5527. RB to William Wetmore Story, Emelyn Story & Edith Story
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 31, 201–203.
[London]
[ca. 19] [January 1865] [1]
My dear Edie—or rather, dear friends all three—I have kept this letter of Pen’s far too long, meaning to do myself something like justice in another of my own—but as the week gets on, I see the best way will be to be content with a word or two. I am literally engaged all day long. I heard, after some time on my arrival in London, that your Papa had been seriously ill, [2] —was that true?—and, after a rather shorter interval, that he was quite recovered. I hope whatever was wrong is right again: take care that he spends his energy with regard to the many years wherein it is intended to last—not all at once,—he knows that, well as I,—but you must make him mind his knowledge. I hear very little from, that is, about you—a word from Ly W. now & then: it is all my own fault, I ought to take care & satisfy myself. But why does [not] a good, great budgetful of news arrive now and then to me the unworthy from Mrs Story, who engaged to find me in food of the kind? How I should enjoy it now! Well, the days & weeks & even years go by, and, by my reckoning a couple of years more and Pen will be full-fledged: in two months he will be sixteen. I can’t think of what I may do in my own idleness then—for thinking of all the care that will begin again, about him. It’s for the best, of course. How are the boys, big fellows now—have they a master, or what do they do, and what is meant to be done with them? And you, how do you like Rome, all of you, after the London gai[e]ties? What is brooding in the Studio? I don’t care much to know who is at Rome, Lord This & Mrs the Other. So, you see, though somewhat tardy, acknowledgement has been made copiously enough for the good office about the statues: [3] I have not seen them,—to my shame,—can’t find the clear morning to bestow, however worthily,—they can wait, moreover.
I shan’t give you gossip now—nor make this into anything but a long-drawn sigh to have wings & flee to the blue country. Florence will not be itself much longer, by all accounts, [4] —Poggio to be built over, and all up, far as Fiesole, they say. I don’t care, it’s all gone any how. Good bye, dear Edie—& good bye, the dear others! If you have already any plans for the Summer, you may as well tell me: can it be possible you will come here? No! Yes! No—Yes.
Ever yours affy
R Browning.
Publication: BAF, pp. 148–150 (as 14 January 1865).
Manuscript: R.H. Taylor Collection.
Enclosure:
[London]
Saty Jan. 14. 1865.
My dear Edie,
Many many thanks for your kindness, or rather your naughtiness in wasting so much of your time in making such a beautiful pair of slippers for a stupid fellow like myself—why they are more fitted for a Prince than for me! However there is one thing which is that you may be assured that I shall wear them out (although they ought rather to be put under a glass case) and that in doing so they will cause me to remember you still oftener, (although I don’t think that there is much danger of my forgetting you). I must ask your forgiveness for my not having written to you before but really this is the first moment that I have had since Xmas to write in–
Poor old mother Pope has made a great fool of herself by writing such stuff. I suppose she forgets that we are in the middle of the nineteenth century! However she has done herself anything but good by it. The weather here is anything but wintery—today it is almost temperate outside. and as yet we have had no skating– You must answer this stupid epistle: for I want to hear about you all. How are Mr. and Mrs Story, and the two young prize-fighters whom I had the honour of meeting in Paris? I wonder if there is any chance of our seeing each other soon.
I hope you will come over here next summer, and that if you do come, I shall see a little more of you than last time– Give my love to Mr and Mrs Story, and to the above mentioned members of the “P.R.” and of the Society for the encouragement of the “noble art of self-defence”– As I have nothing else to write that could possibly be interesting to you, I think that I had better shut up.
Do write to your affete
old Bob
1. Approximate dating based on RB’s reference to Pen’s letter (see the enclosure below).
2. According to Lady William Russell, “an ab[s]cess in the Kidneys” (see letter 5478).
4. See letter 5457, note 5. “Poggio” probably refers to Poggio Imperiale, one of the hills of Florence, south of the Porta Romana.
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