964. RB to Alfred Domett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 5, 355–357.
New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey,
May 22. 1842.
My dear Domett,
This is the third piece of paper I have taken up to put my first-words to you on—this must do, for time is urgent. I cannot well say nothing of my constant thoughts about you, most pleasant remembrances of you, earnest desires for you—yet I will stop short with this .. as near “nothing” as may be. I have a sort of notion you will come back some bright morning a dozen years hence and find me just gone—to Heaven, or Timbuctoo, and I give way a little to this fancy while I write, because it lets me write freely what, I dare say, I said niggardly enough—my real love for you—better love than I had supposed I was fit for: but, you see, when I was not even a boy, I had fancy in plenty and no kind of judgment—so I said, and wrote, and professed away, and was the poorest of creatures: that, I think, is out of me, now! but the habit of watching & warding continues and—here is a case where I do myself wrong. However I am so sure, now, of my feelings, when I do feel—trust to them so much, and am deceived about them so little—(I mean, that I so rarely believe I like where I loathe, and the reverse, as the people round me do)—that I can speak about myself and my sentiments with full confidence. There! And now, let that lie, till we meet again .. God send it!
I shall never read over what I send you,—reflect on it, care about it, or fear that you will not burn it when I ask you. So do with me. And tell me all about yourself, straight, without courteously speculating about my being, “doings & drivings”—(unless there is some special point you want to know)—and by my taking the same course,—(sure you care for all that touches me—) we shall get more done in a letter than when half is wasted. Begin at the beginning—tell me how you are, where you are, what you do and mean to do—and to do in our way: for live properly you cannot without writing—and to write a book now, will take one at least the ten or a dozen years you portion out for your stay abroad. I don’t expect to do any real thing till then: the little I, or anybody, can do as it is, comes of them going to New Zealand—partial retirement and stopping the ears against the noise outside—but all is next to useless—for there is a creeping magnetic assimilating influence nothing can block out. When I block it out, I shall do something. Don’t you feel already older (in the wise sense of the word—) farther off—as one “having a purchase” against us? What I meant to say was—that only in your present condition of life, so far as I see, is there any chance of your being able to find out .. what is wanted, and how to supply the want when you precisely find it. I have read your poems—you can do anything—and (I do not see why I should not think—) will do much. I will, if I live. At present, I don’t know if I stand on head or heels—what men require, I don’t know—and of what they are in possession, know nearly as little.
Of me: a couple of days after you left, I got a note from Macready [1] —the disastrous issue of the Play you saw of Darley’s brother, had frightened him into shutting the house a month earlier than he had meant. Nothing new this season, therefore—but next, &c. &c. &c. So runs this idle life away!. while you are working! —I shall go to the end of this year, as I now go on—shall print the Eastern play you may remember hearing about [2] —finish a wise metaphysical play (about a great mind and soul turning to ill) [3] —and print a few songs and small poems—which Moxon adv<ised m>e to do for popularity’s sake– [4] These things done (and my play out) I shall have tried an experiment to the end, and be pretty well contented either way.
The 7th of May last was my birthday (your’s is the 20th, tho’ you did not say so at our parting dinner, when I spoke about May and birthdays![)]—and on that day I dined with dear Chr. Dowson and your sister [5] —we were alone and talked of you and little else. I got your books, and slip of note—<which> is under the paper I write on! With this, I send you your Sordello– [6] I suppose (am sure, indeed) that the translation from Dante in the fly-leaf is your own: I had been fool enough (I told you, I believe) to purpose giving you my whole wondrous works in a stiff binding—good against rats– But I thought twice! The true best of me is to come and you shall have it—and I shall certainly never be quite wanting in affection for essays that have got me your love—as you say, and I believe– But, I don’t know that I shall ever read them again. Along with Sordello*, take & keep for my sake and its own, Notre Dame, [7] —you would not read here, and shall read there– I mean to send you more of Hugo’s books when I can get them. Meanwhile, begin with this.
Give my kindest regards to Young [8] —the booksØ I promised him, he must have, I suppose! The press-blunders, too, sicken me. I look for a letter from him, and will answer it. As for this to you, I mean it to be short—for I shall let no ship I hear of, sail without a few lines—and I want to avoid the feeling of having a deal to do on every such occasion.
Tell me if I can do anything for you– My Father, Mother, & Sister are urgent that I should send their very kindest regards to you. I saw your Father [9] (from a distance) this morning at Chapel—very well apparently. It seems, even yet, as if you would “run over” some fine morning; but you are better away. See what good one gets from one’s friend staying .. I have not seen Arno<uld> [10] since the last night—just because I may if I will. I shall not wait (nor ever wait) “for an answer,” friend-like, but write by next opportunity.
Ever yours,
R. Browning.
ØI do not send him, say, (nor send you) a “Strafford,” because I have made up my mind to correct it in most ways and publish it in “Bells &c.” [11]
*I send your copy to Young along with his books.
Address: Alfred Domett Esq, / Port Nelson, / New Zealand.
Publication: RB-AD, pp. 33–39.
Manuscript: British Library.
1. A reply to RB’s enquiry about staging his play (letter 948).
2. The Return of the Druses, published in January 1843 as the fourth number of the Bells and Pomegranates series.
3. A Soul’s Tragedy. Despite RB’s comment, it was not published until April 1846, as the last part of Bells and Pomegranates.
4. Dramatic Lyrics, published in November 1842 as the third Bells and Pomegranates pamphlet.
5. Dowson had married Domett’s sister Mary in 1836.
6. RB had originally given Sordello to Domett in March 1840 (see letter 739), but had later borrowed it to study Domett’s annotations; when he returned the book, he had added his own comments, responding to Domett’s (G & M, p. 301). The book is now in the British Library (see Reconstruction, C562 and E446).
7. RB had previously spoken of Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris (1831) in a letter (no. 492) to Ripert-Monclar.
8. Domett’s kinsman, William Curling Young (1815–42), was a member of the set that included RB and Domett (Maynard, p. 99). He had emigrated and established himself at Nelson in 1841, but met his death by drowning while Domett was still in transit to New Zealand.
9. Nathaniel Domett (1764–1849), who had had a career in the Royal Navy and the merchant marine prior to his marriage.
10. Joseph Arnould (1813–86) was also a member of RB’s set, sharing chambers for a time with Domett after both were called to the Bar in November 1841. E.A. Horsman states that Domett borrowed £70 from Arnould to finance the purchase of land in New Zealand (The Diary of Alfred Domett, 1953, p. 14).
11. RB changed his mind; not only was the play not included in the Bells and Pomegranates series, but it was excluded from the 1849 edition of RB’s works, and was not reprinted until the 1863 collected edition.
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