Month: June 2017

Thursday Morning.

June 19, 1845.

When I next see you, do not let me go on and on to my confusion about matters I am more or less ignorant of, but always ignorant. I tell you plainly I only trench on them, and intrench in them, from gaucherie, pure and respectable  . . . I should certainly grow instructive on the prospects of hay-crops and pasture-land, if deprived of this resource. And now here is a week to wait before I shall have any occasion to relapse into Greek literature when I am thinking all the while, ‘now I will just ask simply, what flattery there was,’ &c. &c., which, as I had not courage to say then, I keep to myself for shame now. This I will say, then  – – wait and know me better, as you will one long day at the end.

Why I write now, is because you did not promise, as before, to let me know how you are  – – this morning is miserably cold again  – – Will you tell me, at your own time?

God bless you, my dear friend.

R.B.

 

Monday.

June 17, 1845.

Yes, I quite believe as you do that what is called the ‘creative process’ in works of Art, is just inspiration and no less — which made somebody say to me not long since; And so you think that Shakespeare’s ‘Othello’ was of the effluence of the Holy Ghost?’ — rather a startling deduction,  . . . only not quite as final as might appear to somebodies perhaps. Continue reading “#43”

June 14, 1845.

When I ask my wise self what I really do remember of the Prize poem, the answer is  – – both of Chapman’s lines a-top, quite worth any prize for their quoter  – – then, the good epithet of ‘Green Europe’ contrasting with Africa  – – then, deep in the piece, a picture of a Vestal in a vault, where I see a dipping and winking lamp plainest, and last of all the ominous ‘all was dark’ that dismisses you. I read the poem many years ago, and never since, though Continue reading “#42”

Friday.

June 14, 1845.

Yes, the poem is too good in certain respects for the prizes given in colleges, (when all the pure parsley goes naturally to the rabbits), and has a great deal of beauty here and there in image and expression. Still I do not quite agree with you that it reaches the Tennyson standard any wise; Continue reading “#41”

Tuesday Morning.

June 10, 1845.

I must thank you by one word for all your kindness and consideration — which could not be greater; nor more felt by me. Continue reading “#40”

June 9, 1845.

Just after my note left, yours came  – – I will try so to answer it as to please you; and I begin by promising cheerfully to do all you bid me about naming days &c. I do believe we are friends now and for ever. Continue reading “#39”

Saturday Morning.

June 7, 1845.

I ventured to hope this morning might bring me news of you  – – First East-winds on you, then myself, then those criticisms!  – – I do assure you I am properly apprehensive. How are you? May I go on Wednesday without too much ανθαδια. Continue reading “#38”

Friday Morning.

June 7, 1845.

When I see all you have done for me in this ‘Prometheus,’ I feel more than half ashamed both of it and of me for using your time so, and forced to say in my own defence (not to you but myself) that I never thought of meaning to inflict such work on you who might be doing so much better things in the meantime both for me and for others — Continue reading “#37”