Life and Letters of Robert Browning [93]
--
there seemed no pain, and (what she would have felt most)
the knowledge of separation from us was spared her. I find these things
a comfort indeed.
I shall go away from Italy for many a year -- to Paris,
then London for a day or two just to talk with her sister --
but if I can see you it will be a great satisfaction.
Don't fancy I am `prostrated', I have enough to do for the boy and myself
in carrying out her wishes. He is better than one would have thought,
and behaves dearly to me. Everybody has been very kind.
Tell dear Mrs. Sartoris that I know her heart and thank her with all mine.
After my day or two at London I shall go to some quiet place in France
to get right again and then stay some time at Paris
in order to find out leisurely what it will be best to do for Peni --
but eventually I shall go to England, I suppose. I don't mean
to live with anybody, even my own family, but to occupy myself thoroughly,
seeing dear friends, however, like you. God bless you.
Yours ever affectionately,
Robert Browning.
==
The second is addressed to Miss Haworth.
==
Florence: July 20, 1861.
My dear Friend, -- I well know you feel as you say,
for her once and for me now. Isa Blagden, perfect in all kindness to me,
will have told you something perhaps -- and one day
I shall see you and be able to tell you myself as much as I can.
The main comfort is that she suffered very little pain,
none beside that ordinarily attending the simple attacks of cold and cough
she was subject to -- had no presentiment of the result whatever,
and was consequently spared the misery of knowing she was about to leave us;
she was smilingly assuring me she was `better', `quite comfortable --
if I would but come to bed,' to within a few minutes of the last. I think
I foreboded evil at Rome, certainly from the beginning of the week's illness
-- but when I reasoned about it, there was no justifying fear --
she said on the last evening `it is merely the old attack, not so severe a one
as that of two years ago -- there is no doubt I shall soon recover,'
and we talked over plans for the summer, and next year.
I sent the servants away and her maid to bed -- so little reason
for disquietude did there seem. Through the night she slept heavily,
and brokenly -- that was the bad sign -- but then she would sit up,
take her medicine, say unrepeatable things to me and sleep again.
At four o'clock there were symptoms that alarmed me, I called the maid
and sent for the doctor. She smiled as I proposed to bathe her feet,
`Well, you ARE determined to make an exaggerated case of it!'
Then came what my heart will keep till I see her again and longer --
the most perfect expression of her love to me within my whole knowledge
of her. Always smilingly, happily, and with a face like a girl's --
and in a few minutes she died in my arms; her head on my cheek.
These incidents so sustain me that I tell them to her beloved ones
as their right: there was no lingering, nor acute pain,
nor consciousness of separation, but God took her to himself as you would lift
a sleeping child from a dark, uneasy bed into your arms and the light.
Thank God. Annunziata thought by her earnest ways with me,
happy and smiling as they were, that she must have been aware
of our parting's approach -- but she was quite conscious,
had words at command, and yet did not even speak of Peni,
who was in the next room. Her last word was when I asked `How do you feel?'
-- `Beautiful.' You know I have her dearest wishes and interests
to attend to AT ONCE -- her child to care for, educate, establish properly;
and my own life to fulfil as properly, -- all just as she would require
were she here. I shall leave Italy altogether for years --
go to London for a few days' talk with Arabel -- then go to my father
and begin to try leisurely what will be the best for Peni --
but no more `housekeeping' for me, even with my family.
I shall grow, still, I hope
there seemed no pain, and (what she would have felt most)
the knowledge of separation from us was spared her. I find these things
a comfort indeed.
I shall go away from Italy for many a year -- to Paris,
then London for a day or two just to talk with her sister --
but if I can see you it will be a great satisfaction.
Don't fancy I am `prostrated', I have enough to do for the boy and myself
in carrying out her wishes. He is better than one would have thought,
and behaves dearly to me. Everybody has been very kind.
Tell dear Mrs. Sartoris that I know her heart and thank her with all mine.
After my day or two at London I shall go to some quiet place in France
to get right again and then stay some time at Paris
in order to find out leisurely what it will be best to do for Peni --
but eventually I shall go to England, I suppose. I don't mean
to live with anybody, even my own family, but to occupy myself thoroughly,
seeing dear friends, however, like you. God bless you.
Yours ever affectionately,
Robert Browning.
==
The second is addressed to Miss Haworth.
==
Florence: July 20, 1861.
My dear Friend, -- I well know you feel as you say,
for her once and for me now. Isa Blagden, perfect in all kindness to me,
will have told you something perhaps -- and one day
I shall see you and be able to tell you myself as much as I can.
The main comfort is that she suffered very little pain,
none beside that ordinarily attending the simple attacks of cold and cough
she was subject to -- had no presentiment of the result whatever,
and was consequently spared the misery of knowing she was about to leave us;
she was smilingly assuring me she was `better', `quite comfortable --
if I would but come to bed,' to within a few minutes of the last. I think
I foreboded evil at Rome, certainly from the beginning of the week's illness
-- but when I reasoned about it, there was no justifying fear --
she said on the last evening `it is merely the old attack, not so severe a one
as that of two years ago -- there is no doubt I shall soon recover,'
and we talked over plans for the summer, and next year.
I sent the servants away and her maid to bed -- so little reason
for disquietude did there seem. Through the night she slept heavily,
and brokenly -- that was the bad sign -- but then she would sit up,
take her medicine, say unrepeatable things to me and sleep again.
At four o'clock there were symptoms that alarmed me, I called the maid
and sent for the doctor. She smiled as I proposed to bathe her feet,
`Well, you ARE determined to make an exaggerated case of it!'
Then came what my heart will keep till I see her again and longer --
the most perfect expression of her love to me within my whole knowledge
of her. Always smilingly, happily, and with a face like a girl's --
and in a few minutes she died in my arms; her head on my cheek.
These incidents so sustain me that I tell them to her beloved ones
as their right: there was no lingering, nor acute pain,
nor consciousness of separation, but God took her to himself as you would lift
a sleeping child from a dark, uneasy bed into your arms and the light.
Thank God. Annunziata thought by her earnest ways with me,
happy and smiling as they were, that she must have been aware
of our parting's approach -- but she was quite conscious,
had words at command, and yet did not even speak of Peni,
who was in the next room. Her last word was when I asked `How do you feel?'
-- `Beautiful.' You know I have her dearest wishes and interests
to attend to AT ONCE -- her child to care for, educate, establish properly;
and my own life to fulfil as properly, -- all just as she would require
were she here. I shall leave Italy altogether for years --
go to London for a few days' talk with Arabel -- then go to my father
and begin to try leisurely what will be the best for Peni --
but no more `housekeeping' for me, even with my family.
I shall grow, still, I hope