he went off singing, pinching the lady's foot\nthrough the bed-clothes as he went. The next day the same thing\nhappened, and the third day she locked herself in, and prevented her\nmaid from finding the key. In vain--the unwelcome visitor fetched a\nmaster-key. As a last resource, she wheedled her husband, General\nJunot, into breaking orders and spending the night with her; and the\nnext day (June 22) Bonaparte came in to proclaim the hunting morning,\nbut by her side found his old comrade of Toulon, fast asleep. The\nlatter dreamily but good-humouredly asked, \"Why, General, what are you\ndoing in a lady's chamber at this hour?\" and the former replied, \"I\ncame to awake Madame Junot for the chase, but I find her provided with\nan alarum still earlier than myself. I might scold, for you are\ncontraband here, M. Junot.\" He then withdrew, after offering Junot a\nhorse for the hunt. The husband jumped up, exclaiming, \"Faith! that is\nan amiable man! What goodness! Instead of scolding, instead of sending\nme sneaking back to my duty in Paris! Confess, my Laura, that he is\nnot only an admirable being, but above the sphere of human nature.\"\nLaura, however, was still dubious. Later in the day she was taken to\ntask by the First Consul, who was astounded when she told him that his\naction might compromise her. \"I shall never forget,\" she says,\n\"Napoleon's expression of countenance at this moment; it displayed a\nrapid succession of emotions, none of them evil.\" Josephine heard of\nthe affair, and was jealous for some little time to come.\n\n_General Ney._--Bonaparte had instructed Josephine to find him a nice\nwife, and she had chosen Mlle. Aglae-Louise Auguie, the intimate\nfriend and schoolfellow of Hortense, and daughter of a former\nReceveur-General des Finances. To the latter Ney goes fortified with a\ncharming letter from Josephine, dated May 30--the month which the\n_Encyclopaedia Britannica_ has erroneously given for that of the\nmarriage, which seems to have taken place at the end of July\n(_Biographie Universelle, Michaud_, vol. xxx.). Napoleon (who stood\ngodfather to all the children of his generals) and Hortense were\nsponsors for the firstborn of this union, Napoleon Joseph, born May 8,\n1803. The Duchess d'Abrantes describes her first meeting with Madame\nNey at the Boulogne fete of August 15, 1802. Her simplicity and\ntimidity \"were the more attractive inasmuch as they formed a contrast\nto most of the ladies by whom she was surrounded at the court of\nFrance.... The softness and benevolence of Madame Ney's smile,\ntogether with the intelligent expression of her large dark eyes,\nrendered her a very beautiful woman, and her lively manners and\naccomplishments enhanced her personal graces\" (vol. iii. 31). The\nbrave way in which she bore her husband's execution won the admiration\nof Napoleon, who at St. Helena coupled her with Mdme. de Lavalette and\nMdme. Labedoyere.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [51] She was, however, no mere amateur, and knew, says Mlle.\n d'Avrillon, the names of all her plants, the family to which\n they belonged, their native soil, and special properties.\n\n [52] _Rueil, le chateau de Richelieu et la Malmaison_, by Jacquin and\n Duesberg, p. 130; in Aubenas' _Josephine_, vol. i.\n\n [53] Lucien declares that Napoleon said to his wife, in his presence\n and that of Joseph, \"Imitate Livia, and you will find me\n Augustus.\"--(Jung, vol. ii. 206.) Lucien evidently suspects an\n occult sinister allusion here, but Napoleon is only alluding to\n the succession devolving on the first child of their joint\n families. Lucien refused Hortense, but Louis was more amenable\n to his brother's wishes. On her triumphal entry into Muehlberg\n (November 1805), the Empress reads on a column a hundred feet\n high--\"Josephinae, Galliarum Augustae.\"\n\n [54] Made Grand Huntsman in 1804.\n\n [55] An anachronism; he was at this time First Consul.\n\n [56] An euphuistic way of saying he could not learn longer ones. In\n war time Napoleon had to insist on Eugene keeping his letters\n with him and constantly re-reading them.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES E", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_Madame._--Napoleon became Emperor on May 18th, and this was the first\nletter to his wife since Imperial etiquette had become _de rigueur_,\nand the first letter to Josephine signed Napoleon. Meneval gives a\nsomewhat amusing description of the fine gradations of instructions he\nreceived on this head from his master. This would seem to be a reason\nfor this uncommon form of salutation; but, _per contra_, Las Cases\n(vol. i. 276) mentions some so-called letters beginning _Madame et\nchere epouse_, which Napoleon declares to be spurious.\n\n_Pont de Bricques_, a little village about a mile from Boulogne. On\nhis first visit to the latter he was met by a deputation of farmers,\nof whom one read out the following address: \"General, here we are,\ntwenty farmers, and we offer you a score of big, sturdy lads, who are,\nand always shall be, at your service. Take them along with you,\nGeneral; they will help you to give England a good thrashing. As for\nourselves, we have another duty to fulfil: with our arms we will till\nthe ground, so that bread be not wanting to the brave fellows who are\ndestined to destroy the English.\" Napoleon thanked the honest yeomen,\nand determined to make the only habitable dwelling there his\nheadquarters. The place is called from the foundations of bricks found\nthere--the remains of one of Caesar's camps.\n\n_The wind having considerably freshened._--Constant tells a good story\nof the Emperor's obstinacy, but also of his bravery, a few days later.\nNapoleon had ordered a review of his ships, which Admiral Bruix had\nignored, seeing a storm imminent. Napoleon sends off Bruix to Holland\nin disgrace, and orders the review to take place; but when, amid the\nwild storm, he sees \"more than twenty gunboats run aground,\" and no\nsuccour vouchsafed to the drowning men, he springs into the nearest\nlifeboat, crying, \"We must save them somehow.\" A wave breaks over the\nboat; he is drenched and nearly carried overboard, losing the hat he\nhad worn at Marengo. Such pluck begets enthusiasm; but, in spite of\nall they could do, two hundred lives were lost. This is Constant's\nversion; probably his loss is exaggerated. The Emperor, writing\nTalleyrand on August 1st, speaks only of three or four ships lost, and\n\"une quinzaine d'hommes.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_The waters._--Mlle. d'Avrillon describes them and their effect--the\nsulphur baths giving erysipelas to people in poor health. Corvisart\nhad accompanied the Empress, to superintend their effect, which was as\nusual nil.\n\n_All the vexations._--Constant (vol. i. 230, &c., 1896) is of use to\nexplain what these were--having obtained possession of a diary of the\ntour by one of Josephine's ladies-in-waiting, which had fallen into\nNapoleon's hands. In the first place, the roads (where there were\nany[57]) were frightful, especially in the Ardennes forest, and the\ndiary for August 1st concludes by stating \"that some of the carriages\nwere so battered that they had to be bound together with ropes. One\nought not to expect women to travel about like a lot of dragoons.\" The\nwriter of the diary, however, preferred to stay in the carriage, and\nlet Josephine and the rest get wet feet, thinking the risk she ran the\nleast. Another vexation to Josephine was the published report of her\ngift to the Mayoress of Rheims of a malachite medallion set in\nbrilliants, and of her saying as she did so, \"It is the colour of\nHope.\" Although she had really used this expression, it was the last\nthing she would like to see in print, taking into consideration the\nreason for her yearly peregrinations to Plombieres, and now to Aix,\nand their invariable inefficiency. Under the date August 14th, the\nwriter of the diary gives a severe criticism of Josephine. \"She is\nexactly like a ten-year-old child--good-natured, frivolous,\nimpressionable; in tears at one moment, and comforted the next.... She\nhas just wit enough not to be an utter idiot. Ignorant--as are most\nCreoles--she has learned nothing, or next to nothing, except by\nconversation; but, having passed her life in good society, she has got\ngood manners, grace, and a mastery of that sort of jargon which, in\nsociety, sometimes passes for wit. Social events constitute the canvas\nwhich she embroiders, which she arranges, and which give her a subject\nfor conversation. She is witty for quite a whole quarter of an hour\nevery day.... Her diffidence is charming ... her temper very sweet and\neven; it is impossible not to be fond of her. I fear that ... this\nneed of unbosoming, of communicating all her thoughts and impressions,\nof telling all that passes between herself and the Emperor, keeps the\nlatter from taking her into his confidence.... She told me this\nmorning that, during all the years she had spent with him, never once\nhad she seen him let himself go.\"\n\n_Eugene has started for Blois_, where he became the head of the\nelectoral college of Loir et Cher, having just been made Colonel-General\nof the Chasseurs by Napoleon. The Beauharnais family were originally\nnatives of Blois.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_Aix-la-Chapelle._--In this, the first Imperial pilgrimage to take the\nwaters, great preparations had been made, forty-seven horses bought at\nan average cost of L60 apiece; and eight carriages, which are not dear\nat L1000 for the lot, with L400 additional for harness and fittings.\n\nAt Aix they had fox-hunting and hare-coursing so called, but probably\nthe final tragedy was consummated with a gun. Lord Rosebery reminds us\nthat at St. Helena the Emperor actually shot a cow! They explored coal\nmines, and examined all the local manufactories, including the relics\nof Charlemagne--of which great warrior and statesman Josephine refused\nan arm, as having a still more puissant one ever at hand for her\nprotection.\n\nWhen tidings come that the Emperor will arrive on September 2, and\nprolong their stay from Paris, there is general lamentation among\nJosephine's womenkind, especially on the part of that perennial wet\nblanket and busybody, Madame de Larochefoucauld, who will make herself\na still greater nuisance at Mayence two years later.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_During the past week._--As a matter of fact he only reached Ostend on\nApril 12th from Boulogne, having left Dunkirk on the 11th.\n\n_The day after to-morrow._--This fete was the distribution of the\nLegion of Honour at Boulogne and a review of 80,000 men. The\ndecorations were enshrined in the helmet of Bertrand du Guesclin,\nwhich in its turn was supported on the shield of the Chevalier\nBayard.\n\n_Hortense_ arrived at Boulogne, with her son, and the Prince and\nPrincess Murat, a few days later, and saw the Emperor. Josephine\nreceived a letter from Hortense soon after Napoleon joined her\n(September 2nd), to which she replied on September 8th. \"The Emperor\nhas read your letter; he has been rather vexed not to hear from you\noccasionally. He would not doubt your kind heart if he knew it as well\nas I, but appearances are against you. Since he can think you are\nneglecting him, lose no time in repairing the wrongs which are not\nreal,\" for \"Bonaparte loves you like his own child, which adds much to\nmy affection for him.\"\n\n_I am very well satisfied ... with the flotillas._--The descent upon\nEngland was to have taken place in September, when the death of\nAdmiral Latouche-Treville at Toulon, August 19th, altered all\nNapoleon's plans. Just about this time also _Fulton_ submitted his\nsteamship invention to Bonaparte. The latter, however, had recently\nbeen heavily mulcted in other valueless discoveries, and refers Fulton\nto the savants of the Institute, who report it chimerical and\nimpracticable. The fate of England probably lay in the balance at this\nmoment, more than in 1588 or 1798.\n\nNapoleon and Josephine leave Aix for Cologne on September 12, and it\nis now the ladies' turn to institute a hunt--the \"real chamois hunt\";\nfor each country inn swarms with this pestilence that walketh in\ndarkness, and which, alas! is no respecter of persons.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "Two points are noteworthy in this letter--(1) that like No. 1 of this\nseries (see note thereto) it commences _Madame and dear Wife_; and (2)\nit is signed Bonaparte and not Napoleon, which somewhat militates\nagainst its authenticity.\n\n_Arras, August 29th._--Early on this day he had been at St. Cloud. On\nthe 30th he writes Cambaceres from Arras that he is \"satisfied with\nthe spirit of this department.\" On the same day he writes thence to\nthe King of Prussia and Fouche. To his Minister of Police he writes:\n\"That detestable journal, _Le Citoyen francais_, seems only to wish to\nwallow in blood. For eight days running we have been entertained with\nnothing but the Saint Bartholomew. Who on earth is the editor\n(_redacteur_) of this paper? With what gusto this wretch relishes the\ncrimes and misfortunes of our fathers! My intention is that you should\nput a stop to it. Have the editor (_directeur_) of this paper changed,\nor suppress it.\" On Friday he is at Mons (writing interesting letters\nrespecting the removal of church ruins), and reaches his wife on the\nSunday (September 2nd) as his letter foreshadowed.\n\n_I am rather impatient to see you._--The past few months had been an\nanxious time for Josephine. Talleyrand (who, having insulted her in\n1799, thought her his enemy) was scheming for her divorce, and wished\nNapoleon to marry the Princess Wilhelmina of Baden, and thus cement an\nalliance with Bavaria and Russia (Constant, vol. i. 240). The\nBonaparte family were very anxious that Josephine should not be\ncrowned. Napoleon had too great a contempt for the weaknesses of\naverage human nature to expect much honesty from Talleyrand. But he\nwas not as yet case-hardened to ingratitude, and was always highly\nsensitive to caricature and hostile criticism. Talleyrand had been the\nmain cause of the death of the Duc d'Enghien, and was now trying to\nshow that he had wished to prevent it; but possibly the crowning\noffence was contained in a lady's diary, that fell into the emperor's\nhands, where Talleyrand is said to have called his master \"a regular\nlittle Nero\" in his system of espionage. The diary in question is in\nConstant's \"Memoirs,\" vol. i., and this letter helps to fix the error\nin the dates, probably caused by confusion between the Revolutionary\nand Gregorian Calendars.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_T._--This may be Talleyrand, whom Mdme. de Remusat in a letter to her\nhusband (September 21st) at Aix, hinted to be on bad terms with the\nEmperor--a fact confirmed and explained by Meneval. It may also have\nbeen Tallien, who returned to France in 1802, where he had been\ndivorced from his unfaithful wife.\n\n_B._--Doubtlessly Bourrienne, who was in disgrace with Napoleon, and\nwho was always trying to impose on Josephine's good nature. No sooner\nhad Napoleon left for Boulogne on July 14th than his former secretary\ninflicts himself on the wife at Malmaison.\n\nNapoleon joins Josephine at St. Cloud on or before October 13th, where\npreparations are already being made for the Coronation by the\nPope--the first ceremony of the kind for eight centuries.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [57] The Emperor had himself planned the Itinerary, and had mistaken a\n projected road for a completed one, between Rethel and Marche.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES F", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_To Josephine._--She was at Plombieres from August 2 to September 10,\nbut no letter is available for the period, neither to Hortense nor\nfrom Napoleon.\n\n_Strasburg._--She is in the former Episcopal Palace, at the foot of\nthe cathedral.\n\n_Stuttgard._--He is driven over from Ludwigsburg on October 4th, and\nhears the German opera of \"Don Juan.\"\n\n_I am well placed._--On the same day Napoleon writes his brother\nJoseph that he has already won two great victories--(1) by having no\nsick or deserters, but many new conscripts; and (2) because the\nBadenese army and those of Bavaria and Wurtemberg had joined him, and\nall Germany well disposed.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Louisburg._--Ludwigsburg.\n\n_In a few days._--To Talleyrand he wrote from Strasburg on September\n27: \"Within a fortnight we shall see several things.\"\n\n_A new bride._--This letter, in the collection of his Correspondence\nordered by Napoleon III., concludes at this point.\n\n_Electress._--The Princess Charlotte-Auguste-Mathilde (1766-1828),\ndaughter of George III., our Princess Royal, who married Frederick I.\nNapoleon says she is \"not well treated by the Elector, to whom,\nnevertheless, she seems much attached\" (Brotonne, No. 111). She was\nequally pleased with Napoleon, and wrote home how astonished she was\nto find him so polite and agreeable a person.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_I have assisted at a marriage._--The bride was the Princess of\nSaxe-Hildburghhausen, who was marrying the second son of the Elector.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "Written at Augsburg. On October 15th he reaches the abbey of\nElchingen, which is situated on a height, from whence a wide view is\nobtained, and establishes his headquarters there.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_Spent the whole of to-day indoors._--This is also mentioned in his\nSeventh Bulletin (dated the same day), which adds, \"But repose is not\ncompatible with the direction of this immense army.\"\n\n_Vicenza._--Massena did not, however, reach this place till November\n3rd. The French editions have _Vienna_, but _Vicenza_ is evidently\nmeant.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "He is still at Elchingen, but at Augsburg the next day. On the 21st he\nissues a decree to his army that Vendemiaire,[58] of which this was\nthe last day but one, should be counted as a campaign for pensions and\nmilitary services.\n\n_Elchingen._--Meneval speaks of this village \"rising in an amphitheatre\nabove the Danube, surrounded by walled gardens, and houses rising one\nabove the other.\" From it Napoleon saw the city of Ulm below,\ncommanded by his cannon. Marshal Ney won his title of Duke of Elchingen\nby capturing it on October 14th, and fully deserved it. The Emperor\nused to leave the abbey every morning to go to the camp before Ulm,\nwhere he used to spend the day, and sometimes the night. The rain\nwas so heavy that, until a plank was found, Napoleon sat in a tent\nwith his feet in water (Savary, vol. ii. 196).\n\n_Such a catastrophe._--At Ulm General Mack, with eight field-marshals,\nseven lieutenant-generals, and 33,000 men surrender. Napoleon had\ndespised Mack even in 1800, when he told Bourrienne at Malmaison,\n\"Mack is a man of the lowest mediocrity I ever saw in my life; he is\nfull of self-sufficiency and conceit, and believes himself equal to\nanything. He has no talent. I should like to see him some day opposed\nto one of our good generals; we should then see fine work. He is a\nboaster, and that is all. He is really one of the most silly men\nexisting, and besides all that, he is unlucky\" (vol. i. 304). Napoleon\nstipulated for Mack's life in one of the articles of the Treaty of\nPresburg.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "_Munich._--Napoleon arrived here on October 24th.\n\n_Lemarois._--A trusty aide-de-camp, who had witnessed Napoleon's civil\nmarriage in March 1796, at 10 P.M.\n\n_I was grieved._--They had no news from October 12th to 21st in Paris,\nwhere they learnt daily that Strasburg was in the same predicament.\nMdme. de Remusat, at Paris, was equally anxious, and such women, in\nthe Emperor's absence, tended by their presence or even by their\ncorrespondence to increase the alarms of Josephine.\n\n_Amuse yourself._--M. Masson (_Josephine, Imperatrice et Reine_, p.\n424) has an interesting note of how she used to attend lodge at the\nOrient in Strasburg, to preside at a \"loge d'adoption sous la\ndirection de Madame de Dietrich, grand maitresse titulaire.\"\n\n_Talleyrand has come._--He was urgently needed to help in the\ncorrespondence with the King of Prussia (concerning the French\nviolation of his Anspach territory), with whom Napoleon's relations\nwere becoming more strained.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "_We are always in forests._--Baron Lejeune, with his artist's eye,\ndescribes his impressions of the Amstetten forest as he travelled\nthrough it with Murat the following morning (November 4th). \"Those\nof us who came from the south of Europe had never before realised\nhow beautiful Nature can be in the winter. In this particular\ninstance everything was robed in the most gleaming attire; the\nsilvery rime softening the rich colours of the decaying oak leaves,\nand the sombre vegetation of the pines. The frozen drapery, combined\nwith the mist, in which everything was more or less enveloped, gave\na soft, mysterious charm to the surrounding objects, producing a\nmost beautiful picture. Lit up by the sunshine, thousands of long\nicicles, such as those which sometimes droop from our fountains and\nwater-wheels, hung like shining lustres from the trees. Never did\nball-room shine with so many diamonds; the long branches of the\noaks, pines, and other forest trees were weighed down by the\nmasses of hoar-frost, while the snow converted their summits into\nrounded roofs, forming beneath them grottoes resembling those of the\nPyrenean mountains, with their shining stalactites and graceful\ncolumns\" (vol. i. 24).\n\n_My enemies._--Later in the day Napoleon writes from Lambach to the\nEmperor of Austria a pacific letter, which contains the paragraph, \"My\nambition is wholly concentrated on the re-establishment of my commerce\nand of my marine, and England grievously opposes itself to both.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "Napoleon took up his abode at the palace of Schoenbrunn on the 14th,\nand proves his \"two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage\" by passing through\nVienna at that time the following morning.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "_They owe everything to you._--Aubenas quotes this, and remarks (vol.\nii. 326): \"No one had pride in France more than Napoleon, stronger\neven than his conviction of her superiority in the presence of other\ncontemporary sovereigns and courts. He wishes that in Germany, where\nshe will meet families with all the pride and sometimes all the\nhaughtiness of their ancestry, Josephine will not forget that she is\nEmpress of the French, superior to those who are about to receive her,\nand who owe full respect and homage to her.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "_Austerlitz._--Never was a victory more needful; but never was the\nEmperor more confident. Savary says that it would take a volume to\ncontain all that emanated from his mind during that twenty-four hours\n(December 1-2). Nor was it confined to military considerations.\nGeneral Segur describes how he spent his evening meal with his\nmarshals, discussing with Junot the last new tragedy (_Les Templiers_,\nby Raynouard), and from it to Racine, Corneille, and the fatalism of\nour ancestors.\n\n_December 2nd_ was a veritable Black Monday for the Coalition in\ngeneral, and for Russia in particular, where Monday is always looked\nupon as an unlucky day. Their forebodings increased when, on the eve\nof the battle, the Emperor Alexander was thrown from his horse\n(Czartoriski, vol. ii. 106).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "_A long time since I had news of you._--Josephine was always a bad\ncorrespondent, but at this juncture was reading that stilted but\nsensational romance--\"Caleb Williams;\" or hearing the \"Achilles\" of\nPaer, or the \"Romeo and Juliet\" of Zingarelli in the intervals of her\nimperial progress through Germany. M. Masson, not often too indulgent\nto Josephine, thinks her conduct excusable at this period--paying and\nreceiving visits, dressing and redressing, always in gala costume, and\nwithout a moment's solitude.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "_I await events._--A phrase usually attributed to Talleyrand in\n1815. However, the Treaty of Presburg was soon signed (December\n2nd), and the same day Napoleon met the Archduke Charles at\nStamersdorf, a meeting arranged from mutual esteem. Napoleon had\nan unswerving admiration for this past and future foe, and said to\nMadame d'Abrantes, \"That man has a soul, a golden heart.\"[59]\nNapoleon, however, did not wish to discuss politics, and only\narranged for an interview of two hours, \"one of which,\" he wrote\nTalleyrand, \"will be employed in dining, the other in talking war and\nin mutual protestations.\"\n\n_I, for my part, am sufficiently busy._--No part of Napoleon's career\nis more wonderful than the way in which he conducts the affairs of\nFrance and of Europe from a hostile capital. This was his first\nexperience of the kind, and perhaps the easiest, although Prussian\ndiplomacy had needed very delicate and astute handling. But when\nNapoleon determined, without even consulting his wife, to cement\npolitical alliances by matrimonial ones with his and her relatives, he\nwas treading on somewhat new and difficult ground. First and foremost,\nhe wanted a princess for his ideal young man, Josephine's son Eugene,\nand he preferred Auguste, the daughter of the King of Bavaria, to the\noffered Austrian Archduchess. But the young Hereditary Prince of Baden\nwas in love and accepted by his beautiful cousin Auguste; so, to\ncompensate him for his loss, the handsome and vivacious Stephanie\nBeauharnais, fresh from Madame Campan's finishing touches, was sent\nfor. For his brother Jerome a bride is found by Napoleon in the\ndaughter of the King of Wurtemberg. Baden, Bavaria, and Wurtemberg\nwere too much indebted to France for the spoils they were getting from\nAustria to object, provided the ladies and their mammas were\nagreeable; but the conqueror of Austerlitz found this part the most\ndifficult, and had to be so attentive to the Queen of Bavaria that\nJosephine was jealous. However, all the matches came off, and still\nmore remarkable, all turned out happily, a fact which certainly\nredounds to Napoleon's credit as a match-maker.\n\nOn December 31st, at 1.45 A.M., he entered Munich by torchlight and\nunder a triumphal arch. His chamberlain, M. de Thiard, assured him\nthat if he left Munich the marriage with Eugene would fall through,\nand he agrees to stay, although he declared that his absence, which\naccentuated the Bank crisis, is costing him 1,500,000 francs a day.\nThe marriage took place on January 14th, four days after Eugene\narrived at Munich and three days after that young Bayard had been\nbereft of his cherished moustache. Henceforth the bridegroom is called\n\"Mon fils\" in Napoleon's correspondence, and in the contract of\nmarriage Napoleon-Eugene de France. The Emperor and Empress reached\nthe Tuileries on January 27th. The marriage of Stephanie was even more\ndifficult to manage, for, as St. Amand points out, the Prince of Baden\nhad for brothers-in-law the Emperor of Russia, the King of Sweden, and\nthe King of Bavaria--two of whom at least were friends of England.\nJosephine had once an uncle-in-law, the Count Beauharnais, whose wife\nFanny was a well-known literary character of the time, but of whom the\npoet Lebrun made the epigram--\n\n \"Elle fait son visage, et ne fait pas ses vers.\"\n\nStephanie was the grand-daughter of this couple, and as Grand-Duchess\nof Baden was beloved and respected, and lived on until 1860.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [58] The first month of the Republican calendar.\n\n [59] Memoirs, vol. ii. 165.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES G", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "Napoleon left St. Cloud with Josephine on September 25th, and had\nreached Mayence on the 28th, where his Foot Guard were awaiting him.\nHe left Mayence on October 1st, and reached Wuerzburg the next day,\nwhence this letter was written, just before starting for Bamberg.\nJosephine was installed in the Teutonic palace at Mayence.\n\n_Princess of Baden_, Stephanie Beauharnais. (For her marriage, see\nnote, end of Series F.)\n\n_Hortense_ was by no means happy with her husband at the best of\ntimes, and she cordially hated Holland. She was said to be very\nfrightened of Napoleon, but (like most people) could easily influence\nher mother. Napoleon's letter to her of this date (October 5th) is\ncertainly not a severe one:--\"I have received yours of September 14th.\nI am sending to the Chief Justice in order to accord pardon to the\nindividual in whom you are interested. Your news always gives me\npleasure. I trust you will keep well, and never doubt my great\nfriendship for you.\"\n\n_The Grand Duke_, _i.e._ of Wuerzburg. The castle where Napoleon\nwas staying seemed to him sufficiently strong to be armed and\nprovisioned, and he made a great depot in the city. \"Volumes,\" says\nMeneval, \"would not suffice to describe the multitude of his\nmilitary and administrative measures here, and the precautions which\nhe took against even the most improbable hazards of war.\"\n\n_Florence._--Probably September 1796, when Napoleon was hard pressed,\nand Josephine had to fetch a compass from Verona to regain Milan, and\nthus evade Wurmser's troops.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Bamberg._--Arriving at Bamberg on the 6th, Napoleon issued a\nproclamation to his army which concluded--\"Let the Prussian army\nexperience the same fate that it experienced fourteen years ago. Let\nit learn that, if it is easy to acquire increase of territory and\npower by means of the friendship of the great people, their enmity,\nwhich can be provoked only by the abandonment of all spirit of wisdom\nand sense, is more terrible than the tempests of the ocean.\"\n\n_Eugene._--Napoleon wrote him on the 5th, and twice on the 7th, on\nwhich date we have _eighteen_ letters in the _Correspondence_.\n\n_Her husband._--The Hereditary Grand Duke of Baden, to whom Napoleon\nhad written from Mayence on September 30th, accepting his services,\nand fixing the rendezvous at Bamberg for October 4th or 5th.\n\nOn this day Napoleon invaded Prussian territory by entering Bayreuth,\nhaving preceded by one day the date of their ultimatum--a rhapsody of\ntwenty pages, which Napoleon in his First Bulletin compares to \"one of\nthose which the English Cabinet pay their literary men L500 per annum\nto write.\" It is in this Bulletin where he describes the Queen of\nPrussia (dressed as an Amazon, in the uniform of her regiment of\ndragoons, and writing twenty letters a day) to be like Armida in her\nfrenzy, setting fire to her own palace.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "By this time the Prussian army is already in a tight corner, with its\nback on the Rhine, which, as Napoleon says in his Third Bulletin\nwritten on this day, is \"_assez bizarre_, from which very important\nevents should ensue.\" On the previous day he concludes a letter to\nTalleyrand--\"One cannot conceive how the Duke of Brunswick, to whom\none allows some talent, can direct the operations of this army in so\nridiculous a manner.\"\n\n_Erfurt._--Here endless discussions, but, as Napoleon says in his\nbulletin of this day--\"Consternation is at Erfurt, ... but while they\ndeliberate, the French army is marching.... Still the wishes of the\nKing of Prussia have been executed; he wished that by October 8th the\nFrench army should have evacuated the territory of the Confederation\nwhich _has_ been evacuated, but in place of repassing the Rhine, it\nhas passed the Saal.\"\n\n_If she wants to see a battle._--_Queen Louise_, great-grandmother of\nthe present Emperor William, and in 1806 aged thirty. St. Amand says\nthat \"when she rode on horseback before her troops, with her helmet of\npolished steel, shaded by a plume, her gleaming golden cuirass, her\ntunic of cloth of silver, her red buskins with golden spurs,\" she\nresembled, as the bulletin said, one of the heroines of Tasso. She\nhated France, and especially Napoleon, as the child of the French\nRevolution.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_I nearly captured him and the Queen._--They escaped only by an hour,\nNapoleon writes Berthier. Blucher aided their escape by telling a\nFrench General about an imaginary armistice, which the latter was\nseverely reprimanded by Napoleon for believing.\n\nNo battle was more beautifully worked out than the battle of\nJena--Davoust performing specially well his move in the combinations\nby which the Prussian army was hopelessly entangled, as Mack at Ulm a\nyear before. Bernadotte alone, and as usual, gave cause for\ndissatisfaction. He had a personal hatred for his chief, caused by the\nknowledge that his wife (Desiree Clary) had never ceased to regret\nthat she had missed her opportunity of being the wife of Napoleon.\nBernadotte, therefore, was loth to give initial impetus to the\nvictories of the French Emperor, though, when success was no longer\ndoubtful, he would prove that it was not want of capacity but want of\nwill that had kept him back. He was the Talleyrand of the camp, and\nhad an equal aptitude for fishing in troubled waters.\n\n_I have bivouacked._--Whether the issue of a battle was decisive,\nor, as at Eylau, only partially so, Napoleon never shunned the\ndisagreeable part of battle--the tending of the wounded and the\nburial of the dead. Savary tells us that at Jena, as at Austerlitz,\nthe Emperor rode round the field of battle, alighting from his horse\nwith a little brandy flask (constantly refilled), putting his hand\nto each unconscious soldier's breast, and when he found unexpected\nlife, giving way to a joy \"impossible to describe\" (vol. ii. 184).\nMeneval also speaks of his performing this \"pious duty, in the\nfulfilment of which nothing was allowed to stand in his way.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_Fatigues, bivouacs ... have made me fat._--The Austerlitz campaign\nhad the same effect. See a remarkable letter to Count Miot de Melito\non January 30th, 1806: \"The campaign I have just terminated, the\nmovement, the excitement have made me stout. I believe that if all the\nkings of Europe were to coalesce against me I should have a ridiculous\npaunch.\" And it was so!\n\n_The great M. Napoleon_, aged four, and the younger, aged two, are\nwith Hortense and their grandmother at Mayence, where a Court had\nassembled, including most of the wives of Napoleon's generals, burning\nfor news. A look-out had been placed by the Empress some two miles on\nthe main-road beyond Mayence, whence sight of a courier was signalled\nin advance.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_Potsdam._--As a reward for Auerstadt, Napoleon orders Davoust and his\nfamous Third Corps to be the first to enter Berlin the following day.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "Written from Berlin, where he is from October 28th to November 25th.\n\n_You do nothing but cry._--Josephine spent her evenings gauging\nfuturity with a card-pack, and although it announced Jena and\nAuerstadt before the messenger, it may possibly, thinks M. Masson,\nhave been less propitious for the future--and behind all was the\nsinister portion of the spae-wife's prophecy still unfulfilled.\n\n\nNo. 9A.\n\n_Madame Tallien_ had been in her time, especially in the years\n1795-99, one of the most beautiful and witty women in France. Madame\nd'Abrantes calls her the Venus of the Capitol; and Lucien Bonaparte\nspeaks of the court of the voluptuous Director, Barras, where the\nbeautiful Tallien was the veritable Calypso. The people, however,\ncould not forget her second husband, Tallien, from whom she was\ndivorced in 1802 (having had three children born while he was in\nEgypt, 1798-1802); and whilst they called Josephine \"Notre Dame des\nVictoires,\" they called Madame Tallien \"Notre Dame de Septembre.\"\n\nThe latter was, however, celebrated both for her beauty and her\nintrigues;[60] and when, in 1799, Bonaparte seized supreme power the\nfair lady[61] invaded Barras in his bath to inform him of it; but\nfound her indolent Ulysses only capable of ejaculating, \"What can be\ndone? that man has taken us all in!\" Napoleon probably remembered\nthis, and may refer to her rather than to the Queen of Prussia in the\nnext letter, where he makes severe strictures on intriguing women.\nMoreover, Napoleon in his early campaigns had played a ridiculous part\nin some of Gillray's most indecent cartoons, where Mmes. Tallien and\nJosephine took with Barras the leading roles; and as Madame Tallien\nwas not considered respectable in 1796, she was hardly a fit friend\nfor the Empress of the French ten years later. In the interval this\nlady, divorced a second time, had married the Prince de Chimay\n(Caraman). Napoleon knew also that she had been the mistress of\nOuvrard, the banker, who in his Spanish speculations a few months\nearlier had involved the Bank of France to the tune of four millions\nsterling, and forced Napoleon to make a premature peace after\nAusterlitz. The Emperor had returned at white heat to Paris, and\nwished he could build a gallows for Ouvrard high enough for him to be\non view throughout France. Madame Tallien's own father, M. de\nCabarrus, was a French banker in Spain, and probably in close relation\nwith Ouvrard.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "Written from Berlin.\n\n_The bad things I say about women._--Napoleon looked upon this as a\nwoman's war, and his temper occasionally gets the mastery of him. No\nwar had ever been so distasteful to him or so personal. Prussia, whose\nalliance he had been courting for nearly ten years, was now worthless\nto him, and all because of petticoat government at Berlin. In the\nFifteenth Bulletin (dated Wittenburg, October 23rd) he states that\nthe Queen had accused her husband of cowardice in order to bring about\nthe war. But it is doubtless the Sixteenth Bulletin (dated Potsdam,\nOctober 25th) to which Josephine refers, and which refers to the oath\nof alliance of the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia in the\ndeath chamber of Frederick the Great. \"It is from this moment that the\nQueen quitted the care of her domestic concerns and the serious\noccupations of the toilet in order to meddle with the affairs of\nState.\" He refers to a Berlin caricature of the scene which was at the\ntime in all the shops, \"exciting even the laughter of clodhoppers.\"\nThe handsome Emperor of Russia was portrayed, by his side the Queen,\nand on his other side the King of Prussia with his hand raised above\nthe tomb of the Great Frederick; the Queen herself, draped in a shawl\nnearly as the London engravings represent Lady Hamilton, pressing her\nhand on her heart, and apparently gazing upon the Emperor of Russia.\"\nIn the Eighteenth Bulletin (October 26th) it is said the Prussian\npeople did not want war, that a handful of women and young officers\nhad alone made this \"tapage,\" and that the Queen, \"formerly a timid\nand modest woman looking after her domestic concerns,\" had become\nturbulent and warlike, and had \"conducted the monarchy within a few\ndays to the brink of the precipice.\"\n\nAs the Queen of Prussia was a beautiful woman, she has had nearly as\nmany partisans as Mary Stuart or Marie Antoinette, but with far less\ncause. Napoleon, who was the incarnation of practical common sense,\nsaw in her the first cause of the war, and considered that so far as\nverbal flagellation could punish her, she should have it. He had\nneither time nor sympathy for the \"Please you, do not hurt us\"\nattitude of a bellicose new woman, who, as Imogen or Ida, have played\nwith edged tools from the time of Shakespeare to that of Sullivan.\n\nAs an antidote, however, to his severe words against women he put,\nperhaps somewhat ostentatiously, the Princess d'Hatzfeld episode in\nhis Twenty-second Bulletin (Berlin, October 29th). A year later\n(November 26th, 1807), when his Old Guard return to Paris and free\nperformances are given at all the theatres, there is the \"Triumph of\nTrajan\" at the Opera, where Trajan, burning with his own hand the\npapers enclosing the secrets of a conspiracy, is a somewhat skilful\nallusion to the present episode.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "Magdeburg had surrendered on November 8th, with 20 generals, 800\nofficers and 22,000 men, 800 pieces of cannon, and immense stores.\n\n_Lubeck._--This capitulation was that of Blucher, who had escaped\nafter Jena through a rather dishonourable ruse. It had taken three\narmy corps to hem him in.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "Written from Berlin, but not included in the _Correspondence_.\n\n_Madame L----_, _i.e._ Madame de la Rochefoucauld, a third or fourth\ncousin (by her first marriage) of Josephine, and her chief lady of\nhonour. She was an incorrigible Royalist, and hated Napoleon; but as\nshe had been useful at the Tuileries in establishing the Court,\nNapoleon, as usual, could not make up his mind to cause her dismissal.\nIn 1806, however, she made Josephine miserable and Mayence unbearable.\nShe foretold that the Prussians would win every battle, and even after\nJena she (to use an expression of M. Masson), \"continued her music on\nthe sly\" (_en sourdine_). See Letters 19 and 26 of this Series.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "_December 2_, the anniversary of Austerlitz (1805) and of Napoleon's\ncoronation (1804). He now announces to his soldiers the Polish\ncampaign.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "Not in the _Correspondence_.\n\n_Jealousy._--If Josephine's letters and conduct had been a little more\nworthy of her position, she might have saved herself. Madame Walewski,\nwho had not yet appeared on the scene.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "_Desir de femme est un feu qui devore._--The quotation is given in\nJung's \"Memoirs of Lucien\" (vol. ii. 62). \"Ce qu'une femme desire est\nun feu qui consume, celui d'une reine un vulcan qui devore.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 23.", + "body": "_I am dependent on events._--He says the same at St. Helena.\n\"Throughout my whole reign I was the keystone of an edifice entirely\nnew, and resting on the most slender foundations. Its duration\ndepended on the issue of my battles. I was never, in truth, master of\nmy own movements; I was never at my own disposal.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 26.", + "body": "_The fair ones of Great Poland._--If Berthier and other regular\ncorrespondents of Josephine were like Savary in their enthusiasm, no\nwonder the Mayence coterie began to stir up jealousy. Here is the\ndescription of the Duke of Rovigo (vol. ii. 17): \"The stay at Warsaw\nhad for us something of witchery; even with regard to amusements it\nwas practically the same life as at Paris: the Emperor had his concert\ntwice a week, at the end of which he held a reception, where many of\nthe leading people met. A great number of ladies from the best\nfamilies were admired alike for the brilliancy of their beauty, and\nfor their wonderful amiability. One may rightly say that the Polish\nladies inspired with jealousy the charming women of every other\ncivilised clime. They united, for the most part, to the manners of\ngood society a fund of information which is not commonly found even\namong Frenchwomen, and is very far above anything we see in towns,\nwhere the custom of meeting in public has become a necessity. It\nseemed to us that the Polish ladies, compelled to spend the greater\npart of the year in their country-houses, applied themselves there to\nreading as well as to the cultivation of their talents, and it was\nthus that in the chief towns, where they went to pass the winter, they\nappeared successful over all their rivals.\" St. Amand says: \"In the\nintoxication of their enthusiasm and admiration, the most beautiful\namong them--and Poland is the country of beauty--lavished on him,\nlike sirens, their most seducing smiles....\" Josephine was right to be\njealous, for, as the artist Baron Lejeune adds, \"They were, moreover,\nas graceful as the Creole women so often are.\"\n\n_A wretched barn_, reached over still more wretched roads. The Emperor\nand his horse had nearly been lost in the mud, and Marshal Duroc had a\nshoulder put out by his carriage being upset.\n\n_Such things become common property._--So was another event, much to\nJosephine's chagrin. On this date Napoleon heard of a son (Leon) born\nto him by Eleanore, a former schoolfellow of Madame Murat. M. Masson\nthinks this event epoch-making in the life of Napoleon. \"Henceforth\nthe charm is broken, and the Emperor assured of having an heir of his\nown blood.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 27.", + "body": "_Warsaw, January 3._--On his way from Pultusk on January 1, he had\nreceived a Polish ovation at Bronie, where he first met Madame\nWalewski. The whole story is well told by M. Masson in _Napoleon et\nles Femmes_; but here we must content ourselves with the mere facts,\nand first, for the sake of comparison, cite his love-letters to the\nlady in question:--(1.) \"I have seen only you, I have admired only\nyou, I desire only you. A very prompt answer to calm the impatient\nardour of N.\" (2.) \"Have I displeased you? I have still the right to\nhope the contrary. Have I been mistaken? Your eagerness diminishes,\nwhile mine augments. You take away my rest! Oh, give a little joy, a\nlittle happiness to a poor heart all ready to worship you. Is it so\ndifficult to get a reply? You owe me one.--N.\" (3.) \"There are moments\nwhen too high rank is a burden, and that is what I feel. How can I\nsatisfy the needs of a heart hopelessly in love, which would fling\nitself at your feet, and which finds itself stopped by the weight of\nlofty considerations paralysing the most lively desires? Oh, if you\nwould! Only you could remove the obstacles that lie between us. My\nfriend Duroc will clear the way. Oh, come! come! All your wishes shall\nbe gratified. Your native land will be dearer to me when you have had\npity on my poor heart,--N.\" (4.) \"Marie, my sweet Marie! My first\nthought is for you, my first desire to see you again. You will come\nagain, will you not? You promised me to do so. If not, the eagle will\nfly to you. I shall see you at dinner, a friend tells me. Deign, then,\nto accept this bouquet; let it become a mysterious link which shall\nestablish between us a secret union in the midst of the crowd\nsurrounding us. Exposed to the glances of the crowd, we shall still\nunderstand each other. When my hand presses my heart, you will know\nthat it is full of thoughts of you; and in answer you will press\ncloser your bouquet. Love me, my bonny Marie, and never let your hand\nleave your bouquet.--N.\" In this letter, in which he has substituted\n_tu_ for _vous_, there is more passion than we have seen since 1796.\nThe fair lady now leaves her decrepit old husband, nearly fifty years\nher senior, and takes up her abode in Finckenstein Castle, for nearly\ntwo months of the interval between Eylau and Friedland. \"In order,\"\nsays Pasquier, \"that nothing should be lacking to characterise the\ncalm state of his mind and the security of his position, it was soon\nknown that he had seen fit to enjoy a pleasurable relaxation by\ncalling to him a Polish gentlewoman of excellent birth, with whom he\nhad contracted a _liaison_ while passing through Warsaw, and who, as a\nconsequence of this journey, had the honour of bearing him a son.\"\nRepudiated by her husband, she came to Paris, where she was very\nkindly treated by Josephine, who, having once seen her, found in her\nno rival, but an enthusiastic patriot, \"sacrificed to Plutus,\" as\nNapoleon told Lucien at Mantua a few months later, adding that \"her\nsoul was as beautiful as her face.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 28.", + "body": "_Be cheerful--gai._--This adjective is a favourite one in letters to\nhis wife, and dates from 1796.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 29.", + "body": "_Roads unsafe and detestable._--The French troops used to say that the\nfour following words constituted the whole language of the Poles:\n_Kleba?_ _Niema._ _Vota?_ _Sara._ (\"Some bread? There is none. Some\nwater? We will go and fetch it.\") Napoleon one day passed by a\ncolumn of infantry suffering the greatest privations on account of the\nmud, which prevented the arrival of provisions. \"Papa, kleba?\"\nexclaimed a soldier. \"Niema,\" replied the Emperor. The whole column\nburst into a fit of laughter; they asked for nothing more. Baron\nLejeune, Constant, and Meneval have variants of the same story.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 35.", + "body": "Written from Warsaw, and omitted from the _Correspondence_.\n\n_I hope that you are at Paris._--Madame Junot hints that her husband,\nas Governor of Paris, was being sounded by Bonaparte's sister, Murat's\nwife (with whom Junot was in love), if he would make Murat Napoleon's\nsuccessor, in lieu of Eugene, if the Emperor were killed. If Napoleon\nhad an inkling of this, he would wish Josephine to be on the spot.\n\n_T._--Is probably Tallien, who had misconducted himself in Egypt.\nMadame Junot met him at Madrid, but she and others had not forgotten\nthe September massacres. \"The wretch! how did he drag on his loathsome\nexistence?\" she exclaims.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 36.", + "body": "_Paris._--Josephine arrived here January 31st; Queen Hortense going to\nthe Hague and the Princess Stephanie to Mannheim.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 38.", + "body": "Probably written from Arensdorf, on the eve of the battle of Eylau\n(February 9th), on which day a great ball took place in Paris, given\nby the Minister of Marine.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 39.", + "body": "_Eylau._--The battle of Preussich-Eylau was splendidly fought on both\nsides, but the Russian general, Beningsen, had all the luck. (1) His\nCossacks capture Napoleon's letter to Bernadotte, which enables him to\nescape all Napoleon's plans, which otherwise would have destroyed half\nthe Russian army. (2) A snowstorm in the middle of the day in the\nfaces of the French ruins Augereau's corps and saves the Russians\nfrom a total rout. (3) The arrival of a Prussian army corps, under\nGeneral Lestocq, robbed Davoust of his glorious victory on the right,\nand much of the ground gained--including the village of Kuschnitten.\n(4) The night came on just in time to save the rest of the Russian\narmy, and to prevent Ney taking any decisive part in the battle.\nBernadotte, as usual, failed to march to the sound of the guns, but,\nas Napoleon's orders to do so were captured by Cossacks, he might have\nhad an excuse rather better than usual, had not General Hautpoult,[62]\nin touch both with him and Napoleon, advised him of his own orders and\nan imminent battle. Under such circumstances, no general save the\nPrince of Ponte-Corvo, says Bignon, would have remained inactive, \"but\nit was the destiny of this marshal to have a role apart in all the\ngreat battles fought by the Emperor. His conduct was at least strange\nat Jena, it will not be less so, in 1809, at Wagram.\" The forces,\naccording to Matthieu Dumas (_Precis des Evenements Militaires_,\nvolume 18), were approximately 65,000 French against 80,000\nallies[63]--the latter in a strong chosen position. Napoleon saved\n1500, the wreckage of Augereau's[64] corps, that went astray in the\nblizzard (costing the French more than half their loss in the two\ndays' fight), by a charge of his Horse Guard, but his Foot Guard never\nfired a shot. The allies lost 5000 to 6000 dead and 20,000 wounded.\nNapoleon told Montholon that his loss at Eylau was 18,000, which\nprobably included 2000 dead, and 15,000 to 16,000 wounded and\nprisoners. As the French remained masters of the field of battle, the\nslightly wounded were evidently not counted by Napoleon, who in his\nbulletin gives 1900 dead and 5700 wounded. The list of wounded inmates\nof the hospital a month later, March 8th, totalled only 4600, which\nastonished Napoleon, who sent back for a recount. On receipt of this\nhe wrote Daru (March 15): \"From your advices to hand, I see we are\nnot far out of count. There were at the battle of Eylau 4000 or 5000\nwounded, and 1000 in the combats preceding the battle.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 40.", + "body": "_Corbineau._--Mlle. d'Avrillon (vol. ii. 101) tells how, in haste to\njoin his regiment at Paris, Corbineau had asked for a seat in her\ncarriage from St. Cloud. She was delighted, as he was a charming man,\n\"with no side on like Lauriston and Lemarois.\" He had just been made\ngeneral, and said, \"Either I will get killed or deserve the favour\nwhich the Emperor has granted me. M'selle, you shall hear me spoken\nof; if I am not killed I will perform some startling deed.\"\n\n_Dahlmann._--General Nicholas Dahlmann, commanding the chasseurs of\nthe guard, was killed in the charge on the Russian infantry which\nsaved the battle. On April 22nd Napoleon wrote Vice-Admiral Decres to\nhave three frigates put on the stocks to be called Dahlmann,\nCorbineau, and Hautpoul, and in each captain's cabin a marble\ninscription recounting their brave deeds.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 41.", + "body": "_Young Tascher._--The third of Josephine's cousins-germain of that\nname. He was afterwards aide-de-camp of Prince Eugene, and later\nmajor-domo of the Empress Eugenie.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 42.", + "body": "After this letter St. Amand declares that Napoleon's letters to his\nwife become \"cold, short, banal, absolutely insignificant.\" \"They\nconsisted of a few remarks about the rain or the fine weather, and\nalways the same refrain--the invitation to be cheerful.... Napoleon,\noccupied elsewhere, wrote no longer to his legitimate wife, but as a\nduty, as paying a debt of conscience.\" He was occupied, indeed, but\nbarely as the author supposes. It is Bingham (vol. ii. 281) who\nreminds us that in the first three months of 1807 we have 1715 letters\nand despatches preserved of his work during that period, while he\noften rode forty leagues a day, and had instructed his librarian to\nsend him by each morning's courier two or three new books from Paris.\nAubenas is more just than St. Amand. \"If his style is no longer that\nof the First Consul, still less of the General of Italy, he was\nsolicitous, punctilious, attentive, affectionate even although\nlaconic, in that correspondence (with Josephine) which, in the midst\nof his much greater preoccupations, seems for him as much a pleasure\nas a duty.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 43.", + "body": "_I am still at Eylau._--It took Napoleon and his army eight days to\nbury the dead and remove the wounded. Lejeune says, \"His whole time\nwas given up now to seeing that the wounded received proper care, and\nhe insisted on the Russians being as well treated as the French\" (vol.\ni. 48). The Emperor wrote Daru that if more surgeons had been on the\nspot he could have saved at least 200 lives; although, to look at the\nsurgical instruments used on these fields, and now preserved in the\nmuseum of Les Invalides, it is wonderful that the men survived\noperations with such ghastly implements of torture. A few days later\nNapoleon tells Daru on no account to begrudge money for medicines, and\nespecially for quinine.\n\n_This country is covered with dead and wounded._--\"Napoleon,\" says\nDumas (vol. i. 18, 41), \"having given order that the succour to the\nwounded on both sides might be multiplied, rode over the field of\nbattle, which all eye-witnesses agree to have been the most horrible\nfield of carnage which war has ever offered. In a space of less than a\nsquare league, the ground covered with snow, and the frozen lakes,\nwere heaped up with 10,000 dead, and 3000 to 4000 dead horses, debris\nof artillery, arms of all kinds, cannon-balls, and shells. Six\nthousand Russians, expiring of their wounds, and of hunger and thirst,\nwere left abandoned to the generosity of the conqueror.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 50.", + "body": "_Osterode._--\"A wretched village, where I shall pass a considerable\ntime.\" Owing to the messenger to Bernadotte being captured by\nCossacks, the Emperor, if not surprised at Eylau on the second day,\nfound at least all his own intentions anticipated. He could not\nrisk the same misfortune again, and at Osterode all his army were\nwithin easy hailing distance, \"within two marches at most\" (Dumas).\nSavary speaks of him there, \"working, eating, giving audience, and\nsleeping--all in the same room,\" alone keeping head against the storm\nof his marshals, who wished him to retire across the Vistula. He\nremained over five weeks at Osterode, and more than two months at\nFinckenstein Castle, interesting himself in the affairs of Teheran\nand Monte Video, offering prizes for discoveries in electricity\nand medicine, giving advice as to the most scientific modes of\nteaching history and geography, while objecting to the creation of\npoet-laureates or Caesarians whose exaggerated praises would be sure to\nawaken the ridicule of the French people, even if it attained its\nobject of finding a place of emolument for poets. Bignon says\n(vol. vi. 227): \"From Osterode or from Finckenstein he supervised,\nas from Paris or St. Cloud, the needs of France; he sought means to\nalleviate the hindrances to commerce, discussed the best ways to\nencourage literature and art, corresponded with all his ministers,\nand while awaiting the renewal of the fray, having a war of\nfigures with his Chancellor of Exchequer.\"\n\n_It is not as good as the great city._--The day before he had written\nhis brother Joseph that neither his officers nor his staff had taken\ntheir clothes off for two months; that he had not taken his boots off\nfor a fortnight; that the wounded had to be moved 120 miles in\nsledges, in the open air; that bread was unprocurable; that the\nEmperor had been living for weeks upon potatoes, and the officers upon\nmere meat. \"After having destroyed the Prussian monarchy, we are\nfighting against the remnant of the Prussians, against Russians,\nCossacks, and Kalmucks, those roving tribes of the north, who formerly\ninvaded the Roman Empire.\"\n\n_I have ordered what you wish for Malmaison._--About this time he also\ngave orders for what afterwards became the Bourse and the Madeleine,\nand gave hints for a new journal (March 7th), whose \"criticism should\nbe enlightened, well-intentioned, impartial, and robbed of that\nnoxious brutality which characterises the discussions of existing\njournals, and which is so at variance with the true sentiments of the\nnation.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 54.", + "body": "_Minerva._--In a letter of March 7th Josephine writes to Hortense: \"A\nfew days ago I saw a frightful accident at the Opera. The actress who\nrepresented Minerva in the ballet of 'Ulysses' fell twenty feet and\nbroke her arm. As she is poor, and has a family to support, I have\nsent her fifty louis.\" This was probably the ballet, \"The Return of\nUlysses,\" a subject given by Napoleon to Fouche as a suitable subject\nfor representation. In the same letter Josephine writes: \"All the\nprivate letters I have received agree in saying that the Emperor was\nvery much exposed at the battle of Eylau. I get news of him very\noften, sometimes two letters a day, but that does not replace him.\"\nThis special danger at Eylau is told by Las Cases, who heard it from\nBertrand. Napoleon was on foot, with only a few officers of his staff;\na column of four to five thousand Russians came almost in contact with\nhim. Berthier instantly ordered up the horses. The Emperor gave him a\nreproachful look; then sent orders to a battalion of his guard to\nadvance, which was a good way behind, and standing still. As the\nRussians advanced he repeated several times, \"What audacity, what\naudacity!\" At the sight of his Grenadiers of the Guard the Russians\nstopped short. It was high time for them to do so, as Bertrand said.\nThe Emperor had never stirred; all who surrounded him had been much\nalarmed.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 55.", + "body": "\"It is the first and only time,\" says Aubenas, \"that, in these two\nvolumes of letters (_Collection Didot_), Napoleon says _vous_ to his\nwife. But his vexation does not last more than a few lines, and this\nshort letter ends, '_Tout a toi_.' Not content with this softening,\nand convinced how grieved Josephine will be at this language of cold\netiquette, he writes to her the same day, at ten o'clock at night,\nbefore going to bed, a second letter in his old style, which ends,\n'_Mille et mille amities_.'\" It is a later letter (March 25th) which\nends as described, but No. 56 is, nevertheless, a kind letter.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 56.", + "body": "_Dupuis._--Former principal of the Brienne Military School. Napoleon,\nalways solicitous for the happiness of those whom he had known in his\nyouth, had made Dupuis his own librarian at Malmaison. His brother,\nwho died in 1809, was the learned Egyptologist.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 58.", + "body": "_M. de T----_, _i.e._ M. de Thiard. In _Lettres Inedites de Napoleon\nI._ (Brotonne), No. 176, to Talleyrand, March 22nd, the Emperor\nwrites: \"I have had M. de Thiard effaced from the list of officers. I\nhave sent him away, after having testified all my displeasure, and\ntold him to stay on his estate. He is a man without military honour\nand civic fidelity.... My intention is that he shall also be struck\noff from the number of my chamberlains. I have been poignantly grieved\nat such black ingratitude, but I think myself fortunate to have found\nout such a wicked man in time.\" De Thiard seems to have been\ncorresponding with the enemy from Warsaw.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 60.", + "body": "_Marshal Bessieres._--His chateau of Grignon, now destroyed, was one\nof the most beautiful of Provence. Madame de Sevigne lived and was\nburied in the town of Grignon.\n\n\n_No. 63._\n\nThis was printed April 24th in the French editions, but April 14th is\nevidently the correct date.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 67.", + "body": "\"_Sweet, pouting, and capricious._\"--Aubenas speaks of these lines \"in\nthe style of the Italian period, which seemed in fact to calm the\nfears of the Empress.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 68.", + "body": "_Madame ----._ His own sister, Madame Murat, afterwards Queen of\nNaples. See note to Letter 35 for her influence over Junot. The latter\nwas severely reprimanded by Napoleon on his return and banished from\nParis. \"Why, for example, does the Grand Duchess occupy your boxes at\nthe theatres? Why does she go thither in your carriage? Hey! M. Junot!\nyou are surprised that I am so well acquainted with your affairs and\nthose of that little fool, Madame Murat?\" (\"Memoirs of the Duchess\nd'Abrantes,\" vol. iii. 328.)\n\n_Measles._--As the poor child was ill four days, it was probably\nlaryngitis from which he died--an ailment hardly distinguishable from\ncroup, and one of the commonest sequelae of measles. He died on May\n5th.\n\nThe best account is the Memoirs of Stanislaus Giraudin. They had\napplied leeches to the child's chest, and had finally recourse to some\nEnglish powders of unknown composition, which caused a rally, followed\nby the final collapse. King Louis said the child's death was caused by\nthe Dutch damp climate, which was bad for his own health. Josephine\nhastens to join her daughter, but breaks down at Lacken, where\nHortense, more dead than alive, joins her, and returns to Paris with\nher.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 69.", + "body": "_I trust I may hear you have been rational in your sorrow._--As a\nmatter of fact he had heard the opposite, for the following day\n(May 15th) he writes to his brother Jerome: \"Napoleon died in three\ndays at the Hague; I know not if the King has advised you of it.\nThis event gives me the more pain insomuch as his father and mother\nare not rational, and are giving themselves up to all the transports\nof their grief.\" To Fouche he writes three days later: \"I have\nbeen very much afflicted by the misfortune which has befallen me.\nI had hoped for a more brilliant destiny for that poor child;\" and on\nMay 20th, \"I have felt the loss of the little Napoleon very acutely.\nI would have wished that his father and mother should have received\nfrom their temperament as much courage as I for knowing how to bear\nall the ills of life. But they are younger, and have reflected less on\nthe frailty of our worldly possessions.\" It is typical of Napoleon\nthat the only man to whom, as far as we know, he unbosomed his\nsorrow should be one of his early friends, even though that friend\nshould be the false and faithless Fouche, who requited his confidence\nlater by vile and baseless allegations respecting the parentage of\nthis very child. In one respect only did Napoleon resemble David in\nhis supposititious sin, which was, that when the child was dead, he\nhad neither time nor temperament to waste in futile regrets. As he\nsaid on another occasion, if his wife had died during the Austerlitz\nCampaign it would not have delayed his operations a quarter of an\nhour. But he considers practical succour to the living as the most\nfitting memorial to the dead, and writes on June 4th to De Champagny:\n\"Twenty years ago a malady called croup showed itself in the north\nof Europe. Some years ago it spread into France. I require you to\noffer a prize of L500 (12,000 francs), to be given to the doctor who\nwrites the best essay on this malady and its mode of treatment.\"\nCommenting on this letter Bignon (vol. vi. p. 262) adds, \"It is,\nhowever, fortunate when, on the eve of battles, warlike princes are\npondering over ways of preserving the population of their states.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 71.", + "body": "_May 20th._--On this date he writes Hortense: \"My daughter, all the\nnews I get from the Hague tells me that you are not rational. However\nlegitimate your grief, it must have limits: never impair your health;\nseek distractions, and know that life is strewn with so many rocks,\nand may be the source of so many miseries, that death is not the\ngreatest of all.--Your affectionate father, NAPOLEON.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 74.", + "body": "_I am vexed with Hortense._--The same day he encloses with this a\nletter to Hortense. \"My daughter, you have not written me a line\nduring your great and righteous grief. You have forgotten everything,\nas if you had nothing more to lose. They say you care no longer for\nany one, that you are callous about everything; I note the truth of it\nby your silence. This is not well, Hortense, it is not what you\npromised me. Your son was everything for you. Are your mother and\nmyself nothing? Had I been at Malmaison I should have shared your\ngrief, but I should have wished you at the same time to turn to your\nbest friends. Good-bye, my daughter, be cheerful; it is necessary to\nbe resigned; keep well, in order to fulfil all your duties. My wife is\nutterly miserable about your condition; do not increase her\nsorrow.--Your affectionate father, NAPOLEON.\"\n\nHortense had been on such bad terms with her husband for several\nmonths past that Napoleon evidently thinks it wiser not to allude to\nhim, although he had written Louis a very strong letter on his\ntreatment of his wife two months earlier (see letter 12,294 of the\n_Correspondence_, April 4th). There is, however, a temporary reunion\nbetween husband and wife in their common sorrow.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 78.", + "body": "_Friedland._--On this day he wrote a further letter to the Queen of\nHolland (No. 12,761 of the _Correspondence_): \"My daughter, I have\nyour letter dated Orleans. Your grief pains me, but I should like you\nto possess more courage; to live is to suffer, and the true man is\nalways fighting for mastery over himself. I do not like to see you\nunjust towards the little Napoleon Louis, and towards all your\nfriends. Your mother and I had hoped to be more to you than we are.\"\nShe had been sent to take the waters of Cauterets, and had left her\nchild Napoleon Louis (who died at Forli, 1831) with Josephine, who\nwrites to her daughter (June 11th): \"He amuses me much; he is so\ngentle. I find he has all the ways of that poor child that we mourn.\"\nAnd a few days later: \"There remains to you a husband, an interesting\nchild, and a mother whose love you know.\" Josephine had with women the\nsame tact that her husband had with men, but the Bonaparte family,\nwith all its good qualities, strained the tact and tempers of both to\nthe utmost.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 79.", + "body": "_Tilsit._--Referring to Napoleon and Alexander at Tilsit, Michaud\nsays: \"Both full of wiles and devices, they affected nevertheless the\nmost perfect sentiments of generosity, which at the bottom they\nscarcely dreamed of practising. Reunited, they were the masters of the\nworld, but such a union seemed impossible; they would rather share it\namong themselves. Allies and rivals, friends and enemies, all were\nsacrificed; henceforth there were to be only two powers, that of the\nEast and that of the West. Bonaparte at this time actually ruled from\nthe Niemen to the Straits of Gibraltar, from the North Sea to the base\nof the Italian Peninsula.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [60] Bouillet, _Dictionnaire Universelle_, &c.\n\n [61] \"The Queen of that Court was the fair Madame Tallien. All that\n imagination can conceive will scarcely approach the reality;\n beautiful after the antique fashion, she had at once grace and\n dignity; without being endowed with a superior wit, she\n possessed the art of making the best of it, and won people's\n hearts by her great kindness.\"--_Memoirs of Marmont_, vol. i.,\n p. 887.\n\n [62] This brave general was mortally wounded in the cavalry charge\n which saved the battle, and the friends of Bernadotte assert\n that the message was never given--an assertion more credible if\n the future king's record had been better on other occasions.\n\n [63] Alison says 75,000 allies, 85,000 French, but admits allies had\n 100 more cannon.\n\n [64] Augereau, says Meneval, went out of his mind during this battle,\n and had to be sent back to France.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES H", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_Milan._--Magnificent public works were set on foot by Napoleon at\nMilan, and the Cathedral daily adorned with fresh marvels of\nsculpture. Arriving here on the morning of the 22nd, Napoleon goes\nfirst to hear the _Te Deum_ at the Cathedral, then to see Eugene's\nwife at the Monza Palace; in the evening to the La Scala Theatre, and\nfinishes the day (to use an Irishism) by working most of the night.\n\n_Mont Cenis._--\"The roads of the Simplon and Mont Cenis were kept in\nthe finest order, and daily attracted fresh crowds of strangers to the\nItalian plains.\" So says Alison, but on the present occasion Napoleon\nwas overtaken by a storm which put his life in danger. He was\nfortunate enough to reach a cave in which he took refuge. This cave\nappeared to him, as he afterwards said, \"a cave of diamonds\"\n(Meneval).\n\n_Eugene._--The writer in _Biog. Univ._ (art. Josephine) says: \"During\na journey that Napoleon made in Italy (November 1807) he wished, while\nloading Eugene with favours, to prepare his mind for his mother's\ndivorce. The Decree of Milan, by which, in default of male and\nlegitimate children[65] of _the direct_ _line_, he adopted Eugene for\nhis son and his successor to the throne of Italy, gave to those who\nknew how to read the secret thoughts of the Emperor in his patent acts\nthe proof that he had excluded him from all inheritance in the\nImperial Crown of France, and that he dreamed seriously of a new\nalliance himself.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Venice._--The Venetians gave Napoleon a wonderful ovation--many\nnobles spending a year's income on the fetes. \"Innumerable gondolas\nglittering with a thousand colours and resounding with the harmony of\ninstruments, escorted the barges which bore, together with the master\nof the world, the Viceroy and the Vice-Queen of Italy, the King and\nQueen of Bavaria, the Princess of Lucca, the King of Naples (Joseph,\nwho stayed six days with his brother), the Grand Duke of Berg, the\nPrince of Neufchatel, and the greater part of the generals of the old\narmy of Italy\" (Thiers). While at Venice Napoleon was in easy touch\nwith the Porte, of which he doubtless made full use, while, _per\ncontra_, he was expected to give Greece her independence.\n\n_November 30th._--Leaving Milan, Napoleon came straight through\nBrescia to Verona, where he supped with the King and Queen of\nBavaria. The next morning he started for Vicenza through avenues of\nvine-encircled poplars and broad yellow wheat-fields which \"lay all\ngolden in the sunlight and the breeze\" (Constant). The Emperor\nwent to the theatre at Vicenza, and left again at 2 A.M. Spending the\nnight at Stra, he met the Venetian authorities early the next morning\nat Fusina.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_Udine._--He is here on the 12th, and then hastens to meet his brother\nLucien at Mantua--the main but secret object of his journey to Italy.\nIt is _most_ difficult to gauge the details--was it a political or a\nconjugal question that made the interview a failure? Madame\nD'Abrantes, voicing the rumours of the day, thinks the former; Lucien,\nwriting Memoirs for his wife and children, declares it to be the\nlatter. Napoleon was prepared to legalise the children of his first\nwife, and marry the eldest to Prince Ferdinand, the heir to the\nSpanish crown; but Lucien considers the Bourbons to be enemies of\nFrance and of the Bonapartes. These Memoirs of Lucien are not perhaps\nvery trustworthy, especially where his prejudices overlap his memory\nor his judgment, but always instructive and very readable. When the\naccount of this interview was written (early in 1812), Lucien was an\nEnglish prisoner, furious that his brother has just refused to\nexchange him for \"some English Lords.\" Speaking of Josephine, the\nEmperor tells him that in spite of her reputation for good-nature, she\nis more malicious than generally supposed, although for her husband\n\"she has no nails\"; but he adds that rumours of impending divorce have\nmade life between them very constrained. \"Only imagine,\" continued the\nEmperor, \"that wife of mine weeps every time she has indigestion,\nbecause she says she thinks herself poisoned by those who wish me to\nmarry some one else. It is perfectly hateful.\" He said that Joseph\nalso thought of a divorce, as his wife gave him only daughters, and\nthat the three brothers might be remarried on the same day. The\nEmperor regretted not having taken the Princess Augusta, daughter of\nhis \"best friend, the King of Bavaria,\" for himself, instead of for\nEugene, who did not know how to appreciate her and was unfaithful. He\nwas convinced that Russia by invading India would overthrow England,\nand that his own soldiers were ready to follow him to the antipodes.\nHe ends by offering Lucien his choice of thrones--Naples, Italy, \"the\nbrightest jewel of my Imperial crown,\" or Spain[66] (Madame D'Abrantes\nadds _Prussia_), if he will give way about Madame Jouberthon and her\nchildren. \"Tout pour Lucien divorce, rien pour Lucien sans divorce.\"\nWhen Napoleon finds his brother obdurate he makes Eugene Prince of\nVenice, and his eldest daughter Princess of Bologna, with a large\nappanage. Lucien is in fresh disgrace within less than three months of\nthe Mantuan interview, for on March 11, 1808, Napoleon writes brother\nJoseph, \"Lucien is misconducting himself at Rome ... and is more Roman\nthan the Pope himself. His conduct has been scandalous; he is my open\nenemy, and that of France.... I will not permit a Frenchman, and one\nof my own brothers, to be the first to conspire and act against me,\nwith a rabble of priests.\"\n\n_I may soon be in Paris._--After leaving Milan he visits the\nfortifications at Alessandria, and is met by a torchlight procession\nat Marengo. Letters for two days (December 27-28th) are dated Turin,\nalthough Constant says he did not stop there. Crossing Mont Cenis on\nDecember 30th he reaches the Tuileries on the evening of New Year's\nDay (1808).\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [65] The Decree itself says \"nos enfants et descendants males,\n legitimes et naturels.\"\n\n [66] On October 11th Prince Ferdinand had written Napoleon for \"the\n honour of allying himself to a Princess of his august family\";\n and Lucien's eldest daughter was Napoleon's only choice.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES I", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_Bayonne_ is half-way between Paris and Madrid, nearly 600 miles from\neach. Napoleon arrived here April 15th, and left July 21st, returning\nwith Josephine _via_ Pau, Tarbes, Auch, Montauban, Agen, Bordeaux,\nRochefort, Nantes. Everywhere he received a hearty welcome, even, and\nespecially, in La Vendee. He arrives at Paris August 14th, hearing on\nAugust 3rd at Bordeaux of (what he calls) the \"horrible catastrophe\"\nof General Dupont at Baylen.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_A country-house._--The Chateau of Marrac. Marbot had stayed there in\n1803 with Augereau. Bausset informs us that this chateau had been\nbuilt either for the Infanta Marie Victoire engaged to Louis XV., or\nfor the Dowager Queen of Charles II., \"the bewitched,\" when she was\npacked off from Madrid to Bayonne (see Hume's _Spain_, 1479-1788).\n\n_Everything is still most primitive._--Nevertheless he enjoyed the\n_pamperruque_ which was danced before the chateau by seven men and ten\nmaidens, gaily dressed--the women armed with tambourines and the men\nwith castanets. Saint-Amand speaks of thirteen performers (seven men\nand six maidens) chosen from the leading families of the town, to\nrender what for time immemorial had been considered fit homage for the\nmost illustrious persons.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_Prince of the Asturias._--The Emperor had received him at the chateau\nof Marrac, paid him all the honours due to royalty, while evading the\nword \"Majesty,\" and insisting the same day on his giving up all claim\nto the Crown of Spain. Constant says he was heavy of gait, and rarely\nspoke.\n\n_The Queen._--A woman of violent passions. The Prince of the Asturias\nhad designs on his mother's life, while the Queen openly begged\nNapoleon to put the Prince to death. On May 9th Napoleon writes\nTalleyrand to prepare to take charge of Ferdinand at Valencay, adding\nthat if the latter were \"to become attached to some pretty woman, whom\nwe are sure of, it would be no disadvantage.\" A new experience for a\nMontmorency to become the keeper of a Bourbon, rather than his\nConstable. Pasquier, with his usual Malvolian decorum, gives fuller\ndetails. Napoleon, he says, \"enumerates with care (to Talleyrand) all\nthe precautions that are to be taken to prevent his escape, and even\ngoes so far as to busy himself with the distractions which may be\npermitted him. And, be it noted, the principal one thrown in his way\nwas given him by a young person who lived at the time under M. De\nTalleyrand's roof. This liaison, of which Ferdinand soon became\ndistrustful, did not last as long as it was desired to.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_A son has been born._--By a plebiscite of the year XII. (1804-5), the\nchildren of Louis and Hortense were to be the heirs of Napoleon, and\nin conformity with this the child born on April 20th at 17 Rue Lafitte\n(now the residence of the Turkish Ambassador), was inscribed on the\nregister of the Civil List destined for princes of the blood. His two\nelder brothers had not been so honoured, but in due course the King of\nRome was entered thereon. Had Louis accepted the Crown of Spain which\nNapoleon had in vain offered to him, and of which Hortense would have\nmade an ideal Queen, the chances are that Napoleon would never have\ndivorced Josephine. St. Amand shows at length that the future Napoleon\nIII. is truly the child of Louis, and neither of Admiral Verhuell nor\nof the Duke Decazes. Louis and Hortense in the present case are\nsufficiently agreed to insist that the father's name be preserved by\nthe child, who is called Charles Louis Napoleon, and not Charles\nNapoleon, which was the Emperor's first choice. In either case the\nname of the croup-stricken firstborn had been preserved. On April 23rd\nJosephine had already two letters from Cambaceres respecting mother\nand child, and on this day the Empress writes her daughter: \"I know\nthat Napoleon is consoled for not having a sister.\"\n\n_Arrive on the 27th._--Josephine, always wishful to humour her\nhusband's love of punctuality, duly arrived on the day fixed, and took\nup her abode with her husband in the chateau of Marrac. Ferdinand\nwrote to his uncle in Madrid to beware of the cursed Frenchmen,\ntelling him also that Josephine had been badly received at Bayonne.\nThe letter was intercepted, and Napoleon wrote Murat that the writer\nwas a liar, a fool, and a hypocrite. The Emperor, in fact, never\ntrusted the Prince henceforward. Bausset, who translated the letter,\ntells how the Emperor could scarcely believe that the Prince would use\nso strong an adjective, but was convinced on seeing the word\n_maldittos_, which he remarked was almost the Italian--_maledetto_.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES J\n\n\nLeaving St. Cloud September 22nd, Napoleon is at Metz on the 23rd, at\nKaiserlautern on the 24th, where he sends a message to the Empress in\na letter to Cambaceres, and on the 27th is at Erfurt. On the 28th the\nEmperors of France and Russia sign a Convention of Alliance. Napoleon\nleaves Erfurt October 14th (the anniversary of Jena), travels\nincognito, and arrives St. Cloud October 18th.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_I have rather a cold._--Napoleon had insisted on going to explore a\nnew road he had ordered between Metz and Mayence, and which no one had\nventured to say was not complete. The road was so bad that the\ncarriage of the _maitre des requetes_, who had been summoned to\naccount for the faulty work, was precipitated a hundred feet down a\nravine near Kaiserlautern.\n\n_I am pleased with the Emperor and every one here._--Which included\nwhat he had promised Talma for his audience--a _parterre_ of kings.\nBesides the two Emperors, the King of Prussia was represented by his\nbrother Prince William, Austria by General Vincent, and there were\nalso the Kings of Saxony, Bavaria, Wuertemberg, Westphalia, and Naples,\nthe Prince Primate, the Princes of Anhalt, Coburg, Saxe-Weimar,\nDarmstadt, Baden, and Nassau. Talleyrand, Champagny, Maret, Duroc,\nBerthier, and Caulaincourt, with Generals Oudinot, Soult, and\nLauriston accompanied Napoleon. Literature was represented by Goethe,\nWieland, Mueller; and feminine attractions by the Duchess of\nSaxe-Weimar and the wily Princess of Tour and Taxis, sister of the\nQueen of Prussia. Pasquier and others have proved that at Erfurt\nTalleyrand did far more harm than good to his master's cause, and in\nfact intended to do so. On his arrival he spent his first evening with\nthe Princess of Tour and Taxis, in order to meet the Emperor\nAlexander, and said: \"Sire ... It is for you to save Europe, and the\nonly way of attaining this object is by resisting Napoleon. The French\npeople are civilised, their Emperor is not: the sovereign of Russia is\ncivilised, his people are not. It is therefore for the sovereign of\nRussia to be the ally of the French people,\"--of whom Talleyrand\ndeclared himself to be the representative. By squaring Alexander this\ntranscendental (unfrocked) Vicar of Bray, \"with an oar in every boat,\"\nis once more hedging, or, to use his own phrase, guaranteeing the\nfuture, and at the same time securing the daughter of the Duchess of\nCourland for his nephew, Edmond de Perigord. \"The Arch-apostate\"\ncarried his treason so far as to advise Alexander of Napoleon's\nulterior views, and thus enabled the former to forestall them--no easy\nmatter in conversations with Napoleon \"lasting whole days\" (see\nLetter No. 3, this Series). Talleyrand had also a grievance. He had\nbeen replaced as Foreign Minister by Champagny. He had accepted the\nsurrender of his portfolio gladly, as now, becoming Vice-Grand\nElector, he ranked with Cambaceres and Maret. But when he found that\nNapoleon, who liked to have credit for his own diplomacy, seldom\nconsulted him, or allowed Champagny to do so, jealousy and ill-will\nnaturally resulted.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Shooting over the battlefield of Jena._--The presence of the Emperor\nAlexander on this occasion was considered a great affront to his\nrecent ally, the King of Prussia, and is severely commented on by Von\nMoltke in one of his Essays. In fairness to Alexander, we must\nremember that their host, the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, had married his\nsister. Von Moltke, by the way, speaks of _hares_ forming the sport in\nquestion, but Savary of a second battle of Jena fought against the\n_partridges_. The fact seems to be that all kinds of game, including\nstags and deer, were driven by the beaters to the royal sportsmen in\ntheir huts, and the Emperor Alexander, albeit short-sighted, succeeded\nin killing a stag, at eight feet distance, _at the first shot_.\n\n_The Weimar ball._--This followed the Jena shoot, and the dancing\nlasted all night. The Russian courtiers were scandalised at their\nEmperor dancing, but while he was present the dancing was conventional\nenough, consisting of promenading two and two to the strains of a\nPolish march. \"Imperial Waltz, imported from the Rhine,\" was already\nthe rage in Germany, and Napoleon, in order to be more worthy of his\nAustrian princess, tried next year to master this new science of\ntactics, but after a trial with the Princess Stephanie, the lady\ndeclared that her pupil should always give lessons, and never receive\nthem. He was rather more successful at billiards, pursued under the\nsame praiseworthy incentive.\n\n_A few trifling ailments._--Mainly a fearful nightmare; a new\nexperience, in which he imagines his vitals torn out by a bear.\n\"Significant of much!\" As when also the Russian Emperor finds\nhimself without a sword and accepts that of Napoleon as a gift: and\nwhen, on the last night, the latter orders his comedians to play\n\"Bajazet,\"--little thinking the appointed Tamerlane was by his side.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "_I am pleased with Alexander._--For the time being Josephine had most\nreason to be pleased with Alexander, who failed to secure his sister's\nhand for Napoleon.\n\n_He ought to be with me._--He might have been, had not Napoleon\npurposely evaded the Eastern Question. On this subject Savary\nwrites (vol. ii. 297):--\"Since Tilsit, Napoleon had sounded the\npersonal views of his ambassador at Constantinople, General\nSebastiani, as to this proposition of the Emperor of Russia (_i.e._\nthe partition of Turkey). This ambassador was utterly opposed to\nthis project, and in a long report that he sent to the Emperor on his\nreturn from Constantinople, he demonstrated to him that it was\nabsolutely necessary for France never to consent to the dismemberment\nof the Turkish Empire; the Emperor Napoleon adopted his views.\" And\nthese Talleyrand knew. The whirligig of time brings about its\nrevenges, and in less than fifty years Lord Palmerston had to seek\nan alliance with France and the house of Napoleon in order to\nmaintain the fixed policy that sent Napoleon I. to Moscow and to\nSt. Helena. \"Alexander, with justice,\" says Alison, \"looked upon\nConstantinople as the back-door of his empire, and was earnest that\nits key should be placed in his hands.\" \"Alexander,\" Napoleon told\nO'Meara, \"wanted to get Constantinople, which I would not allow,\nas it would have destroyed the equilibrium of power in Europe. I\nreflected that France would gain Egypt, Syria, and the islands,\nwhich would have been nothing in comparison with what Russia would\nhave obtained. I considered that the barbarians of the north were\nalready too powerful, and probably in the course of time would\noverwhelm all Europe, as I now think they will. Austria already\ntrembles: Russia and Prussia united, Austria falls, and England\ncannot prevent it.\"\n\n_Erfurt_ is the meridian of Napoleon's first thirteen years\n(1796-1808)--each more glorious; henceforward (1809-1821) ever faster\nhe \"rolls, darkling, down the torrent of his fate.\"\n\n\n\n\nSERIES K", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "Written from the Imperial Camp outside Madrid. Neither Napoleon[67]\nnor Joseph entered the capital, but King Joseph took up his abode at\nthe Prado, the castle of the Kings of Spain, two miles away; while the\nEmperor was generally at Chamartin, some five miles distant. He had\narrived on the heights surrounding Madrid on his Coronation Day\n(December 2nd), and does not fail to remind his soldiers and his\npeople of this auspicious coincidence. The bulletin concludes with a\ntirade against England, whose conduct is \"shameful,\" but her troops\n\"well disciplined and superb.\" It declares that Spain has been treated\nby them as they have treated Holland, Sardinia, Austria, Russia, and\nSweden. \"They foment war everywhere; they distribute weapons like\npoison; but they shed their blood only for their direct and personal\ninterests.\"\n\n_Parisian weather of the last fortnight in May._--In his bulletin of\nthe 13th, he says: \"Never has such a month of December been known in\nthis country; one would think it the beginning of spring.\" But ten\ndays later all was changed, and the storm of Guadarrama undoubtedly\nsaved Moore and the English army. \"Was it then decreed,\" groans\nThiers, \"that we, who were always successful against combined Europe,\nshould on no single occasion prevail against those implacable foes?\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "Other letters of this date are headed Madrid.\n\n_Kourakin._--Alexander Kourakin was the new Russian Ambassador at\nParis, removed thence from Vienna to please Napoleon, and to replace\nTolstoi, who, according to Savary, was always quarrelling with French\nofficers on military points, but who could hardly be so narrow-minded\na novice on these points as his namesake of to-day. This matter had\nbeen arranged at Erfurt.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "_The English appear to have received reinforcements._--Imagine a\nTransvaal with a population of ten millions, and one has a fair idea\nof the French difficulties in Spain, even without Portugal. The\nSpaniards could not fight a scientific battle like Jena or Friedland,\nbut they were incomparable at guerilla warfare. The Memoirs of Barons\nMarbot and Lejeune have well demonstrated this. The latter, an\naccomplished linguist, sent to locate Moore's army, found that to pass\nas an Englishman the magic words \"Damn it,\" won him complete success.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "_Benavente._--Here they found 600 horses, which had been hamstrung by\nthe English.\n\n_The English flee panic-stricken._--The next day Napoleon writes\nFouche to have songs written, and caricatures made of them, which are\nalso to be translated into German and Italian, and circulated in\nGermany and Italy.\n\n_The weather is very bad._--Including 18 degrees of frost. Savary says\nthey had never felt the cold so severe in Poland--and that they ran a\nrisk of being buried in the snow. The Emperor had to march on foot and\nwas very much tired. \"On these occasions,\" adds Savary, \"the Emperor\nwas not selfish, as people would have us believe ... he shared his\nsupper[68] and his fire with all who accompanied him: he went so far\nas to make those eat whom he saw in need of it.\" Napier gives other\ndetails: \"Napoleon, on December 22nd, has 50,000 men at the foot of\nthe Guadarrama. A deep snow choked the passes of the Sierra, and after\ntwelve hours' toil the advanced guards were still on the wrong side:\nthe general commanding reported the road impracticable, but Napoleon,\ndismounting, placed himself at the head of the column, and amidst\nstorms of hail and driving snow, led his soldiers over the mountain.\"\nAt the passage of the Esla Moore escapes Napoleon by twelve hours.\nMarbot, as usual, gives picturesque details. Officers and men marched\nwith locked arms, the Emperor between Lannes and Duroc. Half-way up,\nthe marshals and generals, who wore jack-boots, could go no further.\nNapoleon, however, got hoisted on to a gun, and bestrode it: the\nmarshals and generals did the same, and in this grotesque order they\nreached, after four hours' toil, the convent at the summit.\n\n_Lefebvre._--As they neared Benavente the slush became frightful, and\nthe artillery could not keep pace. General Lefebvre-Desnouette went\nforward, with the horse regiment of the Guard, forded the Esla with\nfour squadrons, was outnumbered by the English (3000 to 300), but he\nand sixty (Lejeune, who escaped, says a hundred) of his chasseurs were\ncaptured. He was brought in great triumph to Sir John Moore. \"That\ngeneral,\" says Thiers, \"possessed the courtesy characteristic of all\ngreat nations; he received with the greatest respect the brilliant\ngeneral who commanded Napoleon's light cavalry, seated him at his\ntable, and presented him with a magnificent Indian sabre.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "Probably written from Astorga, where he arrived on January 1st, having\nbrought 50,000 men two hundred miles in ten days.\n\n_Your letters._--These probably, and others received by a courier,\ndecided him to let Soult follow the English to Corunna--especially as\nhe knew that transports were awaiting the enemy there. He himself\nprepares to return, for Fouche and Talleyrand are in league, the slim\nand slippery Metternich is ambassador at Paris, Austria is arming, and\nthe whole political horizon, apparently bright at Erfurt, completely\novercast. Murat, balked of the Crown of Spain, is now hoping for that\nof France if Napoleon is killed or assassinated. It is Talleyrand and\nFouche who have decided on Murat, and on the ultimate overthrow of the\nBeauharnais. Unfortunately for their plans Eugene is apprised by\nLavalette, and an incriminating letter to Murat captured and sent\npost-haste to Napoleon. This, says Pasquier, undoubtedly hastened the\nEmperor's return. Ignoring the complicity of Fouche, the whole weight\nof his anger falls on Talleyrand, who loses the post of High\nChamberlain, which he had enjoyed since 1804. For half-an-hour this\n\"arch-apostate,\" as Lord Rosebery calls him, receives a torrent of\ninvectives. \"You are a thief, a coward, a man without honour; you do\nnot believe in God; you have all your life been a traitor to your\nduties; you have deceived and betrayed everybody: nothing is sacred to\nyou; you would sell your own father. I have loaded you down with\ngifts, and there is nothing that you would not undertake against me.\nThus, for the past ten months, you have been shameless enough, because\nyou supposed, rightly or wrongly, that my affairs in Spain were going\nastray, to say to all who would listen to you that you always blamed\nmy undertaking there, whereas it was yourself who first put it into my\nhead, and who persistently urged it. And that man, _that unfortunate_\n(he was thus designating the Duc d'Enghien), by whom was I advised of\nthe place of his residence? Who drove me to deal cruelly with him?\nWhat then are you aiming at? What do you wish for? What do you hope?\nDo you dare to say? You deserve that I should smash you like a\nwine-glass. I can do it, but I despise you too much to take the\ntrouble.\" This we are assured by the impartial Pasquier, who heard it\nfrom an ear-witness, and second-hand from Talleyrand, is an abstract\nof what Napoleon said, and to which the ex-Bishop made no reply.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "_The English are in utter rout._--Still little but dead men and horses\nfell into his hands. Savary adds the interesting fact that all the\n(800) dead cavalry horses had a foot missing, which the English had\nto show their officers to prove that they had not sold their horses.\nScott, on barely sufficient evidence perhaps, states, \"The very\ntreasure-chests of the army were thrown away and abandoned. There was\nnever so complete an example of a disastrous retreat.\" The fact seems\nto have been that the soldiership was bad, but Moore's generalship\nexcellent. Napier writes, \"No wild horde of Tartars ever fell with\nmore license upon their rich effeminate neighbours than did the\nEnglish troops upon the Spanish towns taken by storm.\" What could be\nexpected of such men in retreat, when even Lord Melville had just said\nin extenuation of our army that the worst men make the best soldiers?\n\n\nNOS. 13 AND 14.\n\nWritten at Valladolid. Here he received a deputation asking that his\nbrother may reside in Madrid, to which he agrees, and awaits its\narrangement before setting out for Paris.\n\nAt Valladolid he met De Pradt, whom he mistrusted; but who, like\nTalleyrand, always amused him. In the present case the Abbe told him\nthat \"the Spaniards would never thank him for interfering in their\nbehalf, and that they were like Sganarelle in the farce, who\nquarrelled with a stranger for interfering with her husband when he\nwas beating her\" (Scott's \"Napoleon\").\n\nHe leaves Valladolid January 17th, and is in Paris on January 24th. He\nrode the first seventy miles, to Burgos, in five and a half hours,\nstopping only to change horses.[69] Well might Savary say, \"Never had\na sovereign ridden at such a speed.\"\n\n_Eugene has a daughter._--The Princess Eugenie-Hortense, born December\n23rd at Milan; married the hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern\nHechingen.\n\n_They are foolish in Paris_--if not worse. Talleyrand, Fouche, and\nothers were forming what amounted to a conspiracy, and the Empress\nherself, wittingly or unwittingly, had served as their tool. For the\nfirst time she answers a deputation of the Corps Legislatif, who come\nto congratulate her on her husband's victories, and says that\ndoubtless his Majesty would be very sensible of the homage of an\nassembly _which represents the nation_. Napoleon sees in this remark a\ngerm of aggression on behalf of his House of Commons, more especially\nwhen emphasised by 125 blackballs against a Government Bill. He takes\nthe effective but somewhat severe step of contradicting his wife in\nthe _Moniteur_, or rather declaring that the Empress knew the laws too\nwell not to know that the Emperor was the chief representative of the\nPeople, then the Senate, and last the Corps Legislatif.\n\n\"It would be a wild and even criminal assertion to try to represent\nthe nation before the Emperor.\"\n\nAll through the first half of 1809 another dangerous plot, of which\nthe centre was the Princess of Tour and Taxis, had its threads far and\nwide. Many of Soult's generals were implicated, and in communication\nwith the English, preventing their commander getting news of\nWellesley's movements (Napier). When they find Soult cannot be\ntraduced, they lend a willing ear to stirring up strife between the\nEmperor and Soult, by suggesting that the latter should be made King\nof Portugal. Madame d'Abrantes, who heard in 1814 that the idea had\nfound favour with English statesmen, thinks such a step would have\nseriously injured Napoleon (vol. iv. 53).\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [67] Napoleon visited Madrid and its Palais Royal incognito, and (like\n Vienna) by night (Bausset).\n\n [68] With Lejeune on one occasion.\n\n [69] _Biographie Universelle._ Michaud says _ponies_.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES L\n\n\n1809.\n\nThe dangers surrounding Napoleon were immense. The Austrian army,\n320,000 strong (with her Landwehr, 544,000 men) and 800 cannon, had\nnever been so great, never so fitted for war. Prussia was already\nseething with secret societies, of which as yet the only formidable\none was the Tugendbund, whose headquarters were Konigsburg, and whose\nchief members were Stein, Stadion, Blucher, Jahn. Perhaps their most\nsensible scheme was to form a united German empire, with the Archduke\nCharles[70] as its head. The Archduke Ferdinand invaded the Duchy of\nWarsaw, and had he taken Thorn with its park of 100 cannon, Prussia\nwas to join Austria. In Italy the Carbonari and Adelphes[71] only\nwaited for the French troops to go north to meet the Austrians to\nspread revolt in Italy. Of the former the head lodge was at Capua and\nits constitutions written in English, since England was aiding this\n_chouanerie religieuse_ as a lever against Napoleon. England had an\narmy of 40,000 men ready to embark in any direction--to Holland,\nBelgium, Naples, or Biscay, while the French troops in Portugal were\nbeing tampered with to receive Moreau as their leader, and to march\nwith Spaniards and English for the Pyrenees. At Paris Talleyrand was\nin partial disgrace, but he and Fouche were still plotting--the\nlatter, says Pelet, forwarding daily a copy of the private bulletin\n(prepared for Napoleon's eye alone) to the Bourbons. After Essling and\nthe breaking of the Danube bridge, he hesitated between seizing\nsupreme power himself or offering it to Bernadotte.\n\nUp to the last--up to March 27th--the _Correspondence_ proves that\nNapoleon had hoped that war would be averted through the influence of\nRussia. \"All initiative,\" he declared, \"rested on the heads of the\ncourt of Austria.\" \"Menaced on all sides; warned of the intentions of his\nenemies by their movements and by their intercepted correspondence;\nseeing from that moment hostilities imminent, he wishes to prove to\nFrance and Europe that all the wrongs are on their side, and awaits in his\ncapital the news of an aggression that nothing justifies, nothing\nwarrants. Vain prudence! Europe will accuse him of having been the\ninstigator on every occasion, even in this.\"[72] On April 8th the\nAustrians violated Bavarian territory, and during his supreme command for\nthe next five days Berthier endangered the safety of the French empire\nin spite of the most elaborate and lucid instructions from Napoleon, which\nhe failed to comprehend. \"Never,\" says Pelet, \"was so much written, never\nso little done. Each of his letters (Berthier's) attests the great\ndifference which existed between his own correspondence and that which\nwas dictated to him.\" An ideal chief of staff, he utterly lacked the\ndecision necessary for a commander-in-chief. The arrival of Napoleon\nchanged in a moment the position of affairs. \"The sudden apparition of the\nEmperor produced the effect of the head of Medusa, and paralysed the\nenemy.\"[73] Within five days the Austrians were four times defeated, and\nRatisbon, the _passe-partout_ of Southern Germany and half-way house\nbetween Strasburg and Vienna, is once more in the hands of France and her\nallies. Pelet considers these operations as the finest which have been\nexecuted either in ancient or modern times, at any rate those of which the\nprojects are authentically proved. He foretells that military men from\nevery country of Europe, but specially young Frenchmen, will religiously\nvisit the fields of the Laber. They will visit, with Napoleon's\n_Correspondence_ in their hands, \"much more precious than every other\ncommentary, the hills of Pfaffenhofen, the bridge of Landshut, and that\nof Eckmuehl, the mill of Stangl, and the woods of Roking.\" A few days\nlater the Archduke Charles writes a letter to Napoleon, which is a fair\ntype of those charming yet stately manners which made him at that\nmoment the most popular man in Europe. \"Sire,\" he writes, \"your\nMajesty's arrival was announced to me by the thunder of artillery, without\ngiving me time to compliment you thereon. Scarcely advised of your\npresence, I was made sensible of it by the losses which you have caused\nme. You have taken many of my men, Sire; my troops also have made some\nthousands of prisoners in places where you did not direct the\noperations. I propose to your Majesty to exchange them man for man, grade\nfor grade, and if that offer is agreeable to you, please let me know your\nintentions for the place destined for the exchange. I feel flattered,\nsire, in fighting against the greatest captain of the age. I should be\nmore happy if destiny had chosen me to procure for my country the\nbenefit of a lasting peace. Whichsoever they be, the events of war or\nthe approach of peace, I beg your Majesty to believe that my desires\nalways carry me to meet you, and that I hold myself equally honoured in\nfinding the sword, or the olive branch, in the hand of your Majesty.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_DONAUWERTH._--\nn the same day napoleon writes almost an identical\nletter to cambaceres, adding, however, the news that the tyrolese are\nin full revolt.\n\nOn april 20th he placed himself at the head of the wurtembergers and\nbavarians at abensberg. he made a stirring speech (no. 15,099 of\n_correspondence_), and lejeune tells us that the prince royal of\nbavaria translated into german one sentence after another as the\nemperor spoke, and officers repeated the translations throughout the\nranks.\n\nOn april 24th is issued from Ratisbon his proclamation to the\narmy:--\"Soldiers, you have justified my expectations. You have made\nup for your number by your bravery. You have gloriously marked the\ndifference between the soldiers of Caesar and the armed cohorts of\nXerxes. In a few days we have triumphed in the pitched battles of\nThann, Abensberg, and Eckmuehl, and in the combats of Peising,\nLandshut, and Ratisbon. A hundred cannon, forty flags, fifty thousand\nprisoners.... before a month we shall be at Vienna.\" It was within\nthree weeks! He was specially proud of Eckmuehl, and we are probably\nindebted to a remark of Pasquier for his chief but never divulged\nreason. \"A noteworthy fact in connection with this battle was that\nthe triumphant army was composed principally of Bavarians and\nWurtembergers. Under his direction, these allies were as greatly to be\nfeared as the French themselves.\" At St. Helena was written: \"The\nbattle of Abensberg, the manoeuvres of Landshut, and the battle of\nEckmuehl were the most brilliant and the most skilful manoeuvres of\nNapoleon.\" Eckmuehl ended with a fine exhibition of a \"white arm\"\nmelee by moonlight, in which the French proved the superiority of\ntheir double cuirasses over the breastplates of the Austrians.\nPelet gives this useful abstract of the campaign of five days:--\n\n_April 19th._--Union of the french army whilst fighting the Archduke,\nwhose base is already menaced.\n\n_April 20th._--Napoleon, at Abensberg and on the banks of the Laber,\nbreaks the Austrian line, totally separating the centre from the left,\nwhich he causes to be turned by Massena.\n\n_April 21st._--He destroys their left wing at Landshut, and captures\nthe magazines, artillery, and train, as well as the communications of\nthe enemy's grand army, fixing definitely his own line of operations,\nwhich he already directs on Vienna.\n\n_April 22nd._--He descends the Laber to Eckmuehl, gives the last blow\nto the Archduke's army, of which the remnant takes refuge in\nRatisbon.\n\n_april 23rd._--He takes that strong place, and forces the Archduke to\ntake refuge in the mountains of Bohemia.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_May 6th._--On May 1st Napoleon was still at Braunau, waiting for news\nfrom Davoust. Travelling by night at his usual speed he reached\nLambach at noon on May 2nd, and Wels on the 3rd. The next morning he\nheard Massena's cannon at Ebersberg, but reaches the field at the fall\nof night--too late to save the heavy cost of Massena's frontal attack.\nThe French lost at least 1500 killed and wounded; the Austrians (under\nHiller) the same number killed and 7000 prisoners. Pelet defends\nMassena, and quotes the bulletin of May 4th (omitted from the\n_Correspondence_): \"It is one of the finest feats of arms of which\nhistory can preserve the memory! The traveller will stop and say, 'It\nis here, it is here, in these superb positions, that an army of 35,000\nAustrians was routed by two French divisions'\" (Pelet, ii. 225).\nLejeune, and most writers, blame Massena, referring to the Emperor's\nletter of May 1st in Pelet's Appendix (vol. ii.), but not in the\n_Correspondence_.\n\nBetween April 17th and May 6th there is no letter to Josephine\npreserved, but plenty to Eugene, and all severe--not so much for\nincapacity as for not keeping the Emperor advised of what was really\nhappening. On May 6th he had received no news for over a week.\n\n_The ball that touched me_--_i.e._ at Ratisbon. This was the second\ntime Napoleon had been wounded in battle--the first time by an\nEnglish bayonet at Toulon. On the present occasion (April 23rd)\nMeneval seems to be the best authority: \"Napoleon was seated on a\nspot from which he could see the attack on the town of Ratisbon. He\nwas beating the ground with his riding-whip,[74] when a bullet,\nsupposed to have been fired from a Tyrolean carbine, struck him on the\nbig toe (Marbot says 'right ankle,' which is correct). The news of\nhis wound spread rapidly[75] from file to file, and he was forced\nto mount on horseback to show himself to his troops. Although his\nboot had not been cut the contusion was a very painful one,\" and in\nthe first house he went to for a moment's rest, he fainted. The next\nday, however, he saw the wounded and reviewed his troops as usual,\nand Lejeune has preserved a highly characteristic story, somewhat\nsimilar to an experience of the Great Frederick's: \"When he had\nreached the seventh or eighth sergeant the Emperor noticed a\nhandsome young fellow with fine but stern-looking eyes and of\nresolute and martial bearing, who made his musket ring again as he\npresented arms. 'How many wounds?' inquired the Emperor. 'Thirty,'\nreplied the sergeant. 'I am not asking you your age,' said the Emperor\ngraciously; 'I am asking how many wounds you have received.' Raising\nhis voice, the sergeant again replied with the one word, 'Thirty.'\nAnnoyed at this reply, the Emperor turned to the colonel and said,\n'The man does not understand; he thinks I am asking about his\nage.' 'He understands well enough, sire,' was the reply; 'he has been\nwounded thirty times.' 'What!' exclaimed the Emperor, 'you have been\nwounded so often and have not got the cross!' The sergeant looked\ndown at his chest, and seeing that the strap of his cartridge-pouch\nhid his decoration, he raised it so as to show the cross. He said\nto the Emperor, with great earnestness, 'Yes, I've got one; but I've\nmerited a dozen!' The Emperor, who was always pleased to meet\nspirited fellows such as this, pronounced the sacramental words,\n'I make you an officer!' 'That's right, Emperor,' said the new\nsub-lieutenant as he proudly drew himself up; 'you couldn't have\ndone better!'\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "Almost an exact duplicate of this letter goes on to Paris to\nCambaceres, as also of No. 4. The moment the Emperor had heard that\nthe Archduke had left Budweiss and was going by the circuitous route\n_via_ Krems to Vienna, he left Enns (May 7th) and reached Moelk the\nsame evening. Seeing a camp of the enemy on the other side of the\nriver he sends Marbot with a sergeant and six picked men to kidnap a\nfew Austrians during the night. The foray is successful, and three are\nbrought before Napoleon, one weeping bitterly. The Emperor asked the\nreason, and found it was because he had charge of his master's girdle,\nand would be thought to have robbed him. The Emperor had him set free\nand ferried across the river, saying, \"We must honour and aid virtue\nwherever it shows itself.\" The next day he started for Saint-Polten\n(already evacuated by Hiller). On his way he saw the ruins of\nDirnstein Castle, where Richard Coeur de Lion had been imprisoned. The\nEmperor's comments were interesting, but are now hackneyed, and are in\nmost histories and memoirs--the parent source being Pelet (vol. ii.\n246).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_Schoenbrunn_, situated a mile from Vienna, across the little river of\nthat name. Constant thus describes it: \"Built in 1754 by the\nEmpress Marie Therese, Schoenbrunn had an admirable position; its\narchitecture, if defective and irregular, was yet of a majestic,\nimposing type. To reach it one has to cross the bridge across the\nlittle river Vienna. Four stone sphinxes ornament this bridge, which\nis very large and well built. Facing the bridge there is a handsome\ngate opening on to a large courtyard, spacious enough for seven or\neight thousand men to manoeuvre in. The courtyard is in the form\nof a quadrangle surrounded by covered galleries and ornamented with\ntwo large basins, in which are marble statues. On both sides of\nthe gateway are two huge obelisks of pink stone surmounted by gilt\neagles.\n\n\"In German, Schoenbrunn means 'fair spring,' and the name is derived\nfrom a fresh and sparkling spring which is situated in the park. It\nwells forth from a little mound on which a tiny grotto has been built,\ncarved within so as to resemble stalactites. Inside the grotto is a\nrecumbent naiad holding a horn, from which the water falls down into a\nmarble basin. In summer this little nook is deliciously cool.\n\n\"The interior of the palace merits nothing but praise. The furniture\nis sumptuous, and in taste both original and distinguished. The\nEmperor's bedroom (the only place in the whole edifice where there was\na chimney) was upholstered in Chinese lacquer-wood of great antiquity,\nyet the painting and gilding were still quite fresh. The study\nadjoining was decorated in a like way. All these apartments, except\nthe bedroom, were heated in winter by immense stoves, which sadly\nspoilt the effect of the other furniture. Between the study and the\nbedroom there was a strange apparatus called a 'flying chair,' a sort\nof mechanical seat, which had been constructed for the Empress Marie\nTherese, and which served to transport her from one floor to another,\nso that she was not obliged to go up and down the staircase like every\none else. The machine was worked in the same way as at theatres, by\ncords, pulleys, and a counter-weight.\" The Emperor drank a glassful\nfrom the beautiful spring, Schoen Brunn, every morning. Napoleon found\nthe people of Vienna less favourable to the French than in 1805; and\nCount Rapp told him \"the people were everywhere tired of us and of our\nvictories.\" \"He did not like these sort of reflections.\"\n\n_May 12th._--On May 13th is dated the _seventh_ bulletin of the\narmy of Germany, but none of the Bulletins 2 to 6 are in the\n_Correspondence_. It states that on the 10th he is before Vienna; the\nArchduke Maximilian refuses to surrender; on the 11th, at 9 P.M., the\nbombardment commences, and by daybreak the city capitulated, and the\nArchduke fled. In his proclamation Napoleon blamed him and the\nhouse of Austria for the bombardment. \"While fleeing from the city,\ntheir adieux to the inhabitants have been murder and arson; like\nMedea, they have with their own hands slain their children.\" The\nViennese had sworn to emulate their ancestors in 1683, and the heroes\nof Saragossa. But Alison (than whom none can do the \"big bow-wow\"\nstyle better) has a thoughtful comment on what really occurred. \"All\nhistory demonstrates that there is one stage of civilisation when the\ninhabitants of a metropolis are capable of such a sacrifice in defence\nof their country, and only one; and that when passed, it is never\nrecovered. The event has proved that the Russians, in 1812, were in\nthe state of progress when such a heroic act was possible, but\nthat the inhabitants of Vienna and Paris had passed it. Most\ncertainly the citizens of London would never have buried themselves\nunder the ruins of the Bank, the Treasury, or Leadenhall Street\nbefore capitulating to Napoleon.\" 1870 and the siege of Paris modify\nthis judgment; but the Prussian bombardment came only at the last,\nand barely reached the centre of the city.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_Ebersdorf._--Written five days after the murderous battle of Essling.\nMontgaillard, whose temper and judgment, as Alison remarks, are not\nequal to his talents, cannot resist a covert sneer (writing under the\nBourbons) at Napoleon's generalship on this occasion, although he adds\na veneer by reminding us that Caesar was defeated at Dyrrachium,\nTurenne at Marienthal, Eugene at Denain, Frederick the Great at Kolin.\nThe crossing of the river was one which none but a victorious army,\nwith another[76] about to join it, could afford to risk, but which\nhaving effected, the French had to make the best of. As Napoleon said\nin his tenth bulletin, \"The passage of a river like the Danube, in\nfront of an enemy knowing perfectly the localities, and having the\ninhabitants on its side, is one of the greatest operations of war\nwhich it is possible to conceive.\" The Danube hereabouts is a thousand\nyards broad, and thirty feet deep. But the rising of its water\nfourteen feet in three days was what no one had expected. At Ebersdorf\nthe first branch of the Danube was 500 yards across to an islet,\nthence 340 yards across the main current to Lobau, the vast island\nthree miles broad and nearly three miles long, separated from the\nfarther bank by another 150 yards of Danube. Bertrand had made\nexcellent bridges, but on the 22nd the main one was carried away by a\nfloating mill.\n\n_Eugene ... has completely performed the task._--At the commencement\nof the campaign the Viceroy was taken unprepared. The Archduke John,\nexactly his own age (twenty-seven), was burning with hatred of France.\nEugene had the impudence, with far inferior forces, to attack him at\nSacile on April 16th, but was repulsed with a loss (including\nprisoners) of 6000 men. It is now necessary to retire, and the\nArchduke follows him leisurely, almost within sight of Verona. By the\nend of April the news of Eckmuehl has reached both armies, and by May\n1st the Austrians are in full retreat. As usual, Napoleon has already\ndivined their altered plan of campaign, and writes from Braunau on\nthis very day, \"I doubt not that the enemy may have retired before\nyou; it is necessary to pursue him with activity, whilst coming to\njoin me as soon as possible _via_ Carinthia. The junction with my army\nwill probably take place beyond Bruck. It is probable I shall be at\nVienna by the 10th to the 15th of May.\" It is the successful\nperformance of this task of joining him and of driving back the enemy\nto which Napoleon alludes in the letter. The Viceroy had been reproved\nfor fighting at Sacile without his cavalry, for his precipitous\nretreat on Verona; and only two days earlier the Emperor had told him\nthat if affairs went worse he was to send for the King of Naples\n(Murat) to take command. \"I am no longer grieved at the blunders you\nhave committed, but because you do not write to me, and give me no\nchance of advising you, and even of regulating my own affairs here\nconformably.\" On May 8th Eugene defeats the Austrians on the Piave,\nand the Archduke John loses nearly 10,000 men and 15 cannon. Harassed\nin their retreat, they regain their own territory on May 14th--the day\nafter the capitulation of Vienna. Henceforward Eugene with part of the\narmy, and Macdonald with the rest, force their way past all\ndifficulties, so that when the junction with the Grand Army occurs at\nBruck, Napoleon sends (May 27th) the following proclamation: \"Soldiers\nof the army of Italy, you have gloriously attained the goal that I\nmarked out for you.... Surprised by a perfidious enemy before your\ncolumns were united, you had to retreat to the Adige. But when you\nreceived the order to advance, you were on the memorable fields of\nArcola, and there you swore on the manes of our heroes to triumph. You\nhave kept your word at the battle of the Piave, at the combats of\nSan-Daniel, Tarvis, and Goritz; you have taken by assault the forts of\nMalborghetto, of Prediel, and made the enemy's divisions, entrenched\nin Prewald and Laybach, surrender. You had not then passed the Drave,\nand already 25,000 prisoners, 60 cannon, and 10 flags signalised your\nvalour.\" This is the proclamation alluded to in this letter to\nJosephine.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_May 29th._--The date is wrong; it should be May 19th or 24th,\nprobably the latter. It sets at rest the vexed question how the Danube\nbridge was broken, and seems to confirm Marbot's version of a floating\nmill on fire, purposely sent down by an Austrian officer of Jaegers,\nwho won the rare order of Maria Theresa thereby--for performing _more_\nthan his duty. Bertrand gained his Emperor's lifelong admiration by\nhis expedients at this time. Everything had to be utilised--anchors\nfor the boat bridges were made by filling fishermen's baskets with\nbullets; and a naval contingent of 1200 bluejackets from Antwerp\nproved invaluable.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_I have ordered the two princes to re-enter France._--After so\ncritical a battle as the battle of Essling the Emperor's first\nthoughts were concerning his succession--had he been killed or\ncaptured. He was therefore seriously annoyed that the heir-apparent\nand his younger brother had both been taken out of the country without\nhis permission. He therefore writes the Queen of Holland on May 28th\nfrom Ebersdorf: \"My daughter, I am seriously annoyed that you have\nleft France without my permission, and especially that you have taken\nmy nephews out of it. Since you are at Baden stay there, but an hour\nafter receiving the present letter send my two nephews back to\nStrasburg to be near the Empress--they ought never to go out of\nFrance. It is the first time I have had reason to be annoyed with\nyou, but you should not dispose of my nephews without my permission,\nyou should realise what a bad effect it will have. Since the waters at\nBaden are doing you good you can stay there a few days, but, I repeat,\nlose not a moment in sending my nephews back to Strasburg. If the\nEmpress is going to the waters at Plombieres they may accompany her\nthere, but they must never pass the bridge of Strasburg.--Your\naffectionate father, Napoleon.\" This letter passed through the hands\nof Josephine at Strasburg, who was so unhappy at not having heard from\nher husband that she opened it, and writes to Hortense on June 1st\nwhen forwarding the letter: \"I advise you to write to him immediately\nthat you have anticipated his intentions, and that your children are\nwith me: that you have only had them a few days in order to see them,\nand to give them a change of air. The page who is announced in\nMeneval's letter has not yet arrived. I hope he will bring me a letter\nfrom the Emperor, and that at least he will not be as vexed with me\nfor your being at Baden. Your children have arrived in excellent\nhealth.\"\n\n_The Duke of Montebello, who died this morning._--The same day he\nwrites to La Marechale as follows:--\n\n\"_Ma Cousine_,--The Marshal died this morning of the wounds that he\nreceived on the field of honour. My sorrow equals yours. I lose the\nmost distinguished general in my whole army, my comrade-in-arms for\nsixteen years, he whom I looked upon as my best friend. His family and\nchildren will always have a special claim on my protection. It is to\ngive you this assurance that I wished to write you this letter, for I\nfeel that nothing can alleviate the righteous sorrow that you will\nexperience.\" The following year he bestowed the highest honour on the\nMarechale that she could receive.\n\n_Thus everything ends._--The fourteenth bulletin says that the end was\ncaused by a pernicious fever, and in spite of Dr. Franck, one of the\nbest physicians in Europe. \"Thus ends one of the most distinguished\nsoldiers France ever possessed.\"[77] He had received thirteen wounds.\nThe death of Lannes, and the whole of the Essling period, is best\ntold by Marbot. The loss of Lannes was a more serious one to Napoleon\nthan the whole 20,000 men lost in this battle. The master himself has\ntold us that \"in war men are nothing, a man is everything.\" They could\nbe replaced: Lannes never. Like Kleber and Desaix, he stood on a\nhigher platform than the older Marshals--except Massena, who had\nserious drawbacks, and who was the only one of Napoleon's best\ngenerals that Wellington met in the Peninsula. Lannes had always the\near of the Emperor, and always told him facts, not flattery. His life\nhad been specially crowded the last few weeks. Rebuked by Napoleon for\ntardiness in supporting Massena at Ebersberg, his life was saved by\nNapoleon himself when he was thrown from his horse into the flooded\nDanube; and finally, on the field of Essling, he had under his orders\nBessieres, the man who had a dozen years before prevented his\nengagement to Caroline Bonaparte by tittle-tattling to Napoleon.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "_Eugene won a battle._--The remnant of the Archduke John's army,\ntogether with Hungarian levies, in all 31,000 men, hold the\nentrenched camp and banks of the Raab. Eugene defeats it, with a\nloss of 6000 men, of whom 3700 were prisoners. Napoleon, in\ncommemoration of the anniversary of Marengo (and Friedland) calls it\nthe little granddaughter of Marengo.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "The curtain of the war's final act was rung up in the twenty-fourth\nbulletin. \"At length there exists no longer the Danube for the French\narmy; General Count Bertrand has completed works which excite\nastonishment and inspire admiration. For 800 yards over the most rapid\nriver in the world he has, in a fortnight, constructed a bridge of\nsixteen arches where three carriages can pass abreast.\"\n\n_Wagram_ is, according to Pelet, the masterpiece of _tactical_\nbattles, while the five days' campaign (Thann to Ratisbon) was one\nlong _strategic_ battle. Nevertheless, respecting Wagram, had the\nArchduke John, with his 40,000 men, turned up, as the Archduke had\nmore right to expect than Wellington had to expect Blucher, Waterloo\nmight have been antedated six years.\n\n_Lasalle_ was a prime favourite of Napoleon, for his sure eye and\nactive bearing. His capture of Stettin with two regiments of hussars\nwas specially noteworthy. Like Lannes he had a strong premonition of\nhis death. Marbot tells a story of how Napoleon gave him 200,000\nfrancs to get married with. A week later the Emperor asked, \"When is\nthe wedding?\" \"As soon as I have got some money to furnish with,\nsire.\" \"Why, I gave you 200,000 francs to furnish with last week! What\nhave you done with them?\" \"Paid my debts with half, and lost the other\nhalf at cards.\" Such an admission would have ruined any other general.\nThe Emperor laughed, and merely giving a sharp tug at Lasalle's\nmoustache, ordered Duroc to give him another 200,000.\n\n_I am sunburnt_, and, as he writes Cambaceres the same day, tired out,\nhaving been sixty out of the previous seventy-two hours in the\nsaddle.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "_Wolkersdorf._--On July 8th he writes General Clarke: \"I have the\nheadquarters lately occupied by the craven Francis II., who contented\nhimself with watching the whole affair from the top of a tower, ten\nmiles from the scene of battle.\" On this day also he dictated his\ntwenty-fifth bulletin, of which the last portion is so skilfully\nutilised in the last scene of Act V. in L'Aiglon. One concluding\nsentence is all that can here be quoted: \"Such is the recital of the\nbattle of Wagram, a decisive and ever illustrious battle, where three\nto four hundred thousand men, twelve to fifteen hundred guns, fought\nfor great stakes on a field of battle, studied, meditated on, and\nfortified by the enemy for many months.\"\n\n_A surfeit of bile._--His usual source of relief after extra work or\nworry. In this case both. Bernadotte had behaved so badly at Wagram,\nthat Napoleon sent him to Paris with the stern rebuke, \"A bungler like\nyou is no good to me.\" But as usual his anger against an old comrade\nis short-lived, and he gives General Clarke permission to send\nBernadotte to command at Antwerp against the English.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "_My affairs follow my wishes._--In Austria, possibly, but not\nelsewhere. Prussia was seething with conspiracy, Russia with\nill-concealed hatred, the English had just landed in Belgium, and\nWellesley had just won Talavera. Soult was apparently no longer\ntrustworthy, Bernadotte a conceited boaster, who had to be publicly\nsnubbed (see The Order of the Day, August 5th, No. 15,614). Clarke and\nCambaceres are so slow that Napoleon writes them (August 10th) \"not to\nlet the English come and take you in bed.\" Fouche shows more energy\nthan every one else put together, calls out National Guards, and sends\nthem off to meet the northern invasion. The Minister of the Interior,\nM. Cretet, had just died, and the Emperor had wisely put Fouche, the\nmost competent man available, into his place for the time being.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 17.", + "body": "_August 21st._--The list of birthday honours (August 15th) had been a\nfairly long one, Berthier becoming Prince of Wagram, Massena of\nEssling, Davoust of Eckmuehl. Marshals Oudinot and Macdonald, Generals\nClarke, Reynier, Gaudin and Champagny, as also M. Maret, became Dukes.\nMarmont had already, says Savary, been made delirious with the joy of\npossessing a baton.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "_Comedians._--Napoleon found relaxation more after his own heart in\nconversing with the savants of Germany, including the great mechanic\nMaeelzel, with whose automaton chess-player he played a game. Constant\ngives a highly-coloured picture of the sequel: \"The automaton was\nseated before a chess-board, and the Emperor, taking a chair opposite\nthe figure, said laughingly, 'Now, my friend, we'll have a game.' The\nautomaton, bowing, made signs for the Emperor to begin. After two or\nthree moves the Emperor made a wrong one on purpose; the automaton\nbowed and replaced the piece on the board. His Majesty cheated again,\nwhen the automaton bowed again, but this time took the pawn. 'Quite\nright,' said his Majesty, as he promptly cheated for the third time.\nThe automaton then shook its head, and with one sweep of its hand\nknocked all the chessmen down.\"\n\n_Women ... not having been presented._--One woman, however, the\nmistress of Lord Paget, was quite willing to be presented at a late\nhour and to murder him at the same time--at least so says Constant.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "_All this is very suspicious._--For perfectly natural reasons Caesar's\nwife was now above suspicion, but Caesar himself was not so. Madame\nWalewski had been more than a month at Schoenbrunn, and on May 4th,\n1810, Napoleon has a second son born, who fifty years later helped to\nedit his father's _Correspondence_.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "_Krems._--He left here to review Davoust's corps on the field of\nAusterlitz. Afterwards all the generals dined with him, and the\nEmperor said, \"This is the second time I come upon the field of\nAusterlitz; shall I come to it a third time?\" \"Sire,\" replied one,\n\"from what we see every day none dare wager that you will not!\" It was\nthis suppressed hatred that probably determined the Emperor to\ndismantle the fortifications of Vienna, an act that intensified the\nhatred of the Viennese more than his allowing the poor people to help\nthemselves to wood for the winter in the imperial forests had\nmollified them.\n\n_My health has never been better._--His reason for this remark is\nfound in his letter to Cambaceres of the same date, \"They have spread\nin Paris the rumour that I was ill, I know not why; I was never\nbetter.\" The reason of the rumour was that Corvisart had been sent for\nto Vienna, as there had been an outbreak of dysentery among the\ntroops. This was kept a profound secret from France, and Napoleon even\nallowed Josephine to think that Corvisart had attended him (see Letter\n22).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 23.", + "body": "_October 14th._--Two days before, Stabs, the young Tugendbundist and\nan admirer of Joan of Arc, had attempted to assassinate Napoleon on\nparade with a carving-knife. The Emperor's letter to Fouche of the\n12th October gives the most succinct account:--\n\n\"A youth of seventeen, son of a Lutheran minister of Erfurt, sought to\napproach me on parade to-day. He was arrested by the officers, and as\nthe little man's agitation had been noticed, suspicion was aroused; he\nwas searched, and a dagger found upon him. I had him brought before\nme, and the little wretch, who seemed to me fairly well educated, told\nme that he wished to assassinate me to deliver Austria from the\npresence of the French. I could distinguish in him neither religious\nnor political fanaticism. He did not appear to know exactly who or\nwhat Brutus was. The fever of excitement he was in prevented our\nknowing more. He will be examined when he has cooled down and fasted.\nIt is possible that it will come to nothing. He will be arraigned\nbefore a military commission.\n\n\"I wished to inform you of this circumstance in order that it may not\nbe made out more important than it appears to be. I hope it will not\nleak out; if it does, we shall have to represent the fellow as a\nmadman. If it is not spoken of at all, keep it to yourself. The whole\naffair made no disturbance at the parade; I myself saw nothing of it.\n\n\"_P.S._--I repeat once more, and you understand clearly, that there is\nto be no discussion of this occurrence.\"\n\nCount Rapp saved the Emperor's life on this occasion, and he, Savary,\nand Constant, all give detailed accounts. Their narratives are a\nremarkable object-lesson of the carelessness of the average\ncontemporary spectator in recording dates. Savary gives vaguely the\nend of September, Constant October 13th, and Count Rapp October 23rd.\nIn the present case the date of this otherwise trivial incident is\nimportant, for careless historians assert that it influenced Napoleon\nin concluding peace. In any case it would have taken twenty such\noccurrences to affect Napoleon one hairbreadth, and in the present\ninstance his letter of October 10th to the Russian Emperor proves that\nthe Peace was already settled--all but the signing.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 24.", + "body": "_Stuttgard._--General Rapp describes this journey as follows: \"Peace\nwas ratified. We left Nymphenburg and arrived at Stuttgard. Napoleon\nwas received in a style of magnificence, and was lodged in the palace\ntogether with his suite. The King was laying out a spacious garden,\nand men who had been condemned to the galleys were employed to labour\nin it. The Emperor asked the King who the men were who worked in\nchains; he replied that they were for the most part rebels who had\nbeen taken in his new possessions. We set out on the following day. On\nthe way Napoleon alluded to the unfortunate wretches whom he had seen\nat Stuttgard. 'The King of Wuertemberg,' said he, 'is a very harsh man;\nbut he is very faithful. Of all the sovereigns in Europe he possesses\nthe greatest share of understanding.'\n\n\"We stopped for an hour at Rastadt, where the Princess of Baden and\nPrincess Stephanie had arrived for the purpose of paying their\nrespects to the Emperor. The Grand Duke and Duchess accompanied him as\nfar as Strasburg. On his arrival in that city he received despatches\nwhich again excited his displeasure against the Faubourg St. Germain.\nWe proceeded to Fontainebleau; no preparations had been made for the\nEmperor's reception; there was not even a guard on duty.\"\n\nThis was on October 26th, at 10 A.M. Meneval asserts that Napoleon's\nsubsequent bad temper was feigned. In any case, the meeting--that\nmoment so impatiently awaited--was a very bad _quart d'heure_ for\nJosephine, accentuated doubtless by Fouche's report of bad conduct on\nthe part of the ladies of St. Germain.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [70] This Archduke was the \"international man\" at this juncture. Louis\n Bonaparte speaks of a society at Saragossa, of which the object\n was to make the Archduke Charles king of Spain.\n\n [71] These Adelphes or Philadelphes were the socialists or educated\n anarchists of that day. They wished for the _statu quo_ before\n Napoleon became supreme ruler. They had members in his army,\n and it seems quite probable that Bernadotte gave them passive\n support. General Oudet was their recognised head, and he died\n under suspicious circumstances after Wagram. The society was,\n unlike the Carbonari, anti-Catholic.\n\n [72] Pelet, vol. i. 127.\n\n [73] Pelet, vol. i. 282.\n\n [74] \"Gaily asking his staff to breakfast with him\" (Pelet).\n\n [75] Lejeune says \"some hours afterwards.\"\n\n [76] Eugene's.\n\n [77] \"What a loss for France and for me,\" groaned Napoleon, as he left\n his dead friend.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES M", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "According to the _Correspondence of Napoleon I._, No. 16,058, the date\nof this letter is December 17th. It seems, however, possible that it\nis the letter written immediately after his arrival at Trianon,\nreferred to by Meneval, who was, in fact, responsible for it.\nThiers, working from unpublished memoirs of Hortense and Cambaceres,\ngives a most interesting account of the family council, held at 9\nP.M. on Friday, December 15th, at the Tuileries. Constant also\ndescribes the scene, but gives the Empress credit for showing the\nmost self-command of those chiefly interested. The next day, 11 A.M.,\nCount Lacepede introduced the resolutions of the family council to the\nSenatus-Consultus.[78] \"It is to-day that, more than ever before,\nthe Emperor has proved that he wishes to reign only to serve his\nsubjects, and that the Empress has merited that posterity should\nassociate her name with that of Napoleon.\" He pointed out that\nthirteen of Napoleon's predecessors had broken the bonds of matrimony\nin order to fulfil better those of sovereign, and that among these\nwere the most admired and beloved of French monarchs--Charlemagne,\nPhilip Augustus, Louis XII. and Henry IV. This speech and the Decrees\n(carried by 76 votes to 7) are found in the _Moniteur_ of December\n17th, which Napoleon considers sufficiently authentic to send to his\nbrother Joseph as a full account of what occurred, and with no\nfurther comment of his own but that it was the step which he thought\nit his duty to take. The Decrees of the Committee of the Senate\nwere:--\"(1) The marriage contracted between the Emperor Napoleon and\nthe Empress Josephine is dissolved. (2) The Empress Josephine will\nretain the titles and rank of a crowned Empress-Queen.[79] (3) Her\njointure is fixed at an annual revenue of L80,000 from the public\ntreasury.[80] (4) Every provision which may be made by the Emperor\nin favour of the Empress Josephine, out of the funds of the Civil\nList, shall be obligatory on his successors.\" They added separate\naddresses to the Emperor and Empress, and that to the latter seems\nworthy of quotation:--\"Your Imperial and Royal Majesty is about\nto make for France the greatest of sacrifices; history will preserve\nthe memory of it for ever. The august spouse of the greatest of\nmonarchs cannot be united to his immortal glory by more heroic\ndevotion. For long, Madame, the French people has revered your\nvirtues; it holds dear that loving kindness which inspires your every\nword, as it directs your every action; it will admire your sublime\ndevotion; it will award for ever to your Majesty, Empress and\nQueen, the homage of gratitude, respect, and love.\"\n\nFrom a letter of Eugene's to his wife, quoted by Aubenas, it\nappears that he, with his mother, arrived at Malmaison on Saturday\nevening,[81] December 16th, and that it never ceased raining all\nthe next day, which added to the general depression, in spite of, or\nbecause of, Eugene's bad puns. On the evening of the 16th Napoleon\nwas at Trianon, writing letters, and we cannot think that if the\nEmperor had been to Malmaison on the Sunday,[82] Eugene would have\nincluded this without comment in the \"some visits\" they had\nreceived. The Emperor, as we see from the next letter, paid\nJosephine a visit on the Monday.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "The date of this is Tuesday, December 19th, while No. 3 is Wednesday\nthe 20th.\n\n_Savary_, always unpopular with the Court ladies, has now nothing but\nkind words for Josephine. \"She quitted the Court, but the Court did\nnot quit her; it had always loved her, for never had any one been so\nkind.... She never injured any one in the time of her power; she\nprotected even her enemies\"--such as Fouche at this juncture, and\nLucien earlier. \"During her stay at Malmaison, the highroad from Paris\nto this chateau was only one long procession, in spite of the bad\nweather; every one considered it a duty to present themselves at least\nonce a week.\" Later, Marie Louise became jealous of this, and poor\nJosephine had to go to the chateau of Navarre, and finally to leave\nFrance.\n\n_Queen of Naples._--For some reason Napoleon had not wanted this\nsister at Paris this winter, and had written her to this effect from\nSchoenbrunn on October 15th. \"If you were not so far off, and the\nseason so advanced, I would have asked Murat to spend two months in\nParis. But you cannot be there before December, which is a horrible\nseason, especially for a Neapolitan.\"[83] But sister Caroline, \"with\nthe head of a Cromwell on the shoulders of a pretty woman,\" was not\neasy to lead; and her husband had in consequence to bear the full\nweight of the Emperor's displeasure. Murat's finances were in\ndisorder, and Napoleon wrote Champagny on December 30th to tell Murat\nplainly that if the borrowed money was not returned to France, it\nwould be taken by main force.[84]\n\n_The hunt._--In pouring rain, in the forest of St. Germain.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "Thursday, December 21st, is the date.\n\n_The weather is very damp._--Making Malmaison as unhealthy as its\nvery name warranted, and rendering more difficult the task which\nMadame de Remusat had set herself of resting Josephine mentally by\ntiring her physically. This typical toady--Napoleon's Eavesdropper\nExtraordinary--had arrived at Malmaison on December 18th. She\nwrites on the Friday (December 22nd), beseeching her husband to\nadvise the Emperor to moderate the tone of his letters, especially\nthis one (Thursday, December 21st), which had upset Josephine\nfrightfully. Surely a more harmless letter was never penned. But\nit is the Remusat all over; she lives in a chronic atmosphere of\nsuspicion that all her letters are read by the Emperor, and\ntherefore, like Stevenson's nursery rhymes, they are always written\nwith \"one eye on the grown-up person\"[85]--on the grown-up person\n_par excellence_ of France and the century. The opening of letters by\nthe government was doubtless a blemish, which, however, Napoleon\ntried to neutralise by entrusting the Post Office to his wife's\nrelative, Lavalette, a man whose ever-kind heart prevented this\nnecessary espionage degenerating into unnecessary interference\nwith individual rights.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "Date probably Sunday, December 24th.\n\n_King of Bavaria._--Eugene had gone to Meaux to meet his father-in-law,\nwho had put off the \"dog's humour\" which he had shown since the 16th.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "Josephine had gone by special invitation to dine at the little Trianon\nwith Napoleon on Christmas Day, and Madame d'Avrillon says she had a\nvery happy day there. \"On her return she told me how kind the Emperor\nhad been to her, that he had kept her all the evening, saying the\nkindest things to her.\" Aubenas says, \"The repast was eaten in silence\nand gloom,\" but does not give his authority. Eugene, moreover,\nconfirms Madame d'Avrillon in his letter to his wife of December 26th:\n\"My dear Auguste, the Emperor came on Sunday to see the Empress.\nYesterday she went to Trianon to see him, and stayed to dinner. The\nEmperor was very kind and amiable to her, and she seemed to be much\nbetter. Everything points to the Empress being more happy in her new\nposition, and we also.\" On this Christmas Day Napoleon had his last\nmeal with Josephine.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 7.", + "body": "_Tuileries._--His return from Trianon to this, his official residence,\nmade the divorce more apparent to every one.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "_A house vacant in Paris._--This seems a hint for Josephine. She\nwishes to come to Paris, to the Elysee, and to try a little diplomacy\nof her own in favour of the Austrian match, and she sends secretly to\nMadame de Metternich--whose husband was absent. Eugene more officially\nis approaching Prince Schwartzenberg, the ambassador. Josephine, like\nTalleyrand, wished to heal the schism with Rome by an Austrian\nalliance; while Cambaceres, foreseeing a war with the power not allied\nby marriage, would have preferred the Russian match.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "Thursday, January 4th.\n\n_Hortense._--Louis had tried to obtain a divorce. Cambaceres was\nordered on December 22nd to summon a family council (_New Letters of\nNapoleon I._, No. 234); but the wish of the King was refused\n(verbally, says Louis in his _Historical Documents of Holland_),\nwhereupon he refused to agree to Josephine's divorce, but had to give\nway, and was present at what he calls the farewell festival given by\nthe city of Paris to the Empress Josephine on January 1st. The\necclesiastical divorce was pronounced on January 12th.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 11.", + "body": "January 7th is the date.\n\n_What charms your society has._--Her repertoire of small talk and\nscandal. He had also lost in her his Agenda, his Journal of Paris.\nStill the visits are growing rarer. This long kind letter was\ndoubtless intended to be specially so, for two days later the clergy\nof Paris pronounced the annulment of her marriage. This was far worse\nthan the pronouncement by the Senate in December, as it meant to her\nthat she and Napoleon had never been properly married at all. The\nEmperor, who hated divorces, and especially _divorcees_, had found\ngreat difficulty in breaking down the barriers he had helped to build,\nfor which purpose _he_ had to be subordinated to his own Senate, _the\nPope_ to his own bishops. Seven of them allowed the annulment of the\nmarriage of 1804 on account of (1) its secrecy, (2) the insufficiency\nof consent of the contracting parties, and (3) the absence of the\nlocal parish priest at the ceremony. The last reason was merely a\ntechnical one; but with respect to the first two it is only fair to\nadmit that Napoleon had undoubtedly, and perhaps for the only time in\nhis life, been completely \"rushed,\" _i.e._ by the Pope and Josephine.\nThe coronation ceremony was waiting, and the Pope, secretly solicited\nby Josephine, insisted on a religious marriage first and foremost. The\nPope suffered forthwith, but the other bill of costs was not exacted\ntill five years after date.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 12.", + "body": "Wednesday, January 12th.\n\n_King of Westphalia._--Madame Durand (_Napoleon and Marie Louise_)\nsays that, forced to abandon his wife (the beautiful and energetic\nMiss Paterson) and child, Jerome \"had vowed he would never have any\nrelations with a wife who had been thus forced upon him.\" For three\nyears he lavished his attentions upon almost all the beauties of the\nWestphalian court. The queen, an eye-witness of this conduct, bore it\nwith mild and forbearing dignity; she seemed to see and hear nothing;\nin short, her demeanour was perfect. The king, touched by her\ngoodness, weary of his conquests, and repentant of his behaviour, was\nonly anxious for an opportunity of altering the state of things.\nHappily the propitious moment presented itself. The right wing of the\npalace of Cassel, in which the queen's apartments were situated, took\nfire; alarmed by the screams of her women the queen awoke and sprang\nout of her bed, to be caught in the arms of the king and carried to a\nplace of safety. From that time forth the royal couple were united and\nhappy.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 13.", + "body": "Saturday, January 13th.\n\n_Sensible._--This was now possible after a month's mourning. In the\nearly days, according to Madame Remusat, her mind often wandered, But\nNapoleon himself encouraged the Court to visit her, and the road to\nMalmaison was soon a crowded one. As the days passed, however, life\nbecame sadly monotonous. Reading palled on Josephine, as did whist and\nthe daily feeding of her golden pheasants and guinea-fowls. Remained\n\"Patience\"! Was it the \"General\" she played or the \"Emperor,\" or did\nshe find distraction in the \"Demon\"?", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 14.", + "body": "_D'Audenarde._--Napoleon's handsome equerry, whom Mlle. d'Avrillon\ncalls \"un homme superbe.\" His mother was Josephine's favourite _dame\ndu palais_. Madame Lalaing, Viscountess d'Audenarde, _nee_ Peyrac, was\none of the old regime who had been ruined by the Revolution.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 16.", + "body": "Tuesday, January 23rd.\n\nOn January 21st a Privy Council was summoned to approve of Marie\nLouise as their \"choice of a consort, who may give an heir to the\nthrone\" (Thiers). Cambaceres, Fouche, and Murat wished for the Russian\nprincess; Lebrun, Cardinal Fesch, and King Louis for a Saxon one; but\nTalleyrand, Champagny, Maret, Berthier, Fontanes were for Austria.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 18.", + "body": "Josephine had heard she was to be banished from Paris, and so had\nasked to come to the Elysee to prove the truth or otherwise of the\nrumour.\n\n_L'Elysee._--St. Amand gives the following interesting _precis_:\n\"Built by the Count d'Evreux in 1718, it had belonged in succession to\nthe Marchioness de Pompadour, to the financier Beaujon, a Croesus of\nthe eighteenth century, and to the Duchesse de Bourbon. Having, under\nthe Revolution, become national property, it had been hired by the\ncaterers of public entertainments, who gave it the name of L'Elysee.\nIn 1803 it became the property of Murat, who, becoming King of Naples,\nceded it to Napoleon in 1808. Here Napoleon signed his second\nabdication, here resided Alexander I. in 1815, and here Josephine's\ngrandson effected the _Coup d'Etat_ (1851). When the Senatus-Consultus\nfixed the revenue of Josephine, Napoleon not only gave her whatever\nrights he had in Malmaison, viz., at least 90 per cent. of the total\ncost, but the palace of the Elysee, its gardens and dependencies, with\nthe furniture then in use.\" The latter residence was, however, for her\nlife only.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 19.", + "body": "February 3rd is the date.\n\n_L'Elysee._--After the first receptions the place is far worse than\nMalmaison. Schwartzenberg, Talleyrand, the Princess Pauline, Berthier,\neven her old friend Cambaceres are giving balls,[86] while the Emperor\ngoes nearly every night to a theatre. The carriages pass by the\nElysee, but do not stop. \"It is as if the palace were in quarantine,\nwith the yellow flag floating.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 20.", + "body": "_Bessieres' country-house._--M. Masson says Grignon, but unless this\nhouse is called after the chateau of that name in Provence, he must be\nmistaken.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 21.", + "body": "_Rambouillet._--He had taken the Court with him, and was there from\nFebruary 19th to the 23rd, the date of this letter. While there he had\nbeen in the best of humours. On his return he finds it necessary to\nwrite his future wife and to her father--and to pen a legible letter\nto the latter gives him far more trouble than winning a battle against\nthe Austrians, if not assisted by General Danube.\n\n_Adieu._--Sick and weary, Josephine returns to Malmaison, Friday,\nMarch 9th, and even this is not long to be hers, for the new Empress\nis almost already on her way. The marriage at Vienna took place on\nMarch 11th, with her uncle Charles,[87] the hero of Essling, for\nNapoleon's proxy; on the 13th she leaves Vienna, and on the 23rd\nreaches Strasbourg. On the 27th she meets Napoleon at Compiegne,\nspends three days with him in the chateau there, and arrives at St.\nCloud on April 1st, where the civil marriage is renewed, followed by\nthe triumphal entry into Paris, and the religious ceremony on April\n2nd. This day Josephine reaches the chateau of Navarre.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [78] By here subordinating himself to the Senate, the Emperor was\n preparing a rod for his own back hereafter.\n\n [79] This clause gives considerable trouble to Lacepede and Regnauld.\n They cannot even find a precedent whether, if they met,\n Josephine or Marie Louise would take precedence of the other.\n\n [80] In addition to this, Napoleon gives her L40,000 a year from his\n privy purse, but keeps most of it back for the first two years\n to pay her 120 creditors. (For interesting details see Masson,\n _Josephine Repudiee_.)\n\n [81] Which agrees with Madame d'Avrillon, who says they left the\n Tuileries at 2.30. Meneval says Napoleon left for Trianon a few\n hours later. Savary writes erroneously that they left the\n following morning.\n\n [82] M. Masson seems to indicate a visit on December 16th, but does\n not give his authority (_Josephine Repudiee_, 114).\n\n [83] _Correspondence of Napoleon I._, No. 15,952.\n\n [84] _New Letters of Napoleon_, 1898.\n\n [85] Canon Ainger's comparison.\n\n [86] See Baron Lejeune for an interesting account of a chess quadrille\n at a dance given by the Italian Minister, Marescalchi.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES N\n\n\n_Navarre_, on the site of an old dwelling of Rollo the Sea-King, was\nbuilt by Jeanne of France, Queen of Navarre, Countess of Evreux. At\nthe time of the Revolution it belonged to the Dukes of Bouillon, and\nwas confiscated. In February 1810, Napoleon determined to purchase it,\nand on March 10th instructed his secretary of state, Maret, to confer\nthe Duchy of Navarre, purchased by letters patent, on Josephine and\nher heirs male. The old square building was, however, utterly unfit to\nbe inhabited: not a window would shut, there was neither paper nor\ntapestry, all the wainscoting was rotten, draughts and damp\neverywhere, and no heating apparatus.[88] What solace to know its\nbeautiful situation, its capabilities? No wonder if her household,\nbanished to such a place, sixty-five miles from the \"capital of\ncapitals,\" should rebel, and secessions headed by Madame Ney become\nfor a time general. Whist and piquet soon grow stale in such a house\nand with such surroundings, and even _trictrac_ with the old bishop of\nEvreux becomes tedious. Eugene as usual brings sunshine in his path,\nand helps to dispel the gloom caused by the idle gossip imported from\nParis--that Josephine is not to return to Malmaison, and the like.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "This was Josephine's second letter, says D'Avrillon, the first being\nanswered _viva voce_ by Eugene.\n\n_To Malmaison._--Napoleon had promised Josephine permission to return\nto Malmaison, and would not recant: his new wife was, however, very\njealous of Josephine, and very much hurt at her presence at Malmaison.\nNapoleon managed to be away from Paris for six weeks after Josephine's\narrival at Malmaison.\n\n\nNo. 1A.\n\n_It is written in a bad style._--M. Masson, however, is loud in\nits praises, and adds, \"Voila donc le protocol du tutoiement\"\nre-established between them in spite of the second marriage, and\ntheir correspondence re-established on the old terms.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "This letter seems to have been taken by Eugene to Paris, and thence\nforwarded to the Emperor with a letter from that Prince in which he\nenumerates Josephine's suggestions and wishes--(1) that she will not\ngo to Aix-la-Chapelle if other waters are suggested by Corvisart;\n(2) that after stopping a few days at Malmaison she will go in June\nfor three months to the baths, and afterwards to the south of\nFrance; visit Rome, Florence, and Naples incognito, spend the winter\nat Milan, and return to Malmaison and Navarre in the spring of\n1811; (3) that in her absence Navarre shall be made habitable, for\nwhich fresh funds are required; (4) that Josephine wishes her\ncousins the Taschers to marry, one a relative of King Joseph, the\nother the Princess Amelie de la Leyen, niece of the Prince Primate.\nTo this Napoleon replies from Compiegne, April 26th, that the De Leyen\nmatch with Louis Tascher may take place,[89] but that he will not\ninterest himself in the other (Henry) Tascher, who is giddy-headed\nand bad-tempered. \"I consent to whatever the Empress does, but I will\nnot confer any mark of my regard on a person who has behaved ill\nto me. I am very glad that the Empress likes Navarre. I am giving\norders to have L12,000 which I owe her for 1810, and L12,000 for 1811\nadvanced to her. She will then have only the L80,000 from the public\ntreasury to come in.... She is free to go to whatever spa she cares\nfor, and even to return to Paris afterwards.\" He thinks, however, she\nwould be happier in new scenes which they had never visited together,\nas they had Aix-la-Chapelle. If, however, the last are the best she\nmay go to them, for \"what I desire above all is that she may keep\ncalm, and not allow herself to be excited by the gossip of Paris.\"\nThis letter goes far to soothe the poor chatelaine of Navarre.\n\n\nNo. 2A.\n\n_Two letters._--The other, now missing, may have some reference to the\npictures to which he refers in his letter to Fouche the next day. \"Is\nit true that engravings are being published with the title of\n_Josephine Beauharnais nee La Pagerie_? If this is true, have the\nprints seized, and let the engravers be punished\" (_New Letters_, No.\n253).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 3.", + "body": "Probably written from Boulogne about the 25th. His northern tour\nwith Marie Louise had been very similar to one taken in 1804,\nbut his _entourage_ found the new bride very cold and callous\ncompared to Josephine. Leaving Paris on April 29th Napoleon's\n_Correspondence_ till June is dated Laeken (April 30th); Antwerp\n(May 3rd); Bois-le-Duc; Middleburg, Gand, Bruges, Ostend (May\n20th); Lille, Boulogne, Dieppe, Le Havre, Rouen (May 31st). He\ntakes the Empress in a canal barge from Brussels to Malines and\nhimself descends the subterranean vault of the Escaut-Oise canal,\nbetween St. Quentin and Cambrai. He is at St. Cloud on June 2nd.\n\nJosephine has felt his wanderings less, as she has the future\nEmperor, her favourite grandson, with her, the little Oui-Oui, as she\ncalls him, and for whom the damp spring weather of Holland was\ndangerous. She was also at Malmaison from the middle of May to June\n18th. The original collection of _Letters_ (Didot Freres, 1833) heads\nthe letter correctly to the Empress Josephine at _Malmaison_, but the\n_Correspondence_, published by order of Napoleon III., gives it\nerroneously, to the Empress Josephine, _at the Chateau of Navarre_\n(No. 16,537).\n\n_I will come to see you._--He comes for two hours on June 13th, and\nmakes himself thoroughly agreeable. Poor Josephine is light-headed\nwith joy all the evening after. The meeting of the two Empresses\nis, however, indefinitely postponed, and Josephine had now no\nfurther reason to delay her departure. Leaving her little grandson\nLouis behind, she travels under the name of the Countess d'Arberg,\nand she is accompanied by Madame d'Audenarde and Mlle. de Mackau, who\nleft the Princess Stephanie to come to Navarre. M. Masson notes that\nMadame de Remusat needs the Aix waters, and will rejoin Josephine\n(within a week), under pretext of service, and thus obtain her\ncure gratuitously. They go _via_ Lyons and Geneva to Aix-les-Bains.\nM. Masson, who has recently made a careful and complete study of\nthis period, describes the daily round. \"Josephine, on getting out\nof bed, takes conscientiously her baths and douches, then, as usual,\nlies down again until _dejeuner_, 11 A.M., for which the whole of the\nlittle Court are assembled at _The Palace_--wherever she lives, and\nhowever squalid the dwelling-place, her abode always bears this name.\nAfterwards she and her women-folk ply their interminable tapestry,\nwhile the latest novel or play (sent by Barbier from Paris) is read\naloud. And so the day passes till five, when they dress for dinner at\nsix; after dinner a ride. At nine the Empress's friends assemble in\nher room, Mlle. de Mackau sings; at eleven every one goes to bed.\"\nThis programme, however, varies with the weather. Here is St.\nAmand's version (_Dernieres Annees de l'Imperatrice Josephine_, p.\n237): \"A little reading in the morning, an airing (_le promenade_)\nafterwards, dinner at eight on account of the heat, games afterwards,\nand some little music; so passed existence.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "_July 8th._--On July 5th, driving along the Chambery road, Josephine\nmet the courier with a letter from Eugene describing the terrible fire\nat Prince Schwartzenberg's ball, where the Princess de la Leyen,\nmother of young Taschre's bride-elect, was burnt. It is noteworthy\nthat the Emperor makes no allusion to the conflagration. As, however,\nthis is the first letter since the end of May, others may have been\nlost or destroyed.\n\n_You will have seen Eugene_--_i.e._ on his way to Milan, who arrived\nat Aix on July 10th. He had just been made heir to the Grand Duchy of\nFrankfort--a broad hint to him and to Europe that Italy would be\neventually united to France under Napoleon's dynasty. This was the\nnadir of the Beauharnais family--Josephine _repudiee_, Hortense\nunqueened and unwed,[90] and Eugene's expectations dissipated, and all\nwithin a few short months. Eugene had left his wife ill at Geneva,\nwhither Josephine goes to visit her the next day, duly reporting her\nvisit to Napoleon in her letter of July 14th (see No. 5). Geneva was\nalways the home of the disaffected, and so the Empress had to be\nspecially tactful, and the De Remusat reports: \"She speaks of the\nEmperor as of a brother, of the new Empress as the one who will give\nchildren to France, and if the rumours of the latter's condition be\ncorrect, I am certain she will be delighted about it.\"\n\n_That unfortunate daughter is coming to France_--_i.e._ to reside when\nshe is not at St. Leu (given to her by Napoleon) or at the waters. On\nthe present occasion she has been at Plombieres a month or more. On\nJuly 10th Napoleon instructs the Countess de Boubers to bring the\nGrand Duke of Berg to Paris, \"whom he awaits with impatience\"\n(_Brotonne_, 625).", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "_The conduct of the King of Holland has worried me._--This was in\nMarch, and by May the crisis was still more acute and Napoleon's\npatience exhausted. On May 20th he writes: \"Before all things be a\nFrenchman and the Emperor's brother, and then you may be sure you are\nin the path of the true interests of Holland. Good sense and policy\nare necessary to the government of states, not sour unhealthy bile.\"\nAnd three days later: \"Write me no more of your customary twaddle;\nthree years now it has been going on, and every instant proves its\nfalsehood! This is the last letter I shall ever write you in my\nlife.\"\n\nLouis at one time determined on war, and rather than surrender\nAmsterdam, to cut the dykes. The Emperor hears of this, summons his\nbrother, and practically imprisons him until he countermands the\ndefence of Amsterdam.\n\nOn July 1st Louis abdicated and fled to Toeplitz in Bohemia. Napoleon\nis terribly grieved at the conduct of his brother, who would never\nrealise that the effective Continental blockade was Napoleon's last\nsheet-anchor to force peace upon England.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 6.", + "body": "_To die in a lake_--_i.e._ the Lake of Bourget, shut in by the Dent du\nChat, where a white squall had nearly capsized the sailing boat.\nJosephine had been on July 26th to visit the abbey Haute-Combe, place\nof sepulture of the Princes of Savoy, and the storm had overtaken her\non the return voyage.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 8.", + "body": "_Paris, this Friday._--A very valuable note of M. Masson (_Josephine\nRepudiee_, 198) enables us to fix this letter at its correct date. He\nsays: \"It has to do with the exile of Madame de la T---- (viz., the\nPrincess Louis de la Tremoille), which takes place on September 28th,\n1810, and this 28th September is also a Friday: there is also the\nquestion of Mlle. de Mackau being made a baroness\" (and this lady had\nnot joined the Court of Josephine till May 1810); \"lastly, the B----\nmentioned therein can only be Barante, the Prefect, whose dismissal\n(from Geneva) almost coincides with this letter.\" It may be added\nthat the La Tremoille family was one of the oldest in France, allied\nwith the Condes, and consequently with the Bourbons. Barante's fault\nhad been connivance at the letters and conduct of Madame de Stael.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 9.", + "body": "_The only suitable places ... are either Milan or Navarre._--Milan had\nbeen her own suggestion conveyed by Eugene, but Napoleon, two months\nlater, had told her she could spend the winter in France, and in spite\nof danger signals (\"inspired by diplomacy rather than devotion\" [91])\nfrom Madame de Remusat (in her fulsome and tedious \"despatch\" sent\nfrom Paris in September, and probably inspired by the Emperor himself)\nshe manages to get to Navarre, and even to spend the first fortnight\nof November at Malmaison. Before leaving Switzerland Josephine refuses\nto risk an interview with Madame de Stael. \"In the first book she\npublishes she will not fail to report our conversation, and heaven\nknows how many things she will make me say that I have never even\nthought of.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 10.", + "body": "In spite of the heading Josephine was at Malmaison on this day, and\nNapoleon writes Cambaceres: \"My cousin, the Empress Josephine not\nleaving for Navarre till Monday or Tuesday, I wish you to pay her a\nvisit. You will let me know on your return how you find her\"\n(_Brotonne_,721). The real reason is to hasten her departure, and she\ngets to Navarre November 22nd (Thursday).\n\n_The Empress progresses satisfactorily._--Napoleon writes to this\neffect to her father, the Emperor of Austria, on the same day: \"The\nEmpress is very well.... It is impossible that the wife for whom I am\nindebted to you should be more perfect. Moreover, I beg your Majesty\nto rest assured that she and I are equally attached to you.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [87] On this occasion Baron Lejeune sees the Archduke Charles, and\n remarks: \"There was nothing in his quiet face with its grave\n and gentle expression, or in his simple, modest, unassuming\n manner, to denote the mighty man of war; but no one who met his\n eyes could doubt him to be a genius.\"\n\n [88] \"This gloomy and forsaken chateau,\" says St. Amand, \"whose only\n attraction was the half-forgotten memory of its vanished\n splendours, was a fit image of the woman who came to seek\n sanctuary there.\"\n\n [89] He endows the husband with L4000 a year, and the title of Count\n Tascher.\n\n [90] \"Une epouse sans epoux, et une reine sans royaume\"--St. Amand.\n\n [91] Aubenas.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES O", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "_The New Year._--On this occasion, instead of her usual gifts\n(_etrennes_) she organised a lottery of jewels, of which Madame\nDucrest gives a full account. Needless to say, Josephine worked the\noracle so that every one got a suitable gift--including the old Bishop\n(see next note).\n\n_More women than men._--The Bishop of Evreux (Mgr. Bourlier) was the\nmost welcome guest. He amused Josephine, and although eighty years of\nage, could play _trictrac_ and talk well on any subject. Madame de\nRemusat wrote her husband concerning him, \"We understand each other\nvery well, he and I.\"\n\n_Keep well._--At Navarre Josephine lost her headaches, and put on\nflesh.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "There is a full account of the birth of the King of Rome in Napoleon's\nletter to the Emperor of Austria on March 20 (No. 17,496). The letter\nof this date to Josephine is missing, but is referred to by\nD'Avrillon. It began, \"My dear Josephine, I have a son. I am _au\ncomble de bonheur_.\"\n\n_Eugene._--Josephine much appreciated this allusion. \"Is it possible,\"\nshe said, \"for any one to be kinder than the Emperor, and more anxious\nto mitigate whatever might be painful for me at the present moment, if\nI loved him less sincerely? This association of my son with his own is\nwell worthy of him who, when he likes, is the most fascinating of all\nmen.\" She gave a costly ring to the page who brought the letter.\n\nOn the previous day Eugene had arrived at Navarre,--sent by the\nEmperor. \"You are going to see your mother, Eugene; tell her I am sure\nthat she will rejoice more than any one at my happiness. I should have\nalready written to her if I had not been absorbed by the pleasure of\nwatching my boy. The moments I snatch from his side are only for\nmatters of urgent necessity. This event, I shall acquit myself of the\nmost pleasant of them all by writing to Josephine.\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "Written in November 1811.\n\n_As fat as a good Normandy farmeress._--Madame d'Abrantes, who saw her\nabout this time, writes: \"I observed that Josephine had grown very\nstout[92] since the time of my departure for Spain. This change was at\nonce for the better and the worse. It imparted a more youthful\nappearance to her face; but her slender and elegant figure, which had\nbeen one of her principal attractions, had entirely disappeared. She\nhad now decided _embonpoint_, and her figure had assumed that matronly\nair which we find in the statues of Agrippina, Cornelia, &c. Still,\nhowever, she looked uncommonly well, and she wore a dress which became\nher admirably. Her judicious taste in these matters contributed to\nmake her appear young much longer than she otherwise would. The best\nproof of the admirable taste of Josephine is the marked absence of\nelegance shown by Marie Louise, though both Empresses employed the\nsame milliners and dressmakers, and Marie Louise had a large sum\nallotted for the expenses of her toilet.\"\n\nSt. Amand says that 1811 was for Josephine a happy year, compared to\nthose which followed.\n\n\n\n\nSERIES P", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 1.", + "body": "Written from Konigsberg (M. Masson, in _Josephine Repudiee_, says\nDantzig; but on June 11th Napoleon writes to Eugene, \"I shall be at\nKonigsberg to-morrow,\" where his correspondence is dated from\nhenceforward). A day or two later he writes the King of Rome's\ngoverness that he trusts to hear soon that the fifteen months old\nchild has cut his first four teeth.", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 2.", + "body": "_Gumbinnen, June 20th._--From this place and on this date goes forth\nthe first bulletin of the _Grande Armee_. It gives a _resume_ of the\ncauses of the war, dating from the end of 1810, when English influence\nagain gained ascendency.\n\nOn July 29th he writes Hortense from Witepsk to congratulate her on\nher eldest son's recovery from an illness. A week later he writes his\nlibrarian for some amusing novels--new ones for choice, or old ones\nthat he has not read--or good memoirs.\n\nJosephine meanwhile has permission to go to Italy. Owing to her\ngrandson's illness she defers starting till July 16th. Through\nfrightful weather she reaches Milan _via_ Geneva on July 28th, and has\na splendid reception. On the 29th she writes to Hortense: \"I have\nfound the three letters from Eugene, the last one dated the 13th; his\nhealth is excellent. He still pursues the Russians, without being able\nto overtake them. It is generally hoped the campaign may be a short\none. May that hope be realised!\" Two days later she announces the\nbirth of Eugene's daughter Amelia, afterwards Empress of Brazil.\nTowards the end of August Josephine goes to Aix and meets the Queen of\nSpain with her sister Desiree Bernadotte, the former \"kind and amiable\nas usual,\" the latter \"very gracious to me\"--rather a new experience.\nFrom Aix she goes to Pregny-la-Tour, on the Lake of Geneva, and shocks\nthe good people in various ways, says M. Masson, especially by\ninnuendoes against Napoleon; and he adds, \"if one traces back to their\nsource the worst calumnies against the morals of the Emperor, it is\nJosephine that one encounters there.\" She gets to Malmaison October\n24th. Soon after his return from Moscow Napoleon pays her a visit, and\nabout this time she begins to see the King of Rome, whose mother has\nalways thought more of her daily music and drawing lessons than of\nwhether she was making her son happy or not.\n\n1812 closed in gloom, but 1813 was in itself terribly ominous to so\nsuperstitious a woman as Josephine. Thirteen is always unlucky, and\nmoreover the numbers of 1813 add up to 13; also the doom-dealing year\nbegan on a Friday. Every one felt the hour approaching. As Napoleon\nsaid at St. Helena: \"The star grew pale; I felt the reins slipping\nfrom my hand, and I could do no more. A thunderbolt could alone have\nsaved us, and every day, by some new fatality or other, our chances\ndiminished. Sinister designs began to creep in among us; fatigue and\ndiscouragement had won over the majority; my lieutenants became lax,\nclumsy, careless, and consequently unfortunate; they were no longer\nthe men of the commencement of the Revolution, nor even of the time of\nmy good fortune. The chief generals were sick of the war; I had gorged\nthem too much with my high esteem, with too many honours and too much\nwealth. They had drunk from the cup of pleasure, and wished to enjoy\npeace at any price. _The sacred fire was quenched._\"\n\nUp to August Fortune had smiled again upon her favourite. With\nconscripts for infantry and without cavalry he had won Lutzen,\nBautzen, and Dresden; and even so late as September Byron was writing\nthat \"bar epilepsy and the elements he would back Napoleon against the\nfield.\" But treachery and incompetence had undermined the Empire, and\nLeipsic (that battle of giants, where 110,000 soldiers were killed and\nwounded) made final success hopeless. In 1814 his brothers Lucien and\nLouis rallied to him, and Hortense was for the only time proud of her\nhusband. She thinks if he had shown less suspicion and she less pride\nthey might have been happy after all. \"My husband is a good Frenchman\n... he is an honest man.\" Meanwhile, Talleyrand is watching to guide\nthe _coup de grace_. Napoleon makes a dash for Lorraine to gather his\ngarrisons and cut off the enemy's supplies. The Allies hesitate and\nare about to follow him, as per the rules of war. Talleyrand, the only\nman who could ever divine Napoleon, sends them the message, \"You can\ndo everything, and you dare nothing; dare therefore _once_!\" Hortense\nis the only _man_ left in Paris, and in vain she tries to keep Marie\nLouise, whose presence would have stimulated the Parisians to hold the\nAllies at bay. It is in vain. Unlike Prussia or Austria who fought\nfor months, or Spain who fought for years, after their capitals were\ntaken:--\n\n \"Like Nineveh, Carthage, Babylon and Rome,\n France yields to the conqueror, vanquished at home.\"\n\nAfter Marmont's betrayal Napoleon attempts suicide, and when he\nbelieves death imminent sends a last message to Josephine by\nCaulaincourt, \"You will tell Josephine that my thoughts were of her\nbefore life departed.\"\n\nIt was on Monday, May 23rd, that Josephine's illness commenced, after\nreceiving at dinner the King of Prussia and his sons (one afterwards\nWilhelm der Greise, first Emperor of Germany). Whether the sore throat\nwhich killed her was a quinsy or diphtheria[93] is difficult to prove,\nbut the latter seems the more probable. Corvisart, who was himself ill\nand unable to attend, told Napoleon that she died of grief and worry.\nBefore leaving for the Waterloo campaign Napoleon visited Malmaison,\nand there, as Lord Rosebery reminds us, allowed his only oblique\nreproach to Marie Louise to escape him: \"Poor Josephine. Her death, of\nwhich the news took me by surprise at Elba, was one of the most acute\ngriefs of that fatal year, 1814. She had her failings, of course; _but\nshe, at any rate, would never have abandoned me_.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [92] Mlle. d'Avrillon says that during the Swiss voyage Josephine\n found it desirable, for the first time, to \"wear whalebone in\n her corsets.\"\n\n [93] The same question may be asked respecting the death of\n Montaigne.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX (1)\n\nA REPUTED POEM BY NAPOLEON I.\n\n\nLE CHIEN, LE LAPIN, ET LE CHASSEUR.\n\nFABLE.--_Composee a l'age de 13 ans, par_ NAPOLEON I.\n\n Cesar, chien d'arret renomme,\n Mais trop enfle de son merite,\n Tennait arrete dans son gite\n Un malheureux lapin de peur inanime.\n \"Rends-toi!\" lui cria-t-il, d'une voix de tonerre\n Qui fit au loin trembler les peuplades des bois.\n \"Je suis Cesar, connu par ses exploits,\n Et dont le nom remplit toute la terre.\"\n A ce grand nom, Jeannot Lapin,\n Recommandant a Dieu son ame penitente,\n Demande d'une voix tremblante:\n \"Tres-serenissime matin,\n Si je me rends quel sera mon destin?\"\n \"Tu mourras.\" \"Je mourrai!\" dit la bete innocente.\n \"Et si je fuis?\" \"Ton trepas est certain.\"\n \"Quoi!\" reprit l'animal qui se nourrit de thym,\n \"Des deux cotes je dois perdre la vie!\n Que votre auguste seigneurie\n Veuille me pardonner, puisqu'il me faut mourir,\n Si j'ose tenter de m'enfuir.\"\n Il dit, et fuit en heros de garenne.\n Caton l'aurait blame; je dis qu'il n'eut pas tort.\n Car le chasseur le voit a peine\n Qu'il l'ajuste, le tire--et le chien tombe mort\n Que dirait de ceci notre bon La Fontaine?\n Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera.\n I'approuve fort cette methode-la.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX (2)\n\nGENEALOGY OF THE BONAPARTE FAMILY\n\n\nMany more or less fictitious genealogies of the Bonapartes have been\npublished, some going back to mythical times. The first reliable\nrecord, however, seems to be that of a certain Bonaparte of Sarzana,\nin Northern Italy, an imperial notary, who was living towards the end\nof the thirteenth century, and from whom both the Corsican and the\nTrevisan or Florentine Bonapartes claim their origin. From him in\ndirect line was descended Francois de Sarzana, who was sent to Corsica\nin 1509 to fight for the Republic of Genoa. His son Gabriel, having\nsold his patrimony in Italy, settled in Ajaccio, where he bore the\nhonourable title of Messire, and where, being left a widower, he\nassumed the tonsure and died Canon of the cathedral.\n\nFrom him an unbroken line of Bonapartes, all of whom in turn were\nelected to the dignity of Elder of Ajaccio, brings us to Charles\nBonaparte Napoleon, father of the Emperor.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX (3)\n\n REPUTED LETTERS OF NAPOLEON TO JOSEPHINE. TAKEN FROM THE MEMOIRS\n OF MADAME DUCREST.\n\n\nThe author asked the advice of Monsieur Frederic Masson about\nthese Letters, to which he at once received the courteous reply, \"Il\nfaut absolument rejeter les Lettres publiees par Regnault Varin[94] et\nreproduites par Georgette Ducrest; pas une n'est authentique.\" No one\nwho has read much of Napoleon's correspondence can in fact believe for\na moment in their authenticity. They are interesting, however, as\nshowing the sort of stuff which went to form our grandfathers'\nfallacies about the relations of Napoleon and Josephine. Madame\nDucrest occasionally played and sang for Josephine after the\ndivorce. Her father was a nephew of Madame de Genlis. Madame\nDucrest married a musical composer, M. Bochsa, the then celebrated\nauthor of _Dansomanie_ and _Noces de Gamache_. He afterwards\ndeserted her, and her voice having completely failed, she was\ncompelled to write her Memoirs to earn sustenance thereby. Of these\nMemoirs M. Masson has said,[95] that \"in the midst of apocryphal\ndocuments, uncontroverted anecdotes, impossible situations, are yet\nto be found some first-hand personal observations.\"\n\n\nNo. 1.--1796.\n\nFROM GENERAL BONAPARTE TO HIS WIFE.\n\nMy first laurel, my love, must be for my country; my second shall be\nfor you. While beating Alvinzi I thought of France; when I had\ndefeated him I thought of you. Your son will present to you a standard\nwhich he received from Colonel Morbach, whom he made prisoner with his\nown hands. Our Eugene, you see, is worthy of his father; and I trust\nyou do not think me an unworthy successor of the great and unfortunate\ngeneral, under whom 1 should have been proud to learn to conquer. I\nembrace you.\n\n BONAPARTE.\n\n\nNo. 2.--1804.\n\nTO GENERAL BONAPARTE.\n\nI have read over your letter, my dear, perhaps for the tenth time, and\nI must confess that the astonishment it caused me has given way only\nto feelings of regret and alarm. You wish to raise up the throne of\nFrance, and that, not for the purpose of seating upon it those whom\nthe Revolution overthrew, but to place yourself upon it. You say, how\nenterprising, how grand and, above all, useful is this design; but I\nshould say, how many obstacles oppose its execution, what sacrifices\nwill its accomplishment demand, and when realised, how incalculable\nwill be its results? But let us suppose that your object were already\nattained, would you stop at the foundation of the new empire? That new\ncreation, being opposed by neighbouring states, would stir up war with\nthem and perhaps entail their ruin. Their neighbours, in their turn,\nwill not behold it without alarm or without endeavouring to gratify\ntheir revenge by checking it. And at home, how much envy and\ndissatisfaction will arise; how many plots must be put down, how many\nconspiracies punished! Kings will despise you as an upstart, subjects\nwill hate you as an usurper, and your equals will denounce you as a\ntyrant. None will understand the necessity of your elevation; all will\nattribute it to ambition or pride. You will not want for slaves to\ncrouch beneath your authority until, seconded by some more formidable\npower, they rise up to oppose you; happy will it be if poison or the\npoignard!... But how can a wife, a friend dwell on these dreadful\nanticipations!\n\nThis brings my thoughts back to myself, about whom I should care but\nlittle were my personal interests alone concerned. But will not the\nthrone inspire you with the wish to contract new alliances? Will you\nnot seek to support your power by new family connections? Alas!\nwhatever those connections may be, will they compensate for those\nwhich were first knit by corresponding fitness, and which affection\npromised to perpetuate? My thoughts linger on the picture which\nfear--may I say love, traces in the future. Your ambitious project has\nexcited my alarm; console me by the assurance of your moderation.\n\n\nNo. 3.--_December 1809._\n\nTO THE EMPEROR.\n\nMy forebodings are realised! You have just pronounced the word which\nseparates us for ever; the rest is nothing more than mere formality.\nSuch, then, is the result, I shall not say of so many sacrifices (they\nwere light to me, since they had you for their object), but of an\nunbounded friendship on my part and of the most solemn oaths on yours!\nIt would be a consolation for me if the state which you allege as your\nmotive were to repay my sacrifice by justifying your conduct! But that\npublic consideration which you urge as the ground for deserting me is\na mere pretence on your part. Your mistaken ambition has ever been,\nand will continue to be, the guide of all your actions, a guide which\nhas led you to conquests and to the assumption of a crown, and is now\ndriving you on to disasters and to the brink of a precipice.\n\nYou speak of the necessity of contracting an alliance, of giving an\nheir to your empire, of founding a dynasty! But with whom are you\nabout to form an alliance? with the natural enemy of France, that\nartful house of Austria, whose detestation of our country has its rise\nin its innate feelings, in its system, in the laws of necessity. Do\nyou believe that this hatred, of which she has given us such abundant\nproof, more particularly for the last fifty years, has not been\ntransferred by her from the kingdom of France to the French empire?\nThat the children of Maria Theresa, that skilful sovereign, who\npurchased from Madame de Pompadour the fatal treaty of 1756, which you\nnever mention without shuddering; do you imagine, I repeat, that her\nposterity, when inheriting her power, has not also inherited her\nspirit? I am merely repeating what you have so often said to me; but\nat that time your ambition was satisfied with humbling a power which\nyou now find it convenient to restore to its former rank. Believe me,\nas long as you shall exercise a sway over Europe, that power will be\nsubmissive to you; but beware of reverses of fortune.\n\nAs to the necessity of an heir, I must speak out, at the risk of\nappearing in the character of a mother prejudiced in favour of her\nson; ought I, in fact, to be silent when I consider the interests of\none who is my only delight, and upon whom alone you had built all your\nhopes? That adoption of the 12th of January 1806 was then another\npolitical falsehood! Nevertheless the talents, the virtues of my\nEugene are no illusion. How often have you not spoken in his praise? I\nmay say more; you thought it right to reward him by the gift of a\nthrone, and have repeatedly said that he was deserving of greater\nfavours. Well, then! France has frequently re-echoed these praises;\nbut you are now indifferent to the wishes of France.\n\nI say nothing to you at present of the person who is destined to\nsucceed me, and you do not expect that I should make any allusion to\nthis subject. You might suspect the feelings which dictated my\nlanguage; nevertheless, you can never doubt of the sincerity of my\nwishes for your happiness; may it at least afford me some consolation\nfor my sufferings. Great indeed will be that happiness if it should\never bear any proportion to them!", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 4.", + "body": "PART OF A LETTER SAID TO BE DATED BRIENNE, 1814.\n\n\"... On revisiting this spot, where I passed my youthful days, and\ncontrasting the peaceful condition I then enjoyed with the state of\nterror and agitation to which my mind is now a prey, often have I\naddressed myself in these words: 'I have sought death in numberless\nengagements; I can no longer dread its approach; I should now hail it\nas a boon ... nevertheless, I could still wish to see Josephine once\nmore!'\"", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + }, + { + "heading": "No. 5.", + "body": "TO THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, AT MALMAISON.\n\n _Fontainebleau, 16th April 1814_.\n\n_My dear Josephine_,--I wrote to you on the 8th instant (it was on a\nFriday). You have perhaps not received my letter; fighting was still\ngoing on; it is possible that it may have been stopped on its way. The\ncommunications must now be re-established. My determination is taken;\nI have no doubt of this note coming to your hands.\n\nI do not repeat what I have already told you. I then complained of my\nsituation; I now rejoice at it. My mind and attention are relieved\nfrom an enormous weight; my downfall is great, but it is at least said\nto be productive of good.\n\nIn my retreat I intend to substitute the pen for the sword. The\nhistory of my reign will gratify the cravings of curiosity. Hitherto,\nI have only been seen in profile; I will now show myself in full to\nthe world. What facts have I not to disclose! how many men are\nincorrectly estimated! I have heaped favours upon a countless number\nof wretches; what have they latterly done for me?\n\nThey have all betrayed me, one and all, save and except the excellent\nEugene, so worthy of you and of me. May he ever enjoy happiness under\na sovereign fully competent to appreciate the feelings of nature and\nof honour!\n\nAdieu, my dear Josephine; follow my example and be resigned. Never\ndismiss from your recollection one who has never forgotten, and never\nwill forget you! Farewell, Josephine.\n\n NAPOLEON.\n\n_P.S._--I expect to hear from you when I shall have reached the island\nof Elba. I am far from being in good health.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n [94] _Memoires et Correspondance de l'Imperatrice Josephine_, par _J.\n B. J. Innocert Philadelphe Regnault Varin_. Paris, 1820, 8^o.\n This book is not in the British Museum Catalogue.\n\n [95] _Josephine Imperatrice et Reine_, Paris, 1899.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX OF PERSONS\n\n_Excluding_ NAPOLEON _and_ JOSEPHINE, _which occur on nearly every\npage_.\n\n\n Abercromby, Sir Ralph, 49\n\n Abrantes, Mdme. Junot, Duchesse d', 190, 199, 229, 230, 231, 242, 247,\n 254, 261, 265, 266, 278, 312\n\n Achille. (_See_ Murat)\n\n Agrippina, 312\n\n Ainger, Canon, 298\n\n Albufera, Duke of. (_See_ Suchet)\n\n Aldobrandini, Prince, 149\n\n Alexander the Great, 185\n\n Alison, Sir A. (historian), 74, 119, 255, 264, 272, 286\n\n Alvinzi, Marshal, 30, 34, 35, 218, 221, 318\n\n Amand, Saint, _see_ S. Imbert de (author), 4, 172, 199, 212, 221, 223,\n 243, 245, 251, 256, 257, 267, 269, 302, 304, 307, 308, 312\n\n Amelia (daughter of Eugene), 313\n\n Angouleme, Duc d', 190, 196, 197\n\n Anhalt, Prince of, 270\n\n Arberg, Mdme. d', 176\n\n Arch-Chancellor. (_See_ Cambaceres)\n\n Argenteau, D', 9\n\n Arnault (author), 212\n\n Artois, Comte d', 196, 197\n\n Aubenas, 172, 200, 201, 216, 225, 226, 228, 241, 257, 259, 260, 297,\n 299\n\n Audenarde, D', 162, 302\n ---- Madame Lalaing, Viscountess d', 302, 307\n\n Augereau, Marshal, 24, 38, 57, 70, 90, 154, 196, 214, 254, 255, 267\n\n Auguie, Mlle. Aglae Louise, 231\n\n Auguste, Princess of Bavaria (then wife of Eugene). (_See_ Beauharnais,\n Auguste)\n\n Augustus, Emperor, 52, 228\n\n Austria, Emperor of, 186, 197, 218, 223, 240\n ---- Empress of, 186\n\n Avrillon, Mlle, d', 82, 174, 225, 233, 256, 297, 299, 302, 305, 311,\n 312\n\n\n Baccioli, Eliza (Bonaparte), 63, 122\n\n Baden, Princess Wilhelmina of, 77, 236, 295\n ---- Grand Duchess of. (_See_ Beauharnais, Stephanie)\n ---- Prince of, 242, 243, 245, 270\n\n Bagration, General, 187, 188\n\n Baird, General Sir David, 42, 49, 143\n\n Bajazet, 272\n\n Barante, De (Prefect of Geneva), 309, 310\n\n Barbier (Napoleon's librarian), 307\n\n Barras, Count de, 6, 7, 8, 9, 15, 38, 199, 205, 207, 221, 247, 248\n\n Bathurst, Benj., 154\n\n Bausset (Prefect of Imperial Palace), 267, 269, 273\n\n Bavaria, Elector, then King of, 77, 122, 144, 159, 161, 242, 243, 265,\n 266, 270, 299\n ---- Electress, then Queen of, 70, 161, 243, 265\n ---- Prince Royal of, 281\n\n Bayard, Chevalier, 235, 243\n\n Beauharnais, Eugene (Viceroy of Italy), 6, 21, 31, 44, 51, 58, 59, 60,\n 63, 66, 68, 78, 106, 121, 140, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149,\n 150, 152, 159, 162, 164, 170, 171, 172, 179, 187, 188, 189, 190,\n 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 216, 224, 228, 229, 234, 242,\n 243, 244, 254, 256, 264, 265, 266, 276, 277, 282, 286, 287, 290,\n 297, 299, 305, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 318, 320, 321\n\n Beauharnais, Auguste (wife of Eugene), 121, 186, 242, 264, 265, 266,\n 299\n ---- Hortense, 6, 10, 11, 12, 31, 44, 50, 51, 52, 53, 59, 66, 68, 78,\n 79, 80, 81, 82, 84, 85, 86, 88, 89, 90, 93, 111, 112, 113, 127,\n 137, 140, 144, 147, 149, 150, 151, 159, 160, 165, 172, 173, 175,\n 176, 180, 216, 226, 227, 228, 229, 231, 235, 237, 244, 247, 254,\n 259, 261, 262, 263, 268, 269, 288, 289, 296, 300, 308, 313, 314\n ---- Stephanie, 78, 80, 82, 84, 85, 86, 89, 242, 243, 244, 254, 271,\n 295\n ---- Fanny (daughter of Count), 243\n\n Beaujon (financier), 302\n\n Beaulieu, General, 6, 7, 10, 11, 38, 204, 205, 208, 209\n\n Becker, General, 81\n\n Bellegarde, General, 49, 195, 197\n\n Bennigsen or Beningsen, General, 90, 188, 193, 254\n\n Bentinck, General, 193\n\n Bentley, 227\n\n Berg, Napoleon Louis, Grand Duke of, 82, 137, 144, 147, 148, 150, 172,\n 173, 263, 308\n\n Bernadotte, Marshal, 38, 41, 57, 80, 81, 83, 95, 106, 113, 174, 185,\n 188, 192, 193, 246, 254, 255, 257, 279, 291, 292\n ---- Desiree (_nee_ Clary), 38, 246, 313\n\n Berthier, Marshal, 33, 57, 141, 214, 224, 229, 246, 251, 259, 265, 270,\n 280, 292, 302, 303\n\n Bertrand, General, 259, 287, 288, 290\n\n Bessieres, Marshal, 57, 106, 128, 136, 139, 149, 165, 190, 260, 290,\n 303\n\n Bignon, Baron (historian), 55, 75, 255, 258, 262\n\n Billington, Mistress, 224\n\n Bingham, Captain D. A., 204, 208, 256\n\n Blake (Field-Marshal and Spanish General), 135, 136, 148, 181\n\n Blucher, Field-Marshal, 83, 192, 193, 194, 195, 246, 250, 278, 291\n\n Bonaparte, Joseph (King of Spain), 21, 38, 77, 128, 143, 150, 187, 191,\n 196, 199, 200, 201, 228, 237, 258, 265, 266, 273, 296, 305\n ---- Louis, 50, 53, 59, 77, 172, 173, 214, 220, 228, 261, 263, 268,\n 269, 279, 300, 302, 308, 309, 314\n ---- Jerome (King of Westphalia), 117 118, 160, 161, 242, 261, 270,\n 301\n ---- Lucien, 228, 229, 230, 247, 253, 265, 266, 297, 314\n ---- Caroline. (_See_ Murat, Madame)\n ---- Eliza. (_See_ Lucca, Princess of)\n\n Bonaparte Family, The, 317. (Appendix 2)\n\n Bonpland, Aime, 226\n\n Borghese, Prince, 99, 115\n ---- Pauline, 99, 303\n\n Boubers, Countess de, 308\n\n Bouillet (lexicographer), 74, 248\n\n Bouillon, Duke of, 304\n\n Bourbon, Duchesse de, 302\n\n Bourlier, Bishop of Evreux, 311\n\n Bourrienne, L. de, 30, 31, 61, 155, 226, 228, 229, 230, 237, 239\n\n Boyer (French general, \"Pierre le Cruel\"), 196\n\n Brizzi, 89\n\n Brock, General, 187\n\n Brotonne, L. de, 190, 238, 260, 310\n\n Browning, Oscar, 47\n\n Bruix, Admiral, 232\n\n Brune, Marshal, 34, 41, 43, 49, 57, 118, 221\n\n Brunswick, Duke of, 245\n\n Brutus, 294\n\n Bulow, General von, 192, 194, 196\n\n Burdett-Coutts, Mr., 218\n\n Burke, Edmund, 38\n\n Buxhowden, General, 72, 90\n\n Byron, Lord, 183, 314\n\n \"B----\" (probably Bourrienne), 60, 175\n\n\n Cabarrus, M. de, 248\n\n Cadoudal, Georges (Vendeen chief and conspirator), 57\n\n Caesar, Julius, 232, 281, 286, 293\n\n Calder, Sir Robert, 63\n\n Cambaceres, Arch-Chancellor, 108, 114, 150, 188, 192, 236, 269, 271,\n 281,\n 284, 291, 292, 293, 296, 300, 302, 303, 310\n\n Campan, Madame, 191, 242\n\n Caracci, 209\n\n Carnot (member of the Directory and \"organiser of victory\"), 200, 204,\n 205, 206, 208, 209, 210, 217, 223\n\n Castanos, General, Duke of Baylen, 136\n\n Cathcart, Lord, 188\n\n Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, 1, 270, 315.\n\n Cesarotti, 199\n\n Chabot, 219\n\n Chabran, 219\n\n Chambry, M., 58\n\n Champagny, De (Duc de Cadore), 153, 262, 270, 271, 292, 298, 302\n\n Championnet, General, 42\n\n Charlemagne, 234, 296\n\n Charles, Archduke, 19, 25, 34, 38, 42, 46, 66, 68, 143, 144, 145, 149,\n 242, 279, 280, 282, 284, 304\n\n Charles, Prince. (_See_ Charles, Archduke)\n\n Charles XII., 185. (_See_ Sweden, King of)\n\n Chauvet, 7, 199, 200\n\n Chimay, Prince de, 248\n\n Clarke, General, 196, 210, 221, 291, 292\n\n Clary, Desiree. (_See_ Bernadotte, Desiree).\n\n Coburg, Prince of, 270\n\n Cockburn, Admiral, 191\n\n Colburn, 229\n\n Colombier, Mlle. du, 224\n\n Conches, Baron Feuillet de, 13\n\n Constant, 229, 230, 232, 233, 236, 254, 265, 267, 268, 284, 292, 293,\n 294, 296\n\n Corbineau, Constant (one of three brothers, known as les trois Horaces),\n 98, 99, 256\n\n Corneille, 241\n\n Cornelia, 312\n\n Cornwallis, Lord, 41\n\n Correggio, 205, 209\n\n Corvisart, Baron, 52, 153, 233, 293, 305, 315\n\n Courland, Duchess of, 270\n\n Crassus, 185\n\n Cretet, Count, 292\n\n Cromwell, Oliver, 298\n\n Czartoriski, Prince, 241\n\n\n Dahlmann, General, 98, 256\n\n Dantzic, Duke of. (_See_ Lefebvre, Marshal)\n\n Darius, 185\n\n Darmagnac, General, 98\n\n Darmstadt, Prince of, 270\n\n Daru, Count, 256, 257\n\n David, King, 262\n\n Davidowich, Baron (Austrian General), 27, 30\n\n Davoust, Marshal, 44, 57, 69, 80, 81, 84, 89, 143, 187, 246, 247, 255,\n 282, 292, 293\n\n Decazes, Duke, 269\n\n Decres, Vice-Admiral, Minister of Marine, 225, 254, 256\n\n Delille, Abbe, 190\n\n Desaix, General, 14, 41, 42, 44, 46, 290\n\n Despinois, General, 215\n\n Dessalines (\"James I.\"), of Hayti, 60\n\n Didot, 172\n\n Dietrich, Mdme. de, 240\n\n Don Carlos, Infant, 126\n\n Ducrest, Madame, 311, 317, 318\n\n Duesberg (botanist), 225\n\n Dumas, Matthieu, Count (General and historian), 255, 257, 258\n\n Duphot, General, 38\n\n Dupont, General, 65, 69, 101, 128, 267\n\n Dupuis, 104, 260\n\n Dupuy, 219\n\n Durand, Madame, 301\n\n Duroc, Marshal, 191, 228, 230, 252, 270, 275, 291\n\n\n Edward, the Black Prince, 222\n\n Elchingen, Duke of. (_See_ Ney, Marshal)\n\n \"Eleanore,\" 252\n\n Enghien, Duc d', 57, 236, 276\n\n England, King George II. of, 43\n ---- King George III. of, 43, 46, 64, 70, 218, 223, 238\n\n Esteve (General Treasurer of the Crown), 161\n\n Eugene, Prince of Savoy, 286\n\n Eugenie, Empress, 256\n ---- Hortense, Princess, 277\n\n Evreux, Count d', 302\n\n\n Faipoult, Citizen, 204\n\n Ferdinand, Archduke, 143, 147, 279\n ---- Prince of Asturias (afterwards Ferdinand VII.), 118, 123, 125, 126,\n 127, 128, 194, 195, 196, 266, 268, 269\n\n Fesch, Cardinal, 302\n\n Fitzgerald, Lord Edward, 41\n\n Fontanes, Marquis de, 302\n\n Fouche (de Nantes, Duke of Otranto), 236, 259, 261, 262, 274, 275,\n 276, 277, 279, 292, 294, 295, 297, 302, 306\n\n Fox, C. J., 77\n\n Foy, General, 191, 196\n\n Francis II., Emperor of Austria (and Germany), 71, 77, 128, 291, 310,\n 311\n\n Franck, Doctor, 289\n\n Frederick the Great, 67, 249, 283, 286\n\n Frederick I. (Duke, Elector, and King of Wurtemberg), 238\n\n Frederick William II., 38. (_See_ Prussia, King of)\n\n Frederick William III., 38. (_See_ Prussia, King of)\n\n Friand, General, 185\n\n Fulton, Robert, 235\n\n\n Gaudin, Duke of Gaeta, 292\n\n Genlis, Mdme. de, 318\n\n George II. (_See_ England, King of)\n\n George III. (_See_ England, King of)\n\n Georges. (_See_ Cadoudal)\n\n Germany, Emperor of. (_See_ Austria, Emperor of)\n\n Gillray, James, 248\n\n Giraudin, Stanislaus, 261\n\n Godoy, Don Manuel, Prince of the Peace, 77, 123, 125\n\n Goethe, J. W. Von, 177, 270\n\n Gohier, Louis (member of the Directory), 43\n\n Graham, Colonel, 35, 192, 214, 215\n\n Gros, Baron (artist), 220, 221\n\n Guesclin, Bertrand du, 235\n\n\n Hamilton, Lady, 249\n\n Harpe, General La. (_See_ Laharpe, General)\n\n Harville, M. d', 70\n\n Hatzfeld, Princess d', 83, 249\n\n Haugwitz, Count von, 71\n\n Hautpoult, General, 255\n\n Haydn, Joseph, 74, 90\n\n Heath, Baron, 60\n\n Hedouville, General, 42, 92\n\n Henri IV., 296\n\n Hiller, General, 282, 284\n\n Hoche, General Lazare, 34, 38, 209, 218\n\n Hofer, Andreas, 146\n\n Hohenlohe, Prince, 81\n\n Hohenzollern-Hechingen, Prince of, 277\n\n Holland, King of. (_See_ Bonaparte, Louis)\n ---- Queen of. (_See_ Beauharnais, Hortense)\n\n Homer, 199\n\n Hood, Robin, 39\n\n Humbert, General, 41\n\n Humboldt, Baron von, 226\n\n Hume, Martin, 267\n\n Hutchinson, General, 49\n\n\n Jacquin, Von (Austrian botanist), 225\n\n Jahn, F. L. (German patriot), 278\n\n Jeanne of France (Queen of Navarre), 304\n\n Jellachich, General, 70, 145\n\n Joan of Arc, 294\n\n John, Archduke, 144, 147, 287, 290, 291\n ---- King of France, 222\n\n Johnson, Dr., vi., 208\n\n Jomini, Baron (Swiss strategist), 192, 194, 204, 206, 211, 213, 214,\n 218\n\n Joseph. (_See_ Bonaparte, Joseph)\n\n Josephine Maximilienne Auguste, 106\n\n Joubert, General, 34, 35, 42, 43, 219, 220\n\n Jouberthon, Madame (wife of Lucien), 266\n\n Jourdan, Marshal, 11, 20, 25,42, 57, 191, 217\n\n Julian, Emperor, 185\n\n Julien, Mlle., 153\n\n Jung, Thomas (or Iung), 228, 230, 251\n\n Junot (Duc d'Abrantes), 9, 10, 42, 118, 128, 200, 212, 230, 231, 241,\n 261\n\n\n Kalkreuth, Count (Russian Field-Marshal), 79\n\n Kaunitz, Prince, 71\n\n Keith, Lord, 46\n\n Kellerman, Marshal (Duke of Valmy), 19, 57, 205, 206, 207, 209, 210,\n 214, 217\n\n Kellermann, General, 46\n\n Kilmaine, General, 19, 27, 215, 220\n\n King. (_See_ Bonaparte, Joseph), 136\n\n Kipling, R., 129\n\n Kleber, General, 19, 20, 42, 43, 46, 290\n\n Klein, General, 20\n\n Kleist, 192\n\n Kourakin, Alexander, 138, 274\n\n Kray, Baron von (Austrian General), 42, 43, 44, 46\n\n Kutusoff, General (Prince of Smolensk), 188, 189\n\n\n Labedoyere, Madame, 231\n\n La Bruyere, 20\n\n Lacepede, Count de, 189, 296\n\n La Fontaine, 316\n\n Lagrange (mathematician), 190\n\n La Grassini, 223, 224, 228\n\n Laharpe, General, 10, 200, 210\n\n Lannes, Marshal (Duke of Montebello), 9, 45, 46, 57, 68, 69, 78, 80, 90,\n 136, 143, 145, 147, 219, 275, 289, 290, 291\n\n Lanusse, General Francois, 219\n\n Larevelliere-Lepeaux (Member of the Directory), 38, 43, 217\n\n Larochefoucauld, Mdme. de, 234, 250\n\n La Romana (Spanish General), 136, 138\n\n Lasalle, General, 149, 291\n\n Las Cases, Count de, 117, 207, 224, 229, 232, 259\n\n Latouche-Treville, Admiral, 235\n\n Latour, Von, Count (Austrian General), 29\n\n Laudon (Austrian General), 65\n\n Lauriston, General, 147, 192, 193, 229, 256, 270\n\n Lavalette, Count de, 220, 221, 276, 299\n ---- Madame, 226, 227, 231\n\n Lebrun (statesman, Duke of Placentia), 71, 302\n ---- (the poet), 243\n\n Leclerc, General, 50\n\n Lecombe, General, 43\n\n Lefebvre-Desnouettes, General, 139, 275\n\n Lefebvre, Marshal, 57, 111, 112, 135, 145\n\n Lejeune, Baron, 240, 252, 254, 257, 274, 275, 281, 282, 283, 303, 304\n\n Lemarois, General, 67, 239, 256\n\n \"Leon,\" 252\n\n Lestocq, General, 255\n\n Letourneur (Member of the Directory), 198, 201\n\n Leyen, Amelie de la, 305\n ---- Princess de la, 171, 308\n\n Liverpool, Lord, 186\n\n Livia (wife of Augustus), 228\n\n Louis, Archduke, 143\n\n Louis XI., 52\n\n Louis XII., 296\n\n Louis XV., 267\n\n Louis XVI., 230\n\n Louis XVIII. (_See_ Angouleme, Duc d')\n\n Lucca, Eliza Bonaparte, Princess of, 265\n\n Lynedoch, Lord. (_See_ Graham, Col.)\n\n L----, Mdme. (_See_ Larochefoucauld, Mdme. de)\n\n\n Macdonald, Marshal, 41, 42, 145, 147, 150, 192, 196, 287, 292\n\n Mack, General, 41, 64, 66, 239, 246\n\n Macpherson, James, 199\n\n Madison, President, 143, 190\n\n Maelzel, Leonard (German mechanic), 292\n\n Mahmoud IV., 128, 136\n\n Mahomet, 52\n\n Makau, Madame de, 175, 176, 307, 309\n\n Malet, General, 188, 189\n\n \"Maman\" (Madame Mere, mother of Napoleon), 45, 50, 224, 227\n\n Marbot, Baron, 187, 267, 274, 275, 283, 284, 288, 290, 291\n\n Marchesi (artiste), 224\n\n Marescalchi, 303\n\n Marest, M. de, 213\n\n Maret (Duc de Bassano), 57, 67, 187, 189, 270, 271, 292, 302, 304\n\n Marie Antoinette, 230, 249\n\n Marie Louise, 157, 164, 165, 167, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177, 197, 271,\n 296, 298, 301, 302, 304, 306, 310, 312, 314, 315\n\n Marie Therese, 284, 285, 320\n\n Marie Victoire, Infanta, 267\n\n Marmont, Marshal, 69, 150, 187, 196, 197, 198, 207, 210, 211, 222, 248,\n 292, 315\n\n Masaniello, 52\n\n Massena, Marshal (Duke of Rivoli), 24, 28, 34, 35, 38, 42, 43, 44, 46,\n 57, 66, 68, 69, 71, 77, 144, 174, 180, 200, 205, 213, 215, 220,\n 221, 223, 238, 282, 290, 292\n\n Masson, M. Frederic, 61, 224, 239, 242, 247, 250, 252, 296, 297, 303,\n 305, 307, 309, 312, 313, 317, 318\n\n Maximilian, Archduke, 285\n\n Meerfeldt or Meerveldt, Count von, 69, 145\n\n Melas, General, 43, 46, 224\n\n Melito, Count Miot de, 246\n\n Melville, Lord, 277\n\n Menage, Gilles (scholar), 213\n\n Menard, 219\n\n Meneval, Baron de, 229, 232, 237, 239, 244, 246, 254, 255, 264, 283,\n 289, 295, 296, 297\n\n Menou, General Baron de, 49\n\n Merlin (member of the Directory), 43\n\n Metternich, Prince, 153, 275\n ---- Madame de, 300\n\n Michael Angelo, 205\n\n Michaud, L. G., 162, 231, 264, 277\n\n Michelet, Jules (historian), 212\n\n Michot (actor), 229\n\n Miollis, Adjutant-General, 24\n\n Modena, Duke of, 11\n\n Moltke, Von, 271\n\n Moncey, Marshal, 57\n\n Monclas, 26\n\n Monnier, General J. C., 43\n\n Montaigne, Michel de, 315\n\n Montebello, Duke of. (_See_ Lannes, Marshal)\n\n Montebello, Duchess of (La Marechale Lannes), 145, 147, 289\n\n Montesquiou, Madame de, 175\n\n Montgaillard, l'Abbe de (historian), 38, 42, 43, 52, 66, 90, 128, 137,\n 144, 162, 185, 191, 193, 286\n\n Montholon, Count de, 255\n\n Moore, Sir John, 143, 273, 275, 277\n\n Morbach, Colonel, 318\n\n Moreau, General, 14, 19, 20, 25, 29, 30, 38, 43, 44, 46, 57, 188, 192,\n 205, 217, 223, 279\n\n Mortier, Marshal, 57, 69, 84, 153, 179, 188, 196, 224\n\n Moscati, 36, 37\n\n Moulin, General (member of the Directory), 43\n\n Mourad Bey, 41, 42\n\n Moustache, 44, 114, 115, 140\n\n Mueller (Swiss historian), 270\n\n Murat, King of Naples, 9, 16, 22, 23, 45, 46, 57, 64, 66, 69, 79, 81,\n 83, 86, 97. 99, 125, 127, 128, 148, 188, 189, 190, 194, 195, 211,\n 212, 219, 224, 235, 240, 254, 265, 269, 270, 276, 287, 298, 302,\n 303\n ---- Madame Caroline, Queen of Naples, 99, 158, 190, 235, 252, 254, 261,\n 290, 298\n\n Mustapha IV., 112\n\n \"M----,\" 45. (See \"Maman\")\n\n\n Napier, Sir William, 123, 141, 275, 277, 278\n\n Naples, King of. (_See_ Bonaparte, Joseph)\n\n Napoleon Charles Bonaparte (eldest son of Hortense), 53, 79, 80, 81, 82,\n 84. 89, 93, 110, 137, 228, 247\n\n Napoleon Louis (second son of Hortense). (_See_ Berg, Grand Duke of)\n\n Napoleons (\"the two\"), sons of Hortense and Louis, 68, 79, 80, 84, 86,\n 90, 151, 174\n\n Napoleon III. (Charles Louis Napoleon, third son of Hortense), 127, 238,\n 269, 303, 307\n\n Nassau, Prince of, 270\n\n Necker, M., 224\n\n Nelson, Lord, 41, 49\n\n Nero, Emperor, 236\n\n Ney, Marshal (Prince of the Moskowa), 20, 52, 53, 57, 64, 65, 69, 83,\n 88, 90, 173, 187, 188, 189, 192, 231, 239, 255\n ----, Madame, 231, 304\n\n Nicolas, Sir Harris (historian), 74\n\n\n O'Donnell (Spanish General), 181\n\n O'Meara, Dr., 272\n\n Oscar, Prince (son of Bernadotte), 106\n\n Ossian, 4, 199\n\n Oudet, General, 279\n\n Oudinot, Marshal, Duke of Reggio, 143, 150, 187, 189, 192, 196, 270,\n 292\n\n Ouvrard (financier), 248\n\n\n Paer, Ferdinando (musical composer), 89, 91, 242\n\n Paget, Lord, 293\n\n Palafox y Melzi, Duke of Saragossa, 136\n\n Palatine, The Archduke (Joseph-Antoine of Hungary), 148\n\n Palmerston, Lord, 272\n\n Paoli, General de, 209\n\n Parma, Grand Duke of, 11, 204\n\n Pasquier, E. D., Duke, 162, 253, 268, 270, 276, 281\n\n Paterson, Miss (repudiated wife of Jerome Bonaparte), 301\n\n Paul, Princess, 70\n\n Paul I. (_See_ Russia, Czar of)\n\n Pauline. (_See_ Borghese, Princess)\n\n Pavon, 226\n\n Pelet, General and Baron, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 290\n\n Perceval, Spencer (British Premier), 185\n\n Perignon, Marshal, 57\n\n Perigord, Edmond de, 270\n\n Permon, Madame (mother of Madame D'Abrantes), 230\n\n Philip Augustus, King of France, 296\n\n Philippon, General, 185\n\n Pichegru, General, 57\n\n Pignatelli, Prince of Strongoli, and Minister of Ferdinand, King of\n Naples, 21\n\n Pijon, General, 219\n\n Pitt, William, 77\n\n Pius VI., Pope, 14, 37, 41, 43, 195, 206, 210, 211, 218, 222\n\n Pius VII., Pope, 49, 52, 60, 148, 186, 189, 190, 225, 237, 300, 301\n\n Pompadour, Madame de, 302, 320\n\n Poniatowski, Prince, and Marshal of France, 193\n\n Portugal, Prince Regent of, 125 ---- Queen of, 125\n\n Pradt, Abbe de, 277\n\n Primate, The Prince, 270\n\n Prince Regent, 226. (_See_ George IV.)\n\n Princess, 121. (_See_ Beauharnais, Auguste)\n\n Provera (Austrian General), 34, 35\n\n Prussia, Frederick William II., King of, 38\n ---- Frederick William III., King of, 38, 64, 67, 78, 79, 114, 116,\n 143, 191, 197, 236, 240, 245, 249, 270, 271, 315\n ---- Louise, Queen of, 79, 116, 117, 143, 245, 248, 249\n ---- Prince Louis of, 78\n ---- Prince William of, 270\n\n P----, Madame de, 106\n\n\n Quesdonowich (Austrian General), 24\n\n\n Racine, 241\n\n Rampon, Colonel, 9, 219\n\n Raphael, 209\n\n Rapp, Count, 194, 226, 227, 285, 294, 295\n\n Raynouard (author), 241\n\n Redcliffe, Stratford de, 186\n\n Regnauld, Count (State Secretary of the Imperial Court), 296\n\n Remusat, Madame de, 222, 237, 239, 298, 301, 307, 308, 310, 311\n\n Renard, Madame Chateau, 6, 8, 10\n\n Renaudin, Madame de, 216\n\n Rewbell (member of the Directory), 38\n\n Reynier, General, 77, 193, 292\n\n Rheims, Mayoress of, 233\n\n Richard Coeur de Lion, 284\n\n Richmond, Madame, 99\n\n Rivoli, Duc de, 35. (_See_ Massena)\n\n Rochefoucauld. (_See_ Larochefoucauld, Mdme. de)\n\n Roger-Ducos (member of the Directory), 43\n\n Rollo the Sea King, 304\n\n Rome, King of (Napoleon II.), \"l'Aiglon,\" 179, 268, 311, 313\n\n Rosebery, Lord, 234, 276, 315\n\n Rose, J. H., 214, 215\n\n Rostopchin, Count and General, 188\n\n Ruiz, 226\n\n Russia, Alexander I., Emperor of, 67, 71, 115, 116, 131, 132, 143, 179,\n 185, 188, 190, 191, 197, 241, 243, 249, 264, 269, 270, 271, 272,\n 303\n ---- Catherine II., Czarina of, 30\n ---- Paul I., Czar of, 49\n\n\n Sacken, General, 195, 196\n\n Saint Amand, Imbert de, 4, 172, 199, 212, 221, 223, 243, 245, 251, 256,\n 257, 267, 269, 302, 304, 307, 308, 312\n\n Saint Cyr, Gouvion, Marquis and Marshal, 20, 43, 187, 188, 193\n\n Saint-Hilaire, General, 219\n\n Saliceti, C., 213\n\n Sardinia, King of, 205\n\n Sarrazin, General, 133\n\n Sauret, General, 24, 213, 215\n\n Savary (Duc de Rovigo), 99, 108, 125, 158, 165, 239, 241, 246, 251, 258,\n 271, 272, 274, 276, 277, 292, 294, 297\n\n Saxe-Hildburghausen, Princess of, 238\n\n Saxony, Elector, then King of, 89, 117, 270\n\n Saxe-Weimar, Prince of, 270, 271\n ---- Princess of, 270\n\n Scherer, General (French), 42, 198\n\n Schwartzenberg, Marshal, 192, 193, 194, 300, 303, 308\n\n Scott, Sir Walter, 208, 222, 277\n\n Sebastiani, General, 272\n\n Segur, General Count, 241\n\n Selim III., 112\n\n Serbelloni, M., 216\n\n Serent, Madame de, 70\n\n Serrurier, Marshal, 25, 57, 215\n\n Sevigne, Madame de, 260\n\n Shakespeare, 249\n\n Sieyes, Abbe and Count (member of the Directory), 42\n\n Smith, Sir Sydney, 60\n\n Soult, Marshal, Duke of Dalmatia, 57, 65, 79, 83, 113, 114, 136, 139,\n 143, 145, 150, 151, 164, 179, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 229,\n 270, 275, 278, 292\n\n Spain, Charles II. of, and his Queen, 267\n ---- Charles IV., King of, 112, 118, 123, 125, 126, 127, 228\n ---- Queen of (mother of Ferdinand VII.), 118, 126, 127, 268\n ---- Queen of (wife of Joseph), 313\n\n Stabs, 294\n\n Stadion, Count von (Austrian diplomatist), 278\n\n Stael, Madame de, Holstein, 310\n\n Stein, Baron Von, 278\n\n Stephanie. (See Beauharnais)\n\n Stevenson, R. L., 298\n\n Stuart, Marie, 249\n\n Suchet, Marshal (Duke of Albufera), 148, 170, 180, 181, 185, 186, 191,\n 192, 193\n\n Sullivan, Sir A., 249\n\n Sussi, 6\n\n Suwarrow, Marshal, 42, 43\n\n Sweden, Charles XII., King of, 185\n ---- Charles XIII., King of, 147\n ---- Gustavus Adolphus IV., King of, 143, 243\n\n\n Talleyrand-Perigord, Prince, 38, 52, 67, 68, 79, 81, 121, 197, 225,\n 233, 236, 237, 238, 240, 242, 245, 246, 260, 268, 270, 271,\n 272, 275, 276, 277, 279, 300, 302, 303, 314\n\n Tallien, \"Thermidorian,\" 7, 237, 247, 254\n ---- Madame (Princesse de Chimay), 6, 7, 8, 15, 82, 198, 247, 248\n\n Talma, 270\n\n Tamerlane, 272\n\n Tascher, Louis, 98, 114, 137, 171, 256, 305\n ---- Henri, 305\n\n Tasso, 245\n\n Tennant, Charles, 13, 45\n\n Thiard, M. de, 106, 243, 260\n\n Thibaut, M., 225\n\n Thiers, M. (statesman), 265, 273, 275, 296, 302\n\n Tolly, Barclay de, 187, 188\n\n Tolstoi, Count, 274\n\n Tone, Wolfe, 41\n\n Tour and Taxis, Princess of, 270, 278\n\n Toussaint-Louverture, 49, 50, 53\n\n Treilhard, Count (member of the Directory), 43\n\n Tremoille, Princess de la, 309, 310\n\n Treves, Elector of, 65\n\n Tschitchagow, Admiral, 188\n\n Turenne, M. de, 116\n ---- Marshal, 286\n\n Tuscany, Grand Duke of, 216\n\n T----, Madame, 24. (Probably Madame Tallien)\n\n T----, Madame de la, 175. (_See_ Tremoille)\n\n T----, 60. (Probably Talleyrand)\n\n T----, 96. (Probably Tallien)\n\n T----, de, 106. (_See_ Thiard, M. de)\n\n T----, 237. (_See_ Tallien)\n\n\n Valerian, Emperor, 185\n\n Vandamme, General, 86, 92, 192\n\n Van Dyck, 209\n\n Varin, Regnault, 317\n\n Vaubois, General, 16, 27, 30, 31, 46, 220\n\n Verhuell, Admiral, 269\n\n Veronese, Paul, 209\n\n Victoire, Marie, 267. (_See_ Marie)\n\n Victor, Marshal, 35, 136, 143, 150, 219\n\n Villars, Marshal, 43\n\n Villeneuve, Admiral, 63\n\n Vincent, General, 270\n\n Virgil, 21, 212\n\n\n\n Walewski, Marie, 250, 252, 253, 293\n\n Washington, George, 43, 223\n\n Wattier, General, 176\n\n Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of, 128, 145, 150, 174, 176, 180,\n 185, 186, 187, 188, 192, 193, 196, 197, 278, 290, 291, 292\n\n Westphalia, King of. (_See_ Bonaparte, Jerome)\n\n Wieland, C. M., 270\n\n Wilhelmina, Princess, 236. (_See_ Baden, Princess of)\n\n William I., Emperor of Germany, 245, 315\n\n Windham, William (British Secretary at War), 213\n\n Wittgenstein, General and Count, 187, 188, 192\n\n Woodward (and Cates), 74\n\n Wrede, Marshal (Bavarian Marshal), 193\n\n Wurmser, Marshal, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 32, 35, 38, 213, 214, 215, 216,\n 217, 218, 219, 221, 222, 224\n\n Wurtemberg, Duke of, 64, 68, 77\n ---- Electress of, 64, 70, 238\n ---- King of, 242, 270, 295\n ---- Prince Royal of, 196\n\n Wuerzburg, Grand Duke of, 78, 244\n\n\n Xenophon, 205\n\n Xerxes, 281\n\n\n York, Duke of, 43\n ---- General von, 189, 195\n\n\n Zingarelli, N. (musician), 242\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n Edinburgh & London", + "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", + "recipient": "Josephine", + "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", + "period": "1796–1812" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/letters/wollstonecraft.json b/letters/wollstonecraft.json new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f5f5da --- /dev/null +++ b/letters/wollstonecraft.json @@ -0,0 +1,602 @@ +[ + { + "heading": "LETTER I", + "body": "_Two o'Clock [Paris, June 1793]._\n\n\nMy dear love, after making my arrangements for our snug dinner to-day, I\nhave been taken by storm, and obliged to promise to dine, at an early\nhour, with the Miss ----s, the _only_ day they intend to pass here. I\nshall however leave the key in the door, and hope to find you at my\nfire-side when I return, about eight o'clock. Will you not wait for poor\nJoan?--whom you will find better, and till then think very affectionately\nof her.\n\n Yours, truly,\n MARY.\n\nI am sitting down to dinner; so do not send an answer.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER II", + "body": "_Past Twelve o'Clock, Monday Night\n [Paris, Aug. 1793]._\n\n\nI obey an emotion of my heart, which made me think of wishing thee, my\nlove, good-night! before I go to rest, with more tenderness than I can\nto-morrow, when writing a hasty line or two under Colonel ----'s eye. You\ncan scarcely imagine with what pleasure I anticipate the day, when we are\nto begin almost to live together; and you would smile to hear how many\nplans of employment I have in my head, now that I am confident my heart\nhas found peace in your bosom.--Cherish me with that dignified tenderness,\nwhich I have only found in you; and your own dear girl will try to keep\nunder a quickness of feeling, that has sometimes given you pain.--Yes, I\nwill be _good_, that I may deserve to be happy; and whilst you love me, I\ncannot again fall into the miserable state, which rendered life a burthen\nalmost too heavy to be borne.\n\nBut, good-night!--God bless you! Sterne says, that is equal to a kiss--yet\nI would rather give you the kiss into the bargain, glowing with gratitude\nto Heaven, and affection to you. I like the word affection, because it\nsignifies something habitual; and we are soon to meet, to try whether we\nhave mind enough to keep our hearts warm.\n\n MARY.\n\nI will be at the barrier a little after ten o'clock to-morrow.[2]--Yours--", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER III", + "body": "_Wednesday Morning [Paris, Aug. 1793]._\n\nYou have often called me, dear girl, but you would now say good, did you\nknow how very attentive I have been to the ---- ever since I came to\nParis. I am not however going to trouble you with the account, because I\nlike to see your eyes praise me; and Milton insinuates, that, during such\nrecitals, there are interruptions, not ungrateful to the heart, when the\nhoney that drops from the lips is not merely words.\n\nYet, I shall not (let me tell you before these people enter, to force me\nto huddle away my letter) be content with only a kiss of DUTY--you _must_\nbe glad to see me--because you are glad--or I will make love to the\n_shade_ of Mirabeau, to whom my heart continually turned, whilst I was\ntalking with Madame ----, forcibly telling me, that it will ever have\nsufficient warmth to love, whether I will or not, sentiment, though I so\nhighly respect principle.----\n\nNot that I think Mirabeau utterly devoid of principles--Far from it--and,\nif I had not begun to form a new theory respecting men, I should, in the\nvanity of my heart, have _imagined_ that _I_ could have made something of\nhis----it was composed of such materials--Hush! here they come--and love\nflies away in the twinkling of an eye, leaving a little brush of his wing\non my pale cheeks.\n\nI hope to see Dr. ---- this morning; I am going to Mr. ----'s to meet him.\n----, and some others, are invited to dine with us to-day; and to-morrow I\nam to spend the day with ----.\n\nI shall probably not be able to return to ---- to-morrow; but it is no\nmatter, because I must take a carriage, I have so many books, that I\nimmediately want, to take with me.--On Friday then I shall expect you to\ndine with me--and, if you come a little before dinner, it is so long since\nI have seen you, you will not be scolded by yours affectionately,\n\n MARY.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IV[3]\n\n\n_Friday Morning [Paris, Sept. 1793]._\n\nA man, whom a letter from Mr. ---- previously announced, called here\nyesterday for the payment of a draft; and, as he seemed disappointed at\nnot finding you at home, I sent him to Mr. ----. I have since seen him,\nand he tells me that he has settled the business.\n\nSo much for business!--May I venture to talk a little longer about less\nweighty affairs?--How are you?--I have been following you all along the\nroad this comfortless weather; for, when I am absent from those I love, my\nimagination is as lively, as if my senses had never been gratified by\ntheir presence--I was going to say caresses--and why should I not? I have\nfound out that I have more mind than you, in one respect; because I can,\nwithout any violent effort of reason, find food for love in the same\nobject, much longer than you can.--The way to my senses is through my\nheart; but, forgive me! I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours.\n\nWith ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very sufficient dash of folly is\nnecessary to render a woman _piquante_, a soft word for desirable; and,\nbeyond these casual ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by\nfostering a passion in their hearts. One reason, in short, why I wish my\nwhole sex to become wiser, is, that the foolish ones may not, by their\npretty folly, rob those whose sensibility keeps down their vanity, of the\nfew roses that afford them some solace in the thorny road of life.\n\nI do not know how I fell into these reflections, excepting one thought\nproduced it--that these continual separations were necessary to warm your\naffection.--Of late, we are always separating.--Crack!--crack!--and away\nyou go.--This joke wears the sallow cast of thought; for, though I began\nto write cheerfully, some melancholy tears have found their way into my\neyes, that linger there, whilst a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers\nthat you are one of the best creatures in the world.--Pardon then the\nvagaries of a mind, that has been almost \"crazed by care,\" as well as\n\"crossed in hapless love,\" and bear with me a _little_ longer!--When we\nare settled in the country together, more duties will open before me, and\nmy heart, which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every emotion\nthat awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will learn to rest on yours,\nwith that dignity your character, not to talk of my own, demands.\n\nTake care of yourself--and write soon to your own girl (you may add dear,\nif you please) who sincerely loves you, and will try to convince you of\nit, by becoming happier.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER V", + "body": "_Sunday Night [Paris, 1793]._\n\nI have just received your letter, and feel as if I could not go to bed\ntranquilly without saying a few words in reply--merely to tell you, that\nmy mind is serene and my heart affectionate.\n\nEver since you last saw me inclined to faint, I have felt some gentle\ntwitches, which make me begin to think, that I am nourishing a creature\nwho will soon be sensible of my care.--This thought has not only produced\nan overflowing of tenderness to you, but made me very attentive to calm my\nmind and take exercise, lest I should destroy an object, in whom we are to\nhave a mutual interest, you know. Yesterday--do not smile!--finding that\nI had hurt myself by lifting precipitately a large log of wood, I sat\ndown in an agony, till I felt those said twitches again.\n\nAre you very busy?\n\n * * * * *\n\nSo you may reckon on its being finished soon, though not before you come\nhome, unless you are detained longer than I now allow myself to believe\nyou will.--\n\nBe that as it may, write to me, my best love, and bid me be\npatient--kindly--and the expressions of kindness will again beguile the\ntime, as sweetly as they have done to-night.--Tell me also over and over\nagain, that your happiness (and you deserve to be happy!) is closely\nconnected with mine, and I will try to dissipate, as they rise, the fumes\nof former discontent, that have too often clouded the sunshine, which you\nhave endeavoured to diffuse through my mind. God bless you! Take care of\nyourself, and remember with tenderness your affectionate\n\n MARY.\n\nI am going to rest very happy, and you have made me so.--This is the\nkindest good-night I can utter.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER VI", + "body": "_Friday Morning [Paris, Dec. 1793]._\n\nI am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable, as well as\nmyself--for be it known to thee, that I answered thy _first_ letter, the\nvery night it reached me (Sunday), though thou couldst not receive it\nbefore Wednesday, because it was not sent off till the next day.--There is\na full, true, and particular account.--\n\nYet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that it is a proof of\nstupidity, and likewise of a milk-and-water affection, which comes to the\nsame thing, when the temper is governed by a square and compass.--There\nis nothing picturesque in this straight-lined equality, and the passions\nalways give grace to the actions.\n\nRecollection now makes my heart bound to thee; but, it is not to thy\nmoney-getting face, though I cannot be seriously displeased with the\nexertion which increases my esteem, or rather is what I should have\nexpected from thy character.--No; I have thy honest countenance before\nme--Pop--relaxed by tenderness; a little--little wounded by my whims; and\nthy eyes glistening with sympathy.--Thy lips then feel softer than\nsoft--and I rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world.--I have not\nleft the hue of love out of the picture--the rosy glow; and fancy has\nspread it over my own cheeks, I believe, for I feel them burning, whilst a\ndelicious tear trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a\ngrateful emotion directed to the Father of nature, who has made me thus\nalive to happiness, did not give more warmth to the sentiment it\ndivides--I must pause a moment.\n\nNeed I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus?--I do not know why,\nbut I have more confidence in your affection, when absent, than present;\nnay, I think that you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let\nme say it, I believe I deserve your tenderness, because I am true, and\nhave a degree of sensibility that you can see and relish.\n\n Yours sincerely,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER VII.", + "body": "_Sunday Morning [Paris, Dec. 29, 1793]._\n\nYou seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. Pray sir! when do you think\nof coming home? or, to write very considerately, when will business permit\nyou? I shall expect (as the country people say in England) that you will\nmake a _power_ of money to indemnify me for your absence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWell! but, my love, to the old story--am I to see you this week, or this\nmonth?--I do not know what you are about--for, as you did not tell me, I\nwould not ask Mr. ----, who is generally pretty communicative.\n\nI long to see Mrs. ----; not to hear from you, so do not give yourself\nairs, but to get a letter from Mr. ----. And I am half angry with you for\nnot informing me whether she had brought one with her or not.--On this\nscore I will cork up some of the kind things that were ready to drop from\nmy pen, which has never been dipt in gall when addressing you; or, will\nonly suffer an exclamation--\"The creature!\" or a kind look to escape me,\nwhen I pass the slippers--which I could not remove from my _falle_ door,\nthough they are not the handsomest of their kind.\n\n_Be not too anxious to get money!--for nothing worth having is to be\npurchased._ God bless you.\n\n Yours affectionately,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER VIII", + "body": "_Monday Night [Paris, Dec. 30, 1793]._\n\nMy best love, your letter to-night was particularly grateful to my heart,\ndepressed by the letters I received by ----, for he brought me several,\nand the parcel of books directed to Mr. ---- was for me. Mr. ----'s letter\nwas long and very affectionate; but the account he gives me of his own\naffairs, though he obviously makes the best of them, has vexed me.\n\nA melancholy letter from my sister ---- has also harrassed my mind--that\nfrom my brother would have given me sincere pleasure; but for\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere is a spirit of independence in his letter, that will please you; and\nyou shall see it, when we are once more over the fire together.--I think\nthat you would hail him as a brother, with one of your tender looks, when\nyour heart not only gives a lustre to your eye, but a dance of\nplayfulness, that he would meet with a glow half made up of bashfulness,\nand a desire to please the----where shall I find a word to express the\nrelationship which subsists between us?--Shall I ask the little\ntwitcher?--But I have dropt half the sentence that was to tell you how\nmuch he would be inclined to love the man loved by his sister. I have been\nfancying myself sitting between you, ever since I began to write, and my\nheart has leaped at the thought! You see how I chat to you.\n\nI did not receive your letter till I came home; and I did not expect it,\nfor the post came in much later than usual. It was a cordial to me--and I\nwanted one.\n\nMr. ---- tells me that he has written again and again.--Love him a\nlittle!--It would be a kind of separation, if you did not love those I\nlove.\n\nThere was so much considerate tenderness in your epistle to-night, that,\nif it has not made you dearer to me, it has made me forcibly feel how very\ndear you are to me, by charming away half my cares.\n\n Yours affectionately.\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER IX", + "body": "_Tuesday Morning [Paris, Dec. 31, 1793]._\n\nThough I have just sent a letter off, yet, as captain ---- offers to take\none, I am not willing to let him go without a kind greeting, because\ntrifles of this sort, without having any effect on my mind, damp my\nspirits:--and you, with all your struggles to be manly, have some of his\nsame sensibility.--Do not bid it begone, for I love to see it striving to\nmaster your features; besides, these kind of sympathies are the life of\naffection: and why, in cultivating our understandings, should we try to\ndry up these springs of pleasure, which gush out to give a freshness to\ndays browned by care!\n\nThe books sent to me are such as we may read together; so I shall not look\ninto them till you return; when you shall read, whilst I mend my\nstockings.\n\n Yours truly,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER X", + "body": "_Wednesday Night [Paris, Jan. 1, 1794]._\n\nAs I have been, you tell me, three days without writing, I ought not to\ncomplain of two: yet, as I expected to receive a letter this afternoon, I\nam hurt; and why should I, by concealing it, affect the heroism I do not\nfeel?\n\nI hate commerce. How differently must ----'s head and heart be organized\nfrom mine! You will tell me, that exertions are necessary: I am weary of\nthem! The face of things, public and private, vexes me. The \"peace\" and\nclemency which seemed to be dawning a few days ago, disappear again. \"I am\nfallen,\" as Milton said, \"on evil days;\" for I really believe that Europe\nwill be in a state of convulsion, during half a century at least. Life is\nbut a labour of patience: it is always rolling a great stone up a hill;\nfor, before a person can find a resting-place, imagining it is lodged,\ndown it comes again, and all the work is to be done over anew!\n\nShould I attempt to write any more, I could not change the strain. My head\naches, and my heart is heavy. The world appears an \"unweeded garden,\"\nwhere \"things rank and vile\" flourish best.\n\nIf you do not return soon--or, which is no such mighty matter, talk of\nit--I will throw your slippers out at window, and be off--nobody knows\nwhere.\n\n MARY.\n\nFinding that I was observed, I told the good women, the two Mrs. ----s,\nsimply that I was with child: and let them stare! and ----, and ----, nay,\nall the world, may know it for aught I care!--Yet I wish to avoid ----'s\ncoarse jokes.\n\nConsidering the care and anxiety a woman must have about a child before it\ncomes into the world, it seems to me, by a _natural right_, to belong to\nher. When men get immersed in the world, they seem to lose all sensations,\nexcepting those necessary to continue or produce life!--Are these the\nprivileges of reason? Amongst the feathered race, whilst the hen keeps\nthe young warm, her mate stays by to cheer her; but it is sufficient for\nman to condescend to get a child, in order to claim it.--A man is a\ntyrant!\n\nYou may now tell me, that, if it were not for me, you would be laughing\naway with some honest fellows in London. The casual exercise of social\nsympathy would not be sufficient for me--I should not think such an\nheartless life worth preserving.--It is necessary to be in good-humour\nwith you, to be pleased with the world.\n\n\n_Thursday Morning [Paris, Jan. 2, 1794]._\n\nI was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel with your cheerful\ntemper, which makes absence easy to you.--And, why should I mince the\nmatter? I was offended at your not even mentioning it--I do not want to be\nloved like a goddess but I wish to be necessary to you. God bless you![4]", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XI", + "body": "_Monday Night [Paris, Jan. 1794]._\n\nI have just received your kind and rational letter, and would fain hide my\nface, glowing with shame for my folly.--I would hide it in your bosom, if\nyou would again open it to me, and nestle closely till you bade my\nfluttering heart be still, by saying that you forgave me. With eyes\noverflowing with tears, and in the humblest attitude, I entreat you.--Do\nnot turn from me, for indeed I love you fondly, and have been very\nwretched, since the night I was so cruelly hurt by thinking that you had\nno confidence in me----\n\nIt is time for me to grow more reasonable, a few more of these caprices\nof sensibility would destroy me. I have, in fact, been very much\nindisposed for a few days past, and the notion that I was tormenting, or\nperhaps killing, a poor little animal, about whom I am grown anxious and\ntender, now I feel it alive, made me worse. My bowels have been dreadfully\ndisordered, and every thing I ate or drank disagreed with my stomach;\nstill I feel intimations of its existence, though they have been fainter.\n\nDo you think that the creature goes regularly to sleep? I am ready to ask\nas many questions as Voltaire's Man of Forty Crowns. Ah! do not continue\nto be angry with me! You perceive that I am already smiling through my\ntears--You have lightened my heart, and my frozen spirits are melting into\nplayfulness.\n\nWrite the moment you receive this. I shall count the minutes. But drop not\nan angry word--I cannot now bear it. Yet, if you think I deserve a\nscolding (it does not admit of a question, I grant), wait till you come\nback--and then, if you are angry one day, I shall be sure of seeing you\nthe next.\n\n---- did not write to you, I suppose, because he talked of going to Havre.\nHearing that I was ill, he called very kindly on me, not dreaming that it\nwas some words that he incautiously let fall, which rendered me so.\n\nGod bless you, my love; do not shut your heart against a return of\ntenderness; and, as I now in fancy cling to you, be more than ever my\nsupport.--Feel but as affectionate when you read this letter, as I did\nwriting it, and you will make happy your\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XII", + "body": "_Wednesday Morning [Paris, Jan. 1794]._\n\nI will never, if I am not entirely cured of quarrelling, begin to\nencourage \"quick-coming fancies,\" when we are separated. Yesterday, my\nlove, I could not open your letter for some time; and, though it was not\nhalf as severe as I merited, it threw me into such a fit of trembling, as\nseriously alarmed me. I did not, as you may suppose, care for a little\npain on my own account; but all the fears which I have had for a few days\npast, returned with fresh force. This morning I am better; will you not be\nglad to hear it? You perceive that sorrow has almost made a child of me,\nand that I want to be soothed to peace.\n\nOne thing you mistake in my character, and imagine that to be coldness\nwhich is just the contrary. For, when I am hurt by the person most dear to\nme, I must let out a whole torrent of emotions, in which tenderness would\nbe uppermost, or stifle them altogether; and it appears to me almost a\nduty to stifle them, when I imagine _that I am treated with coldness_.\n\nI am afraid that I have vexed you, my own [Imlay]. I know the quickness of\nyour feelings--and let me, in the sincerity of my heart, assure you, there\nis nothing I would not suffer to make you happy. My own happiness wholly\ndepends on you--and, knowing you, when my reason is not clouded, I look\nforward to a rational prospect of as much felicity as the earth\naffords--with a little dash of rapture into the bargain, if you will look\nat me, when we work again, as you have sometimes greeted, your humbled,\nyet most affectionate\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XIII", + "body": "_Thursday Night [Paris, Jan. 1794]._\n\nI have been wishing the time away, my kind love, unable to rest till I\nknew that my penitential letter had reached your hand--and this afternoon,\nwhen your tender epistle of Tuesday gave such exquisite pleasure to your\npoor sick girl, her heart smote her to think that you were still to\nreceive another cold one.--Burn it also, my [Imlay]; yet do not forget\nthat even those letters were full of love; and I shall ever recollect,\nthat you did not wait to be mollified by my penitence, before you took me\nagain to your heart.\n\nI have been unwell, and would not, now I am recovering, take a journey,\nbecause I have been seriously alarmed and angry with myself, dreading\ncontinually the fatal consequence of my folly.--But, should you think it\nright to remain at Havre, I shall find some opportunity, in the course of\na fortnight, or less perhaps, to come to you, and before then I shall be\nstrong again.--Yet do not be uneasy! I am really better, and never took\nsuch care of myself, as I have done since you restored my peace of mind.\nThe girl is come to warm my bed--so I will tenderly say, good-night! and\nwrite a line or two in the morning.\n\n\n_Morning._\n\nI wish you were here to walk with me this fine morning! yet your absence\nshall not prevent me. I have stayed at home too much; though, when I was\nso dreadfully out of spirits, I was careless of every thing.\n\nI will now sally forth (you will go with me in my heart) and try whether\nthis fine bracing air will not give the vigour to the poor babe, it had,\nbefore I so inconsiderately gave way to the grief that deranged my bowels,\nand gave a turn to my whole system.\n\n Yours truly\n MARY IMLAY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XIV", + "body": "_Saturday Morning [Paris, Feb. 1794]._\n\nThe two or three letters, which I have written to you lately, my love,\nwill serve as an answer to your explanatory one. I cannot but respect your\nmotives and conduct. I always respected them; and was only hurt, by what\nseemed to me a want of confidence, and consequently affection.--I thought\nalso, that if you were obliged to stay three months at Havre, I might as\nwell have been with you.--Well! well, what signifies what I brooded\nover--Let us now be friends!\n\nI shall probably receive a letter from you to-day, sealing my pardon--and\nI will be careful not to torment you with my querulous humours, at least,\ntill I see you again. Act as circumstances direct, and I will not enquire\nwhen they will permit you to return, convinced that you will hasten to\nyour Mary, when you have attained (or lost sight of) the object of your\njourney.\n\nWhat a picture have you sketched of our fire-side! Yes, my love, my fancy\nwas instantly at work, and I found my head on your shoulder, whilst my\neyes were fixed on the little creatures that were clinging about your\nknees. I did not absolutely determine that there should be six--if you\nhave not set your heart on this round number.\n\nI am going to dine with Mrs. ----. I have not been to visit her since the\nfirst day she came to Paris. I wish indeed to be out in the air as much as\nI can; for the exercise I have taken these two or three days past, has\nbeen of such service to me, that I hope shortly to tell you, that I am\nquite well. I have scarcely slept before last night, and then not\nmuch.--The two Mrs. ----s have been very anxious and tender.\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.\n\nI need not desire you to give the colonel a good bottle of wine.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XV", + "body": "_Sunday Morning [Paris, Feb. 1794]._\n\nI wrote to you yesterday, my [Imlay]; but, finding that the colonel is\nstill detained (for his passport was forgotten at the office yesterday) I\nam not willing to let so many days elapse without your hearing from me,\nafter having talked of illness and apprehensions.\n\nI cannot boast of being quite recovered, yet I am (I must use my Yorkshire\nphrase; for, when my heart is warm, pop come the expressions of childhood\ninto my head) so _lightsome_, that I think it will not _go badly with\nme_.--And nothing shall be wanting on my part, I assure you; for I am\nurged on, not only by an enlivened affection for you, but by a new-born\ntenderness that plays cheerly round my dilating heart.\n\nI was therefore, in defiance of cold and dirt, out in the air the greater\npart of yesterday; and, if I get over this evening without a return of the\nfever that has tormented me, I shall talk no more of illness. I have\npromised the little creature, that its mother, who ought to cherish it,\nwill not again plague it, and begged it to pardon me; and, since I could\nnot hug either it or you to my breast, I have to my heart.--I am afraid to\nread over this prattle--but it is only for your eye.\n\nI have been seriously vexed, to find that, whilst you were harrassed by\nimpediments in your undertakings, I was giving you additional\nuneasiness.--If you can make any of your plans answer--it is well, I do\nnot think a _little_ money inconvenient; but, should they fail, we will\nstruggle cheerfully together--drawn closer by the pinching blasts of\npoverty.\n\nAdieu, my love! Write often to your poor girl, and write long letters; for\nI not only like them for being longer, but because more heart steals into\nthem; and I am happy to catch your heart whenever I can.\n\n Yours sincerely\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XVI", + "body": "_Tuesday Morning [Paris, Feb. 1794]._\n\nI seize this opportunity to inform you, that I am to set out on Thursday\nwith Mr. ----, and hope to tell you soon (on your lips) how glad I shall\nbe to see you. I have just got my passport, for I do not foresee any\nimpediment to my reaching Havre, to bid you good-night next Friday in my\nnew apartment--where I am to meet you and love, in spite of care, to smile\nme to sleep--for I have not caught much rest since we parted.\n\nYou have, by your tenderness and worth, twisted yourself more artfully\nround my heart, than I supposed possible.--Let me indulge the thought,\nthat I have thrown out some tendrils to cling to the elm by which I wish\nto be supported.--This is talking a new language for me!--But, knowing\nthat I am not a parasite-plant, I am willing to receive the proofs of\naffection, that every pulse replies to, when I think of being once more in\nthe same house with you. God bless you!\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XVII", + "body": "_Wednesday Morning [Paris, Feb. 1794]._\n\nI only send this as an _avant-coureur_, without jack-boots, to tell you,\nthat I am again on the wing, and hope to be with you a few hours after you\nreceive it. I shall find you well, and composed, I am sure; or, more\nproperly speaking, cheerful.--What is the reason that my spirits are not\nas manageable as yours? Yet, now I think of it, I will not allow that your\ntemper is even, though I have promised myself, in order to obtain my own\nforgiveness, that I will not ruffle it for a long, long time--I am afraid\nto say never.\n\nFarewell for a moment!--Do not forget that I am driving towards you in\nperson! My mind, unfettered, has flown to you long since, or rather has\nnever left you.\n\nI am well, and have no apprehension that I shall find the journey too\nfatiguing, when I follow the lead of my heart.--With my face turned to\nHavre my spirits will not sink--and my mind has always hitherto enabled my\nbody to do whatever I wished.\n\n Yours affectionately,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XVIII", + "body": "_Thursday Morning, Havre, March 12 [1794]._\n\nWe are such creatures of habit, my love, that, though I cannot say I was\nsorry, childishly so, for your going,[5] when I knew that you were to stay\nsuch a short time, and I had a plan of employment; yet I could not\nsleep.--I turned to your side of the bed, and tried to make the most of\nthe comfort of the pillow, which you used to tell me I was churlish about;\nbut all would not do.--I took nevertheless my walk before breakfast,\nthough the weather was not very inviting--and here I am, wishing you a\nfiner day, and seeing you peep over my shoulder, as I write, with one of\nyour kindest looks--when your eyes glisten, and a suffusion creeps over\nyour relaxing features.\n\nBut I do not mean to dally with you this morning--So God bless you! Take\ncare of yourself--and sometimes fold to your heart your affectionate\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XIX", + "body": "_[Havre, March, 1794]._\n\nDo not call me stupid, for leaving on the table the little bit of paper I\nwas to inclose.--This comes of being in love at the fag-end of a letter\nof business.--You know, you say, they will not chime together.--I had got\nyou by the fire-side, with the _gigot_ smoking on the board, to lard your\npoor bare ribs--and behold, I closed my letter without taking the paper\nup, that was directly under my eyes! What had I got in them to render me\nso blind?--I give you leave to answer the question, if you will not scold;\nfor I am,\n\n Yours most affectionately,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XX", + "body": "_[Havre] Sunday, August 17 [1794]._\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have promised ---- to go with him to his country-house, where he is now\npermitted to dine--I, and the little darling, to be sure[6]--whom I cannot\nhelp kissing with more fondness, since you left us. I think I shall enjoy\nthe fine prospect, and that it will rather enliven, than satiate my\nimagination.\n\nI have called on Mrs. ----. She has the manners of a gentlewoman, with a\ndash of the easy French coquetry, which renders her _piquante_.--But\n_Monsieur_ her husband, whom nature never dreamed of casting in either the\nmould of a gentleman or lover, makes but an aukward figure in the\nforeground of the picture.\n\nThe H----s are very ugly, without doubt--and the house smelt of commerce\nfrom top to toe--so that his abortive attempt to display taste, only\nproved it to be one of the things not to be bought with gold. I was in a\nroom a moment alone, and my attention was attracted by the _pendule_--A\nnymph was offering up her vows before a smoking altar, to a fat-bottomed\nCupid (saving your presence), who was kicking his heels in the air.--Ah!\nkick on, thought I; for the demon of traffic will ever fright away the\nloves and graces, that streak with the rosy beams of infant fancy the\n_sombre_ day of life--whilst the imagination, not allowing us to see\nthings as they are, enables us to catch a hasty draught of the running\nstream of delight, the thirst for which seems to be given only to\ntantalize us.\n\nBut I am philosophizing; nay, perhaps you will call me severe, and bid me\nlet the square-headed money-getters alone.--Peace to them! though none of\nthe social sprites (and there are not a few of different descriptions, who\nsport about the various inlets to my heart) gave me a twitch to restrain\nmy pen.\n\nI have been writing on, expecting poor ---- to come; for, when I began, I\nmerely thought of business; and, as this is the idea that most naturally\nassociates with your image, I wonder I stumbled on any other.\n\nYet, as common life, in my opinion, is scarcely worth having, even with a\n_gigot_ every day, and a pudding added thereunto, I will allow you to\ncultivate my judgment, if you will permit me to keep alive the sentiments\nin your heart, which may be termed romantic, because, the offspring of the\nsenses and the imagination, they resemble the mother more than the\nfather,[7] when they produce the suffusion I admire.--In spite of icy age,\nI hope still to see it, if you have not determined only to eat and drink,\nand be stupidly useful to the stupid--\n\n Yours,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXI", + "body": "_Havre, August 19 [1794] Tuesday._\n\nI received both your letters to-day--I had reckoned on hearing from you\nyesterday, therefore was disappointed, though I imputed your silence to\nthe right cause. I intended answering your kind letter immediately, that\nyou might have felt the pleasure it gave me; but ---- came in, and some\nother things interrupted me; so that the fine vapour has evaporated--yet,\nleaving a sweet scent behind, I have only to tell you, what is\nsufficiently obvious, that the earnest desire I have shown to keep my\nplace, or gain more ground in your heart, is a sure proof how necessary\nyour affection is to my happiness.--Still I do not think it false\ndelicacy, or foolish pride, to wish that your attention to my happiness\nshould arise _as much_ from love, which is always rather a selfish\npassion, as reason--that is, I want you to promote my felicity, by seeking\nyour own.--For, whatever pleasure it may give me to discover your\ngenerosity of soul, I would not be dependent for your affection on the\nvery quality I most admire. No; there are qualities in your heart, which\ndemand my affection; but, unless the attachment appears to me clearly\nmutual, I shall labour only to esteem your character, instead of\ncherishing a tenderness for your person.\n\nI write in a hurry, because the little one, who has been sleeping a long\ntime, begins to call for me. Poor thing! when I am sad, I lament that all\nmy affections grow on me, till they become too strong for my peace, though\nthey all afford me snatches of exquisite enjoyment--This for our little\ngirl was at first very reasonable--more the effect of reason, a sense of\nduty, than feeling--now, she has got into my heart and imagination, and\nwhen I walk out without her, her little figure is ever dancing before me.\n\nYou too have somehow clung round my heart--I found I could not eat my\ndinner in the great room--and, when I took up the large knife to carve for\nmyself, tears rushed into my eyes.--Do not however suppose that I am\nmelancholy--for, when you are from me, I not only wonder how I can find\nfault with you--but how I can doubt your affection.\n\nI will not mix any comments on the inclosed (it roused my indignation)\nwith the effusion of tenderness, with which I assure you, that you are the\nfriend of my bosom, and the prop of my heart.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXII", + "body": "_Havre, August 20 [1794]._\n\nI want to know what steps you have taken respecting ----. Knavery always\nrouses my indignation--I should be gratified to hear that the law had\nchastised ---- severely; but I do not wish you to see him, because the\nbusiness does not now admit of peaceful discussion, and I do not exactly\nknow how you would express your contempt.\n\nPray ask some questions about Tallien--I am still pleased with the dignity\nof his conduct.--The other day, in the cause of humanity, he made use of\na degree of address, which I admire--and mean to point out to you, as one\nof the few instances of address which do credit to the abilities of the\nman, without taking away from that confidence in his openness of heart,\nwhich is the true basis of both public and private friendship.\n\nDo not suppose that I mean to allude to a little reserve of temper in you,\nof which I have sometimes complained! You have been used to a cunning\nwoman, and you almost look for cunning--Nay, in _managing_ my happiness,\nyou now and then wounded my sensibility, concealing yourself, till honest\nsympathy, giving you to me without disguise, lets me look into a heart,\nwhich my half-broken one wishes to creep into, to be revived and\ncherished.--You have frankness of heart, but not often exactly that\noverflowing (_epanchement de coeur_), which becoming almost childish,\nappears a weakness only to the weak.\n\nBut I have left poor Tallien. I wanted you to enquire likewise whether, as\na member declared in the convention, Robespierre really maintained a\n_number_ of mistresses.--Should it prove so, I suspect that they rather\nflattered his vanity than his senses.\n\nHere is a chatting, desultory epistle! But do not suppose that I mean to\nclose it without mentioning the little damsel--who has been almost\nspringing out of my arm--she certainly looks very like you--but I do not\nlove her the less for that, whether I am angry or pleased with you.\n\n Yours affectionately,\n MARY.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER XXIII[8]\n\n\n_[Paris] September 22 [1794]._\n\nI have just written two letters, that are going by other conveyances, and\nwhich I reckon on your receiving long before this. I therefore merely\nwrite, because I know I should be disappointed at seeing any one who had\nleft you, if you did not send a letter, were it ever so short, to tell me\nwhy you did not write a longer--and you will want to be told, over and\nover again, that our little Hercules is quite recovered.\n\nBesides looking at me, there are three other things, which delight her--to\nride in a coach, to look at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear loud\nmusic--yesterday, at the _fete_, she enjoyed the two latter; but, to\nhonour J. J. Rousseau, I intend to give her a sash, the first she has ever\nhad round her--and why not?--for I have always been half in love with him.\n\nWell, this you will say is trifling--shall I talk about alum or soap?\nThere is nothing picturesque in your present pursuits; my imagination then\nrather chuses to ramble back to the barrier with you, or to see you\ncoming to meet me, and my basket of grapes.--With what pleasure do I\nrecollect your looks and words, when I have been sitting on the window,\nregarding the waving corn!\n\nBelieve me, sage sir, you have not sufficient respect for the\nimagination--I could prove to you in a trice that it is the mother of\nsentiment, the great distinction of our nature, the only purifier of the\npassions--animals have a portion of reason, and equal, if not more\nexquisite, senses; but no trace of imagination, or her offspring taste,\nappears in any of their actions. The impulse of the senses, passions, if\nyou will, and the conclusions of reason, draw men together; but the\nimagination is the true fire, stolen from heaven, to animate this cold\ncreature of clay, producing all those fine sympathies that lead to\nrapture, rendering men social by expanding their hearts, instead of\nleaving them leisure to calculate how many comforts society affords.\n\nIf you call these observations romantic, a phrase in this place which\nwould be tantamount to nonsensical, I shall be apt to retort, that you are\nembruted by trade, and the vulgar enjoyments of life--Bring me then back\nyour barrier-face, or you shall have nothing to say to my barrier-girl;\nand I shall fly from you, to cherish the remembrances that will ever be\ndear to me; for I am yours truly,\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXIV", + "body": "_[Paris] Evening, Sept. 23, [1794]._\n\nI have been playing and laughing with the little girl so long, that I\ncannot take up my pen to address you without emotion. Pressing her to my\nbosom, she looked so like you (_entre nous_, your best looks, for I do not\nadmire your commercial face) every nerve seemed to vibrate to the touch,\nand I began to think that there was something in the assertion of man and\nwife being one--for you seemed to pervade my whole frame, quickening the\nbeat of my heart, and lending me the sympathetic tears you excited.\n\nHave I any thing more to say to you? No; not for the present--the rest is\nall flown away; and, indulging tenderness for you, I cannot now complain\nof some people here, who have ruffled my temper for two or three days\npast.\n\n\n_[Paris, 1794] Morning._\n\nYesterday B---- sent to me for my packet of letters. He called on me\nbefore; and I like him better than I did--that is, I have the same opinion\nof his understanding, but I think with you, he has more tenderness and\nreal delicacy of feeling with respect to women, than are commonly to be\nmet with. His manner too of speaking of his little girl, about the age of\nmine, interested me. I gave him a letter for my sister, and requested him\nto see her.\n\nI have been interrupted. Mr. ---- I suppose will write about business.\nPublic affairs I do not descant on, except to tell you that they write now\nwith great freedom and truth; and this liberty of the press will overthrow\nthe Jacobins, I plainly perceive.\n\nI hope you take care of your health. I have got a habit of restlessness at\nnight, which arises, I believe, from activity of mind; for, when I am\nalone, that is, not near one to whom I can open my heart, I sink into\nreveries and trains of thinking, which agitate and fatigue me.\n\nThis is my third letter; when am I to hear from you? I need not tell you,\nI suppose, that I am now writing with somebody in the room with me, and\n---- is waiting to carry this to Mr. ----'s. I will then kiss the girl\nfor you, and bid you adieu.\n\nI desired you, in one of my other letters, to bring back to me your\nbarrier-face--or that you should not be loved by my barrier-girl. I know\nthat you will love her more and more, for she is a little affectionate,\nintelligent creature, with as much vivacity, I should think, as you could\nwish for.\n\nI was going to tell you of two or three things which displease me here;\nbut they are not of sufficient consequence to interrupt pleasing\nsensations. I have received a letter from Mr. ----. I want you to bring\n---- with you. Madame S---- is by me, reading a German translation of your\nletters--she desires me to give her love to you, on account of what you\nsay of the negroes.\n\n Yours most affectionately,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXV", + "body": "_Paris, Sept. 28 [1794]._\n\nI have written to you three or four letters; but different causes have\nprevented my sending them by the persons who promised to take or forward\nthem. The inclosed is one I wrote to go by B----; yet, finding that he\nwill not arrive, before I hope, and believe, you will have set out on your\nreturn, I inclose it to you, and shall give it in charge to ----, as Mr.\n---- is detained, to whom I also gave a letter.\n\nI cannot help being anxious to hear from you; but I shall not harrass you\nwith accounts of inquietudes, or of cares that arise from peculiar\ncircumstances.--I have had so many little plagues here, that I have almost\nlamented that I left Havre. ----, who is at best a most helpless creature,\nis now, on account of her pregnancy, more trouble than use to me, so that\nI still continue to be almost a slave to the child.--She indeed rewards\nme, for she is a sweet little creature; for, setting aside a mother's\nfondness (which, by the bye, is growing on me, her little intelligent\nsmiles sinking into my heart), she has an astonishing degree of\nsensibility and observation. The other day by B----'s child, a fine one,\nshe looked like a little sprite.--She is all life and motion, and her eyes\nare not the eyes of a fool--I will swear.\n\nI slept at St. Germain's, in the very room (if you have not forgot) in\nwhich you pressed me very tenderly to your heart.--I did not forget to\nfold my darling to mine, with sensations that are almost too sacred to be\nalluded to.\n\nAdieu, my love! Take care of yourself, if you wish to be the protector of\nyour child, and the comfort of her mother.\n\nI have received, for you, letters from ----. I want to hear how that\naffair finishes, though I do not know whether I have most contempt for his\nfolly or knavery.\n\n Your own\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXVI", + "body": "_[Paris] October 1 [1794]._\n\nIt is a heartless task to write letters, without knowing whether they will\never reach you.--I have given two to ----, who has been a-going, a-going,\nevery day, for a week past; and three others, which were written in a\nlow-spirited strain, a little querulous or so, I have not been able to\nforward by the opportunities that were mentioned to me. _Tant mieux!_ you\nwill say, and I will not say nay; for I should be sorry that the contents\nof a letter, when you are so far away, should damp the pleasure that the\nsight of it would afford--judging of your feelings by my own. I just now\nstumbled on one of the kind letters, which you wrote during your last\nabsence. You are then a dear affectionate creature, and I will not plague\nyou. The letter which you chance to receive, when the absence is so long,\nought to bring only tears of tenderness, without any bitter alloy, into\nyour eyes.\n\nAfter your return I hope indeed, that you will not be so immersed in\nbusiness, as during the last three or four months past--for even money,\ntaking into the account all the future comforts it is to procure, may be\ngained at too dear a rate, if painful impressions are left on the\nmind.--These impressions were much more lively, soon after you went away,\nthan at present--for a thousand tender recollections efface the melancholy\ntraces they left on my mind--and every emotion is on the same side as my\nreason, which always was on yours.--Separated, it would be almost impious\nto dwell on real or imaginary imperfections of character.--I feel that I\nlove you; and, if I cannot be happy with you, I will seek it no where\nelse.\n\nMy little darling grows every day more dear to me--and she often has a\nkiss, when we are alone together, which I give her for you, with all my\nheart.\n\nI have been interrupted--and must send off my letter. The liberty of the\npress will produce a great effect here--the _cry of blood will not be\nvain_!--Some more monsters will perish--and the Jacobins are\nconquered.--Yet I almost fear the last flap of the tail of the beast.\n\nI have had several trifling teazing inconveniences here, which I shall not\nnow trouble you with a detail of.--I am sending ---- back; her pregnancy\nrendered her useless. The girl I have got has more vivacity, which is\nbetter for the child.\n\nI long to hear from you.--Bring a copy of ---- and ---- with you.\n\n---- is still here: he is a lost man.--He really loves his wife, and is\nanxious about his children; but his indiscriminate hospitality and social\nfeelings have given him an inveterate habit of drinking, that destroys his\nhealth, as well as renders his person disgusting.--If his wife had more\nsense, or delicacy, she might restrain him: as it is, nothing will save\nhim.\n\n Yours most truly and affectionately\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXVII", + "body": "_[Paris] October 26 [1794]._\n\nMy dear love, I began to wish so earnestly to hear from you, that the\nsight of your letters occasioned such pleasurable emotions, I was obliged\nto throw them aside till the little girl and I were alone together; and\nthis said little girl, our darling, is become a most intelligent little\ncreature, and as gay as a lark, and that in the morning too, which I do\nnot find quite so convenient. I once told you, that the sensations before\nshe was born, and when she is sucking, were pleasant; but they do not\ndeserve to be compared to the emotions I feel, when she stops to smile\nupon me, or laughs outright on meeting me unexpectedly in the street, or\nafter a short absence. She has now the advantage of having two good\nnurses, and I am at present able to discharge my duty to her, without\nbeing the slave of it.\n\nI have therefore employed and amused myself since I got rid of ----, and\nam making a progress in the language amongst other things. I have also\nmade some new acquaintance. I have almost _charmed_ a judge of the\ntribunal, R----, who, though I should not have thought it possible, has\nhumanity, if not _beaucoup d'esprit_. But let me tell you, if you do not\nmake haste back, I shall be half in love with the author of the\n_Marseillaise_, who is a handsome man, a little too broad-faced or so, and\nplays sweetly on the violin.\n\nWhat do you say to this threat?--why, _entre nous_, I like to give way to\na sprightly vein, when writing to you, that is, when I am pleased with\nyou. \"The devil,\" you know, is proverbially said to be \"in a good humour,\nwhen he is pleased.\" Will you not then be a good boy, and come back\nquickly to play with your girls? but I shall not allow you to love the\nnew-comer best.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy heart longs for your return, my love, and only looks for, and seeks\nhappiness with you; yet do not imagine that I childishly wish you to come\nback, before you have arranged things in such a manner, that it will not\nbe necessary for you to leave us soon again, or to make exertions which\ninjure your constitution.\n\n Yours most truly and tenderly,\n MARY.\n\nP.S. You would oblige me by delivering the inclosed to Mr. ----, and pray\ncall for an answer.--It is for a person uncomfortably situated.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXVIII", + "body": "_[Paris] Dec. 26 [1794]._\n\nI have been, my love, for some days tormented by fears, that I would not\nallow to assume a form--I had been expecting you daily--and I heard that\nmany vessels had been driven on shore during the late gale.--Well, I now\nsee your letter--and find that you are safe; I will not regret then that\nyour exertions have hitherto been so unavailing.\n\n * * * * *\n\nBe that as it may, return to me when you have arranged the other matters,\nwhich ---- has been crowding on you. I want to be sure that you are\nsafe--and not separated from me by a sea that must be passed. For, feeling\nthat I am happier than I ever was, do you wonder at my sometimes dreading\nthat fate has not done persecuting me? Come to me, my dearest friend,\nhusband, father of my child!--All these fond ties glow at my heart at this\nmoment, and dim my eyes.--With you an independence is desirable; and it is\nalways within our reach, if affluence escapes us--without you the world\nagain appears empty to me. But I am recurring to some of the melancholy\nthoughts that have flitted across my mind for some days past, and haunted\nmy dreams.\n\nMy little darling is indeed a sweet child; and I am sorry that you are not\nhere, to see her little mind unfold itself. You talk of \"dalliance;\" but\ncertainly no lover was ever more attached to his mistress, than she is to\nme. Her eyes follow me every where, and by affection I have the most\ndespotic power over her. She is all vivacity or softness--yes; I love her\nmore than I thought I should. When I have been hurt at your stay, I have\nembraced her as my only comfort--when pleased with you, for looking and\nlaughing like you; nay, I cannot, I find, long be angry with you, whilst I\nam kissing her for resembling you. But there would be no end to these\ndetails. Fold us both to your heart; for I am truly and affectionately\n\n Yours,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXIX", + "body": "_[Paris] December 28 [1794]._\n\n * * * * *\n\nI do, my love, indeed sincerely sympathize with you in all your\ndisappointments.--Yet, knowing that you are well, and think of me with\naffection, I only lament other disappointments, because I am sorry that\nyou should thus exert yourself in vain, and that you are kept from me.\n\n----, I know, urges you to stay, and is continually branching out into new\nprojects, because he has the idle desire to amass a large fortune, rather\nan immense one, merely to have the credit of having made it. But we who\nare governed by other motives, ought not to be led on by him. When we\nmeet, we will discuss this subject--You will listen to reason, and it has\nprobably occurred to you, that it will be better, in future, to pursue\nsome sober plan, which may demand more time, and still enable you to\narrive at the same end. It appears to me absurd to waste life in preparing\nto live.\n\nWould it not now be possible to arrange your business in such a manner as\nto avoid the inquietudes, of which I have had my share since your\ndeparture? Is it not possible to enter into business, as an employment\nnecessary to keep the faculties awake, and (to sink a little in the\nexpressions) the pot boiling, without suffering what must ever be\nconsidered as a secondary object, to engross the mind, and drive sentiment\nand affection out of the heart?\n\nI am in a hurry to give this letter to the person who has promised to\nforward it with ----'s. I wish then to counteract, in some measure, what\nhe has doubtless recommended most warmly.\n\nStay, my friend, whilst it is _absolutely_ necessary.--I will give you no\ntenderer name, though it glows at my heart, unless you come the moment the\nsettling the _present_ objects permit.--_I do not consent_ to your taking\nany other journey--or the little woman and I will be off, the Lord knows\nwhere. But, as I had rather owe every thing to your affection, and, I may\nadd, to your reason, (for this immoderate desire of wealth, which makes\n---- so eager to have you remain, is contrary to your principles of\naction), I will not importune you.--I will only tell you, that I long to\nsee you--and, being at peace with you, I shall be hurt, rather than made\nangry, by delays.--Having suffered so much in life, do not be surprised if\nI sometimes, when left to myself, grow gloomy, and suppose that it was all\na dream, and that my happiness is not to last. I say happiness, because\nremembrance retrenches all the dark shades of the picture.\n\nMy little one begins to show her teeth, and use her legs--She wants you to\nbear your part in the nursing business, for I am fatigued with dancing\nher, and yet she is not satisfied--she wants you to thank her mother for\ntaking such care of her, as you only can.\n\n Yours truly,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXX", + "body": "_[Paris] December 29 [1794]._\n\nThough I suppose you have later intelligence, yet, as ---- has just\ninformed me that he has an opportunity of sending immediately to you, I\ntake advantage of it to inclose you\n\n * * * * *\n\nHow I hate this crooked business! This intercourse with the world, which\nobliges one to see the worst side of human nature! Why cannot you be\ncontent with the object you had first in view, when you entered into this\nwearisome labyrinth?--I know very well that you have imperceptibly been\ndrawn on; yet why does one project, successful or abortive, only give\nplace to two others? Is it not sufficient to avoid poverty?--I am\ncontented to do my part; and, even here, sufficient to escape from\nwretchedness is not difficult to obtain. And, let me tell you, I have my\nproject also--and, if you do not soon return, the little girl and I will\ntake care of ourselves; we will not accept any of your cold kindness--your\ndistant civilities--no; not we.\n\nThis is but half jesting, for I am really tormented by the desire which\n---- manifests to have you remain where you are.--Yet why do I talk to\nyou?--If he can persuade you--let him!--for, if you are not happier with\nme, and your own wishes do not make you throw aside these eternal\nprojects, I am above using any arguments, though reason as well as\naffection seems to offer them--if our affection be mutual, they will occur\nto you--and you will act accordingly.\n\nSince my arrival here, I have found the German lady, of whom you have\nheard me speak. Her first child died in the month; but she has another,\nabout the age of my Fanny, a fine little creature. They are still but\ncontriving to live--earning their daily bread--yet, though they are but\njust above poverty, I envy them.--She is a tender, affectionate\nmother--fatigued even by her attention.--However she has an affectionate\nhusband in her turn, to render her care light, and to share her pleasure.\n\nI will own to you that, feeling extreme tenderness for my little girl, I\ngrow sad very often when I am playing with her, that you are not here, to\nobserve with me how her mind unfolds, and her little heart becomes\nattached!--These appear to me to be true pleasures--and still you suffer\nthem to escape you, in search of what we may never enjoy.--It is your own\nmaxim to \"live in the present moment.\"--_If you do_--stay, for God's sake;\nbut tell me the truth--if not, tell me when I may expect to see you, and\nlet me not be always vainly looking for you, till I grow sick at heart.\n\nAdieu! I am a little hurt.--I must take my darling to my bosom to comfort\nme.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXI", + "body": "_[Paris] December 30 [1794]._\n\nShould you receive three or four of the letters at once which I have\nwritten lately, do not think of Sir John Brute, for I do not mean to wife\nyou. I only take advantage of every occasion, that one out of three of my\nepistles may reach your hands, and inform you that I am not of ----'s\nopinion, who talks till he makes me angry, of the necessity of your\nstaying two or three months longer. I do not like this life of continual\ninquietude--and, _entre nous_, I am determined to try to earn some money\nhere myself, in order to convince you that, if you chuse to run about the\nworld to get a fortune, it is for yourself--for the little girl and I will\nlive without your assistance, unless you are with us. I may be termed\nproud--Be it so--but I will never abandon certain principles of action.\n\nThe common run of men have such an ignoble way of thinking, that, if they\ndebauch their hearts, and prostitute their persons, following perhaps a\ngust of inebriation, they suppose the wife, slave rather, whom they\nmaintain, has no right to complain, and ought to receive the sultan,\nwhenever he deigns to return, with open arms, though his have been\npolluted by half an hundred promiscuous amours during his absence.\n\nI consider fidelity and constancy as two distinct things; yet the former\nis necessary, to give life to the other--and such a degree of respect do I\nthink due to myself, that, if only probity, which is a good thing in its\nplace, brings you back, never return!--for, if a wandering of the heart,\nor even a caprice of the imagination detains you--there is an end of all\nmy hopes of happiness--I could not forgive it, if I would.\n\nI have gotten into a melancholy mood, you perceive. You know my opinion of\nmen in general; you know that I think them systematic tyrants, and that it\nis the rarest thing in the world, to meet with a man with sufficient\ndelicacy of feeling to govern desire. When I am thus sad, I lament that my\nlittle darling, fondly as I doat on her, is a girl.--I am sorry to have a\ntie to a world that for me is ever sown with thorns.\n\nYou will call this an ill-humoured letter, when, in fact, it is the\nstrongest proof of affection I can give, to dread to lose you. ---- has\ntaken such pains to convince me that you must and ought to stay, that it\nhas inconceivably depressed my spirits--You have always known my\nopinion--I have ever declared, that two people, who mean to live together,\nought not to be long separated.--If certain things are more necessary to\nyou than me--search for them--Say but one word, and you shall never hear\nof me more.--If not--for God's sake, let us struggle with poverty--with\nany evil, but these continual inquietudes of business, which I have been\ntold were to last but a few months, though every day the end appears more\ndistant! This is the first letter in this strain that I have determined to\nforward to you; the rest lie by, because I was unwilling to give you pain,\nand I should not now write, if I did not think that there would be no\nconclusion to the schemes, which demand, as I am told, your presence.\n\n MARY.[9]", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXII", + "body": "_[Paris] January 9 [1795]._\n\nI just now received one of your hasty _notes_; for business so entirely\noccupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command of thought, to\nwrite letters. Beware! you seem to be got into a whirl of projects and\nschemes, which are drawing you into a gulph, that, if it do not absorb\nyour happiness, will infallibly destroy mine.\n\nFatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not only to obtain\nindependence, but to render myself useful, not merely pleasure, for which\nI had the most lively taste, I mean the simple pleasures that flow from\npassion and affection, escaped me, but the most melancholy views of life\nwere impressed by a disappointed heart on my mind. Since I knew you, I\nhave been endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and have allowed\nsome time to glide away, winged with the delight which only spontaneous\nenjoyment can give.--Why have you so soon dissolved the charm.\n\nI am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which your and ----'s\nnever-ending plans produce. This you may term want of firmness--but you\nare mistaken--I have still sufficient firmness to pursue my principle of\naction. The present misery, I cannot find a softer word to do justice to\nmy feelings, appears to me unnecessary--and therefore I have not firmness\nto support it as you may think I ought. I should have been content, and\nstill wish, to retire with you to a farm--My God! any thing, but these\ncontinual anxieties--any thing but commerce, which debases the mind, and\nroots out affection from the heart.\n\nI do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences----yet I will\nsimply observe, that, led to expect you every week, I did not make the\narrangements required by the present circumstances, to procure the\nnecessaries of life. In order to have them, a servant, for that purpose\nonly, is indispensible--The want of wood, has made me catch the most\nviolent cold I ever had; and my head is so disturbed by continual\ncoughing, that I am unable to write without stopping frequently to\nrecollect myself.--This however is one of the common evils which must be\nborne with----bodily pain does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the\nspirits.\n\nStill as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, I have\ndetermined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my child.--It is too\nsoon for her to begin to divide sorrow!--And as one has well said,\n\"despair is a freeman,\" we will go and seek our fortune together.\n\nThis is not a caprice of the moment--for your absence has given new\nweight to some conclusions, that I was very reluctantly forming before you\nleft me.--I do not chuse to be a secondary object.--If your feelings were\nin unison with mine, you would not sacrifice so much to visionary\nprospects of future advantage.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXIII", + "body": "_[Paris] Jan. 15 [1795]._\n\nI was just going to begin my letter with the fag end of a song, which\nwould only have told you, what I may as well say simply, that it is\npleasant to forgive those we love. I have received your two letters, dated\nthe 26th and 28th of December, and my anger died away. You can scarcely\nconceive the effect some of your letters have produced on me. After\nlonging to hear from you during a tedious interval of suspense, I have\nseen a superscription written by you.--Promising myself pleasure, and\nfeeling emotion, I have laid it by me, till the person who brought it,\nleft the room--when, behold! on opening it, I have found only half a dozen\nhasty lines, that have damped all the rising affection of my soul.\n\nWell, now for business--\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy animal is well; I have not yet taught her to eat, but nature is doing\nthe business. I gave her a crust to assist the cutting of her teeth; and\nnow she has two, she makes good use of them to gnaw a crust, biscuit, &c.\nYou would laugh to see her; she is just like a little squirrel; she will\nguard a crust for two hours; and, after fixing her eye on an object for\nsome time, dart on it with an aim as sure as a bird of prey--nothing can\nequal her life and spirits. I suffer from a cold; but it does not affect\nher. Adieu! do not forget to love us--and come soon to tell us that you\ndo.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXIV", + "body": "_[Paris] Jan. 30 [1795]._\n\nFrom the purport of your last letters, I should suppose that this will\nscarcely reach you; and I have already written so many letters, that you\nhave either not received, or neglected to acknowledge, I do not find it\npleasant, or rather I have no inclination, to go over the same ground\nagain. If you have received them, and are still detained by new projects,\nit is useless for me to say any more on the subject. I have done with it\nfor ever; yet I ought to remind you that your pecuniary interest suffers\nby your absence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFor my part, my head is turned giddy, by only hearing of plans to make\nmoney, and my contemptuous feelings have sometimes burst out. I therefore\nwas glad that a violent cold gave me a pretext to stay at home, lest I\nshould have uttered unseasonable truths.\n\nMy child is well, and the spring will perhaps restore me to myself.--I\nhave endured many inconveniences this winter, which should I be ashamed to\nmention, if they had been unavoidable. \"The secondary pleasures of life,\"\nyou say, \"are very necessary to my comfort:\" it may be so; but I have ever\nconsidered them as secondary. If therefore you accuse me of wanting the\nresolution necessary to bear the _common_[10] evils of life; I should\nanswer, that I have not fashioned my mind to sustain them, because I would\navoid them, cost what it would----\n\nAdieu!\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXV", + "body": "_[Paris] February 9 [1795]._\n\nThe melancholy presentiment has for some time hung on my spirits, that we\nwere parted for ever; and the letters I received this day, by Mr. ----,\nconvince me that it was not without foundation. You allude to some other\nletters, which I suppose have miscarried; for most of those I have got,\nwere only a few hasty lines, calculated to wound the tenderness the sight\nof the superscriptions excited.\n\nI mean not however to complain; yet so many feelings are struggling for\nutterance, and agitating a heart almost bursting with anguish, that I find\nit very difficult to write with any degree of coherence.\n\nYou left me indisposed, though you have taken no notice of it; and the\nmost fatiguing journey I ever had, contributed to continue it. However, I\nrecovered my health; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude during\nthe last two months, have reduced me to a state of weakness I never before\nexperienced. Those who did not know that the canker-worm was at work at\nthe core, cautioned me about suckling my child too long.--God preserve\nthis poor child, and render her happier than her mother!\n\nBut I am wandering from my subject: indeed my head turns giddy, when I\nthink that all the confidence I have had in the affection of others is\ncome to this.--I did not expect this blow from you. I have done my duty to\nyou and my child; and if I am not to have any return of affection to\nreward me, I have the sad consolation of knowing that I deserved a better\nfate. My soul is weary--I am sick at heart; and, but for this little\ndarling, I would cease to care about a life, which is now stripped of\nevery charm.\n\nYou see how stupid I am, uttering declamation, when I meant simply to tell\nyou, that I consider your requesting me to come to you, as merely dictated\nby honour.--Indeed, I scarcely understand you.--You request me to come,\nand then tell me, that you have not given up all thoughts of returning to\nthis place.\n\nWhen I determined to live with you, I was only governed by affection.--I\nwould share poverty with you, but I turn with affright from the sea of\ntrouble on which you are entering.--I have certain principles of action: I\nknow what I look for to found my happiness on.--It is not money.--With you\nI wished for sufficient to procure the comforts of life--as it is, less\nwill do.--I can still exert myself to obtain the necessaries of life for\nmy child, and she does not want more at present.--I have two or three\nplans in my head to earn our subsistence; for do not suppose that,\nneglected by you, I will lie under obligations of a pecuniary kind to\nyou!--No; I would sooner submit to menial service.--I wanted the support\nof your affection--that gone, all is over!--I did not think, when I\ncomplained of ----'s contemptible avidity to accumulate money, that he\nwould have dragged you into his schemes.\n\nI cannot write.--I inclose a fragment of a letter, written soon after your\ndeparture, and another which tenderness made me keep back when it was\nwritten.--You will see then the sentiments of a calmer, though not a more\ndetermined, moment.--Do not insult me by saying, that \"our being together\nis paramount to every other consideration!\" Were it, you would not be\nrunning after a bubble, at the expence of my peace of mind.\n\nPerhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive from me.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXVI", + "body": "_[Paris] Feb. 10 [1795]._\n\nYou talk of \"permanent views and future comfort\"--not for me, for I am\ndead to hope. The inquietudes of the last winter have finished the\nbusiness, and my heart is not only broken, but my constitution destroyed.\nI conceive myself in a galloping consumption, and the continual anxiety I\nfeel at the thought of leaving my child, feeds the fever that nightly\ndevours me. It is on her account that I again write to you, to conjure\nyou, by all that you hold sacred, to leave her here with the German lady\nyou may have heard me mention! She has a child of the same age, and they\nmay be brought up together, as I wish her to be brought up. I shall write\nmore fully on the subject. To facilitate this, I shall give up my present\nlodgings, and go into the same house. I can live much cheaper there,\nwhich is now become an object. I have had 3000 livres from ----, and I\nshall take one more, to pay my servant's wages, &c. and then I shall\nendeavour to procure what I want by my own exertions. I shall entirely\ngive up the acquaintance of the Americans.\n\n---- and I have not been on good terms a long time. Yesterday he very\nunmanlily exulted over me, on account of your determination to stay. I had\nprovoked it, it is true, by some asperities against commerce, which have\ndropped from me, when we have argued about the propriety of your remaining\nwhere you are; and it is no matter, I have drunk too deep of the bitter\ncup to care about trifles.\n\nWhen you first entered into these plans, you bounded your views to the\ngaining of a thousand pounds. It was sufficient to have procured a farm in\nAmerica, which would have been an independence. You find now that you did\nnot know yourself, and that a certain situation in life is more necessary\nto you than you imagined--more necessary than an uncorrupted heart--For a\nyear or two, you may procure yourself what you call pleasure; eating,\ndrinking, and women; but in the solitude of declining life, I shall be\nremembered with regret--I was going to say with remorse, but checked my\npen.\n\nAs I have never concealed the nature of my connection with you, your\nreputation will not suffer. I shall never have a confident: I am content\nwith the approbation of my own mind; and, if there be a searcher of\nhearts, mine will not be despised. Reading what you have written relative\nto the desertion of women, I have often wondered how theory and practice\ncould be so different, till I recollected, that the sentiments of passion,\nand the resolves of reason, are very distinct. As to my sisters, as you\nare so continually hurried with business, you need not write to them--I\nshall, when my mind is calmer. God bless you! Adieu!\n\n MARY.\n\nThis has been such a period of barbarity and misery, I ought not to\ncomplain of having my share. I wish one moment that I had never heard of\nthe cruelties that have been practised here, and the next envy the mothers\nwho have been killed with their children. Surely I had suffered enough in\nlife, not to be cursed with a fondness, that burns up the vital stream I\nam imparting. You will think me mad: I would I were so, that I could\nforget my misery--so that my head or heart would be still.----", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXVII", + "body": "_[Paris] Feb. 19 [1795]._\n\nWhen I first received your letter, putting off your return to an\nindefinite time, I felt so hurt, that I know not what I wrote. I am now\ncalmer, though it was not the kind of wound over which time has the\nquickest effect; on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder I grow.\nSociety fatigues me inexpressibly--So much so, that finding fault with\nevery one, I have only reason enough, to discover that the fault is in\nmyself. My child alone interests me, and, but for her, I should not take\nany pains to recover my health.\n\nAs it is, I shall wean her, and try if by that step (to which I feel a\nrepugnance, for it is my only solace) I can get rid of my cough.\nPhysicians talk much of the danger attending any complaint on the lungs,\nafter a woman has suckled for some months. They lay a stress also on the\nnecessity of keeping the mind tranquil--and, my God! how has mine be\nharrassed! But whilst the caprices of other women are gratified, \"the wind\nof heaven not suffered to visit them too rudely,\" I have not found a\nguardian angel, in heaven or on earth, to ward off sorrow or care from my\nbosom.\n\nWhat sacrifices have you not made for a woman you did not respect!--But I\nwill not go over this ground--I want to tell you that I do not understand\nyou. You say that you have not given up all thoughts of returning\nhere--and I know that it will be necessary--nay, is. I cannot explain\nmyself; but if you have not lost your memory, you will easily divine my\nmeaning. What! is our life then only to be made up of separations? and am\nI only to return to a country, that has not merely lost all charms for me,\nbut for which I feel a repugnance that almost amounts to horror, only to\nbe left there a prey to it!\n\nWhy is it so necessary that I should return?--brought up here, my girl\nwould be freer. Indeed, expecting you to join us, I had formed some plans\nof usefulness that have now vanished with my hopes of happiness.\n\nIn the bitterness of my heart, I could complain with reason, that I am\nleft here dependent on a man, whose avidity to acquire a fortune has\nrendered him callous to every sentiment connected with social or\naffectionate emotions.--With a brutal insensibility, he cannot help\ndisplaying the pleasure your determination to stay gives him, in spite of\nthe effect it is visible it has had on me.\n\nTill I can earn money, I shall endeavour to borrow some, for I want to\navoid asking him continually for the sum necessary to maintain me.--Do not\nmistake me, I have never been refused.--Yet I have gone half a dozen times\nto the house to ask for it, and come away without speaking--you must guess\nwhy--Besides, I wish to avoid hearing of the eternal projects to which\nyou have sacrificed my peace--not remembering--but I will be silent for\never.----", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXVIII", + "body": "_[Havre] April 7 [1795]._\n\nHere I am at Havre, on the wing towards you, and I write now, only to tell\nyou, that you may expect me in the course of three or four days; for I\nshall not attempt to give vent to the different emotions which agitate my\nheart--You may term a feeling, which appears to me to be a degree of\ndelicacy that naturally arises from sensibility, pride--Still I cannot\nindulge the very affectionate tenderness which glows in my bosom, without\ntrembling, till I see, by your eyes, that it is mutual.\n\nI sit, lost in thought, looking at the sea--and tears rush into my eyes,\nwhen I find that I am cherishing any fond expectations.--I have indeed\nbeen so unhappy this winter, I find it as difficult to acquire fresh\nhopes, as to regain tranquillity.--Enough of this--lie still, foolish\nheart!--But for the little girl, I could almost wish that it should cease\nto beat, to be no more alive to the anguish of disappointment.\n\nSweet little creature! I deprived myself of my only pleasure, when I\nweaned her, about ten days ago.--I am however glad I conquered my\nrepugnance.--It was necessary it should be done soon, and I did not wish\nto embitter the renewal of your acquaintance with her, by putting it off\ntill we met.--It was a painful exertion to me, and I thought it best to\nthrow this inquietude with the rest, into the sack that I would fain throw\nover my shoulder.--I wished to endure it alone, in short--Yet, after\nsending her to sleep in the next room for three or four nights, you cannot\nthink with what joy I took her back again to sleep in my bosom!\n\nI suppose I shall find you, when I arrive, for I do not see any necessity\nfor your coming to me.--Pray inform Mr. ----, that I have his little\nfriend with me.--My wishing to oblige him, made me put myself to some\ninconvenience----and delay my departure; which was irksome to me, who have\nnot quite as much philosophy, I would not for the world say indifference,\nas you. God bless you!\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XXXIX", + "body": "_Brighthelmstone, Saturday, April 11 [1795]._\n\nHere we are, my love, and mean to set out early in the morning; and, if I\ncan find you, I hope to dine with you to-morrow.--I shall drive to ----'s\nhotel, where ---- tells me you have been--and, if you have left it, I hope\nyou will take care to be there to receive us.\n\nI have brought with me Mr. ----'s little friend, and a girl whom I like to\ntake care of our little darling--not on the way, for that fell to my\nshare.--But why do I write about trifles?--or any thing?--Are we not to\nmeet soon?--What does your heart say?\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.\n\nI have weaned my Fanny, and she is now eating away at the white bread.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XL", + "body": "_[26 Charlotte Street, Rathbone Place]\n London, Friday, May 22 [1795]._\n\nI have just received your affectionate letter, and am distressed to think\nthat I have added to your embarrassments at this troublesome juncture,\nwhen the exertion of all the faculties of your mind appears to be\nnecessary, to extricate you out of your pecuniary difficulties. I suppose\nit was something relative to the circumstance you have mentioned, which\nmade ---- request to see me to-day, to _converse about a matter of great\nimportance_. Be that as it may, his letter (such is the state of my\nspirits) inconceivably alarmed me, and rendered the last night as\ndistressing, as the two former had been.\n\nI have laboured to calm my mind since you left me--Still I find that\ntranquillity is not to be obtained by exertion; it is a feeling so\ndifferent from the resignation of despair!--I am however no longer angry\nwith you--nor will I ever utter another complaint--there are arguments\nwhich convince the reason, whilst they carry death to the heart.--We have\nhad too many cruel explanations, that not only cloud every future\nprospect; but embitter the remembrances which alone give life to\naffection.--Let the subject never be revived!\n\nIt seems to me that I have not only lost the hope, but the power of\nbeing happy.--Every emotion is now sharpened by anguish.--My soul has been\nshook, and my tone of feelings destroyed.--I have gone out--and sought for\ndissipation, if not amusement, merely to fatigue still more, I find, my\nirritable nerves----\n\nMy friend--my dear friend--examine yourself well--I am out of the\nquestion; for, alas! I am nothing--and discover what you wish to do--what\nwill render you most comfortable--or, to be more explicit--whether you\ndesire to live with me, or part for ever? When you can once ascertain it,\ntell me frankly, I conjure you!--for, believe me, I have very\ninvoluntarily interrupted your peace.\n\nI shall expect you to dinner on Monday, and will endeavour to assume a\ncheerful face to greet you--at any rate I will avoid conversations, which\nonly tend to harrass your feelings, because I am most affectionately\nyours,\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLI", + "body": "_[May 27, 1795] Wednesday._\n\nI inclose you the letter, which you desired me to forward, and I am\ntempted very laconically to wish you a good morning--not because I am\nangry, or have nothing to say; but to keep down a wounded spirit.--I shall\nmake every effort to calm my mind--yet a strong conviction seems to whirl\nround in the very centre of my brain, which, like the fiat of fate,\nemphatically assures me, that grief has a firm hold of my heart.\n\nGod bless you!\n\n Yours sincerely,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLII", + "body": "_[Hull] Wednesday, Two o'Clock\n [May 27, 1795]._\n\nWe arrived here about an hour ago. I am extremely fatigued with the\nchild, who would not rest quiet with any body but me, during the\nnight--and now we are here in a comfortless, damp room, in a sort of a\ntomb-like house. This however I shall quickly remedy, for, when I have\nfinished this letter, (which I must do immediately, because the post goes\nout early), I shall sally forth, and enquire about a vessel and an inn.\n\nI will not distress you by talking of the depression of my spirits, or the\nstruggle I had to keep alive my dying heart.--It is even now too full to\nallow me to write with composure.--Imlay,--dear Imlay,--am I always to be\ntossed about thus?--shall I never find an asylum to rest _contented_ in?\nHow can you love to fly about continually--dropping down, as it were, in a\nnew world--cold and strange!--every other day? Why do you not attach those\ntender emotions round the idea of home, which even now dim my eyes?--This\nalone is affection--every thing else is only humanity, electrified by\nsympathy.\n\nI will write to you again to-morrow, when I know how long I am to be\ndetained--and hope to get a letter quickly from you, to cheer yours\nsincerely and affectionately\n\n MARY.\n\nFanny is playing near me in high spirits. She was so pleased with the\nnoise of the mail-horn, she has been continually imitating it.----Adieu!", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLIII", + "body": "_[Hull, May 28, 1795] Thursday._\n\nA lady has just sent to offer to take me to Beverley. I have then only a\nmoment to exclaim against the vague manner in which people give\ninformation\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut why talk of inconveniences, which are in fact trifling, when compared\nwith the sinking of the heart I have felt! I did not intend to touch this\npainful string--God bless you!\n\n Yours truly,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLIV", + "body": "_[Hull] Friday, June 12 [1795]._\n\nI have just received yours dated the 9th, which I suppose was a mistake,\nfor it could scarcely have loitered so long on the road. The general\nobservations which apply to the state of your own mind, appear to me just,\nas far as they go; and I shall always consider it as one of the most\nserious misfortunes of my life, that I did not meet you, before satiety\nhad rendered your senses so fastidious, as almost to close up every tender\navenue of sentiment and affection that leads to your sympathetic heart.\nYou have a heart, my friend, yet, hurried away by the impetuosity of\ninferior feelings, you have sought in vulgar excesses, for that\ngratification which only the heart can bestow.\n\nThe common run of men, I know, with strong health and gross appetites,\nmust have variety to banish _ennui_, because the imagination never lends\nits magic wand, to convert appetite into love, cemented by according\nreason.--Ah! my friend, you know not the ineffable delight, the exquisite\npleasure, which arises from a unison of affection and desire, when the\nwhole soul and senses are abandoned to a lively imagination, that renders\nevery emotion delicate and rapturous. Yes; these are emotions, over which\nsatiety has no power, and the recollection of which, even disappointment\ncannot disenchant; but they do not exist without self-denial. These\nemotions, more or less strong, appear to me to be the distinctive\ncharacteristic of genius, the foundation of taste, and of that exquisite\nrelish for the beauties of nature, of which the common herd of eaters and\ndrinkers and _child-begeters_, certainly have no idea. You will smile at\nan observation that has just occurred to me:--I consider those minds as\nthe most strong and original, whose imagination acts as the stimulus to\ntheir senses.\n\nWell! you will ask, what is the result of all this reasoning? Why I cannot\nhelp thinking that it is possible for you, having great strength of mind,\nto return to nature, and regain a sanity of constitution, and purity of\nfeeling--which would open your heart to me.--I would fain rest there!\n\nYet, convinced more than ever of the sincerity and tenderness of my\nattachment to you, the involuntary hopes, which a determination to live\nhas revived, are not sufficiently strong to dissipate the cloud, that\ndespair has spread over futurity. I have looked at the sea, and at my\nchild, hardly daring to own to myself the secret wish, that it might\nbecome our tomb; and that the heart, still so alive to anguish, might\nthere be quieted by death. At this moment ten thousand complicated\nsentiments press for utterance, weigh on my heart, and obscure my sight.\n\nAre we ever to meet again? and will you endeavour to render that meeting\nhappier than the last? Will you endeavour to restrain your caprices, in\norder to give vigour to affection, and to give play to the checked\nsentiments that nature intended should expand your heart? I cannot indeed,\nwithout agony, think of your bosom's being continually contaminated; and\nbitter are the tears which exhaust my eyes, when I recollect why my child\nand I are forced to stray from the asylum, in which, after so many storms,\nI had hoped to rest, smiling at angry fate.--These are not common sorrows;\nnor can you perhaps conceive, how much active fortitude it requires to\nlabour perpetually to blunt the shafts of disappointment.\n\nExamine now yourself, and ascertain whether you can live in something like\na settled stile. Let our confidence in future be unbounded; consider\nwhether you find it necessary to sacrifice me to what you term \"the zest\nof life;\" and, when you have once a clear view of your own motives, of\nyour own incentive to action, do not deceive me!\n\nThe train of thoughts which the writing of this epistle awoke, makes me so\nwretched, that I must take a walk, to rouse and calm my mind. But first,\nlet me tell you, that, if you really wish to promote my happiness, you\nwill endeavour to give me as much as you can of yourself. You have great\nmental energy; and your judgment seems to me so just, that it is only the\ndupe of your inclination in discussing one subject.\n\nThe post does not go out to-day. To-morrow I may write more tranquilly. I\ncannot yet say when the vessel will sail in which I have determined to\ndepart.\n\n\n _[Hull, June 13, 1795]\n Saturday Morning._\n\nYour second letter reached me about an hour ago. You were certainly wrong,\nin supposing that I did not mention you with respect; though, without my\nbeing conscious of it, some sparks of resentment may have animated the\ngloom of despair--Yes; with less affection, I should have been more\nrespectful. However the regard which I have for you, is so unequivocal to\nmyself, I imagine that it must be sufficiently obvious to every body else.\nBesides, the only letter I intended for the public eye was to ----, and\nthat I destroyed from delicacy before you saw them, because it was only\nwritten (of course warmly in your praise) to prevent any odium being\nthrown on you.[11]\n\nI am harrassed by your embarrassments, and shall certainly use all my\nefforts, to make the business terminate to your satisfaction in which I am\nengaged.\n\nMy friend--my dearest friend--I feel my fate united to yours by the most\nsacred principles of my soul, and the yearns of--yes, I will say it--a\ntrue, unsophisticated heart.\n\n Yours most truly\n MARY.\n\nIf the wind be fair, the captain talks of sailing on Monday; but I am\nafraid I shall be detained some days longer. At any rate, continue to\nwrite, (I want this support) till you are sure I am where I cannot expect\na letter; and, if any should arrive after my departure, a gentleman (not\nMr. ----'s friend, I promise you) from whom I have received great\ncivilities, will send them after me.\n\nDo write by every occasion! I am anxious to hear how your affairs go on;\nand, still more, to be convinced that you are not separating yourself from\nus. For my little darling is calling papa, and adding her parrot\nword--Come, Come! And will you not come, and let us exert ourselves?--I\nshall recover all my energy, when I am convinced that my exertions will\ndraw us more closely together. Once more adieu!", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLV", + "body": "_[Hull] Sunday, June 14 [1795]._\n\nI rather expected to hear from you to-day--I wish you would not fail to\nwrite to me for a little time, because I am not quite well--Whether I have\nany good sleep or not, I wake in the morning in violent fits of\ntrembling--and, in spite of all my efforts, the child--every\nthing--fatigues me, in which I seek for solace or amusement.\n\nMr. ---- forced on me a letter to a physician of this place; it was\nfortunate, for I should otherwise have had some difficulty to obtain the\nnecessary information. His wife is a pretty woman (I can admire, you know,\na pretty woman, when I am alone) and he an intelligent and rather\ninteresting man.--They have behaved to me with great hospitality; and poor\nFanny was never so happy in her life, as amongst their young brood.\n\nThey took me in their carriage to Beverley, and I ran over my favourite\nwalks, with a vivacity that would have astonished you.--The town did not\nplease me quite so well as formerly--It appeared so diminutive; and, when\nI found that many of the inhabitants had lived in the same houses ever\nsince I left it, I could not help wondering how they could thus have\nvegetated, whilst I was running over a world of sorrow, snatching at\npleasure, and throwing off prejudices. The place where I at present am, is\nmuch improved; but it is astonishing what strides aristocracy and\nfanaticism have made, since I resided in this country.\n\nThe wind does not appear inclined to change, so I am still forced to\nlinger--When do you think that you shall be able to set out for France? I\ndo not entirely like the aspect of your affairs, and still less your\nconnections on either side of the water. Often do I sigh, when I think of\nyour entanglements in business, and your extreme restlessness of\nmind.--Even now I am almost afraid to ask you, whether the pleasure of\nbeing free, does not overbalance the pain you felt at parting with me?\nSometimes I indulge the hope that you will feel me necessary to you--or\nwhy should we meet again?--but, the moment after, despair damps my rising\nspirits, aggravated by the emotions of tenderness, which ought to soften\nthe cares of life.----God bless you!\n\n Yours sincerely and affectionately\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLVI", + "body": "_[Hull] June 15 [1795]._\n\nI want to know how you have settled with respect to ----. In short, be\nvery particular in your account of all your affairs--let our confidence,\nmy dear, be unbounded.--The last time we were separated, was a separation\nindeed on your part--Now you have acted more ingenuously, let the most\naffectionate interchange of sentiments fill up the aching void of\ndisappointment. I almost dread that your plans will prove abortive--yet\nshould the most unlucky turn send you home to us, convinced that a true\nfriend is a treasure, I should not much mind having to struggle with the\nworld again. Accuse me not of pride--yet sometimes, when nature has opened\nmy heart to its author, I have wondered that you did not set a higher\nvalue on my heart.\n\nReceive a kiss from Fanny, I was going to add, if you will not take one\nfrom me, and believe me yours\n\n Sincerely\n MARY.\n\nThe wind still continues in the same quarter.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLVII", + "body": "_[Hull, June, 1795] Tuesday Morning._\n\nThe captain has just sent to inform me, that I must be on board in the\ncourse of a few hours.--I wished to have stayed till to-morrow. It would\nhave been a comfort to me to have received another letter from you--Should\none arrive, it will be sent after me.\n\nMy spirits are agitated, I scarcely know why----The quitting England seems\nto be a fresh parting.--Surely you will not forget me.--A thousand weak\nforebodings assault my soul, and the state of my health renders me\nsensible to every thing. It is surprising that in London, in a continual\nconflict of mind, I was still growing better--whilst here, bowed down by\nthe despotic hand of fate, forced into resignation by despair, I seem to\nbe fading away--perishing beneath a cruel blight, that withers up all my\nfaculties.\n\nThe child is perfectly well. My hand seems unwilling to add adieu! I know\nnot why this inexpressible sadness has taken possession of me.--It is not\na presentiment of ill. Yet, having been so perpetually the sport of\ndisappointment,--having a heart that has been as it were a mark for\nmisery, I dread to meet wretchedness in some new shape.--Well, let it\ncome--I care not!--what have I to dread, who have so little to hope for!\nGod bless you--I am most affectionately and sincerely yours\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLVIII", + "body": "_[June 17, 1795] Wednesday Morning._\n\nI was hurried on board yesterday about three o'clock, the wind having\nchanged. But before evening it veered round to the old point; and here we\nare, in the midst of mists and water, only taking advantage of the tide to\nadvance a few miles.\n\nYou will scarcely suppose that I left the town with reluctance--yet it was\neven so--for I wished to receive another letter from you, and I felt pain\nat parting, for ever perhaps, from the amiable family, who had treated me\nwith so much hospitality and kindness. They will probably send me your\nletter, if it arrives this morning; for here we are likely to remain, I am\nafraid to think how long.\n\nThe vessel is very commodious, and the captain a civil, open-hearted kind\nof man. There being no other passengers, I have the cabin to myself,\nwhich is pleasant; and I have brought a few books with me to beguile\nweariness; but I seem inclined, rather to employ the dead moments of\nsuspence in writing some effusions, than in reading.\n\nWhat are you about? How are your affairs going on? It may be a long time\nbefore you answer these questions. My dear friend, my heart sinks within\nme!--Why am I forced thus to struggle continually with my affections and\nfeelings?--Ah! why are those affections and feelings the source of so much\nmisery, when they seem to have been given to vivify my heart, and extend\nmy usefulness! But I must not dwell on this subject.--Will you not\nendeavour to cherish all the affection you can for me? What am I\nsaying?--Rather forget me, if you can--if other gratifications are dearer\nto you.--How is every remembrance of mine embittered by disappointment?\nWhat a world is this!--They only seem happy, who never look beyond\nsensual or artificial enjoyments.--Adieu!\n\nFanny begins to play with the cabin-boy, and is as gay as a lark.--I will\nlabour to be tranquil; and am in every mood,\n\n Yours sincerely\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER XLIX", + "body": "_[June 18, 1795] Thursday._\n\nHere I am still--and I have just received your letter of Monday by the\npilot, who promised to bring it to me, if we were detained, as he\nexpected, by the wind.--It is indeed wearisome to be thus tossed about\nwithout going forward.--I have a violent headache--yet I am obliged to\ntake care of the child, who is a little tormented by her teeth, because\n---- is unable to do any thing, she is rendered so sick by the motion of\nthe ship, as we ride at anchor.\n\nThese are however trifling inconveniences, compared with anguish of\nmind--compared with the sinking of a broken heart.--To tell you the truth,\nI never suffered in my life so much from depression of spirits--from\ndespair.--I do not sleep--or, if I close my eyes, it is to have the most\nterrifying dreams, in which I often meet you with different casts of\ncountenance.\n\nI will not, my dear Imlay, torment you by dwelling on my sufferings--and\nwill use all my efforts to calm my mind, instead of deadening it--at\npresent it is most painfully active. I find I am not equal to these\ncontinual struggles--yet your letter this morning has afforded me some\ncomfort--and I will try to revive hope. One thing let me tell you--when we\nmeet again--surely we are to meet!--it must be to part no more. I mean not\nto have seas between us--it is more than I can support.\n\nThe pilot is hurrying me--God bless you.\n\nIn spite of the commodiousness of the vessel, every thing here would\ndisgust my senses, had I nothing else to think of--\"When the mind's free,\nthe body's delicate;\"--mine has been too much hurt to regard trifles.\n\n Yours most truly\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER L", + "body": "_[June 20, 1795] Saturday._\n\nThis is the fifth dreary day I have been imprisoned by the wind, with\nevery outward object to disgust the senses, and unable to banish the\nremembrances that sadden my heart.\n\nHow am I altered by disappointment!--When going to Lisbon, ten years ago,\nthe elasticity of my mind was sufficient to ward off weariness--and the\nimagination still could dip her brush in the rainbow of fancy, and sketch\nfuturity in smiling colours. Now I am going towards the North in search\nof sunbeams!--Will any ever warm this desolated heart? All nature seems to\nfrown--or rather mourn with me.--Every thing is cold--cold as my\nexpectations! Before I left the shore, tormented, as I now am, by these\nNorth east _chillers_, I could not help exclaiming--Give me, gracious\nHeaven! at least, genial weather, if I am never to meet the genial\naffection that still warms this agitated bosom--compelling life to linger\nthere.\n\nI am now going on shore with the captain, though the weather be rough, to\nseek for milk, &c. at a little village, and to take a walk--after which I\nhope to sleep--for, confined here, surrounded by disagreeable smells, I\nhave lost the little appetite I had; and I lie awake, till thinking almost\ndrives me to the brink of madness--only to the brink, for I never forget,\neven in the feverish slumbers I sometimes fall into, the misery I am\nlabouring to blunt the sense of, by every exertion in my power.\n\nPoor ---- still continues sick, and ---- grows weary when the weather will\nnot allow her to remain on deck.\n\nI hope this will be the last letter I shall write from England to you--are\nyou not tired of this lingering adieu?\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LI", + "body": "_[Hull, June 21, 1795] Sunday Morning._\n\nThe captain last night, after I had written my letter to you intended to\nbe left at a little village, offered to go to ---- to pass to-day. We had\na troublesome sail--and now I must hurry on board again, for the wind has\nchanged.\n\nI half expected to find a letter from you here. Had you written one\nhaphazard, it would have been kind and considerate--you might have known,\nhad you thought, that the wind would not permit me to depart. These are\nattentions, more grateful to the heart than offers of service--But why do\nI foolishly continue to look for them?\n\nAdieu! adieu! My friend--your friendship is very cold--you see I am\nhurt.--God bless you! I may perhaps be, some time or other, independent in\nevery sense of the word--Ah! there is but one sense of it of consequence.\nI will break or bend this weak heart--yet even now it is full.\n\n Yours sincerely\n MARY.\n\nThe child is well; I did not leave her on board.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LII", + "body": "_[Gothenburg] June 27, Saturday, [1795]._\n\nI arrived in Gothenburg this afternoon, after vainly attempting to land\nat Arendall. I have now but a moment, before the post goes out, to inform\nyou we have got here; though not without considerable difficulty, for we\nwere set ashore in a boat above twenty miles below.\n\nWhat I suffered in the vessel I will not now descant upon--nor mention the\npleasure I received from the sight of the rocky coast.--This morning\nhowever, walking to join the carriage that was to transport us to this\nplace, I fell, without any previous warning, senseless on the rocks--and\nhow I escaped with life I can scarcely guess. I was in a stupour for a\nquarter of an hour; the suffusion of blood at last restored me to my\nsenses--the contusion is great, and my brain confused. The child is well.\n\nTwenty miles ride in the rain, after my accident, has sufficiently\nderanged me--and here I could not get a fire to warm me, or any thing warm\nto eat; the inns are mere stables--I must nevertheless go to bed. For\nGod's sake, let me hear from you immediately, my friend! I am not well,\nand yet you see I cannot die.\n\n Yours sincerely\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LIII", + "body": "_[Gothenburg] June 29 [1795]._\n\nI wrote to you by the last post, to inform you of my arrival; and I\nbelieve I alluded to the extreme fatigue I endured on ship-board, owing to\n----'s illness, and the roughness of the weather--I likewise mentioned to\nyou my fall, the effects of which I still feel, though I do not think it\nwill have any serious consequences.\n\n---- will go with me, if I find it necessary to go to ----. The inns here\nare so bad, I was forced to accept of an apartment in his house. I am\noverwhelmed with civilities on all sides, and fatigued with the endeavours\nto amuse me, from which I cannot escape.\n\nMy friend--my friend, I am not well--a deadly weight of sorrow lies\nheavily on my heart. I am again tossed on the troubled billows of life;\nand obliged to cope with difficulties, without being buoyed up by the\nhopes that alone render them bearable. \"How flat, dull, and unprofitable,\"\nappears to me all the bustle into which I see people here so eagerly\nenter! I long every night to go to bed, to hide my melancholy face in my\npillow; but there is a canker-worm in my bosom that never sleeps.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LIV", + "body": "_[Sweden] July 1 [1795]._\n\nI labour in vain to calm my mind--my soul has been overwhelmed by sorrow\nand disappointment. Every thing fatigues me--this is a life that cannot\nlast long. It is you who must determine with respect to futurity--and,\nwhen you have, I will act accordingly--I mean, we must either resolve to\nlive together, or part for ever, I cannot bear these continual\nstruggles.--But I wish you to examine carefully your own heart and mind;\nand, if you perceive the least chance of being happier without me than\nwith me, or if your inclination leans capriciously to that side, do not\ndissemble; but tell me frankly that you will never see me more. I will\nthen adopt the plan I mentioned to you--for we must either live together,\nor I will be entirely independent.\n\nMy heart is so oppressed, I cannot write with precision--You know however\nthat what I so imperfectly express, are not the crude sentiments of the\nmoment--You can only contribute to my comfort (it is the consolation I am\nin need of) by being with me--and, if the tenderest friendship is of any\nvalue, why will you not look to me for a degree of satisfaction that\nheartless affections cannot bestow?\n\nTell me then, will you determine to meet me at Basle?--I shall, I should\nimagine, be at ---- before the close of August; and, after you settle your\naffairs at Paris, could we not meet there?\n\nGod bless you!\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.\n\nPoor Fanny has suffered during the journey with her teeth.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LV", + "body": "_[Sweden] July 3 [1795]._\n\nThere was a gloominess diffused through your last letter, the impression\nof which still rests on my mind--though, recollecting how quickly you\nthrow off the forcible feelings of the moment, I flatter myself it has\nlong since given place to your usual cheerfulness.\n\nBelieve me (and my eyes fill with tears of tenderness as I assure you)\nthere is nothing I would not endure in the way of privation, rather than\ndisturb your tranquillity.--If I am fated to be unhappy, I will labour to\nhide my sorrows in my own bosom; and you shall always find me a faithful,\naffectionate friend.\n\nI grow more and more attached to my little girl--and I cherish this\naffection without fear, because it must be a long time before it can\nbecome bitterness of soul.--She is an interesting creature.--On\nship-board, how often as I gazed at the sea, have I longed to bury my\ntroubled bosom in the less troubled deep; asserting with Brutus, \"that the\nvirtue I had followed too far, was merely an empty name!\" and nothing but\nthe sight of her--her playful smiles, which seemed to cling and twine\nround my heart--could have stopped me.\n\nWhat peculiar misery has fallen to my share! To act up to my principles, I\nhave laid the strictest restraint on my very thoughts--yes; not to sully\nthe delicacy of my feelings, I have reined in my imagination; and started\nwith affright from every sensation, (I allude to ----) that stealing with\nbalmy sweetness into my soul, led me to scent from afar the fragrance of\nreviving nature.\n\nMy friend, I have dearly paid for one conviction.--Love, in some minds, is\nan affair of sentiment, arising from the same delicacy of perception (or\ntaste) as renders them alive to the beauties of nature, poetry, &c., alive\nto the charms of those evanescent graces that are, as it were,\nimpalpable--they must be felt, they cannot be described.\n\nLove is a want of my heart. I have examined myself lately with more care\nthan formerly, and find, that to deaden is not to calm the mind--Aiming at\ntranquillity, I have almost destroyed all the energy of my soul--almost\nrooted out what renders it estimable--Yes, I have damped that enthusiasm\nof character, which converts the grossest materials into a fuel, that\nimperceptibly feeds hopes, which aspire above common enjoyment. Despair,\nsince the birth of my child, has rendered me stupid--soul and body seemed\nto be fading away before the withering touch of disappointment.\n\nI am now endeavouring to recover myself--and such is the elasticity of my\nconstitution, and the purity of the atmosphere here, that health unsought\nfor, begins to reanimate my countenance.\n\nI have the sincerest esteem and affection for you--but the desire of\nregaining peace, (do you understand me?) has made me forget the respect\ndue to my own emotions--sacred emotions, that are the sure harbingers of\nthe delights I was formed to enjoy--and shall enjoy, for nothing can\nextinguish the heavenly spark.\n\nStill, when we meet again, I will not torment you, I promise you. I blush\nwhen I recollect my former conduct--and will not in future confound myself\nwith the beings whom I feel to be my inferiors.--I will listen to\ndelicacy, or pride.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LVI", + "body": "_[Sweden] July 4 [1795]._\n\nI hope to hear from you by to-morrow's mail. My dearest friend! I cannot\ntear my affections from you--and, though every remembrance stings me to\nthe soul, I think of you, till I make allowance for the very defects of\ncharacter, that have given such a cruel stab to my peace.\n\nStill however I am more alive, than you have seen me for a long, long\ntime. I have a degree of vivacity, even in my grief, which is preferable\nto the benumbing stupour that, for the last year, has frozen up all my\nfaculties.--Perhaps this change is more owing to returning health, than to\nthe vigour of my reason--for, in spite of sadness (and surely I have had\nmy share), the purity of this air, and the being continually out in it,\nfor I sleep in the country every night, has made an alteration in my\nappearance that really surprises me.--The rosy fingers of health already\nstreak my cheeks--and I have seen a _physical_ life in my eyes, after I\nhave been climbing the rocks, that resembled the fond, credulous hopes of\nyouth.\n\nWith what a cruel sigh have I recollected that I had forgotten to\nhope!--Reason, or rather experience, does not thus cruelly damp poor\n----'s pleasures; she plays all day in the garden with ----'s children,\nand makes friends for herself.\n\nDo not tell me, that you are happier without us--Will you not come to us\nin Switzerland? Ah, why do not you love us with more sentiment?--why are\nyou a creature of such sympathy, that the warmth of your feelings, or\nrather quickness of your senses, hardens your heart?--It is my\nmisfortune, that my imagination is perpetually shading your defects, and\nlending you charms, whilst the grossness of your senses makes you (call me\nnot vain) overlook graces in me, that only dignity of mind, and the\nsensibility of an expanded heart can give.--God bless you! Adieu.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LVII", + "body": "_[Sweden] July 7 [1795]._\n\nI could not help feeling extremely mortified last post, at not receiving a\nletter from you. My being at ---- was but a chance, and you might have\nhazarded it; and would a year ago.\n\nI shall not however complain--There are misfortunes so great, as to\nsilence the usual expressions of sorrow--Believe me, there is such a thing\nas a broken heart! There are characters whose very energy preys upon them;\nand who, ever inclined to cherish by reflection some passion, cannot rest\nsatisfied with the common comforts of life. I have endeavoured to fly from\nmyself and launched into all the dissipation possible here, only to feel\nkeener anguish, when alone with my child.\n\nStill, could any thing please me--had not disappointment cut me off from\nlife, this romantic country, these fine evenings, would interest me.--My\nGod! can any thing? and am I ever to feel alive only to painful\nsensations?--But it cannot--it shall not last long.\n\nThe post is again arrived; I have sent to seek for letters, only to be\nwounded to the soul by a negative.--My brain seems on fire. I must go into\nthe air.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LVIII", + "body": "_[Laurvig, Norway] July 14 [1795]._\n\nI am now on my journey to Tonsberg. I felt more at leaving my child, than\nI thought I should--and, whilst at night I imagined every instant that I\nheard the half-formed sounds of her voice,--I asked myself how I could\nthink of parting with her for ever, of leaving her thus helpless?\n\nPoor lamb! It may run very well in a tale, that \"God will temper the winds\nto the shorn lamb!\" but how can I expect that she will be shielded, when\nmy naked bosom has had to brave continually the pitiless storm? Yes; I\ncould add, with poor Lear--What is the war of elements to the pangs of\ndisappointed affection, and the horror arising from a discovery of a\nbreach of confidence, that snaps every social tie!\n\nAll is not right somewhere!--When you first knew me, I was not thus lost.\nI could still confide--for I opened my heart to you--of this only comfort\nyou have deprived me, whilst my happiness, you tell me, was your first\nobject. Strange want of judgment!\n\nI will not complain; but, from the soundness of your understanding, I am\nconvinced, if you give yourself leave to reflect, you will also feel, that\nyour conduct to me, so far from being generous, has not been just.--I mean\nnot to allude to factitious principles of morality; but to the simple\nbasis of all rectitude.--However I did not intend to argue--Your not\nwriting is cruel--and my reason is perhaps disturbed by constant\nwretchedness.\n\nPoor ---- would fain have accompanied me, out of tenderness; for my\nfainting, or rather convulsion, when I landed, and my sudden changes of\ncountenance since, have alarmed her so much, that she is perpetually\nafraid of some accident.--But it would have injured the child this warm\nseason, as she is cutting her teeth.\n\nI hear not of your having written to me at Stromstad. Very well! Act as\nyou please--there is nothing I fear or care for! When I see whether I\ncan, or cannot obtain the money I am come here about, I will not trouble\nyou with letters to which you do not reply.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LIX", + "body": "_[Tonsberg] July 18 [1795]._\n\nI am here in Tonsberg, separated from my child--and here I must remain a\nmonth at least, or I might as well never have come.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have begun ---- which will, I hope, discharge all my obligations of a\npecuniary kind.--I am lowered in my own eyes, on account of my not having\ndone it sooner.\n\nI shall make no further comments on your silence. God bless you!\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LX", + "body": "_[Tonsberg] July 30 [1795]._\n\nI have just received two of your letters, dated the 26th and 30th of\nJune; and you must have received several from me, informing you of my\ndetention, and how much I was hurt by your silence.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWrite to me then, my friend, and write explicitly. I have suffered, God\nknows, since I left you. Ah! you have never felt this kind of sickness of\nheart!--My mind however is at present painfully active, and the sympathy I\nfeel almost rises to agony. But this is not a subject of complaint, it has\nafforded me pleasure,--and reflected pleasure is all I have to hope\nfor--if a spark of hope be yet alive in my forlorn bosom.\n\nI will try to write with a degree of composure. I wish for us to live\ntogether, because I want you to acquire an habitual tenderness for my poor\ngirl. I cannot bear to think of leaving her alone in the world, or that\nshe should only be protected by your sense of duty. Next to preserving\nher, my most earnest wish is not to disturb your peace. I have nothing to\nexpect, and little to fear, in life--There are wounds that can never be\nhealed--but they may be allowed to fester in silence without wincing.\n\nWhen we meet again, you shall be convinced that I have more resolution\nthan you give me credit for. I will not torment you. If I am destined\nalways to be disappointed and unhappy, I will conceal the anguish I cannot\ndissipate; and the tightened cord of life or reason will at last snap, and\nset me free.\n\nYes; I shall be happy--This heart is worthy of the bliss its feelings\nanticipate--and I cannot even persuade myself, wretched as they have made\nme, that my principles and sentiments are not founded in nature and truth.\nBut to have done with these subjects.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI have been seriously employed in this way since I came to Tonsberg; yet\nI never was so much in the air.--I walk, I ride on horseback--row, bathe,\nand even sleep in the fields; my health is consequently improved. The\nchild, ---- informs me, is well, I long to be with her.\n\nWrite to me immediately--were I only to think of myself, I could wish you\nto return to me, poor, with the simplicity of character, part of which you\nseem lately to have lost, that first attached to you.\n\n Yours most affectionately\n MARY IMLAY\n\nI have been subscribing other letters--so I mechanically did the same to\nyours.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXI", + "body": "_[Tonsberg] August 5 [1795]._\n\nEmployment and exercise have been of great service to me; and I have\nentirely recovered the strength and activity I lost during the time of my\nnursing. I have seldom been in better health; and my mind, though\ntrembling to the touch of anguish, is calmer--yet still the same.--I have,\nit is true, enjoyed some tranquillity, and more happiness here, than for a\nlong--long time past.--(I say happiness, for I can give no other\nappellation to the exquisite delight this wild country and fine summer\nhave afforded me.)--Still, on examining my heart, I find that it is so\nconstituted, I cannot live without some particular affection--I am afraid\nnot without a passion--and I feel the want of it more in society, than in\nsolitude.\n\n * * * * *\n\nWriting to you, whenever an affectionate epithet occurs--my eyes fill with\ntears, and my trembling hand stops--you may then depend on my resolution,\nwhen with you. If I am doomed to be unhappy, I will confine my anguish in\nmy own bosom--tenderness, rather than passion, has made me sometimes\noverlook delicacy--the same tenderness will in future restrain me. God\nbless you!", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXII", + "body": "_[Tonsberg] August 7 [1795]._\n\nAir, exercise, and bathing, have restored me to health, braced my muscles,\nand covered my ribs, even whilst I have recovered my former activity.--I\ncannot tell you that my mind is calm, though I have snatched some moments\nof exquisite delight, wandering through the woods, and resting on the\nrocks.\n\nThis state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable; we must determine on\nsomething--and soon;--we must meet shortly, or part for ever. I am\nsensible that I acted foolishly--but I was wretched--when we were\ntogether--Expecting too much, I let the pleasure I might have caught, slip\nfrom me. I cannot live with you--I ought not--if you form another\nattachment. But I promise you, mine shall not be intruded on you. Little\nreason have I to expect a shadow of happiness, after the cruel\ndisappointments that have rent my heart; but that of my child seems to\ndepend on our being together. Still I do not wish you to sacrifice a\nchance of enjoyment for an uncertain good. I feel a conviction, that I can\nprovide for her, and it shall be my object--if we are indeed to part to\nmeet no more. Her affection must not be divided. She must be a comfort to\nme--if I am to have no other--and only know me as her support. I feel that\nI cannot endure the anguish of corresponding with you--if we are only to\ncorrespond.--No; if you seek for happiness elsewhere, my letters shall not\ninterrupt your repose. I will be dead to you. I cannot express to you what\npain it gives me to write about an eternal separation.--You must\ndetermine--examine yourself--But, for God's sake! spare me the anxiety of\nuncertainty!--I may sink under the trial; but I will not complain.\n\nAdieu! If I had any thing more to say to you, it is all flown, and\nabsorbed by the most tormenting apprehensions; yet I scarcely know what\nnew form of misery I have to dread.\n\nI ought to beg your pardon for having sometimes written peevishly; but you\nwill impute it to affection, if you understand anything of the heart of\n\n Yours truly\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXIII", + "body": "_[Tonsberg] August 9 [1795]._\n\nFive of your letters have been sent after me from ----. One, dated the\n14th of July, was written in a style which I may have merited, but did not\nexpect from you. However this is not a time to reply to it, except to\nassure you that you shall not be tormented with any more complaints. I am\ndisgusted with myself for having so long importuned you with my\naffection.----\n\nMy child is very well. We shall soon meet, to part no more, I hope--I\nmean, I and my girl.--I shall wait with some degree of anxiety till I am\ninformed how your affairs terminate.\n\n Yours sincerely\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXIV", + "body": "_[Gothenburg] August 26 [1795]._\n\nI arrived here last night, and with the most exquisite delight, once more\npressed my babe to my heart. We shall part no more. You perhaps cannot\nconceive the pleasure it gave me, to see her run about, and play alone.\nHer increasing intelligence attaches me more and more to her. I have\npromised her that I will fulfil my duty to her; and nothing in future\nshall make me forget it. I will also exert myself to obtain an\nindependence for her; but I will not be too anxious on this head.\n\nI have already told you, that I have recovered my health. Vigour, and even\nvivacity of mind, have returned with a renovated constitution. As for\npeace, we will not talk of it. I was not made, perhaps, to enjoy the calm\ncontentment so termed.--\n\n * * * * *\n\nYou tell me that my letters torture you; I will not describe the effect\nyours have on me. I received three this morning, the last dated the 7th of\nthis month. I mean not to give vent to the emotions they\nproduced.--Certainly you are right; our minds are not congenial. I have\nlived in an ideal world, and fostered sentiments that you do not\ncomprehend--or you would not treat me thus. I am not, I will not be,\nmerely an object of compassion--a clog, however light, to teize you.\nForget that I exist: I will never remind you. Something emphatical\nwhispers me to put an end to these struggles. Be free--I will not torment,\nwhen I cannot please. I can take care of my child; you need not\ncontinually tell me that our fortune is inseparable, _that you will try to\ncherish tenderness_ for me. Do no violence to yourself! When we are\nseparated, our interest, since you give so much weight to pecuniary\nconsiderations, will be entirely divided. I want not protection without\naffection; and support I need not, whilst my faculties are undisturbed. I\nhad a dislike to living in England; but painful feelings must give way to\nsuperior considerations. I may not be able to acquire the sum necessary to\nmaintain my child and self elsewhere. It is too late to go to\nSwitzerland. I shall not remain at ----, living expensively. But be not\nalarmed! I shall not force myself on you any more.\n\nAdieu! I am agitated--my whole frame is convulsed--my lips tremble, as if\nshook by cold, though fire seems to be circulating in my veins.\n\nGod bless you.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXV", + "body": "_[Copenhagen] September 6 [1795]._\n\nI received just now your letter of the 20th. I had written you a letter\nlast night, into which imperceptibly slipt some of my bitterness of soul.\nI will copy the part relative to business. I am not sufficiently vain to\nimagine that I can, for more than a moment, cloud your enjoyment of\nlife--to prevent even that, you had better never hear from me--and repose\non the idea that I am happy.\n\nGracious God! It is impossible for me to stifle something like\nresentment, when I receive fresh proofs of your indifference. What I have\nsuffered this last year, is not to be forgotten! I have not that happy\nsubstitute for wisdom, insensibility--and the lively sympathies which bind\nme to my fellow-creatures, are all of a painful kind.--They are the\nagonies of a broken heart--pleasure and I have shaken hands.\n\nI see here nothing but heaps of ruins, and only converse with people\nimmersed in trade and sensuality.\n\nI am weary of travelling--yet seem to have no home--no resting-place to\nlook to.--I am strangely cast off.--How often, passing through the rocks,\nI have thought, \"But for this child, I would lay my head on one of them,\nand never open my eyes again!\" With a heart feelingly alive to all the\naffections of my nature--I have never met with one, softer than the stone\nthat I would fain take for my last pillow. I once thought I had, but it\nwas all a delusion. I meet with families continually, who are bound\ntogether by affection or principle--and, when I am conscious that I have\nfulfilled the duties of my station, almost to a forgetfulness of myself, I\nam ready to demand, in a murmuring tone, of Heaven, \"Why am I thus\nabandoned?\"\n\nYou say now\n\n * * * * *\n\nI do not understand you. It is necessary for you to write more\nexplicitly--and determine on some mode of conduct.--I cannot endure this\nsuspense--Decide--Do you fear to strike another blow? We live together, or\neternally part!--I shall not write to you again, till I receive an answer\nto this. I must compose my tortured soul, before I write on indifferent\nsubjects.\n\n * * * * *\n\nI do not know whether I write intelligibly, for my head is disturbed. But\nthis you ought to pardon--for it is with difficulty frequently that I make\nout what you mean to say--You write, I suppose, at Mr. ----'s after\ndinner, when your head is not the clearest--and as for your heart, if you\nhave one, I see nothing like the dictates of affection, unless a glimpse\nwhen you mention the child--Adieu!", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXVI", + "body": "_[Hamburg] September 25 [1795]._\n\nI have just finished a letter, to be given in charge to captain ----. In\nthat I complained of your silence, and expressed my surprise that three\nmails should have arrived without bringing a line for me. Since I closed\nit, I hear of another, and still no letter.--I am labouring to write\ncalmly--this silence is a refinement on cruelty. Had captain ---- remained\na few days longer, I would have returned with him to England. What have I\nto do here? I have repeatedly written to you fully. Do you do the\nsame--and quickly. Do not leave me in suspense. I have not deserved this\nof you. I cannot write, my mind is so distressed. Adieu!\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXVII", + "body": "_[Hamburg] September 27 [1795]._\n\nWhen you receive this, I shall either have landed, or be hovering on the\nBritish coast--your letter of the 18th decided me.\n\nBy what criterion of principle or affection, you term my questions\nextraordinary and unnecessary, I cannot determine.--You desire me to\ndecide--I had decided. You must have had long ago two letters of mine,\nfrom ----, to the same purport, to consider.--In these, God knows! there\nwas but too much affection, and the agonies of a distracted mind were but\ntoo faithfully pourtrayed!--What more then had I to say?--The negative was\nto come from you.--You had perpetually recurred to your promise of meeting\nme in the autumn--Was it extraordinary that I should demand a yes, or\nno?--Your letter is written with extreme harshness, coldness I am\naccustomed to, in it I find not a trace of the tenderness of humanity,\nmuch less of friendship.--I only see a desire to heave a load off your\nshoulders.\n\nI am above disputing about words.--It matters not in what terms you\ndecide.\n\nThe tremendous power who formed this heart, must have foreseen that, in a\nworld in which self-interest, in various shapes, is the principal mobile,\nI had little chance of escaping misery.--To the fiat of fate I submit.--I\nam content to be wretched; but I will not be contemptible.--Of me you have\nno cause to complain, but for having had too much regard for you--for\nhaving expected a degree of permanent happiness, when you only sought for\na momentary gratification.\n\nI am strangely deficient in sagacity.--Uniting myself to you, your\ntenderness seemed to make me amends for all my former misfortunes.--On\nthis tenderness and affection with what confidence did I rest!--but I\nleaned on a spear, that has pierced me to the heart.--You have thrown off\na faithful friend, to pursue the caprices of the moment.--We certainly are\ndifferently organized; for even now, when conviction has been stamped on\nmy soul by sorrow, I can scarcely believe it possible. It depends at\npresent on you, whether you will see me or not.--I shall take no step,\ntill I see or hear from you.\n\nPreparing myself for the worst--I have determined, if your next letter be\nlike the last, to write to Mr. ---- to procure me an obscure lodging, and\nnot to inform any body of my arrival.--There I will endeavour in a few\nmonths to obtain the sum necessary to take me to France--from you I will\nnot receive any more.--I am not yet sufficiently humbled to depend on your\nbeneficence.\n\nSome people, whom my unhappiness has interested, though they know not the\nextent of it, will assist me to attain the object I have in view, the\nindependence of my child. Should a peace take place, ready money will go a\ngreat way in France--and I will borrow a sum, which my industry _shall_\nenable me to pay at my leisure, to purchase a small estate for my\ngirl.--The assistance I shall find necessary to complete her education, I\ncan get at an easy rate at Paris--I can introduce her to such society as\nshe will like--and thus, securing for her all the chance for happiness,\nwhich depends on me, I shall die in peace, persuaded that the felicity\nwhich has hitherto cheated my expectation, will not always elude my grasp.\nNo poor temptest-tossed mariner ever more earnestly longed to arrive at\nhis port.\n\n MARY.\n\nI shall not come up in the vessel all the way, because I have no place to\ngo to. Captain ---- will inform you where I am. It is needless to add,\nthat I am not in a state of mind to bear suspense--and that I wish to see\nyou, though it be for the last time.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXVIII", + "body": "_[Dover] Sunday, October 4 [1795]._\n\nI wrote to you by the packet, to inform you, that your letter of the 18th\nof last month, had determined me to set out with captain ----; but, as we\nsailed very quick, I take it for granted, that you have not yet received\nit.\n\nYou say, I must decide for myself.--I had decided, that it was most for\nthe interest of my little girl, and for my own comfort, little as I\nexpect, for us to live together; and I even thought that you would be\nglad, some years hence, when the tumult of business was over, to repose in\nthe society of an affectionate friend, and mark the progress of our\ninteresting child, whilst endeavouring to be of use in the circle you at\nlast resolved to rest in: for you cannot run about for ever.\n\nFrom the tenour of your last letter however, I am led to imagine, that you\nhave formed some new attachment.--If it be so, let me earnestly request\nyou to see me once more, and immediately. This is the only proof I require\nof the friendship you profess for me. I will then decide, since you boggle\nabout a mere form.\n\nI am labouring to write with calmness--but the extreme anguish I feel, at\nlanding without having any friend to receive me, and even to be conscious\nthat the friend whom I most wish to see, will feel a disagreeable\nsensation at being informed of my arrival, does not come under the\ndescription of common misery. Every emotion yields to an overwhelming\nflood of sorrow--and the playfulness of my child distresses me.--On her\naccount, I wished to remain a few days here, comfortless as is my\nsituation.--Besides, I did not wish to surprise you. You have told me,\nthat you would make any sacrifice to promote my happiness--and, even in\nyour last unkind letter, you talk of the ties which bind you to me and my\nchild.--Tell me, that you wish it, and I will cut this Gordian knot.\n\nI now most earnestly intreat you to write to me, without fail, by the\nreturn of the post. Direct your letter to be left at the post-office, and\ntell me whether you will come to me here, or where you will meet me. I can\nreceive your letter on Wednesday morning.\n\nDo not keep me in suspense.--I expect nothing from you, or any human\nbeing: my die is cast!--I have fortitude enough to determine to do my\nduty; yet I cannot raise my depressed spirits, or calm my trembling\nheart.--That being who moulded it thus, knows that I am unable to tear up\nby the roots the propensity to affection which has been the torment of my\nlife--but life will have an end!\n\nShould you come here (a few months ago I could not have doubted it) you\nwill find me at ----. If you prefer meeting me on the road, tell me where.\n\n Yours affectionately,\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXIX", + "body": "_[London, Nov. 1795]._\n\nI write to you now on my knees; imploring you to send my child and the\nmaid with ----, to Paris, to be consigned to the care of Madame ----, rue\n----, section de ----. Should they be removed, ---- can give their\ndirection.\n\nLet the maid have all my clothes, without distinction.\n\nPray pay the cook her wages, and do not mention the confession which I\nforced from her--a little sooner or later is of no consequence. Nothing\nbut my extreme stupidity could have rendered me blind so long. Yet, whilst\nyou assured me that you had no attachment, I thought we might still have\nlived together.\n\nI shall make no comments on your conduct; or any appeal to the world. Let\nmy wrongs sleep with me! Soon, very soon shall I be at peace. When you\nreceive this, my burning head will be cold.\n\nI would encounter a thousand deaths, rather than a night like the last.\nYour treatment has thrown my mind into a state of chaos; yet I am serene.\nI go to find comfort, and my only fear is, that my poor body will be\ninsulted by an endeavour to recal my hated existence. But I shall plunge\ninto the Thames where there is the least chance of my being snatched from\nthe death I seek.\n\nGod bless you! May you never know by experience what you have made me\nendure. Should your sensibility ever awake, remorse will find its way to\nyour heart; and, in the midst of business and sensual pleasure, I shall\nappear before you, the victim of your deviation from rectitude.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXX", + "body": "_[London, Nov. 1795] Sunday Morning._\n\nI have only to lament, that, when the bitterness of death was past, I was\ninhumanly brought back to life and misery. But a fixed determination is\nnot to be baffled by disappointment; nor will I allow that to be a frantic\nattempt, which was one of the calmest acts of reason. In this respect, I\nam only accountable to myself. Did I care for what is termed reputation,\nit is by other circumstances that I should be dishonoured.\n\nYou say, \"that you know not how to extricate ourselves out of the\nwretchedness into which we have been plunged.\" You are extricated long\nsince.--But I forbear to comment.--If I am condemned to live longer, it is\na living death.\n\nIt appears to me, that you lay much more stress on delicacy, than on\nprinciple; for I am unable to discover what sentiment of delicacy would\nhave been violated, by your visiting a wretched friend--if indeed you have\nany friendship for me.--But since your new attachment is the only thing\nsacred in your eyes, I am silent--Be happy! My complaints shall never more\ndamp your enjoyment--perhaps I am mistaken in supposing that even my death\ncould, for more than a moment.--This is what you call magnanimity.--It is\nhappy for yourself, that you possess this quality in the highest degree.\n\nYour continually asserting, that you will do all in your power to\ncontribute to my comfort (when you only allude to pecuniary assistance),\nappears to me a flagrant breach of delicacy.--I want not such vulgar\ncomfort, nor will I accept it. I never wanted but your heart--That gone,\nyou have nothing more to give. Had I only poverty to fear, I should not\nshrink from life.--Forgive me then, if I say, that I shall consider any\ndirect or indirect attempt to supply my necessities, as an insult which I\nhave not merited--and as rather done out of tenderness for your own\nreputation, than for me. Do not mistake me; I do not think that you value\nmoney (therefore I will not accept what you do not care for) though I do\nmuch less, because certain privations are not painful to me. When I am\ndead, respect for yourself will make you take care of the child.\n\nI write with difficulty--probably I shall never write to you\nagain.--Adieu!\n\nGod bless you!\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXI", + "body": "_[London, Nov. 1795] Monday Morning._\n\nI am compelled at last to say that you treat me ungenerously. I agree with\nyou, that\n\n * * * * *\n\nBut let the obliquity now fall on me.--I fear neither poverty nor infamy.\nI am unequal to the task of writing--and explanations are not necessary.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMy child may have to blush for her mother's want of prudence--and may\nlament that the rectitude of my heart made me above vulgar precautions;\nbut she shall not despise me for meanness.--You are now perfectly\nfree.--God bless you.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXII", + "body": "_[London, Nov. 1795] Saturday Night._\n\nI have been hurt by indirect enquiries, which appear to me not to be\ndictated by any tenderness to me.--You ask \"If I am well or\ntranquil?\"--They who think me so, must want a heart to estimate my\nfeelings by.--I chuse then to be the organ of my own sentiments.\n\nI must tell you, that I am very much mortified by your continually\noffering me pecuniary assistance--and, considering your going to the new\nhouse, as an open avowal that you abandon me, let me tell you that I will\nsooner perish than receive any thing from you--and I say this at the\nmoment when I am disappointed in my first attempt to obtain a temporary\nsupply. But this even pleases me; an accumulation of disappointments and\nmisfortunes seems to suit the habit of my mind.--\n\nHave but a little patience, and I will remove myself where it will not be\nnecessary for you to talk--of course, not to think of me. But let me see,\nwritten by yourself--for I will not receive it through any other\nmedium--that the affair is finished.--It is an insult to me to suppose,\nthat I can be reconciled, or recover my spirits; but, if you hear nothing\nof me, it will be the same thing to you.\n\n MARY.\n\nEven your seeing me, has been to oblige other people, and not to sooth my\ndistracted mind.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXIII", + "body": "_[London, Nov. 1795] Thursday Afternoon._\n\nMr. ---- having forgot to desire you to send the things of mine which\nwere left at the house, I have to request you to let ---- bring them to\n----\n\nI shall go this evening to the lodging; so you need not be restrained from\ncoming here to transact your business.--And, whatever I may think, and\nfeel--you need not fear that I shall publicly complain--No! If I have any\ncriterion to judge of right and wrong, I have been most ungenerously\ntreated: but, wishing now only to hide myself, I shall be silent as the\ngrave in which I long to forget myself. I shall protect and provide for my\nchild.--I only mean by this to say, that you have nothing to fear from my\ndesperation.\n\n Farewel.\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXIV", + "body": "_London, November 27 [1795]._\n\nThe letter, without an address, which you put up with the letters you\nreturned, did not meet my eyes till just now.--I had thrown the letters\naside--I did not wish to look over a register of sorrow.\n\nMy not having seen it, will account for my having written to you with\nanger--under the impression your departure, without even a line left for\nme, made on me, even after your late conduct, which could not lead me to\nexpect much attention to my sufferings.\n\nIn fact, \"the decided conduct, which appeared to me so unfeeling,\" has\nalmost overturned my reason; my mind is injured--I scarcely know where I\nam, or what I do.--The grief I cannot conquer (for some cruel\nrecollections never quit me, banishing almost every other) I labour to\nconceal in total solitude.--My life therefore is but an exercise of\nfortitude, continually on the stretch--and hope never gleams in this tomb,\nwhere I am buried alive.\n\nBut I meant to reason with you, and not to complain.--You tell me, that I\nshall judge more coolly of your mode of acting, some time hence.\" But is\nit not possible that _passion_ clouds your reason, as much as it does\nmine?--and ought you not to doubt, whether those principles are so\n\"exalted,\" as you term them, which only lead to your own gratification? In\nother words, whether it be just to have no principle of action, but that\nof following your inclination, trampling on the affection you have\nfostered, and the expectations you have excited?\n\nMy affection for you is rooted in my heart.--I know you are not what you\nnow seem--nor will you always act, or feel, as you now do, though I may\nnever be comforted by the change.--Even at Paris, my image will haunt\nyou.--You will see my pale face--and sometimes the tears of anguish will\ndrop on your heart; which you have forced from mine.\n\nI cannot write. I thought I could quickly have refuted all your\n_ingenious_ arguments; but my head is confused.--Right or wrong, I am\nmiserable!\n\nIt seems to me, that my conduct has always been governed by the strictest\nprinciples of justice and truth.--Yet, how wretched have my social\nfeelings, and delicacy of sentiment rendered me!--I have loved with my\nwhole soul, only to discover that I had no chance of a return--and that\nexistence is a burthen without it.\n\nI do not perfectly understand you.--If, by the offer of your friendship,\nyou still only mean pecuniary support--I must again reject it.--Trifling\nare the ills of poverty in the scale of my misfortunes.--God bless you!\n\n MARY.\n\nI have been treated ungenerously--if I understand what is generosity.--You\nseem to me only to have been anxious to shake me off--regardless whether\nyou dashed me to atoms by the fall.--In truth I have been rudely handled.\n_Do you judge coolly_, and I trust you will not continue to call those\ncapricious feelings \"the most refined,\" which would undermine not only the\nmost sacred principles, but the affections which unite mankind.--You would\nrender mothers unnatural--and there would be no such thing as a\nfather!--If your theory of morals is the most \"exalted,\" it is certainly\nthe most easy.--It does not require much magnanimity, to determine to\nplease ourselves for the moment, let others suffer what they will!\n\nExcuse me for again tormenting you, my heart thirsts for justice from\nyou--and whilst I recollect that you approved Miss ----'s conduct--I am\nconvinced you will not always justify your own.\n\nBeware of the deceptions of passion! It will not always banish from your\nmind, that you have acted ignobly--and condescended to subterfuge to\ngloss over the conduct you could not excuse.--Do truth and principle\nrequire such sacrifices?", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXV", + "body": "_London, December 8 [1795]._\n\nHaving just been informed that ---- is to return immediately to Paris, I\nwould not miss a sure opportunity of writing, because I am not certain\nthat my last, by Dover has reached you.\n\nResentment, and even anger, are momentary emotions with me--and I wished\nto tell you so, that if you ever think of me, it may not be in the light\nof an enemy.\n\nThat I have not been used _well_ I must ever feel; perhaps, not always\nwith the keen anguish I do at present--for I began even now to write\ncalmly, and I cannot restrain my tears.\n\nI am stunned!--Your late conduct still appears to me a frightful\ndream.--Ah! ask yourself if you have not condescended to employ a little\naddress, I could almost say cunning, unworthy of you?--Principles are\nsacred things--and we never play with truth, with impunity.\n\nThe expectation (I have too fondly nourished it) of regaining your\naffection, every day grows fainter and fainter.--Indeed, it seems to me,\nwhen I am more sad than usual, that I shall never see you more.--Yet you\nwill not always forget me.--You will feel something like remorse, for\nhaving lived only for yourself--and sacrificed my peace to inferior\ngratifications. In a comfortless old age, you will remember that you had\none disinterested friend, whose heart you wounded to the quick. The hour\nof recollection will come--and you will not be satisfied to act the part\nof a boy, till you fall into that of a dotard. I know that your mind, your\nheart, and your principles of action, are all superior to your present\nconduct. You do, you must, respect me--and you will be sorry to forfeit my\nesteem.\n\nYou know best whether I am still preserving the remembrance of an\nimaginary being.--I once thought that I knew you thoroughly--but now I am\nobliged to leave some doubts that involuntarily press on me, to be cleared\nup by time.\n\nYou may render me unhappy; but cannot make me contemptible in my own\neyes.--I shall still be able to support my child, though I am disappointed\nin some other plans of usefulness, which I once believed would have\nafforded you equal pleasure.\n\nWhilst I was with you, I restrained my natural generosity, because I\nthought your property in jeopardy.--When I went to [Sweden], I requested\nyou, _if you could conveniently_, not to forget my father, sisters, and\nsome other people, whom I was interested about.--Money was lavished away,\nyet not only my requests were neglected, but some trifling debts were not\ndischarged, that now come on me.--Was this friendship--or generosity? Will\nyou not grant you have forgotten yourself? Still I have an affection for\nyou.--God bless you.\n\n MARY.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXVI", + "body": "_[London, Dec. 1795.]_\n\nAs the parting from you for ever is the most serious event of my life, I\nwill once expostulate with you, and call not the language of truth and\nfeeling ingenuity!\n\nI know the soundness of your understanding--and know that it is impossible\nfor you always to confound the caprices of every wayward inclination with\nthe manly dictates of principle.\n\nYou tell me \"that I torment you.\"--Why do I?----Because you cannot\nestrange your heart entirely from me--and you feel that justice is on my\nside. You urge, \"that your conduct was unequivocal.\"--It was not.--When\nyour coolness has hurt me, with what tenderness have you endeavoured to\nremove the impression!--and even before I returned to England, you took\ngreat pains to convince me, that all my uneasiness was occasioned by the\neffect of a worn-out constitution--and you concluded your letter with\nthese words, \"Business alone has kept me from you.--Come to any port, and\nI will fly down to my two dear girls with a heart all their own.\"\n\nWith these assurances, is it extraordinary that I should believe what I\nwished? I might--and did think that you had a struggle with old\npropensities; but I still thought that I and virtue should at last\nprevail. I still thought that you had a magnanimity of character, which\nwould enable you to conquer yourself.\n\nImlay, believe me, it is not romance, you have acknowledged to me\nfeelings of this kind.--You could restore me to life and hope, and the\nsatisfaction you would feel, would amply repay you.\n\nIn tearing myself from you, it is my own heart I pierce--and the time will\ncome, when you will lament that you have thrown away a heart, that, even\nin the moment of passion, you cannot despise.--I would owe every thing to\nyour generosity--but, for God's sake, keep me no longer in suspense!--Let\nme see you once more!--", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + }, + { + "heading": "LETTER LXXVII", + "body": "_[London, Dec. 1795.]_\n\nYou must do as you please with respect to the child.--I could wish that it\nmight be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned to you. It is\nnow finished.--Convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship, I\ndisdain to utter a reproach, though I have had reason to think, that the\n\"forbearance\" talked of, has not been very delicate.--It is however of no\nconsequence.--I am glad you are satisfied with your own conduct.\n\nI now solemnly assure you, that this is an eternal farewel.--Yet I flinch\nnot from the duties which tie me to life.\n\nThat there is \"sophistry\" on one side or other, is certain; but now it\nmatters not on which. On my part it has not been a question of words. Yet\nyour understanding or mine must be strangely warped--for what you term\n\"delicacy,\" appears to me to be exactly the contrary. I have no criterion\nfor morality, and have thought in vain, if the sensations which lead you\nto follow an ancle or step, be the sacred foundation of principle and\naffection. Mine has been of a very different nature, or it would not have\nstood the brunt of your sarcasms.\n\nThe sentiment in me is still sacred. If there be any part of me that will\nsurvive the sense of my misfortunes, it is the purity of my affections.\nThe impetuosity of your senses, may have led you to term mere animal\ndesire, the source of principle; and it may give zest to some years to\ncome.--Whether you will always think so, I shall never know.\n\nIt is strange that, in spite of all you do, something like conviction\nforces me to believe, that you are not what you appear to be.\n\nI part with you in peace.\n\n\n_Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] Dowden's \"Life of Shelley.\"\n\n[2] The child is in a subsequent letter called the \"barrier girl,\"\nprobably from a supposition that she owed her existence to this\ninterview.--W. G.\n\n[3] This and the thirteen following letters appear to have been written\nduring a separation of several months; the date, Paris.--W. G.\n\n[4] Some further letters, written during the remainder of the week, in a\nsimilar strain to the preceding, appear to have been destroyed by the\nperson to whom they were addressed.--W. G.\n\n[5] Imlay went to Paris on March 11, after spending a fortnight at Havre,\nbut he returned to Mary soon after the date of Letter XIX. In August he\nwent to Paris, where he was followed by Mary. In September Imlay visited\nLondon on business.\n\n[6] The child spoken of in some preceding letters, had now been born a\nconsiderable time. She was born, May 14, 1794, and was named Fanny.--W. G.\n\n[7] She means, \"the latter more than the former.\"--W. G.\n\n[8] This is the first of a series of letters written during a separation\nof many months, to which no cordial meeting ever succeeded. They were sent\nfrom Paris, and bear the address of London.--W. G.\n\n[9] The person to whom the letters are addressed [Imlay], was about this\ntime at Ramsgate, on his return, as he professed, to Paris, when he was\nrecalled, as it should seem, to London, by the further pressure of\nbusiness now accumulated upon him.--W. G.\n\n[10] This probably alludes to some expression of [Imlay] the person to\nwhom the letters are addressed, in which he treated as common evils,\nthings upon which the letter-writer was disposed to bestow a different\nappellation.--W. G.\n\n[11] This passage refers to letters written under a purpose of suicide,\nand not intended to be opened till after the catastrophe.--W. G.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _italics_.\n\nThe word \"an\" was corrected to \"am\" on page 151.\n\nThe unmatched closing quotation mark on page 167 is presented as in the\noriginal text.", + "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", + "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", + "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", + "period": "1793–1795" + } +] \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/love_letters.py b/love_letters.py index 866b95b..5268727 100644 --- a/love_letters.py +++ b/love_letters.py @@ -2,12 +2,8 @@ """ Love Letters — Display random historic love letters from Project Gutenberg. -Sources: - • Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn (c. 1527–1528) - • Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay (1793–1795) - • Letters of Abelard and Heloise (12th century) - • Napoleon Bonaparte to Josephine (1796–1812) - • John Keats to Fanny Brawne (1819–1820) +Reads pre-downloaded letter collections from the letters/ directory. +Run download_letters.py first to populate the data. """ import json @@ -16,334 +12,35 @@ import random import re import sys import textwrap -import urllib.request -CACHE_DIR = os.path.join(os.path.dirname(os.path.abspath(__file__)), ".letter_cache") +SCRIPT_DIR = os.path.dirname(os.path.abspath(__file__)) +LETTERS_DIR = os.path.join(SCRIPT_DIR, "letters") -SOURCES = [ - { - "id": "henry_viii", - "title": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", - "author": "Henry VIII", - "recipient": "Anne Boleyn", - "year": "c. 1527–1528", - "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32155/pg32155.txt", - "gutenberg_id": 32155, - }, - { - "id": "wollstonecraft", - "title": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", - "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", - "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", - "year": "1793–1795", - "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/34413/pg34413.txt", - "gutenberg_id": 34413, - }, - { - "id": "abelard_heloise", - "title": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", - "author": "Abelard & Heloise", - "recipient": "each other", - "year": "12th century", - "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/35977/pg35977.txt", - "gutenberg_id": 35977, - }, - { - "id": "napoleon", - "title": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine", - "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", - "recipient": "Josephine", - "year": "1796–1812", - "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/37499/pg37499.txt", - "gutenberg_id": 37499, - }, - { - "id": "keats_brawne", - "title": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", - "author": "John Keats", - "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", - "year": "1819–1820", - "url": "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/60433/pg60433.txt", - "gutenberg_id": 60433, - }, -] -SEPARATOR = "─" * 60 - - -def download_text(url: str) -> str: - """Download a plain-text file from Project Gutenberg.""" - req = urllib.request.Request(url, headers={"User-Agent": "LoveLettersApp/1.0"}) - with urllib.request.urlopen(req, timeout=30) as resp: - return resp.read().decode("utf-8", errors="replace") - - -def strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text: str) -> str: - """Remove the Project Gutenberg header and footer boilerplate.""" - start_markers = [ - "*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - "*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - "***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - ] - end_markers = [ - "*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - "*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - "***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK", - "End of the Project Gutenberg EBook", - "End of Project Gutenberg", - ] - - for marker in start_markers: - idx = text.find(marker) - if idx != -1: - text = text[idx + len(marker) :] - nl = text.find("\n") - if nl != -1: - text = text[nl + 1 :] - break - - for marker in end_markers: - idx = text.find(marker) - if idx != -1: - text = text[:idx] - break - - return text.strip() - - -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- -# Per-source letter extraction -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -def extract_henry_viii(text: str) -> list[dict]: - """Extract individual letters from the Henry VIII collection.""" - text = strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text) - text = text.replace("\r\n", "\n") - # Letters use written-out ordinals: "Letter First", "Letter Second", etc. - parts = re.split( - r"\n{2,}(?=Letter\s+(?:First|Second|Third|Fourth|Fifth|Sixth|Seventh|" - r"Eighth|Ninth|Tenth|Eleventh|Twelfth|Thirteenth|Fourteenth|" - r"Fifteenth|Sixteenth|Seventeenth|Eighteenth)\b)", - text, - ) - letters = [] - for part in parts: - part = part.strip() - if not part or len(part) < 80: - continue - m = re.match(r"(Letter\s+\w+)(?:\s+.*?)?\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) - if not m: - continue - heading = m.group(1) - body = part[m.end():].strip() - # Remove notes section at the end - notes_idx = body.find("\nNotes\n") - if notes_idx == -1: - notes_idx = body.find("\nNOTES\n") - if notes_idx != -1: - body = body[:notes_idx].strip() - author = "Henry VIII" - recipient = "Anne Boleyn" - if "Anne Boleyn to Wolsey" in part[:200] or "Boleyn to" in part[:200]: - author = "Anne Boleyn" - recipient = "Cardinal Wolsey" - if len(body) > 50: - letters.append({ - "heading": heading, - "body": body, - "author": author, - "recipient": recipient, - "source": "The Love Letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn", - "period": "c. 1527–1528", - }) - return letters - - -def extract_wollstonecraft(text: str) -> list[dict]: - """Extract individual letters from the Wollstonecraft collection.""" - text = strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text) - text = text.replace("\r\n", "\n") - parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+\.?\s*\n)", text, flags=re.IGNORECASE) - letters = [] - for part in parts: - part = part.strip() - if not part or len(part) < 80: - continue - m = re.match(r"(LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+\.?)\s*\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) - heading = m.group(1) if m else "" - body = part[m.end():].strip() if m else part - if len(body) > 50: - letters.append({ - "heading": heading, - "body": body, - "author": "Mary Wollstonecraft", - "recipient": "Gilbert Imlay", - "source": "The Love Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft to Gilbert Imlay", - "period": "1793–1795", - }) - return letters - - -def extract_abelard_heloise(text: str) -> list[dict]: - """Extract individual letters from the Abelard & Heloise collection.""" - text = strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text) - text = text.replace("\r\n", "\n") - parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+[.:]?\s*\n)", text, flags=re.IGNORECASE) - letters = [] - for part in parts: - part = part.strip() - if not part or len(part) < 120: - continue - m = re.match(r"(LETTER\s+[IVXLC0-9]+[.:]?)\s*\n", part, re.IGNORECASE) - if not m: - continue - heading = m.group(1) - body = part[m.end():].strip() - author = "Abelard & Heloise" - recipient = "each other" - lower = body[:300].lower() - if "heloise to abelard" in lower: - author = "Heloise" - recipient = "Abelard" - elif "abelard to heloise" in lower: - author = "Abelard" - recipient = "Heloise" - if len(body) > 50: - letters.append({ - "heading": heading, - "body": body, - "author": author, - "recipient": recipient, - "source": "Letters of Abelard and Heloise", - "period": "12th century", - }) - return letters - - -def extract_napoleon(text: str) -> list[dict]: - """Extract individual letters from Napoleon's letters to Josephine.""" - text = strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text) - text = text.replace("\r\n", "\n") - # Letters are headed "No. 1.", "No. 2.", etc. on their own line - parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=No\.\s*\d+\.\s*\n)", text) - letters = [] - for part in parts: - part = part.strip() - if not part or len(part) < 100: - continue - m = re.match(r"(No\.\s*\d+\.)\s*\n", part) - if not m: - continue - heading = m.group(1) - body = part[m.end():].strip() - # Skip table of contents entries (short lines with page numbers) - if len(body) < 80: - continue - letters.append({ - "heading": heading, - "body": body, - "author": "Napoleon Bonaparte", - "recipient": "Josephine", - "source": "Napoleon's Letters to Josephine, 1796–1812", - "period": "1796–1812", - }) - return letters - - -def extract_keats_brawne(text: str) -> list[dict]: - """Extract individual letters from Keats to Fanny Brawne.""" - text = strip_gutenberg_header_footer(text) - text = text.replace("\r\n", "\n") - # Letters are numbered with Roman numerals on their own line: "I.", "II.", etc. - parts = re.split(r"\n{2,}(?=[IVXLC]+\.\s*\n)", text) - letters = [] - for part in parts: - part = part.strip() - if not part or len(part) < 100: +def load_all_letters(source_filter: str | None = None) -> list[dict]: + """Load all letters from JSON files in the letters/ directory.""" + if not os.path.isdir(LETTERS_DIR): + return [] + all_letters: list[dict] = [] + for filename in sorted(os.listdir(LETTERS_DIR)): + if not filename.endswith(".json"): continue - m = re.match(r"([IVXLC]+)\.\s*\n", part) - if not m: + source_id = filename[:-5] + if source_filter and source_id != source_filter: continue - heading = f"Letter {m.group(1)}" - body = part[m.end():].strip() - # Remove editorial footnotes in brackets - if len(body) > 50: - letters.append({ - "heading": heading, - "body": body, - "author": "John Keats", - "recipient": "Fanny Brawne", - "source": "Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne", - "period": "1819–1820", - }) - return letters - - -EXTRACTORS = { - "henry_viii": extract_henry_viii, - "wollstonecraft": extract_wollstonecraft, - "abelard_heloise": extract_abelard_heloise, - "napoleon": extract_napoleon, - "keats_brawne": extract_keats_brawne, -} - - -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- -# Caching -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -def get_cache_path(source_id: str) -> str: - return os.path.join(CACHE_DIR, f"{source_id}.json") - - -def load_cached_letters(source_id: str) -> list[dict] | None: - path = get_cache_path(source_id) - if os.path.exists(path): + path = os.path.join(LETTERS_DIR, filename) with open(path, "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: - return json.load(f) - return None - - -def save_cached_letters(source_id: str, letters: list[dict]) -> None: - os.makedirs(CACHE_DIR, exist_ok=True) - with open(get_cache_path(source_id), "w", encoding="utf-8") as f: - json.dump(letters, f, ensure_ascii=False, indent=2) - - -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- -# Main logic -# --------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -def fetch_and_parse(source: dict) -> list[dict]: - """Download, extract, and cache letters for a given source.""" - cached = load_cached_letters(source["id"]) - if cached is not None: - return cached + all_letters.extend(json.load(f)) + return all_letters - print(f" Downloading: {source['title']}…", flush=True) - try: - raw = download_text(source["url"]) - except Exception as e: - print(f" ⚠ Failed to download {source['title']}: {e}") - return [] - extractor = EXTRACTORS.get(source["id"]) - if extractor is None: +def available_sources() -> list[str]: + """Return list of source IDs from the letters/ directory.""" + if not os.path.isdir(LETTERS_DIR): return [] - - letters = extractor(raw) - if letters: - save_cached_letters(source["id"], letters) - return letters - - -def load_all_letters() -> list[dict]: - """Load letters from all sources, downloading as needed.""" - all_letters: list[dict] = [] - for source in SOURCES: - letters = fetch_and_parse(source) - all_letters.extend(letters) - return all_letters + return sorted( + f[:-5] for f in os.listdir(LETTERS_DIR) if f.endswith(".json") + ) def wrap_text(text: str, width: int = 78) -> str: @@ -389,28 +86,43 @@ def display_letter(letter: dict) -> None: print() +SEPARATOR = "─" * 60 + + def list_sources() -> None: - """Print available letter collections.""" + """Print available letter collections with counts.""" + sources = available_sources() + if not sources: + print("\n No letter collections found. Run download_letters.py first.\n") + return print("\n Available collections:\n") - for i, src in enumerate(SOURCES, 1): - print(f" {i}. {src['title']}") - print(f" {src['author']} → {src['recipient']} ({src['year']})") - print(f" gutenberg.org/ebooks/{src['gutenberg_id']}") + for i, source_id in enumerate(sources, 1): + path = os.path.join(LETTERS_DIR, f"{source_id}.json") + with open(path, "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: + letters = json.load(f) + if not letters: + continue + first = letters[0] + print(f" {i:2}. [{source_id}]") + print(f" {first['author']} → {first['recipient']} ({first['period']})") + print(f" {first['source']} ({len(letters)} letters)") print() def main() -> None: import argparse + sources = available_sources() + parser = argparse.ArgumentParser( description="Display random historic love letters from Project Gutenberg.", formatter_class=argparse.RawDescriptionHelpFormatter, epilog=textwrap.dedent("""\ examples: - %(prog)s Show a random love letter - %(prog)s -n 3 Show 3 random love letters - %(prog)s --list List available collections - %(prog)s --refresh Re-download all sources + %(prog)s Show a random love letter + %(prog)s -n 3 Show 3 random love letters + %(prog)s --list List available collections + %(prog)s --source keats_brawne Show only Keats letters """), ) parser.add_argument( @@ -421,13 +133,9 @@ def main() -> None: "--list", action="store_true", help="list available letter collections", ) - parser.add_argument( - "--refresh", action="store_true", - help="clear cache and re-download all sources", - ) parser.add_argument( "--source", type=str, metavar="ID", - choices=[s["id"] for s in SOURCES], + choices=sources if sources else None, help="only show letters from a specific source", ) @@ -437,27 +145,14 @@ def main() -> None: list_sources() return - if args.refresh: - import shutil - if os.path.isdir(CACHE_DIR): - shutil.rmtree(CACHE_DIR) - print(" Cache cleared.") - - print("\n 💌 Love Letters — loading collections…\n") - all_letters = load_all_letters() + all_letters = load_all_letters(source_filter=args.source) if not all_letters: - print(" No letters could be loaded. Check your internet connection.") - sys.exit(1) - - if args.source: - all_letters = [l for l in all_letters if any( - s["id"] == args.source and l["source"] == s["title"] - for s in SOURCES - )] - if not all_letters: + if not sources: + print(" No letter data found. Run download_letters.py first.") + else: print(f" No letters found for source '{args.source}'.") - sys.exit(1) + sys.exit(1) count = min(args.count, len(all_letters)) chosen = random.sample(all_letters, count)