5407. RB to Julia Wedgwood
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 31, 75–76.
[London]
June 25. ’64.
My dear Friend,
You know that I feel for you from my heart. Three years ago, in this very week, I lost my own soul’s companion. If I have any instinct or insight,—if I can retain and rightly reason upon the rare flashes of momentary conviction that come & go in the habitual dusk and doubt of one’s life—(and this in spite of a temper perhaps offensively and exaggeratedly inclined to dispute authoritative tradition, and all concessions to the mere desires of the mind)—if the result of all this can no more be disputed as something,—or even, as much,—than pretended to be everything,—then I dare believe that you and that I shall recover what we have lost: I am not given to hope, nor self-flattery: and my belief is a very composite and unconventional one, and I myself am most surprised at detecting its strength in the unforeseen accidents of life which throw one upon one’s resources and show them for what they exactly are. I am sure you will one day feel such a support, even if it should seem uncertain now—and meanwhile I tell you conscientiously how it is with me.
What you say,—(after what makes me write this)—respecting our intercourse,—your feeling and mine,—on that, too, I must write a little—the impulse being to write much, because very many earnest thoughts are excited by your letter—and while each of them is, in some sort, proper for you to hear, all of the multitude would confuse us in speaking and hearing. As good a way will be to confine oneself to just the simple facts—for these are suggestive also, and will reply to questions not immediately applicable to them. I shall tell you then, that I do understand you, and know that you understand me. Be assured that your friendship has been always precious to me, and that while I live it will be most precious: it would have been so at any time in the past,—which I say, when you speak of my sympathy having been a “consolation” to you: the circumstances under which I have come to know you may certainly have so operated that, in the meeting of our hands, mine has seemed somewhat to lift, rather than be lifted by, yours. But that has been only a chance—and any day you would help me as much. Simply, I value your friendship for me, as you shall know, if you will but wait: and it already seems useless to tell you that wherever I may be of the slightest good to you, it will be my pride and privilege when you count on me. And now—no more assurances of this kind from me—nor, surely, any need for them that you will ever feel.
I shall leave this when I call to-morrow in the hope of hearing that you all bear up and strengthen each other in this emergency, as is right.
God bless you, dear friend!
Yours affectionately ever
Robert Browning.
Publication: RB-JW, pp. 29–30.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
___________________
