Complete Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

  We often have letters from dear Isa Blagden, who sends me the Florence news, more shining from day to day. Central Italy seems safe.

  But let me tell you of my thin slice of a wicked book. Yes, I shall expect you to read it, and I send you an order for it to Chapman, therefore. Everybody will hate me for it, and so you must try hard to love me the more to make up for that. Say it’s mad, and bad, and sad; but add that somebody did it who meant it, thought it, felt it, throbbed it out with heart and brain, and that she holds it for truth in conscience and not in partisanship. I want to tell you (oh, I can’t help telling you) that when the ode was read before Peni, at the part relating to Italy his eyes overflowed, and down he threw himself on the sofa, hiding his face. The child has been very earnest about Italian politics. The heroine of that poem called ‘The Dance’ was Madame di Laiatico. The ‘Court Lady’ is an individualisation of a general fashion, the ladies at Milan having gone to the hospitals in full dress and in open carriages. Macmahon taking up the child is also historical. I believe the facts to be in the book: ‘He has done it all,’ were Cavour’s words. When you see an advertisement and have an opportunity to apply at Chapman’s, do so ‘by this sign’ enclosed. I read of you in the papers, stirring up the women.

  Write and say how you are, and where you are.

  [Part of this letter is missing.]

  Your ever very affectionate

  Ba.

  I hope you liked the article on the immorality of luncheon-rooms in your high-minded ‘Saturday Review.’

  FOOTNOTES:

  Prime Minister of Piedmont from 1849-52, and one of the most honourable and patriotic of Italian statesmen.

  Subsequently English ambassador at Berlin, and one of the plenipotentiaries at the Berlin Congress of 1878. Created Lord Ampthill in 1881, and died in 1884.

  Now in the possession of Mr. R. Barrett Browning.

  The conferences for the arrangement of the final treaty of peace were held at Zurich.

  Of Tuscany with Piedmont, which was voted by Tuscany in August. Modena, Parma, and Romagna did the same, and so made the critical step towards the creation of a united Italy.

  It was supposed that Napoleon contemplated constituting Central Italy, or at least Tuscany, into a kingdom for his brother Jerome, and that it was for this reason that the latter had been sent to Florence with a French corps at the beginning of the war.

  Napoleon being opposed to the idea of a united Italy, Victor Emmanuel did not consider it wise to accept the proffered crown of Central Italy while a French army was still in the country and the terms of peace were not finally settled.

  The new Duke of Tuscany. He had succeeded to this now very shadowy throne on July 21 of this year.

  Not on account of bad riding, be it observed, but of daring and venturesome riding.

  Mr. Chorley had dedicated his last novel, Roccabella, to Mrs. Browning.

  ‘Do you see this ring? ‘Tis Rome-work, made to match (By Castellani’s imitative craft) Etrurian circlets,’ etc.

  (The Ring and the Book, i. 1-4.)

  Mrs. Browning is here quoting from her own preface to Poems before Congress.

  Poetical Works, iv. 190.

  See ‘Napoleon III. in Italy,’ stanza 11, ibid. p. 181. The incident occurred at Macmahon’s entry into Milan, three days after Magenta.

  Ibid. stanza 12.

  CHAPTER XI. 1860-1861

  Early in 1860 the promised booklet, ‘Poems before Congress,’ was published in England, and met with very much the reception the authoress had anticipated. It contained only eight poems, all but one relating to the Italian question. Published at a time when the events to which they alluded were still matters of current controversy, they could not but be regarded rather as pamphleteering than as poetry; and it could hardly be expected that the ordinary Englishman, whose sympathy with Italy did not abolish his mistrust (eminently justifiable, as later revelations have shown it to be) of Louis Napoleon, should read with equanimity the continual scorn of English policy and motives, or the continual exaltation of the Emperor. Looking back now over a distance of nearly forty years, and when the Second Empire, with all its merits and its sins, has long gone to its account, we can, at least in part, put aside the politics and enjoy the poetry. Though pieces like ‘The Dance’ and ‘A Court Lady’ are not of much permanent value, there are many fine passages, notably in ‘Napoleon III. in Italy,’ and ‘Italy and the World,’ in which a true and noble enthusiasm is expressed in living and burning words, worthy of a poet.

  For attacks on her Italian politics Mrs. Browning was prepared, as the foregoing letters show; but one incident caused her real and quite unexpected annoyance. The reviewer in the ‘Athenæum’ (apparently Mr. Chorley) by some unaccountable oversight took the ‘Curse for a Nation’ to apply to England, instead of being (as it obviously is) a denunciation of American slavery. Consequently he referred to this poem in terms of strong censure, as improper and unpatriotic on the part of an English writer; and a protest from Mrs. Browning only elicited a somewhat grudging editorial note, in a tone which implied that the interpretation which the reviewer had put upon the poem was one which it would naturally bear. One can hardly be surprised at the annoyance which this treatment caused to Mrs. Browning, though some of the phrases in which she speaks of it bear signs of the excitement which characterised so much of her thought in these years of mental strain and stress, and bodily weakness and decay.

  To Mrs. Jameson

  (Fragment)

  [Early in 1860.]

  I remember well your kindness to it. Nothing was said then about the ‘fit arguments for poetry,’ and I recovered from it to write ‘Aurora Leigh,’ of which, however, many people did say that it was built on an unfit argument, and besides was a very indecent, corrupting book (have I not heard of ladies of sixty, who had ‘never felt themselves pure since reading it’?) But now, consider. Since you did not lose hope for me in ‘Casa Guidi Windows,’ because the line of politics was your own, why need you despair of me in the ‘Poems before Congress,’ although I do praise the devil in them? A mistake is not fatal to a critic? need it be to a poet? Does Napoleon’s being wicked (if he is so) make Italy less interesting? or unfit for poetry historical subjects like ‘The Dance’ or the ‘Court Lady’? Meanwhile that thin-skinned people the Americans exceed some of you in generosity, rendering thanks to reprovers of their ill deeds, and understanding the pure love of the motive. Let me tell you rather for their sake than mine. I have extravagant praises and prices offered to me from ‘over the western sun,’ in consequence of these very ‘Poems before Congress.’ The nation is generous in these things and not ‘thin-skinned.’

  As to England, I shall be forgiven in time. The first part of a campaign and the first part of a discussion are the least favourable to English successes. After a while (by the time you have learnt to shoot cats with the new rifles), you will put them away, and arrive at the happy second thought which corrects the first thought. That second thought will not be of invasion, prophesies a headless prophet. ‘Time was when heads were off a man would die.’ A man — yes. But a woman! We die hard, you know.

  Here, an end. I hope you will write to me some day, and ease me by proving to me that I have ceased to be bitter to the palate of your soul. Believe this — that, rather than be a serious sadness to you, I would gladly sit on in the pillory under the aggressive mud of that mob of ‘Saturday Reviewers,’ who take their mud and their morals from the same place, and use voices hoarse with hooting down un-English poetesses, to cheer on the English champion, Tom Sayers. For me, I neither wish for the ‘belt’ nor martyrdom; but if I were ambitious of anything, it might be to be wronged where, for instance, Cavour is wronged.

  To Miss I. Blagden

  [Rome], Friday [end of March 1860].

  My ever dearest Isa, I am scarcely in heart yet for writing letters, and did not mean to write to-day. You heard of the unexpected event which brought me the loss of a very dear friend, dear, dear Mrs
. Jameson. It was, of course, a shock to me, as such things are meant to be....

  And now I come to what makes me tax you with a dull letter, I feeling so dully; and, dear, it is with dismay I have to tell you that the letter you addressed under cover to Mr. Russell has never reached us. Till your last communication (this moment received), I had hoped that the contents of it might have been less important than O.-papers must be. What is to be done, or thought? I beseech you to write and tell me if harm is likely to follow from this seizure. The other inclosure came to me quite safely, because it came by the Government messenger. I think you sent it through Corbet. But Mr. Russell’s post letters are as liable to opening as mine are; his name is no security. Whenever you send a ‘Nazione’ newspaper through him, it never reaches us, though we receive our ‘Monitore’ through him regularly. Why? Because in his position he is allowed to have newspapers for his own use. He takes in for himself no ‘Monitore,’ so ours goes to his account, but he does take in a ‘Nazione,’ therefore ours is seized, as being plainly for other hands than his own licensed ones.

  I am very much grieved about this loss of your letter and its contents. First, there’s my fear lest harm should come of this, and then there’s my own personal mulcting of what would have been of such deep interest to me. I am ‘revelling’? See how little.

  Robert wrote in a playful vein to Kate, and you must not and will not care for that. He had understood from your letter that you and the majority had all, like the ‘Athenæum,’ understood the ‘Curse for a Nation’ to be directed against England. Robert was furious about the ‘Athenæum’; no other word describes him, and I thought that both I and Mr. Chorley would perish together, seeing that even the accusation (such a one!) made me infamous, it seemed.

  The curious thing is, that it was at Robert’s suggestion that that particular poem was reprinted there (it never had appeared in England), though ‘Barkis was willing’; I had no manner of objection. I never have to justice.

  Mr. Chorley’s review is objectionable to me because unjust. A reviewer should read the book he gives judgment on, and he could not have read from beginning to end the particular poem in question, and have expounded its significance so. I wrote a letter on the subject to the ‘Athenæum’ to correct this mis-statement, which I cared for chiefly on Robert’s account.

  In fact, I cursed neither England nor America. I leave such things to our Holy Father here; the poem only pointed out how the curse was involved in the action of slave-holding.

  I never saw Robert so enraged about a criticism. He is better now, let me add.

  In the matter of Savoy, it has vexed and vexes me, I do confess to you. It’s a handle given to various kinds of dirty hands, it spoils the beauty and glory of much, the uncontested admiration of which would have done good to the world. At the same time, as long as Piedmont and Savoy agree in the annexation to France, there is nothing to object to — not to object to with a reasonable mind. And it seems to be understood (it is stated in fact), that the cession is under condition of the assent of the populations. The Vote is necessary to the honour of France. I do not doubt that it will be consulted. Meantime there is too much haste, I think. There is a haste somewhat indelicate in the introduction of French garrisons into Savoy, previous to the popular conclusion being known. There should have been mixed garrisons, French and Piedmontese, till the vote was taken. Napoleon should have been more particular in Savoy than he was even in central Italy, as to the advance of any occasion of the current charge of ‘pressure.’

  Altogether the subject is an anxious one — would be, even if less rancorous violence on the part of his enemies were wreaked upon it. The English Tories are using it with the frenzy of despair, and no wonder!

  Lamoricière’s arrival is another proof of the internal coalition against the Empire.

  Now I must end, Robert says, or I shall lose the post. My true best love, and Robert’s — and Peni’s.

  Write to me, do, dearest Isa, and tell me if the MSS. sent were nuisibles. The Excommunication just out is said to include the Emperor.

  Your ever loving

  Ba.

  To Miss Browning

  [Rome: about March 1860.]

  Dearest Sarianna, — It is impossible to have a regret for dear Lady Elgin. She has been imprisoned here under double chains too long. To be out of the dark and the restraint is a blessing to that spirit, and must be felt so by all who love her. Of course I shall write to Lady Augusta Bruce....

  No, I don’t think there is much to be forgiven by my countrymen in my book. What I reproach them for, none of them deny. They certainly took no part in the war, nor will they if there is more war, and certainly the existence of the rifle clubs is a fact.

  Robert and I began to write on the Italian question together, and our plan was (Robert’s own suggestion!) to publish jointly. When I showed him my ode on Napoleon he observed that I was gentle to England in comparison to what he had been, but after Villafranca (the Palmerston Ministry having come in) he destroyed his poem and left me alone, and I determined to stand alone. What Robert had written no longer suited the moment; but the poetical devil in me burnt on for an utterance. I have spoken nothing but historical truths, as far as the outline is concerned. But the spirit of the whole, is, of course, opposed to the national feeling, or I should not in my preface suppose it to be offended.

  With every deference to you, dearest Sarianna, I cannot think that you who live, as the English usually do, quite aside and apart from French society, can judge of the interest in France for Italy. I see French letters — letters of French men and women — giving a very contrary impression. The French newspapers give a very contrary impression. And the statistics of books and pamphlets published and circulated in France on the Italian question this year are in most prodigious disaccord with such a conclusion. Compare them with the same statistics in England, and then judge.

  Besides, the English, to do them justice, can be active and generous in any cause in which they are really interested, and it is a fact that we could not get up a subscription in England even for Garibaldi’s muskets lately, while France is always giving.

  Not that there are not, and have not been, many English of generous sympathies towards Italy. That I well know. But it is a small, protesting minority. Lord John has done very well, as far as words can go, but it has been simply in giving effect to the intentions of France, who wanted much a respectable conservative Power like England to endorse her bill of revolution with the retrograde European Governments.

  I will spare what I think of the treatment in England of the Savoy question. We are losing all moral prestige in the eyes of the world, with our small jealousies and factional struggles for power.

  Ah! dear Sarianna, I don’t complain for myself of an unappreciating public — I have no reason. But, just for that reason, I complain more about Robert, only he does not hear me complain. To you I may say, that the blindness, deafness, and stupidity of the English public to Robert are amazing. Of course Milsand had ‘heard his name’! Well, the contrary would have been strange. Robert is. All England can’t prevent his existence, I suppose. But nobody there, except a small knot of pre-Raffaelite men, pretends to do him justice. Mr. Forster has done the best in the press. As a sort of lion, Robert has his range in society, and, for the rest, you should see Chapman’s returns; while in America he’s a power, a writer, a poet. He is read — he lives in the hearts of the people. ‘Browning readings’ here in Boston; ‘Browning evenings’ there. For the rest, the English hunt lions too, Sarianna, but their favourite lions are chosen among ‘lords’ chiefly, or ‘railroad kings.’ ‘It’s worth eating much dirt,’ said an Englishman of high family and character here, ‘to get to Lady — — ‘s soirée.’ Americans will eat dirt to get to us. There’s the difference. English people will come and stare at me sometimes, but physicians, dentists, who serve me and refuse their fees, artists who give me pictures, friends who give up their carriages and make other practical sacrifices, ar
e not English — no — though English Woolner was generous about a bust. Let me be just at least.

  There is a beautiful photograph of Wilde’s picture of Pen on horseback, which shall go to you, the likeness better than in the picture.

  I can scarcely allude to the loss of my loved friend Mrs. Jameson. It’s a blot more on the world to me. Best love to you and the dear Nonno from Pen and myself. The editor of the ‘Atlas’ writes to thank me for the justice and courage of my international politics. English clergyman stops at the door to say to the servant, ‘he does not know me, but applauds my sentiments.’ So there may be ten just persons who spare

  Your affectionate sister.

  To Miss I. Blagden

  [Rome]: Saturday [April 1860].

  My dearest dear Isa, not well! That must be the first word ‘by return of post.’ Dear, let me have a better letter, to say that you are well and bright again, and brilliant Isa as customary.

  And now, join me in admiration of the ‘husband Browning!’ Isn’t he a miracle, whoever else may be? The wife Browning, not to name most other human beings, would have certainly put the ‘Monitore’ receipt into the fire, or, at best, lost it. In fact, whisper it not in the streets of Askelon, but she had forgotten even the fact of its having been sent, and was quietly concluding that Wilson had lost it in a fog and that we should have patiently to pay twice. Not at all. Up rises the husband Browning, superior to his mate, and with eyes all fire, holds up the receipt like an heroic rifleman looking to a French invasion at the end of a hundred years. Blessed be they who keep receipts. It is a beatitude beyond my reach.