Life and Letters of Robert Browning [83]
to his house without previous introduction, by an intimate friend.
The Count professed to have great mesmeric and clairvoyant faculties,
and declared, in reply to Mr. Browning's avowed scepticism,
that he would undertake to convince him somehow or other of his powers.
He then asked Mr. Browning whether he had anything about him then and there,
which he could hand to him, and which was in any way a relic or memento.
This Mr. Browning thought was perhaps because he habitually
wore no sort of trinket or ornament, not even a watchguard,
and might therefore turn out to be a safe challenge. But it so happened that,
by a curious accident, he was then wearing under his coat-sleeves
some gold wrist-studs which he had quite recently taken into wear,
in the absence (by mistake of a sempstress) of his ordinary wrist-buttons.
He had never before worn them in Florence or elsewhere,
and had found them in some old drawer where they had lain forgotten for years.
One of these studs he took out and handed to the Count,
who held it in his hand a while, looking earnestly in Mr. Browning's face,
and then he said, as if much impressed, "C'e\ qualche cosa che mi grida
nell' orecchio `Uccisione! uccisione!'" ("There is something here
which cries out in my ear, `Murder! murder!'")
`"And truly," says Mr. Browning, "those very studs were taken
from the dead body of a great uncle of mine who was violently killed
on his estate in St. Kitt's, nearly eighty years ago. . . .
The occurrence of my great uncle's murder was known only to myself
of all men in Florence, as certainly was also my possession of the studs."'
==
A letter from the poet, of July 21, 1883, affirms that the account
is correct in every particular, adding, `My own explanation of the matter
has been that the shrewd Italian felt his way by the involuntary help
of my own eyes and face.' The story has been reprinted
in the Reports of the Psychical Society.
A pleasant piece of news came to brighten the January of 1858.
Mr. Fox was returned for Oldham, and at once wrote to announce the fact.
He was answered in a joint letter from Mr. and Mrs. Browning,
interesting throughout, but of which only the second part
is quite suited for present insertion.
Mrs. Browning, who writes first and at most length, ends by saying
she must leave a space for Robert, that Mr. Fox may be compensated
for reading all she has had to say. The husband continues as follows:
==
. . . `A space for Robert' who has taken a breathing space --
hardly more than enough -- to recover from his delight; he won't say surprise,
at your letter, dear Mr. Fox. But it is all right and, like you,
I wish from my heart we could get close together again,
as in those old days, and what times we would have here in Italy!
The realization of the children's prayer of angels at the corner of your bed
(i.e. sofa), one to read and one (my wife) to write,* and both to guard you
through the night of lodging-keeper's extortions, abominable charges
for firing, and so on. (Observe, to call oneself `an angel' in this land
is rather humble, where they are apt to be painted as plumed cutthroats
or celestial police -- you say of Gabriel at his best and blithesomest,
`Shouldn't admire meeting HIM in a narrow lane!')
--
* Mr. Fox much liked to be read to, and was in the habit
of writing his articles by dictation.
--
I say this foolishly just because I can't trust myself to be earnest about it.
I would, you know, I would, always would, choose you
out of the whole English world to judge and correct what I write myself;
my wife shall read this and let it stand if I have told her so
these twelve years -- and certainly I have not grown intellectually an inch
over the good and kind hand you extended over my head how many years ago!
Now it goes over my wife's too.
How was it Tottie never came here as she promised? Is it to be
some other time? Do think of Florence, if ever you feel chilly,
and hear quantities about the Princess Royal's marriage, and want a change.
I hate the
The Count professed to have great mesmeric and clairvoyant faculties,
and declared, in reply to Mr. Browning's avowed scepticism,
that he would undertake to convince him somehow or other of his powers.
He then asked Mr. Browning whether he had anything about him then and there,
which he could hand to him, and which was in any way a relic or memento.
This Mr. Browning thought was perhaps because he habitually
wore no sort of trinket or ornament, not even a watchguard,
and might therefore turn out to be a safe challenge. But it so happened that,
by a curious accident, he was then wearing under his coat-sleeves
some gold wrist-studs which he had quite recently taken into wear,
in the absence (by mistake of a sempstress) of his ordinary wrist-buttons.
He had never before worn them in Florence or elsewhere,
and had found them in some old drawer where they had lain forgotten for years.
One of these studs he took out and handed to the Count,
who held it in his hand a while, looking earnestly in Mr. Browning's face,
and then he said, as if much impressed, "C'e\ qualche cosa che mi grida
nell' orecchio `Uccisione! uccisione!'" ("There is something here
which cries out in my ear, `Murder! murder!'")
`"And truly," says Mr. Browning, "those very studs were taken
from the dead body of a great uncle of mine who was violently killed
on his estate in St. Kitt's, nearly eighty years ago. . . .
The occurrence of my great uncle's murder was known only to myself
of all men in Florence, as certainly was also my possession of the studs."'
==
A letter from the poet, of July 21, 1883, affirms that the account
is correct in every particular, adding, `My own explanation of the matter
has been that the shrewd Italian felt his way by the involuntary help
of my own eyes and face.' The story has been reprinted
in the Reports of the Psychical Society.
A pleasant piece of news came to brighten the January of 1858.
Mr. Fox was returned for Oldham, and at once wrote to announce the fact.
He was answered in a joint letter from Mr. and Mrs. Browning,
interesting throughout, but of which only the second part
is quite suited for present insertion.
Mrs. Browning, who writes first and at most length, ends by saying
she must leave a space for Robert, that Mr. Fox may be compensated
for reading all she has had to say. The husband continues as follows:
==
. . . `A space for Robert' who has taken a breathing space --
hardly more than enough -- to recover from his delight; he won't say surprise,
at your letter, dear Mr. Fox. But it is all right and, like you,
I wish from my heart we could get close together again,
as in those old days, and what times we would have here in Italy!
The realization of the children's prayer of angels at the corner of your bed
(i.e. sofa), one to read and one (my wife) to write,* and both to guard you
through the night of lodging-keeper's extortions, abominable charges
for firing, and so on. (Observe, to call oneself `an angel' in this land
is rather humble, where they are apt to be painted as plumed cutthroats
or celestial police -- you say of Gabriel at his best and blithesomest,
`Shouldn't admire meeting HIM in a narrow lane!')
--
* Mr. Fox much liked to be read to, and was in the habit
of writing his articles by dictation.
--
I say this foolishly just because I can't trust myself to be earnest about it.
I would, you know, I would, always would, choose you
out of the whole English world to judge and correct what I write myself;
my wife shall read this and let it stand if I have told her so
these twelve years -- and certainly I have not grown intellectually an inch
over the good and kind hand you extended over my head how many years ago!
Now it goes over my wife's too.
How was it Tottie never came here as she promised? Is it to be
some other time? Do think of Florence, if ever you feel chilly,
and hear quantities about the Princess Royal's marriage, and want a change.
I hate the