Life and Letters of Robert Browning [78]
Only I discern --
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn,
did probably come from the poet's heart, as they also found a deep echo
in that of his wife, who much loved them.
From London they returned to Paris for the winter of 1855-6.
The younger of the Kemble sisters, Mrs. Sartoris, was also there
with her family; and the pleasant meetings of the Campagna
renewed themselves for Mr. Browning, though in a different form.
He was also, with his sister, a constant visitor at Lady Elgin's.
Both they and Mrs. Browning were greatly attached to her,
and she warmly reciprocated the feeling. As Mr. Locker's letter has told us,
Mr. Browning was in the habit of reading poetry to her,
and when his sister had to announce his arrival from Italy or England,
she would say: `Robert is coming to nurse you, and read to you.'
Lady Elgin was by this time almost completely paralyzed.
She had lost the power of speech, and could only acknowledge
the little attentions which were paid to her by some graceful pathetic gesture
of the left hand; but she retained her sensibilities to the last;
and Miss Browning received on one occasion a serious lesson
in the risk of ever assuming that the appearance of unconsciousness
guarantees its reality. Lady Augusta Bruce had asked her,
in her mother's presence, how Mrs. Browning was; and,
imagining that Lady Elgin was unable to hear or understand,
she had answered with incautious distinctness, `I am afraid she is very ill,'
when a little sob from the invalid warned her of her mistake.
Lady Augusta quickly repaired it by rejoining, `but she is better
than she was, is she not?' Miss Browning of course assented.
There were other friends, old and new, whom Mr. Browning occasionally saw,
including, I need hardly say, the celebrated Madame Mohl.
In the main, however, he led a quiet life, putting aside many inducements
to leave his home.
Mrs. Browning was then writing `Aurora Leigh', and her husband
must have been more than ever impressed by her power of work,
as displayed by her manner of working. To him, as to most creative writers,
perfect quiet was indispensable to literary production. She wrote in pencil,
on scraps of paper, as she lay on the sofa in her sitting-room,
open to interruption from chance visitors, or from her little omnipresent son;
simply hiding the paper beside her if anyone came in, and taking it up again
when she was free. And if this process was conceivable in the large,
comparatively silent spaces of their Italian home, and amidst habits of life
which reserved social intercourse for the close of the working day,
it baffles belief when one thinks of it as carried on in the conditions
of a Parisian winter, and the little `salon' of the apartment
in the Rue du Colisee in which those months were spent.
The poem was completed in the ensuing summer, in Mr. Kenyon's London house,
and dedicated, October 17, in deeply pathetic words to that faithful friend,
whom the writer was never to see again.
The news of his death, which took place in December 1856,
reached Mr. and Mrs. Browning in Florence, to be followed in the spring
by that of Mrs. Browning's father. Husband and wife had both determined
to forego any pecuniary benefit which might accrue to them from this event;
but they were not called upon to exercise their powers of renunciation.
By Mr. Kenyon's will they were the richer, as is now, I think,
generally known, the one by six thousand, the other by four thousand guineas.*
Of that cousin's long kindness Mrs. Browning could scarcely in after-days
trust herself to speak. It was difficult to her, she said,
even to write his name without tears.
--
* Mr. Kenyon had considerable wealth, derived, like Mr. Barrett's,
from West Indian estates.
--
I have alluded, perhaps tardily, to Mr. Browning's son,
a sociable little being who must for some time have been playing
a prominent part in his parents' lives. I saw him for the first time
in this winter of 1855-6, and remember
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn,
did probably come from the poet's heart, as they also found a deep echo
in that of his wife, who much loved them.
From London they returned to Paris for the winter of 1855-6.
The younger of the Kemble sisters, Mrs. Sartoris, was also there
with her family; and the pleasant meetings of the Campagna
renewed themselves for Mr. Browning, though in a different form.
He was also, with his sister, a constant visitor at Lady Elgin's.
Both they and Mrs. Browning were greatly attached to her,
and she warmly reciprocated the feeling. As Mr. Locker's letter has told us,
Mr. Browning was in the habit of reading poetry to her,
and when his sister had to announce his arrival from Italy or England,
she would say: `Robert is coming to nurse you, and read to you.'
Lady Elgin was by this time almost completely paralyzed.
She had lost the power of speech, and could only acknowledge
the little attentions which were paid to her by some graceful pathetic gesture
of the left hand; but she retained her sensibilities to the last;
and Miss Browning received on one occasion a serious lesson
in the risk of ever assuming that the appearance of unconsciousness
guarantees its reality. Lady Augusta Bruce had asked her,
in her mother's presence, how Mrs. Browning was; and,
imagining that Lady Elgin was unable to hear or understand,
she had answered with incautious distinctness, `I am afraid she is very ill,'
when a little sob from the invalid warned her of her mistake.
Lady Augusta quickly repaired it by rejoining, `but she is better
than she was, is she not?' Miss Browning of course assented.
There were other friends, old and new, whom Mr. Browning occasionally saw,
including, I need hardly say, the celebrated Madame Mohl.
In the main, however, he led a quiet life, putting aside many inducements
to leave his home.
Mrs. Browning was then writing `Aurora Leigh', and her husband
must have been more than ever impressed by her power of work,
as displayed by her manner of working. To him, as to most creative writers,
perfect quiet was indispensable to literary production. She wrote in pencil,
on scraps of paper, as she lay on the sofa in her sitting-room,
open to interruption from chance visitors, or from her little omnipresent son;
simply hiding the paper beside her if anyone came in, and taking it up again
when she was free. And if this process was conceivable in the large,
comparatively silent spaces of their Italian home, and amidst habits of life
which reserved social intercourse for the close of the working day,
it baffles belief when one thinks of it as carried on in the conditions
of a Parisian winter, and the little `salon' of the apartment
in the Rue du Colisee in which those months were spent.
The poem was completed in the ensuing summer, in Mr. Kenyon's London house,
and dedicated, October 17, in deeply pathetic words to that faithful friend,
whom the writer was never to see again.
The news of his death, which took place in December 1856,
reached Mr. and Mrs. Browning in Florence, to be followed in the spring
by that of Mrs. Browning's father. Husband and wife had both determined
to forego any pecuniary benefit which might accrue to them from this event;
but they were not called upon to exercise their powers of renunciation.
By Mr. Kenyon's will they were the richer, as is now, I think,
generally known, the one by six thousand, the other by four thousand guineas.*
Of that cousin's long kindness Mrs. Browning could scarcely in after-days
trust herself to speak. It was difficult to her, she said,
even to write his name without tears.
--
* Mr. Kenyon had considerable wealth, derived, like Mr. Barrett's,
from West Indian estates.
--
I have alluded, perhaps tardily, to Mr. Browning's son,
a sociable little being who must for some time have been playing
a prominent part in his parents' lives. I saw him for the first time
in this winter of 1855-6, and remember