5115. RB to Robert Bulwer Lytton
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 30, 129–130.
Ste Marie—near Pornic, Loire Inferieure.
Sept. 27. ’62.
Dear Lytton,
So many kind letters I used to have from you, & now I never hear a word! And all through my own fault—who have tired you out with saying nothing to all the good & touching words that came once. You must know, however, that I was very grateful—& I want you to know that I miss the news of you exceedingly,—and, besides, that if you begin again to write to me, I have so far got rid of a certain horror of pen & ink as to be sure that I shall never again let your goodness flag thro’ putting off from day to day the simplest expression of thanks for the last instance of it. You will write to me now, even for this poor speech of excuse, will you not?—& how glad I shall be!
This place where I have been these seven weeks, is a wild quiet little hamlet just on the sea—half an hour’s walk from Pornic, where there is sea-bathing & gaiety enough. Here, one is at the end of that, & beginning of a plain, solitary country wherein you go for hours without meeting even a peasant; the sea always in sight, which one overlooks from low cliffs: nothing picturesque in it all, but pleasant in its unpretending way. I inhabit the house of the Mayor of the Commune, & see, from this window, a farm yard, the few house-tops that make up the village, the old church, & the sea. Next week I leave for Paris & London. Pen swims daily & is in florid health. My father & sister are with me also, and by the help of a few books, bathing and walking, the days have gone by like hours. And now with London in prospect, I look to my future a little, you see, and take thought of getting you to write to me there—my address is “19. Warwick Crescent, Upper Westbourne Terrace.” I had trusted never to be bothered with housekeeping in any shape—but a trial of “furnished apartments” showed me the difficulties of that way of life—and to secure myself room & quiet, besides making Pen comfortable, there was nothing else possible than what I have done. I keep close to Arabel Barrett, of course, & the whole arrangement does well enough. Pen has masters & gets on in every way, I hope. There, for me—& for you—what I much desire to learn is, how are you engaged? how is the time for you: do assure me that you are earnestly at work, & I shall be certain of the rest. I know nothing from Chapman.
I saw a great many people last season—met friends of yours: better than all, I met your Father, you know—dined with him alone (such was his goodnature) and really am indebted to him for a most memorable and delightful evening. [1] You are enviable indeed in having such an authority to advise with. Will you take any opportunity that may lend itself to let him know how I should value the permission to see him occasionally next year, if he would allow it—& how I do remember gratefully the wit & wisdom he did allow me to share in?
This piece of clumsy penmanship will have been worth affecting if it gets me what I want—fresh assurance that you are the Lytton of those old days—so never mind anything else.
Ever yours affectionately
Robert Browning.
Publication: BBIS-10, pp. 202–203.
Manuscript: Lord Cobbold.
1. On 7 April 1862 (see letter 5051, note 11).
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