[Postmark: April 18, 1846]
Friday.
But, dearest of all, you never said a word about Monday.
So I did not misunderstand — I only misguessed. Because
you did not mention any day, I took it into my head that
you might perhaps be invited for Monday, and make an
effort, which would make a fatigue, and go there and come
here. I am glad you went to Carlyle’s — and where is
Tennyson, and the dinner at Forster’s all this while ? And
how did the Talfourds torment you so ? was it that you were
very unwell} I fear you were unwell. For me, I have
recovered from my dreadful illness of the last day or two . .
I knew I should survive it after all . . and to-day, just that
I might tell you, I went down-stairs with Flush, he running
before as when we walk together through the gate. I opened
the drawing-room door; when instead of advancing he
stopped short . . and I heard strange voices — and then he
drew back and looked up in my face exactly as if to say,
‘ No ! This will not do for us ! — we had better go home
again.’ Surely enough, visitors were in the room . . and
he and I returned upon our steps. But think of his sense !
Flush beats us both in ‘ common sense,’ dearest, we must
acknowledge, let us praise each other for it ever so. Next
to Flush we may be something, but Flush takes the pas, as
when he runs down-stairs.
To-day Mr. Kenyon came, spectacles and all. He sleeps
in those spectacles now, I think. Well, and the first
question was . . ‘Have you seen Mr. Browning? And
what did he come for again, pray?’ ‘Why I suppose,’ I
said, ‘ for the bad reason my visitors have in general, when
they come to see me ‘ — Then, very quickly I asked about
‘ Luria,’ and if he had read it and what he thought of it —
upon which, the whole pomegranate was pulled out of his
pocket, and he began to talk like the agreeable man he can
be when he doesn’t ask questions and look discerningly
through spectacles. ‘ Luria ‘ was properly praised indeed. A
very noble creation, he thought it, and heroically pathetic
. . and much struck he seemed to be with the power you
had thrown out on the secondary characters, lifting them all
to the height of humanity, justifying them by their own lights
Oh — he saw the goodness, and the greatness, the art
and the moral glory ; we had a great deal of talk. And
when he tried to find out a few darknesses, I proved to him
that they were clear noonday blazes instead, and that his
eyes were just dazzled. Then the ‘ Soul’s Tragedy ‘ made
the right impression — a wonderful work it is for suggestions,
and the conception of it as good a test of the writer’s genius,
as any we can refer to. We talked and talked. And
then he put the book into his pocket to carry it away to
some friend of his, unnamed : and we had some conversation about poets in general and their way of living, of
Wordsworth and Coleridge. I like to hear Mr. Kenyon
talk of the gods and how he used to sit within the thunder-peal. Presently, leaning up against the chimney-piece,
— he said quietly . . ‘ Do you not think — oh, I am sure
I need not ask you — in fact I know your thoughts of it
. . but how strikingly upright and loyal in all his ways and
acts, Mr. Browning is ! — how impeccable as a gentleman ‘
&c. &c. and so on and on . . I do not tell you any more,
because I should be tired perhaps . . (do you understand?)
and this is not the first time, nor second, nor third time
that he has spoken of you personally, so . . and as no man
could use more reverent language of another. And all this
time, what has become of Walter Savage Landor ? I shall
be vexed in another day. He may be from home perhaps
— there must be a reason.
Vive Pritchard ! and thank you for letting me see what
he wrote.
Oh — and you shall see what I did not send yesterday —
I shall make you read this one sheet of Mrs. Paine’s letter,
because it really touched me, and because I am bound to
undo the effects of my light speaking. As for the overpraise
of myself the overkindness in every respect, . . why we know
how ‘ sermons are found in stones ‘ … yet no praise to
the stones on that account ! But you shall read what I
send, both for her sake and mine, . . because I like you to
read it.
My own dearest, do you mind what I say, and take
exercise ? You are vexing yourself with those notes, as I
see from here. Now take care — follow my example, and
be well — if not, there will be no use in wellness to me !
May God bless you ! Do you remember when you wrote first
to me ‘ May God bless you and me in that ! ‘ It was before
we met. Can you guess what I thought? I have the
whole effect in my memory distinctly. I felt with a bitter
feeling, that it was quite a pity to throw away such beautiful
words out of the window into the dark. ‘ Bitterly ‘ does
not mean anything wrong or harsh, you know. But there
was something painful . . as if the words were too near,
for the speaker to be so far. Well — I am glad in looking
back . . yes, glad . . glad to be certain at my heart, that
I did not assume anything . . stretch out my hand for anything . . dearest ! . .
It is always when one is asleep that the dream-angels
come. Watchers see nothing but ghosts.
Yet I shall see you on Monday, and shall watch and
wait as those who wait for the morning . . that is, the
Monday-morning ! Till when and ever after, I am
Your own
Ba.