The next letter reveals anew Browning's always thoughtful courtesy in bespeaking kindness for mutual friends, as he writes:

"There is arranged to be a sort of expedition [to Venice] of young Toynbee Hall men, headed by Alberto Ball, the son of our common friend, for the purpose of studying, not merely amusing, themselves with,--the beloved city. Well as the b.a.l.l.s are ent.i.tled to say that they know you, still, the young and clever Ball chooses to wish me to beg your kind notice; and I suppose that his companions are to be noticed also,--of what really appears to be a praiseworthy effort after self-instruction. Will you smile on him when he calls on you?

for his father's sake, who is anxious about the scheme's success? I have bespoken Pen's a.s.sistance, and he will do the honors of the Rezzonico with alacrity, I have no doubt."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS EDITH BRONSON,

(NOW CONTESSA RUCELLAI)

From a Water-Color by Pa.s.sini, Venice, 1883.]

In almost every life that is strongly individualized those who look back after it has pa.s.sed from visible sight cannot but recognize how rhythmic are the sequences that have characterized its last months on earth. If the person in question had actually known the day on which he should be called away, he would hardly have done other than he did. It is as if the spirit had some prescience, not realized by the ordinary consciousness, but still controlling its conduct of the last time allotted here. With this last year of Robert Browning's life, this unseen leading is especially obvious.

In the spring he had revised his poetic work; he had pa.s.sed Commemoration week at Oxford, as he loved to do; he had pa.s.sed much of the time with his friend, the Master of Balliol, and among his last expressions on leaving Oxford was "Jowett knows how I love him." He was also in Cambridge, and Edmund Gosse has charmingly recalled the way in which he dwelt, retrospectively, on his old Italian days.

In June, also, he paid his usual visit to Lord Albemarle (the last survivor of those who fought at Waterloo), and in that month he wrote to Professor Knight, who was about to exchange the Chair of Philosophy at the University of Glasgow for that of Literature at St. Andrews, saying: "It is the right order; Philosophy first, and Poetry, which is its highest outcome, afterward, and much harm has been done by reversing the usual process."

The letters to Mrs. Bronson tell much of the story of these days. In one, dated June 10, 1899, he gives this reminiscence of Asolo:

DEAREST FRIEND,--It was indeed a joy to get your letter. I know that a change of place would be desirable for you, darling Edie told me so, but I fancied you would not leave Venice so soon....

... One thing is certain, that if I do go to Venice, and abide at the Rezzonico, every day during the visit I shall pa.s.s over to the beloved Alvisi and entirely beloved friends there, who are to me in Venice what San Marco is to the Piazza. Enough of this now, and something about Asolo.

When I first found out Asolo, I lodged at the main hotel in the Square,--an old, large inn of the most primitive kind. The ceiling of my bed-room was traversed by a huge crack, or rather cleft, caused by the earthquake last year; the sky was as blue as blue could be, and we were all praying in the fields, expecting the town to tumble in. On the morning after my arrival, I walked up to the Rocca; and on returning to breakfast I mentioned it to the land-lady, wherein a respectable middle-aged man, sitting by, said: "You have done what I, born here, never thought of doing." I took long walks every day, and carried away a lively recollection of the general beauty, but I did not write a word of 'Pippa Pa.s.ses'--that idea struck me when walking in an English wood, and I made use of Italian memories.

I used to dream of seeing Asolo in the distance and making vain attempts to reach it--repeatedly dreamed this for many a year. And when I found myself once more in Italy, with Sarianna, I went there straight from Venice. We found the old inn lying in ruins, a new one (being) built, to take its place,--I suppose that which you see now.

We went to a much inferior albergo, the best then existing, and were roughly, but pleasantly, entertained for a week, as I say. People told me the number of inhabitants had greatly increased, and things seemed generally more ordinary and life-like. I am happy that you like it so much. When I got my impression, Italy was new to me....

... I shall go to Oxford for Commemoration, and stay a week for another affair,--a "gaudy" dinner given to the magnates of Eton.

To the forthcoming collection, ent.i.tled "Asolando," the group of poems dedicated to Mrs. Bronson, the poet alludes as follows:

... By the way the new little book of poems that was to a.s.sociate your name with mine, remains unprinted. For why? The publishers think its announcement might panic-strike the purchasers of the new edition, who have nearly enough of me for some time to come! Never mind. We shall have our innings.

Bless you ever and your Edith; keep me in mind as your very own always affectionate

R. B.

The poet's love for Asolo is revealed in the following letter to Mrs.

Bronson:

29, DEVERE GARDENS, W.

July 17,'89.

DEAREST FRIEND,--I shall delight in fancying your life at Asolo, my very own of all Italian towns; your house built into the wall, and the neighboring castle ruins, and the wonderful outlook; on a clear day you can see much further than Venice. I mentioned some of the dear spots pointed out to my faith as ruins, while what wants no faith at all,--the green hills surrounding you, Posagno close by,--how you will enjoy it! And do go there and get all the good out of the beautiful place I used to dream about so often in old days, till at last I saw it again, and the dreams stopped,--to begin, again, I trust, with a figure there never a.s.sociated with Asolo before. Shall I ever see you there in no dream? I cannot say; I feel inclined to leave England this next autumn that is so soon to overtake us....

Pen stays a few days longer in Paris to complete his picture. He had declined to compete at the Exposition, but has been awarded a Medal (3rd), which, however, enables him to dispense with the permission of the Salon that his works shall be received. Julian Story gets also a medal of the same cla.s.s. Pen reports stupendously of the Paris show....

... Well, you know we have been entertaining and entertained by the Shah. I met him at Lord Roseberry's, and before dinner was presented to him, when he asked me in French: _"etes-vous poete?" "On s'est permis de le dire quelquefois." "Et vous avez fait des livres?"

"Plusieurs livres?" "Trop de livres." "Voulez-vous m'en faire le cadeau d'un de vos livres afin que je puisse me ressouvenir de vous?"

"Avec plaisir."_ Accordingly I went next day to a shop where they keep them ready bound, and chose a brightly covered "selection."...

All the outing I have accomplished was a week at Oxford, which was a quiet one,--Jowett's health, I fear, not allowing the usual invitation of guests to Balliol. I had all the more of him, to my great satisfaction.

Sarianna is quite in her ordinary health, but tired as we cannot but be. She is away from the house, but I know how much she would have me put in of love in what I would say for her.... Did you get a little book by Michael Field? "Long Ago," a number of poems written to _innestare_ what fragmentary lines and words we have left of Sappho's poetry. I want to know particularly how they strike you.

To Tennyson for his eightieth birthday Mr. Browning writes:

To-morrow is your birthday, indeed a memorable one. Let me say I a.s.sociate 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 G.o.d bless you and yours!

I have had disastrous experience.... Admiringly and Affectionately yours,

ROBERT BROWNING.[17]

To this letter Lord Tennyson replied:

ALDWORTH, August, 1889.

MY DEAR BROWNING,--I thank you with my whole heart and being for your n.o.ble and affectionate letter, and with my whole heart and being I return your friendship. To be loved and appreciated by so great and powerful a nature as yours will be a solace to me, and lighten my dark hours during the short time of life that is left to us.

Ever Yours,

A. TENNYSON.

The poet found himself again longing for his Italy. To Mrs. Bronson, under date of August 8, he wrote, referring to a letter of hers received two days before, crowned with "the magical stamp of Asolo":

"... So a fancy springs up which shall have utterance as just a fancy.

The time has come for determining on some change of place, if change is ever to be, and, I repeat, just a fancy, if I were inclined to join you at Asolo, say a fortnight hence, could good rooms be procurable for Sarianna and myself? Now as you value--I won't say my love, but my respect and esteem--understand me literally, and give me only the precise information I want--not one half-syllable about accommodation in your house!

"I ask because when I and Sarianna went there years ago, the old Locanda on the Square lay in ruins, and we put up at a rougher inn in the town's self. I dare say the princ.i.p.al hotel is rebuilt by this time, or rather has grown somewhat old. Probably you are there indeed.

Just tell us exactly. Pen is trying his best to entice us his way, which means to Primiero and Venice; but the laziness of age is subduing me, and how I shrink from the 'middle pa.s.sage,'--all that day and night whirling from London to Basle, with the eleven or twelve hours to Milan. Milan opens on Paradise, but the getting to Milan!

Perhaps I shall turn northward and go to Scotland after all. Still, dear and good one, tell me what I ask. After the requisite information you will please tell me accurately how you are, how that wicked gad-a-bout, Edith, is, and where; and what else you can generously afford of news,--news Venetian, I mean...."

Later the poet writes:

"... I trust that as few clouds as may be may trouble the blue of our month at Asolo; I shall bring your book full of verses for a final overhauling on the spot where, when I first saw it, inspiration seemed to steam up from the very ground.

"And so Edith is (I conjecture, I hope, rightly) to be with you; won't I show her the little ridge in the ruin where one talks to the echo to greatest advantage."

From Milan Browning wrote to Mrs. Bronson: