The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett Part 20

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Tuesday Evening.

[Post-mark, September 3, 1845.]

I rather hoped ... with no right at all ... to hear from you this morning or afternoon--to know how you are--that, 'how are you,' there is no use disguising, is,--vary it how one may--my own life's question.--

I had better write no more, now. Will you not tell me something about you--the head; and that too, _too_ warm hand ... or was it my fancy?

Surely the report of Dr. Chambers is most satisfactory,--all seems to rest with yourself: you know, in justice to me, you _do_ know that _I_ know the all but mockery, the absurdity of anyone's counsel 'to be composed,' &c. &c. But try, dearest friend!

G.o.d bless you--

I am yours

R.B.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Tuesday Night.

[Post-mark, September 3, 1845.]

Before you leave London, I will answer your letter--all my attempts end in nothing now--

Dearest friend--I am yours ever

R.B.

But meantime, you will tell me about yourself, will you not? The parcel came a few minutes after my note left--Well, I can thank you for _that_; for the Poems,--though I cannot wear them round my neck--and for the too great trouble. My heart's friend! Bless you--

_E.B.B. to R.B._

[Post-mark, September 4, 1845.]

Indeed my headaches are not worth enquiring about--I mean, they are not of the slightest consequence, and seldom survive the remedy of a cup of coffee. I only wish it were the same with everybody--I mean, with every _head_! Also there is nothing the matter otherwise--and I am going to prove my right to a 'clean bill of health' by going into the park in ten minutes. Twice round the inner enclosure is what I can compa.s.s now--which is equal to once round the world--is it not?

I had just time to be afraid that the parcel had not reached you. The reason why I sent you the poems was that I had a few copies to give to my personal friends, and so, wished you to have one; and it was quite to please myself and not to please _you_ that I made you have it; and if you put it into the 'plum-tree' to hide the errata, I shall be pleased still, if not rather more. Only let me remember to tell you this time in relation to those books and the question asked of yourself by your n.o.ble Romans, that just as I was enclosing my sixty-pounds debt to Mr. Moxon, I did actually and miraculously receive a remittance of fourteen pounds from the selfsame bookseller of New York who agreed last year to print my poems at his own risk and give me 'ten per cent on the profit.' Not that I ever asked for such a thing! They were the terms offered. And I always considered the 'per centage' as quite visionary ... put in for the sake of effect, to make the agreement look better! But no--you see! One's poetry has a real 'commercial value,' if you do but take it far away enough from the 'civilization of Europe.' When you get near the backwoods and the red Indians, it turns out to be nearly as good for something as 'cabbages,' after all! Do you remember what you said to me of cabbages _versus_ poems, in one of the first letters you ever wrote to me?--of selling cabbages and buying _Punches_?

People complain of Dr. Chambers and call him rough and unfeeling--neither of which _I_ ever found him for a moment--and I like him for his truthfulness, which is the nature of the man, though it is essential to medical morality never to let a patient think himself mortal while it is possible to prevent it, and even Dr.

Chambers may incline to this on occasion. Still he need not have said all the good he said to me on Sat.u.r.day--he _used_ not to say any of it; and he must have thought some of it: and, any way, the Pisa-case is strengthened all round by his opinion and injunction, so that all my horror and terror at the thoughts of his visit, (and it's really true that I would rather _suffer_ to a certain extent than be _cured_ by means of those doctors!) had some compensation. How are you? do not forget to say! I found among some papers to-day, a note of yours which I asked Mr. Kenyon to give me for an autograph, two years ago.

May G.o.d bless you, dearest friend. And I have a dispensation from 'beef and porter' [Greek: eis tous aionas]. 'On no account' was the answer!

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Friday Afternoon.

[Post-mark, September 5, 1845.]

What you tell me of Dr. Chambers, 'all the good of you' he said, and all I venture to infer; this makes me most happy and thankful. Do you use to attach our old [Greek: tuphlas elpidas] (and the practice of instilling them) to that medical science in which Prometheus boasted himself proficient? I had thought the 'faculty' dealt in fears, on the contrary, and scared you into obedience: but I know most about the doctors in Moliere. However the joyous truth is--must be, that you are better, and if one could transport you quietly to Pisa, save you all worry,--what might one not expect!

When I know your own intentions--measures, I should say, respecting your journey--mine will of course be submitted to you--it will just be 'which day next--month'?--Not week, alas.

I can thank you now for this edition of your poems--I have not yet taken to read it, though--for it does not, each volume of it, open obediently to a thought, here, and here, and here, like my green books ... no, my Sister's they are; so these you give me are really mine.

And America, with its ten per cent., shall have my better word henceforth and for ever ... for when you calculate, there must have been a really extraordinary circulation; and in a few months: it is what newspapers call 'a great fact.' Have they reprinted the 'Seraphim'? Quietly, perhaps!

I shall see you on Monday, then--

And my all-important headaches are tolerably kept under--headaches proper they are not--but the noise and slight turning are less troublesome--will soon go altogether.

Bless you ever--ever dearest friend.

R.B.

_Oh, oh, oh!_ As many thanks for that precious card-box and jewel of a flower-holder as are consistent with my dismay at finding you _only_ return _them_ ... and not the costly brown paper wrappages also ... to say nothing of the inestimable pins with which my sister uses to fasten the same!

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Sat.u.r.day.

[Post-mark, September 8, 1845.]

I am in the greatest difficulty about the steamers. Will you think a little for me and tell me what is best to do? It appears that the direct Leghorn steamer will not sail on the third, and may not until the middle of October, and if forced to still further delay, which is possible, will not at all. One of my brothers has been to Mr. Andrews of St. Mary Axe and heard as much as this. What shall I do? The middle of October, say my sisters ... and I half fear that it may prove so ... is too late for me--to say nothing for the uncertainty which completes the difficulty.

On the 20th of September (on the other hand) sails the Malta vessel; and I hear that I may go in it to Gibraltar and find a French steamer there to proceed by. Is there an objection to this--except the change of steamers ... repeated ... for I must get down to Southampton--and the leaving England so soon? Is any better to be done? Do think for me a little. And now that the doing comes so near ... and in this dead silence of Papa's ... it all seems impossible, ... and I seem to see the stars _constellating_ against me, and give it as my serious opinion to you that I shall not go. Now, mark.

But I have had the kindest of letters from dear Mr. Kenyon, urging it--.

Well--I have no time for writing any more--and this is only a note of business to bespeak your thoughts about the steamers. My wisdom looks back regretfully ... only rather too late ... on the Leghorn vessel of the third of September. It would have been wise if I had gone _then_.

May G.o.d bless you, dearest friend.

E.B.B.

But if your head turns still, ... _do_ you walk enough? Is there not fault in your not walking, by your own confession? Think of this first--and then, if you please, of the steamers.

So, till Monday!--

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Tuesday.

[Post-mark, September 9, 1845.]