I believe, according to your dictionary. It made me laugh
and think of you directly. . . . Robert has been sitting for his picture
to Mr. Fisher, the English artist who painted Mr. Kenyon and Landor.
You remember those pictures in Mr. Kenyon's house in London.
Well, he has painted Robert's, and it is an
admirable likeness.
The expression is an
exceptional expression, but highly
characteristic. . . .'
==
==
May 19.
`. . . To leave Rome will fill me with
barbarian complacency.
I don't
pretend to have a ray of
sentiment about Rome.
It's a palimpsest Rome, a watering-place written over the
antique,
and I haven't taken to it as a poet should I suppose.
And let us speak the truth above all things. I am strongly
a creature of association, and the associations of the place
have not been
personally favourable to me. Among the rest, my child,
the light of my eyes, has been more unwell than I ever saw him. . . .
The pleasantest days in Rome we have spent with the Kembles, the two sisters,
who are
charming and excellent both of them, in different ways,
and certainly they have given us some excellent hours in the Campagna,
upon
picnicexcursions -- they, and certain of their friends;
for
instance, M. Ampere, the member of the French Institute,
who is witty and
agreeable, M. Goltz, the Austrian minister,
who is an
agreeable man, and Mr. Lyons, the son of Sir Edmund, &c.
The talk was almost too
brilliant for the
sentiment of the
scenery,
but it harmonized entirely with the
mayonnaise and
champagne. . . .'
==
It must have been on one of the
excursions here described that an
incidenttook place, which Mr. Browning relates with
characteristic comments
in a letter to Mrs. Fitz-Gerald, of July 15, 1882. The
picnic party
had strolled away to some distant spot. Mrs. Browning was not strong enough
to join them, and her husband, as a matter of course, stayed with her;
which act of
consideration prompted Mrs. Kemble to exclaim
that he was the only man she had ever known who behaved like a Christian
to his wife. She was, when he wrote this letter,
reading his works
for the first time, and had expressed
admiration for them;
but, he continued, none of the kind things she said to him on that subject
could move him as did those words in the Campagna. Mrs. Kemble would have
modified her statement in later years, for the sake of one English
and one American husband now closely
related to her. Even then, perhaps,
she did not make it without
inward reserve. But she will
forgive me,
I am sure, for having
repeated it.
Mr. Browning also refers to her Memoirs, which he had just read, and says:
`I saw her in those [I conclude earlier] days much oftener than is set down,
but she scarcely noticed me; though I always liked her extremely.'
Another of Mrs. Browning's letters is written from Florence, June 6 ('54):
==
`. . . We mean to stay at Florence a week or two longer and then
go
northward. I love Florence -- the place looks
exquisitely beautiful
in its garden ground of vineyards and olive trees, sung round
by the nightingales day and night. . . . If you take one thing with another,
there is no place in the world like Florence, I am persuaded,
for a place to live in -- cheap,
tranquil,
cheerful, beautiful,
within the limits of
civilization yet out of the crush of it. . . .
We have spent two
delicious evenings at villas outside the gates,
one with young Lytton, Sir Edward's son, of whom I have told you, I think.
I like him . . . we both do . . . from the bottom of our hearts.
Then, our friend, Frederick Tennyson, the new poet, we are delighted
to see again.
. . . . .
`. . . Mrs. Sartoris has been here on her way to Rome, spending most
of her time with us . . . singing
passionately and talking eloquently.
She is really
charming. . . .'
==
I have no record of that
northward journey or of the experiences of