6056. RB to Thomas Forbes Kelsall
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 32, 316–317.
19. Warwick Crescent,
Upper Westbourne Terrace, W.
May 15. ’68.
My dear Sir,
I will tell you the exact truth, & throw myself upon your goodness & forbearance. I don’t remember (here the truth is to begin)—don’t remember, I say, ever having received a greater mark of trust, and more thorough promise of delight than when your letter and packet of m.s.s came to me six months ago. I was then bent on getting done with my own poem, three years on hand (or on brain) at that time; and I determined to enjoy your feast when I had finished my long day’s work: I have got up every morning since the middle of October at 5: perhaps, some six exceptional times, an hour later,—and have worked so unremittingly at one matter or another—(having, for instance, given four hours a day during all the period to another subject of study quite unconnected with the main business)—that I could never once subject myself to the temptation of breaking the seals of your enclosure,—proper time I could not,—and a cursory glance I would not, give. Of course, with less absolute certainty of the deepest interest in the papers I would soon have satisfied at least my curiosity. All the while, I have thought at intervals of you, and only forborne writing thro’ the confidence that, wait but a little longer, I should be free to write to better purpose.
I have now to go on and say—that last week I found my poem was as good as done,—might go to press and return to me with advantage in type,—there being plenty still to do, but nothing which needs stop the printing. I am waiting the arrangements of the Publisher, but breathe freely and may enjoy my feast now.
Accordingly, the moment I have dispatched this letter, I will, five minutes hence, unlock closet and produce packet and break seal, and enjoy. I will answer every point in your two communications to me with honesty and explicitness, and return you the papers at the latest by this day month, June 15: if possible, earlier. You have been of a patience and goodness which I have tried severely: forgive me,—whose poem is twenty thousand lines long, and something over: the days slipped by, and only now does the long account of weeks and months seem so very inordinate!
So, with repeated gratitude for your goodness, believe me ever, my dear Sir,
Yours most truly
Robert Browning.
I believe I shall never make the Selection from Shelley: I have heard no more about it.
Address: Thomas F. Kelsall Esq. / Fareham.
Publication: Donner, pp. 101–102.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
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