The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition. Robert Browning

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      Miss Edith Bronson,

       (now Contessa Rucellai)

       From a Water-Color by Passini, Venice, 1883.

      In almost every life that is strongly individualized those who look back after it has passed from visible sight cannot but recognize how rhythmic are the sequences that have characterized its last months on earth. If the person in question had actually known the day on which he should be called away, he would hardly have done other than he did. It is as if the spirit had some prescience, not realized by the ordinary consciousness, but still controlling its conduct of the last time allotted here. With this last year of Robert Browning’s life, this unseen leading is especially obvious. In the spring he had revised his poetic work; he had passed Commemoration week at Oxford, as he loved to do; he had passed much of the time with his friend, the Master of Balliol, and among his last expressions on leaving Oxford was “Jowett knows how I love him.” He was also in Cambridge, and Edmund Gosse has charmingly recalled the way in which he dwelt, retrospectively, on his old Italian days.

      In June, also, he paid his usual visit to Lord Albemarle (the last survivor of those who fought at Waterloo), and in that month he wrote to Professor Knight, who was about to exchange the Chair of Philosophy at the University of Glasgow for that of Literature at St. Andrews, saying: “It is the right order; Philosophy first, and Poetry, which is its highest outcome, afterward, and much harm has been done by reversing the usual process.”

      The letters to Mrs. Bronson tell much of the story of these days. In one, dated June 10, 1899, he gives this reminiscence of Asolo:

Dearest Friend,—It was indeed a joy to get your letter. I know that a change of place would be desirable for you, darling Edie told me so, but I fancied you would not leave Venice so soon....

      ... One thing is certain, that if I do go to Venice, and abide at the Rezzonico, every day during the visit I shall pass over to the beloved Alvisi and entirely beloved friends there, who are to me in Venice what San Marco is to the Piazza. Enough of this now, and something about Asolo.

      When I first found out Asolo, I lodged at the main hotel in the Square,—an old, large inn of the most primitive kind. The ceiling of my bed-room was traversed by a huge crack, or rather cleft, caused by the earthquake last year; the sky was as blue as blue could be, and we were all praying in the fields, expecting the town to tumble in. On the morning after my arrival, I walked up to the Rocca; and on returning to breakfast I mentioned it to the land-lady, wherein a respectable middle-aged man, sitting by, said: “You have done what I, born here, never thought of doing.” I took long walks every day, and carried away a lively recollection of the general beauty, but I did not write a word of ‘Pippa Passes’—that idea struck me when walking in an English wood, and I made use of Italian memories.

      I used to dream of seeing Asolo in the distance and making vain attempts to reach it—repeatedly dreamed this for many a year. And when I found myself once more in Italy, with Sarianna, I went there straight from Venice. We found the old inn lying in ruins, a new one (being) built, to take its place,—I suppose that which you see now. We went to a much inferior albergo, the best then existing, and were roughly, but pleasantly, entertained for a week, as I say. People told me the number of inhabitants had greatly increased, and things seemed generally more ordinary and life-like. I am happy that you like it so much. When I got my impression, Italy was new to me....

      ... I shall go to Oxford for Commemoration, and stay a week for another affair,—a “gaudy” dinner given to the magnates of Eton.

      To the forthcoming collection, entitled “Asolando,” the group of poems dedicated to Mrs. Bronson, the poet alludes as follows:

      ... By the way the new little book of poems that was to associate your name with mine, remains unprinted. For why? The publishers think its announcement might panic-strike the purchasers of the new edition, who have nearly enough of me for some time to come! Never mind. We shall have our innings.

      Bless you ever and your Edith; keep me in mind as your very own always affectionate

      R. B.

      The poet’s love for Asolo is revealed in the following letter to Mrs. Bronson:

      29, DeVere Gardens, W.

       July 17,’89.

      Dearest Friend,—I shall delight in fancying your life at Asolo, my very own of all Italian towns; your house built into the wall, and the neighboring castle ruins, and the wonderful outlook; on a clear day you can see much further than Venice. I mentioned some of the dear spots pointed out to my faith as ruins, while what wants no faith at all,—the green hills surrounding you, Posagno close by,—how you will enjoy it! And do go there and get all the good out of the beautiful place I used to dream about so often in old days, till at last I saw it again, and the dreams stopped,—to begin, again, I trust, with a figure there never associated with Asolo before. Shall I ever see you there in no dream? I cannot say; I feel inclined to leave England this next autumn that is so soon to overtake us....

      Pen stays a few days longer in Paris to complete his picture. He had declined to compete at the Exposition, but has been awarded a Medal (3rd), which, however, enables him to dispense with the permission of the Salon that his works shall be received. Julian Story gets also a medal of the same class. Pen reports stupendously of the Paris show....

... Well, you know we have been entertaining and entertained by the Shah. I met him at Lord Roseberry’s, and before dinner was presented to him, when he asked me in French: “Êtes-vous poëte?” “On s’est permis de le dire quelquefois.” “Et vous avez fait des livres?” “Plusieurs livres?” “Trop de livres.” “Voulez-vous m’en faire le cadeau d’un de vos livres afin que je puisse me ressouvenir de vous?” “Avec СКАЧАТЬ