The Complete Works of Robert Browning: Poems, Plays, Letters & Biographies in One Edition. Robert Browning
have troubled him as the other. Mrs. Browning told Mr. Prinsep that her husband could never alter the wording of a poem without rewriting it, indeed, practically converting it into another; though he more than once tried to do so at her instigation. But to the end of his life he could at any moment recast a line or passage for the sake of greater correctness, and leave all that was essential in it untouched.
Seven times more in the eleven years which remained to him, Mr. Browning spent the autumn in Venice. Once also, in 1882, he had proceeded towards it as far as Verona, when the floods which marked the autumn of that year arrested his farther course. Each time he had halted first in some more or less elevated spot, generally suggested by his French friend, Monsieur Dourlans, himself an inveterate wanderer, whose inclinations also tempted him off the beaten track. The places he most enjoyed were Saint-Pierre la Chartreuse, and Gressoney Saint-Jean, where he stayed respectively in 1881 and 1882, 1883 and 1885. Both of these had the drawbacks, and what might easily have been the dangers, of remoteness from the civilized world. But this weighed with him so little, that he remained there in each case till the weather had broken, though there was no sheltered conveyance in which he and his sister could travel down; and on the later occasions at least, circumstances might easily have combined to prevent their departure for an indefinite time. He became, indeed, so attached to Gressoney, with its beautiful outlook upon Monte Rosa, that nothing I believe would have hindered his returning, or at least contemplating a return to it, but the great fatigue to his sister of the mule ride up the mountain, by a path which made walking, wherever possible, the easier course. They did walk down it in the early October of 1885, and completed the hard seven hours’ trudge to San Martino d’Aosta, without an atom of refreshment or a minute’s rest.
One of the great attractions of Saint-Pierre was the vicinity of the Grande Chartreuse, to which Mr. Browning made frequent expeditions, staying there through the night in order to hear the midnight mass. Miss Browning also once attempted the visit, but was not allowed to enter the monastery. She slept in the adjoining convent.
The brother and sister were again at the Universo in 1879, 1880, and 1881; but the crash was rapidly approaching, and soon afterwards it came. The old Palazzo passed into other hands, and after a short period of private ownership was consigned to the purposes of an Art Gallery.
In 1880, however, they had been introduced by Mrs. Story to an American resident, Mrs. Arthur Bronson, and entered into most friendly relations with her; and when, after a year’s interval, they were again contemplating an autumn in Venice, she placed at their disposal a suite of rooms in the Palazzo Giustiniani Recanati, which formed a supplement to her own house — making the offer with a kindly urgency which forbade all thought of declining it. They inhabited these for a second time in 1885, keeping house for themselves in the simple but comfortable foreign manner they both so well enjoyed, only dining and spending the evening with their friend. But when, in 1888, they were going, as they thought, to repeat the arrangement, they found, to their surprise, a little apartment prepared for them under Mrs. Bronson’s own roof. This act of hospitality involved a special kindness on her part, of which Mr. Browning only became aware at the close of a prolonged stay; and a sense of increased gratitude added itself to the affectionate regard with which his hostess had already inspired both his sister and him. So far as he is concerned, the fact need only be indicated. It is fully expressed in the preface to ‘Asolando’.
During the first and fresher period of Mr. Browning’s visits to Venice, he found a passing attraction in its society. It held an historical element which harmonized well with the decayed magnificence of the city, its old-world repose, and the comparatively simple modes of intercourse still prevailing there. Mrs. Bronson’s ‘salon’ was hospitably open whenever her health allowed; but her natural refinement, and the conservatism which so strongly marks the higher class of Americans, preserved it from the heterogeneous character which Anglo-foreign sociability so often assumes. Very interesting, even important names lent their prestige to her circle; and those of Don Carlos and his family, of Prince and Princess Iturbide, of Prince and Princess Metternich, and of Princess Montenegro, were on the list of her ‘habitues’, and, in the case of the royal Spaniards, of her friends. It need hardly be said that the great English poet, with his fast spreading reputation and his infinite social charm, was kindly welcomed and warmly appreciated amongst them.
English and American acquaintances also congregated in Venice, or passed through it from London, Florence, and Rome. Those resident in Italy could make their visits coincide with those of Mr. Browning and his sister, or undertake the journey for the sake of seeing them; while the outward conditions of life were such as to render friendly intercourse more satisfactory, and common social civilities less irksome than they could be at home. Mr. Browning was, however, already too advanced in years, too familiar with everything which the world can give, to be long affected by the novelty of these experiences. It was inevitable that the need of rest, though often for the moment forgotten, should assert itself more and more. He gradually declined on the society of a small number of resident or semi-resident friends; and, due exception being made for the hospitalities of his temporary home, became indebted to the kindness of Sir Henry and Lady Layard, of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis of Palazzo Barbaro, and of Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Eden, for most of the social pleasure and comfort of his later residences in Venice.
Part of a letter to Mrs. FitzGerald gives an insight into the character of his life there: all the stronger that it was written under a temporary depression which it partly serves to explain.
Albergo dell’ Universo, Venezia, Italia: Sept. 24, ‘81.
‘Dear Friend, — On arriving here I found your letter to my great satisfaction — and yesterday brought the ‘Saturday Review’ — for which, many thanks.
‘We left our strange but lovely place on the 18th, reaching Chambery at evening, — stayed the next day there, — walking, among other diversions to “Les Charmettes”, the famous abode of Rousseau — kept much as when he left it: I visited it with my wife perhaps twenty-five years ago, and played so much of “Rousseau’s Dream” as could be effected on his antique harpsichord: this time I attempted the same feat, but only two notes or thereabouts out of the octave would answer the touch. Next morning we proceeded to Turin, and on Wednesday got here, in the middle of the last night of the Congress Carnival — rowing up the Canal to our Albergo through a dazzling blaze of lights and throng of boats, — there being, if we are told truly, 50,000 strangers in the city. Rooms had been secured for us, however: and the festivities are at an end, to my great joy, — for Venice is resuming its old quiet aspect — the only one I value at all. Our American friends wanted to take us in their gondola to see the principal illuminations after the “Serenade”, which was not over before midnight — but I was contented with that — being tired and indisposed for talking, and, having seen and heard quite enough from our own balcony, went to bed: S. having betaken her to her own room long before.
‘Next day we took stock of our acquaintances, — found that the Storys, on whom we had counted for company, were at Vallombrosa, though the two sons have a studio here — other friends are in sufficient number however — and last evening we began our visits by a very classical one — to the Countess Mocenigo, in her palace which Byron occupied: she is a charming widow since two years, — young, pretty and of the prettiest manners: she showed us all the rooms Byron had lived in, — and I wrote my name in her album on the desk himself wrote the last canto of ‘Ch. Harold’ and ‘Beppo’ upon. There was a small party: we were taken and introduced by the Layards who are kind as ever, and I met old friends — Lord Aberdare, Charles Bowen, and others. While I write comes a deliciously fresh ‘bouquet’ from Mrs. Bronson, an American lady, — in short we shall find a week or two amusing enough; though — where are the pinewoods, mountains and torrents, and wonderful air? Venice is under a cloud, — dull and threatening, — though we were apprehensive of heat, arriving, as we did, ten days earlier than last year… .’
The evening’s programme was occasionally varied by a visit to one of the theatres. The plays given were chiefly in the Venetian dialect, and needed previous study for their enjoyment; but Mr. Browning assisted at one musical performance which strongly appealed to his historical and artistic sensibilities: that of the ‘Barbiere’ of Paisiello in the Rossini theatre and in the presence of Wagner, which took place in the