The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Volume 2 of 2)Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
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The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Volume 2 of 2)
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1806-1861 -- Correspondence; Poets, English -- 19th century -- Correspondence
My dearest Mrs. Martin,--You make me wait and I make you wait for
letters. It is bad of us both--and remember, _worse of you_, seeing that
you left two long letters of mine unanswered for months. I felt as if I
had fallen down an _oubliette_, and I was about to utter the loud
shrieks befitting the occasion, when you wrote at last. Don't treat me
so another time; I want to know your plans for the winter, since the
winter is upon us. Next summer, if it pleases God, we shall certainly
meet somewhere--say Paris, say London. We shall have money for it, which
we had not this year; and now the disappointment's over, I don't care.
The heat at Florence was very bearable, and our child grew into his
roses lost at Rome, and we have lived a very tranquil and happy six
months on our own sofas and chairs, among our own nightingales and
fireflies. There's an inclination in me to turn round with my Penini
and say, 'I'm an Italian.' Certainly both light and love seem stronger
with me at Florence than elsewhere....
The war! The alliance is the consolation; the necessity is the
justification. For the rest, one shuts one's eyes and ears--the rest is
too horrible. What do you mean by fearing that the war itself may not be
all the evil of the war? I expect, on the contrary, a freer political
atmosphere after this thunder. Louis Napoleon is behaving very tolerably
well, won't you admit, after all? And I don't look to a treason at the
end as certain of his enemies do, who are reduced to a 'wait, wait, and
you'll see.' There's a friend of mine here, a traditional anti-Gallican,
and very lively in his politics until the last few months. He can't
speak now or lift up his eyelids, and I am too magnanimous in opposition
to talk of anything else in his presence except Verdi's last opera,
which magnanimity he appreciates, though he has no ear. About a month
ago he came suddenly to life again. 'Have you heard the news? Napoleon
is suspected of making a secret treaty with Russia.' The next morning he
was as dead as ever--poor man! It's a desperate case for him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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