635.2. John Kenyon to EBB
Addendum to The Brownings’ Correspondence, vol. 4.
[London]
[June 1838]
My dear friend and Cousin
I had planned that yesterday—Sunday—should be an untroubled day and that I would spend part of it—not unholily, in reading your ballad—when, before I was up, knocks my servant at my door to announce the arrival of a friend from Somersetshire– The result was that my day was His and not mine.
This morning I have read it twice over and am in vindictive delight at the thought of paying you off old critical scores. But not to kill you outright—(you must live thro’ this letter that I may have the Indian pleasure of torturing you—) but just to keep you alive awhile—let me say that of all the thousand and one stories that I remember of disguised Ladys-pages, who follow their loves to Palestine, yours pleases me far the most—(NB—This is just to keep you alive during the succeeding Spallanzani processes.)
I have made these processes in pencil on the Manuscript– I would not have so done—had it been a fair Manuscript.
When I have put in other words—take these—of course—not as corrections of mine—but as mere hurried suggestions—for corrections to be made—if you see cause by yourself.–
Barring an occasional puzzler or two which you spitefully weave to fret our colder brains—the poem is to me admirable and delicious– There is a deep fund of natural passion in you which makes you capable of touching all hearts—if you did not so often choose to enwrap it—mummy it up—in riddle me see– But this poem on the whole is very clear for you– There is hardly a stanza without some striking beauty or touch of pathos—and the whole of the dialogue, respecting the Womanhood of the disguise is condensed almost into epigrammatic point, without losing one whit of its natural passion or of its ballad-simplicity– It is a most effective—touching—poetic story–
I wish as I have said in pencil—that some two words could be hitched in connecting the Beati Mortui with the Story—such as—Did they sound in Prophecy?– Not these words of course—but this is merely for the blockheads.
There is another thing Stanza the 11th which I have not written in pencil– Now tell me if that dark or bright—Now tell me if that loved aright—Is the face of thy Lady Love?
First I had to ask myself more than once—if “that” were an indicative pronoun or a conjunction– I find it is a conjunction and—as being so—is not needed with the if—and yet puzzles the sense– Why not say—(I speak with real deference and all the while thinking that I am perhaps stupidly failing to understand you)– Why not say—Now tell to me—if dark or bright—Nor tell to me—if love aright &c
But again—The phrase loved aright conveys no notion to my mind– Make out indeed afterwards by the context (where it appears that he did not see her face) that it means make a right judgment of her face– And I understand that the happening to know that he had not seen her face—puts this question– But He who did not know that She knew this, must I should think conclude her question to be very vaguely put; and might have asked her naturally—What do you mean? Perhaps I am deadly stupid today– “If that loved aright is the face of thy lady love,” before I come to know the facts—conveys to me no notion at all—and, even when I do know them, puts the question very vaguely– I ask myself what is the right way in which a lady’s face should be loved? You will either say what a stupid or what a savage Cousin I have—but I have been so interested by the general flow of verse & feeling—and—forgive me if I say intelligibility in your poem—for you know you “love darkness better than light”—that I am in a pestilent passion at being interrupted for a moment.– I send you Mr Reade’s book– He is over-sensitive—Dont you be so—and has been planning to see about a criticism in the Examiner—which he thinks has been written by a gentleman whom he has been trying, I know to, conciliate– I guess that he is wrong about the Author– But the criticism is a just one– What I myself said to him before he “took the plunge in ink—but what I am afraid I must not say to him—now that he has printed.– You would have smiled to see your Sister Henriettas piteous face and would have given it a sisterly kiss at the same time could you have seen it & heard her deprecating voice– When I asked her if she could possibly like the Seraphim? Oh—to be sure Mr Kenyon and dont you? Always truly yours & begging you to forgive my barbarities—J Kenyon.
Pray tear this up incontinently for it must be full of mistakes & I have no time to read it over– If you cannot make it out—it will be none the worse for me—nor for you.
Address, on integral page: Miss Barrett.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
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