The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume II | Page 6

Girardin, who
suggests that the next President should be a tailor. Moreover, we find

apartments very cheap in comparison to what we feared, and we are in
a comfortable quiet hotel, where it is possible, and not ruinous, to wait
and look about one.
As to England--oh England--how I dread to think of it. We talk of
going over for a short time, but have not decided when; yet it will be
soon perhaps--it may. If it were not for my precious Arabel, I would not
go; because Robert's family would come to him here, they say. But to
give up Arabel is impossible. Henrietta is in Somersetshire; it is
uncertain whether I shall see her, even in going, and she too might
come to Paris this winter. And you will come--you promised, I think?...
I feel here near enough to England, that's the truth. I recoil from the
bitterness of being nearer. Still, it must be thought of.
Dearest cousin, dearest friend, in all this pleasant journey we have
borne you in mind, and gratefully! You must feel that without being
told. I won't quite do like my Wiedeman, who every time he fires his
gun (if it's twenty times in five minutes) says, 'Papa, papa,' because
Robert gave him the gun, and the gratitude is as re-iterantly and loudly
explosive. But one's thoughts may say what they please and as often as
they please.
Arabel tells me that you are kind to the manner of my poem, though to
the matter obdurate. Miss Mitford, too, says that it won't receive the
sympathy proper to a home subject, because the English people don't
care anything for the Italians now; despising them for their want of
originality in Art! That's very good of the English people, really! I fear
much that dear Miss Mitford has suffered seriously from the effects of
the damp house last winter. What she says of herself makes me anxious
about her.
Give my true love to dear Miss Bayley, and say how I repent in ashes
for not having written to her. But she is large-hearted and will forgive
me, and I shall make amends and send her sheet upon sheet. Barry
Cornwall's letter to Robert, of course, delighted as well as honoured me.
Does it appear in the new edition of his 'songs' &c.?

Mind, if ever I go to England I shall have no heart to go out of a very
dark corner. I shall just see you and that's all. It's only Robert who is a
patriot now, of us two. England, what with the past and the present, is a
place of bitterness to me, bitter enough to turn all her seas round to
wormwood! Airs and hearts, all are against me in England; yet don't let
me be ungrateful. No love is forgotten or less prized, certainly not
yours. Only I'm a citizeness of the world now, you see, and float loose.
God bless you, dearest Mr. Kenyon, prays
Your ever affectionate BA.
Robert's best love as always. He writes by this post to Mr. Procter. How
beautifully Sarianna has corrected for the press my new poem!
Wonderfully well, really. There is only one error of consequence,
which I will ask you to correct in any copy you can--of 'rail' in the last
line, to 'vail;' the allusion being of course to the Jewish temple--but as it
is printed nobody can catch any meaning, I fear. They tell me that the
Puseyite organ, the 'Guardian,' has been strong in attack. So best.
* * * * *
After a few weeks in Paris the travellers crossed over to England,
which they had not seen for nearly five years. Their visit to London
lasted about two months, from the end of July to the end of September,
during which time they stayed in lodgings at 26 Devonshire Street.
* * * * *
_To Mrs. Martin_
26 Devonshire Street: Wednesday, [about August 1851].
My ever dearest Mrs. Martin,--I am not ungrateful after all, but I
wanted to write a long letter to you (having much to say), and even
now it is hard in this confusion to write a short one. We have been
overwhelmed with kindnesses, crushed with gifts, like the Roman lady;
and literally to drink through a cup of tea from beginning to end

without an interruption from the door-bell, we have scarcely attained to
since we came. For my part I refuse all dinner invitations except when
our dear friend Mr. Kenyon 'imposes himself as an exception,' in his
own words. But even in keeping the resolution there are necessary
fatigues; and, do you know, I have not been well since our arrival in
England. My first step ashore was into a puddle and a fog, and I began
to