Robert Browning: How to Know Him | Page 9

freely of rich and delicate
things. He could make a whole meal off mayonnaise." It is pleasant to
remember that Emerson, the other great optimist of the century, used to
eat pie for breakfast. Unlike Carlyle and Tennyson, who smoked
constantly, Browning never used tobacco; he drank wine with his meals,
but sparingly, and never more than one kind of wine at a dinner. While
physically robust, fond of riding and walking, never using a cab or
public conveyance if he could help it, he was like most first-class
literary men in caring nothing whatever for competitive sports. He did
not learn to swim until late in life; his son taught him at Pornic, in
Brittany. He was venturesome for a man well on in years, swimming
far out with boyish delight, as he has himself described it in the
_Prologue to Fifine at the Fair_.
Browning's eyes were peculiar, one having a long focus, the other very

short. He had the unusual accomplishment (try it and prove) of closing
either eye without "squinching," and without any apparent effort,
though sometimes on the street in strong sunshine his face would be a
bit distorted. He did all his reading and writing with one eye, closing
the long one as he sat down at his desk. He never wore glasses, and was
proud of his microscopic eye. He often wrote minutely, to show off his
powers. When he left the house to go for a walk, he shut the short eye
and opened the long one, with which he could see an immense distance.
He never suffered with any pain in his eyes except once, when a boy,
he was trying to be a vegetarian in imitation of his youthful idol,
Shelley.
Contrary to the oft-repeated statement, Browning was not a really fine
pianist. As a very young man, he used to play several
instruments,
and once he had been able to play all of Beethoven's sonatas on the
piano. In later life he became ambitious to improve his skill with this
instrument, and had much trouble, for his fingers were clumsy and stiff.
He therefore used to rise at six, and practise finger-exercises for an
hour!
He loved first-class music ardently, had a profound knowledge of it,
and was a good judge. If the performance was fine, he would express
his praise with the utmost enthusiasm; but bad work caused him acute
pain. Sometimes at a concert he would put his fingers in his ears, his
suffering being apparently uncontrollable.
The salient feature of his character was his boyish vivacity and
enthusiasm. If he looked out of the window and saw a friend coming
along the street to call, he would often rush out and embrace him. In
conversation he was extraordinarily eager and impulsive, with a great
flow of talk on an enormous range of subjects. If he liked anything, he
spoke of it in the heartiest manner, laughing aloud with delight. He was
very generous in his appreciation and praise of other men's work, being
beautifully free from that jealousy which is one of the besetting sins of
artists. He always tried to see what was good. Occasionally he was
enraged at reading a particularly hostile criticism of himself, but on the
whole he stood abuse very well, and had abundant opportunity to

exercise the gift of patience. A great admirer of Tennyson's poetry and
of Tennyson's character--they were dear and intimate friends--he never
liked the stock comparison. "Tennyson and I are totally unlike," he
used to say. No letter from one rival to another was ever more beautiful
than the letter Browning wrote to Tennyson on the occasion of the
Laureate's eightieth birthday:
"My DEAR TENNYSON--To-morrow is your birthday--indeed, a
memorable one. Let me say I associate myself with the universal pride
of our country in your glory, and in its hope that for many and many a
year we may have your very self among us--secure that your poetry
will be a wonder and delight to all those appointed to come after. And
for my own part, let me further say, I have loved you dearly. May God
bless you and yours.
"At no moment from first to last of my acquaintance with your works,
or friendship with yourself, have I had any other feeling, expressed or
kept silent, than this which an opportunity allows me to utter--that I am
and ever shall be, my dear Tennyson, admiringly and affectionately
yours,
"ROBERT BROWNING."
What I have said of Browning's impulsiveness is borne out not only by
the universal testimony of those who knew him well, but
particularly
by a letter of Mrs. Browning to Mrs. Jameson. The manuscript of this
letter was bought in London by an American, and went down with the
_Titanic_ in 1912. An extract from it