6019. RB to Isa Blagden
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 32, 294–296.
19. Warwick Crescent, Harrow Road, W.
Feb: 19. ’68—not that it is other than
the 20th, dearest Isa,—but I forbore writing yesterday from a notion that, having to go to Oxford to-day, & return to-morrow, I would next day be able to tell you about Pen, & perhaps my brother Dons whom I go to visit, or call on rather, for the first time since my promotion to the dignity of Fellow of Balliol: I put it on the face of my new edition, this same dignity, M.A, & all, [1] having received a hint so to do: it is a pretty piece of respect, after all, and I like it better than tokens from nobody at all,—Oxford is a more fit fountain of honour. Pen will matriculate (if he can) on the 23 April, [2] & “reside” at once: as it is, he works hard with Jowett, as well as his own Tutor Broughton, & attends Jowett’s Greek Lectures to the University: Jowett’s kindness is past all praise of mine.
I am glad indeed,—more glad than you seem to be,—at Chapman proposing to buy at the terms you mention: because that is a proof he cannot have lost so much by the last book, nor expect to lose by the next, if he take but decent pains. If you can get a better offer from anybody else, accept it by all means, [3] —but keep this to fall back upon, and save yourself the annoyance of seeing the work lie fallow in your desk,—it discourages fresh ploughing in fields and pastures new. [4] Mind, never trust C’s mere good word and promise, nor believe his report,—the habit of loose statement is inveterate & incurable. I myself would on no account have another business transaction which could not be settled “over the counter.” Here is the last instance I have heard of this stupid weakness or worse: it is to be depended upon, because I have seen the documents with my own eyes, that I shall mention. Procter published a sort of Selection from his Poems with Chapman years ago. [5] On accounts being rendered,—so many copies were declared to be unsold,—and Ch. proposed to sell them for what he could get. This was agreed to,—& Procter was duly informed that they had been sold at “three pence a-piece” to somebody, 40 copies being reserved. P. was hurt at this sort of ridiculous sale,—he would have preferred buying them himself at that price for waste-paper. The other day, he took it into his head that he might as well give some of the reserved copies away as let them lie forever at Ch’s—no fresh account having been given,—so he sent for twenty copies: answer came, from a certain clerk used for this purpose, “the copies were all delivered to you some months ago”: P. knowing this to be untrue, applied to .. Forster, very efficacious here (why?) Forster said he would see to it: so a note soon came, “Ch. was very sorry that his clerk had answered P’s letter without referring to him,—he would attend to the business”—and soon followed the final note—“Ch. found that, of the 40 copies on hand, some were sold, some gone unaccountably,—in fine, he enclosed a cheque for the whole share of P. upon them,—£3: odd shillings.” Now, look at this specimen of tradesmanship: what is true, what false, what blundering, in this matter? P. gets what he does, because Forster sets to work,—just as I did, in your case. Now, do you suppose this damaging peculiarity of the poor fellow is not known to his rivals in the trade? It is as well understood as that he has a nose to his face: and his word that your books do not sell,—or do sell,—is not worth two straws to any instructed man, woman or child. Enough of him. I get a fresh bath, like my showerbath at five in the morning, when I read your words about the villa and the garden and old days. Tell me, do I understand that yours is the Villa Castellani, [6] or how is it called? I think I remember the gate is on the left hand as one descends the hill by the Florence wall side,—a gate with oleanders over it; or is that another villa? you have never told me the name of this one where you now are. How I should like, what is not so unrealisable as most dreams, to go for a little and see Florence, quite unknown by anybody, only seeing the few friends. I think T. Trollope, and always did, a goose despite his general goodsense: he wastes his labour for that which is not bread: [7] he works, when he might play, and for what or whom? So he always did, buying, selling, chaffering & wasting life. I have ten times the reason to lay up money, & do distasteful things—tho’ far less distasteful than he used to bother himself about, with a son who may want no end of money: but I always remember “Then God said, Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee: and then whose will be those things thou hast laid up?” [8] I was pleased to hear Mat: Arnold say much the same thing some time ago, “Build a house? No, I am a traveller in this world,—only need a tent!” I believe, humanly speaking, my own chances of long life far exceed his,—and I could get plenty of money if I set to work, but I won’t die so! Goodbye, dearest Isa, nobody is in the house, but all of us are ever affectionately yours,—and I am yours, you know now.
RB.
Publication: DI, pp. 291–294.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. The title pages of RB’s Poetical Works (6 vols., 1868) read: The Poetical Works / of / Robert Browning, / M. A., / Honorary Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford.
2. Pen was found to be inadequately prepared for the April exam, and it was thought better that he wait until October.
3. The publishing firm of Hurst and Blackett issued Miss Blagden’s next novel, The Crown of a Life (1869).
4. Cf. the last line in Milton’s “Lycidas” (1637): “Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.”
5. Dramatic Scenes, with Other Poems (1857); see letter 3885, note 3.
7. Cf. Isaiah 55:2.
8. Cf. Luke 12:20.
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