3587. RB to Elizabeth Clementine Kinney
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 21, 211–215.
London, 13 Dorset St
July 25. ’55.
Dear Mrs Kinney,
I must give you, as I engaged to do, my experience of Mr Home—(as he now writes the name)—& his “manifestations”: I shall be glad to get done with the matter. I & my wife went to Mr Rymer’s [1] two evenings ago, on special invitation. At about 9. we were placed round a large table, as Mr Home directed,—and the results were some noises, a vibration of the table, then an up-tilting of it in various ways, and then more noises, or raps, which were distinguished as the utterance of the family’s usual visitor, the spirit of their child “Wat” [2] who died three years ago, aged twelve: they ceased presently, and we were informed that the circle was too large—it was lessened accordingly by the ejecting five individuals pointed out by the spirit—and the business was resumed—those remaining being Mr Home, Mr Rymer, Mrs Rymer, ourselves, two lady-friends of family, Miss Rymer, & Mr Wilkie Rymer (son & daughter of our Host.) [3] We had the same vibration, & upraising the table—a table-cloth, a few ornaments, and a large lamp were on it—all hands were visible– I don’t know at all how the thing was done. Then Mrs & Mr Rymer were touched by what they recognized as the spirit of their child, & next, my wife—whose dress, near the waist I saw slightly but distinctly uplifted in a manner I cannot account for—as if by some object inside—which could hardly have been introduced there without her becoming aware of it: this was repeated. The spirit then announced (by raps in answer to questions) that it would play on the accordion & show myself its hand: all the raps seemed from or about the table,—not the region outside us. The lamp was then extinguished, and all the light permitted came from the two windows thro’ their muslin curtains—you could just distinguish any substance held up directly against them—not against the wall which divided them—but nothing of what was done at the table,—the night being cloudy. A hand appeared from the edge of the table, opposite to my wife & myself; was withdrawn, reappeared & moved about, rose & sank—it was clothed in white loose folds, like muslin, down to the table’s edge—from which it never was separated—then another hand, larger, appeared, pushed a wreath, or pulled it, off the table, picked it from the ground, brought it to my wife,—who had left my side for the purpose of receiving it, at Mr Home’s desire, and had taken the chair by him—and put it on her head—thence, at her request, it was carried, under the table and given to me. I was touched several times under the table on one knee & the other; and on my hands alternately (a kind of soft & fleshy pat)—but not so as that I could myself touch the object. I desired leave to hold the spirit-hand in mine, and was promised that favor—a promise not kept, however. Then Mr Home took an accordion with one hand, held it below the table and sounds were produced and several tunes played .. on it, I suppose,—but how, it is difficult to imagine—(there was light in the room, for this experiment)—and I noted down, at the desire of the family, part of one air—but lost the thread, half-way through, & did not recover it—it was a common-place air, alla religiosa [4] —but played with expression enough: the spirit then promised to play on the instrument when in my own hand. I held it under the table as directed, & felt some pushes from beneath, which were ineffectual,—I soon gave it up. The lights being away, the first hand pulled a small bell of[f] the table, picked it from the floor & rang it. Another hand was held up, which opened & shut the fingers, turning itself as if to be seen,—I desired leave to touch it, but was refused—(by the spirit.) It was clothed to the base—(for one can’t say elbow, whose form was not distinguishable beneath the muslin-like drapery) and, like the other, kept close to the table. These performances were repeated several times—always in the wide space, between Mr Wilkie Rymer and Mr Home: never in the open space of the room, tho’ one hand crawled (as it were) up Mr Home’s shoulder, and, as I said, put the wreath on my wife—how, I was unable to see: but under the table their action was freer, apparently. Mr Home observed that he supposed the hand with the wreath was that of a particular relation of my wife’s—raps confirmed this opinion: the alphabet was put in requisition to discover the name—(someone calling “A. B. C” &c, & the raps indicating the letter)—it was given successively as William, Frank, Charles, Henry—misses all. Hereupon Mr Home went into a trance, & began to address Mr Rymer, in the character of his dead child—in a sort of whisper, at first, to represent a child’s voice, but with Mr Home’s own inflexions, peculiarities, and characteristic expressions—beginning “Dear Papa—is not God good,—isn’t he lovely?” &c. As this continued, by degrees Mr Home’s natural tones were resumed—the talk affected the parents—as you may suppose,—there was nothing in it pleasant to describe. Mr Home next rose, saluted the company with upraised arms,—(we had light enough to see this) and began to speak, apparently in the character of “the spirits” collectively, .. instructing us on the legitimate objects of this sort of investigation—and hardly can you conceive a poorer business: as for “eloquence,” “beauty,” “poetry,” and so on,—I should be curious to know the meridian in which these qualities are attributed to such a holding-forth!—nor did the speaker’s manner at all mend his matter. He said, in the course of it, that there had been four spirits over my wife’s head pouring rays of glory from a sort of crown, or something and that “we could have given their names but that you (my wife) were intently considering them, and would have called the answer thought-reading”—there were other spirits present, he said,—[“]an old lady, Catherine, &c &c.” It ended by his begging all to leave the room but the Rymer family to whom he (or they) had something to communicate: we retired for a quarter of an hour and were recalled—the spirit having engaged, “assisted by four strong spirits” to lift the table, so that I might see the process– Light was in the room. I looked under the table and can avow that it was lifted from the ground, say a foot high, more than once– Mr Home’s hands being plainly above it. It was tilted,—and the lamp remained– I am not sure whether there was anything remarkable in that,—its base being heavy—but on Mr Rymer’s remarking on the manner in which objects were “held by the spirits on the table”—I called attention to the fact that a silver-pen rolled readily—the cloth notwithstanding—and said “will the spirits now prevent the rolling of this?” On which Miss Rymer (who had gone into a trance also), replying as from the spirit, said “Do not put that question! Have you not seen enough?”– And so all ended. On which I have to observe,—first, that I believe in the honesty & veracity of the family—and in their absolute incompetence to investigate a matter of this sort. Next, in the impossibility of a stranger taking the simplest measure for getting at the truth or falsehood of the “manifestations”—it was a family-party, met for family-purposes, and one could no more presume to catch at the hands (for instance) of what they believed the spirit of their child, than one could have committed any other outrage on their feelings: I heard that somebody who had been there two days before, and had told Mr H. “the hand is yours”—showed thereby his “forgetting he was in a private house” so I remembered it, you may be sure. Mr Wilkie Rymer, the nearest to the hand, was more than once desired by Mr. H. “not to look so closely”—& he refused to touch his brother’s hand or drapery “lest it might displease him.” Why or wherefore, I don’t know. I asked if the hands were ever seen away from the table, & Mr Home—they were never so seen,—tho’ the family speak of spirits passing the windows without, and other appearances. The great courtesy & kindness of the family give the least possible desire to satisfy one’s own curiosity at their expense. I don’t in the least pretend to explain how the table was uplifted altogether—(the tilting & vibration do not seem inexplicable)—nor how my wife’s gown was agitated—nor how the accordion was played– But light in some—& leave to investigate in other—of these cases—were necessary to show whether they might not have been explained & easily: I need not tell you if I was driven all the distance to the Supernatural for my first help! Had I not been counting, however, on the fulfilment of the promise to “place the hand in mine”—(the point for which I reserved myself)—I should have tried to get leave to touch & handle without hurting our hosts’ feelings. In “the trance,” I would not believe tho’ it had yielded a “discourse” of ten times the ability. I shall not much surprise you when I confess that my wife believes in all the above, but the trance, which there was no getting over: she suggests, however, explanations of various kinds, consistent with Mr H’s integrity,—(she thinks it was “not unlike some dissenting sermons she has heard”) and I wish it may be so. On the whole, I think the whole performance most clumsy, and unworthy anybody really setting up for a “medium”: I,—the poorest of mechanicians,—can fancy such an obvious contrivance as a tube, fixed or flexible, under Mr H’s loose clothes & sack-like paletôt & inordinate sleeves, which should convey some half a dozen strings, & no more, to his breast,—for instance; and work the three fantoccini-hands, after these various fashions,—just as he did, and easily: there are probably fifty more ingenious methods at the service of every [‘]‘prestidigitateur”– I would also operate with lights on the table always—challenge people to find out my tricks—(as all good jugglers do) and leave the “trance” out altogether. Mr H. says he is “twenty,” but properly adds, that he looks much older: he declares he has “no strength at all.” (why?—even if it were so!) and affects the manners, endearments and other peculiarities of a very little child indeed—speaking of Mr & Mrs Rymer as his “Papa & Mama” & kissing the family abundantly—he professes timorousness, “a love of love,” [5] —and is unpleasant enough in it all—being a well-grown young man, over the average height,—and, I should say, of quite the ordinary bodily strength: his face is rather handsome & prepossessing, and indicative of intelligence,—and I observed nothing offensive or pretentious in his demeanour beyond the unmanlinesses I mention, which are in the worst taste: the family like the caresses, however, and reciprocate them, after a very unusual fashion. I ought not to omit that the sitting was conducted in exact conformity to Mr Rymer’s suggestions, which though polite were explicit enough,—that we should put no questions, nor desire to see any thing but what the spirits might please to show us. I treated “the spirit” with the forms & courtesies observed by the others, and in no respect impeded the “developments” by expressing the least symptom of unbelief—and so kept my place from first to last: I should like to go again and propose to try a simple experiment or two, but fear it is already out of my power; my wife having told one of the party that I was “unconvinced.”
You will observe that I simply speak of my own impressions—not of my wife’s—much less of those of many other persons reported to me; other people have their faculties and must see and judge for themselves: I only write this because you made me promise to do so—but this letter is intended solely for you—to be shown to anybody you please but on no account copied nor extracted from. I am not desirous of leaving on record so unwisely-spent an evening. I write at night, very rapidly, and am glad to get done with it– I don’t answer anybody else’s experiences—merely tell what happened to myself and what I think of it. And on reviewal the exhibition seems the sorriest in my recollection. I dare say my wife will give you her own notion, which differs from mine in all respects; so are we constituted. I avoid adding a word on other subjects except that I am, with best regards to Mr Kinney & your family,
Yours very faithfully ever,
Robert Browning.
Address, on integral page: Viâ France. / Mrs Kinney, / Casa del Bello, 1mo po, / Via della Fornace, / Firenze. / Toscana.
Publication: Bosco, pp. 85–89.
Manuscript: Yale University.
1. According to Patrick Waddington, the house of John Snaith Rymer was located at 1014 St. Mary’s Road, Ealing. The Rymers lived there “from at least 8 February 1844 until some point in the winter of 1857–58” (Waddington, p. 87).
2. Frederick Watson (“Wat” or “Watty”) Rymer (1839–52), son of John Snaith Rymer. The latter recorded some of his encounters with what he believed to be his son’s spirit in Spirit Manifestations (see letter 3586, note 2).
3. Patrick Waddington identifies “Miss Rymer” as Emma Jane Abbott (b. 1841), fourth child and eldest daughter of John Snaith Rymer and his wife Sarah Emma (née Underhill, 1808?–75). “Wilkie” was the nickname of the Rymers’ eldest son, John Wilkinson Rymer (1837–97), who would accompany Home to Florence. Waddington speculates that among the “five individuals” who left the circle were two other Rymer children, William Burnett (1838–66) and Marion Watson (1843–1923), as well as their governess, Julia Emma Crook (1828–73). Of the “two lady-friends” RB mentions, one of them may have been Emily Selina Fawcett (1830–95), first cousin of Maria Angelique de Gaudrion to whom the Brownings write of the Ealing séance in letters 3605 and 3606 (see Waddington, pp. 127–128 and 240).
4. “In a religious style.”
5. Cf. Tennyson, “The Poet” (1830), line 4.
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