Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)
Author of Sonnets from the Portuguese
About the Author
Elizabeth Barrett was born in Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England, in 1806. Most of her childhood was spent on her father's estate, reading the classics and writing poetry. An injury to her spine when she was fifteen, the shock of her brother's death by drowning in 1840 and an ogre-like father made her show more life dark. But she read and wrote, and no little volume of verse ever produced a richer return than her Poems of 1844. Robert Browning read the poems, liked them, and came to her rescue like Prince Charming in the fairy story. Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning were married on September 12, 1846. Barrett Browning's enduring fame has rested on two works-Poems (1850), containing Sonnets from the Portuguese, and Aurora Leigh (1857). The former is a celebration of woman as man's other half and the latter is a celebration of woman's potential to stand on her own. During the Edwardian and later periods, it was Sonnets from the Portuguese that embodied Barrett Browning. Since the rise of feminism, it has been Aurora Leigh. More recently, a third side of Barrett Browning has been revealed: the incisive critical and political commentator, seen in her letters. Elizabeth Barrett Browning died in Florence, Italy, in 1861. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Disambiguation Notice:
Officially, her given names were "Elizabeth Barrett", and her family name "Moulton Barrett", but the Moulton part was rarely used. Before her marriage (Sept. 1846) she published as "Elizabeth Barrett Barrett; subsequently as "Elizabeth Barrett Browning".
Image credit: Courtesy of the NYPL Digital Gallery (image use requires permission from the New York Public Library)
Series
Works by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The Collected Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Wordsworth Poetry Library) (2015) 71 copies, 1 review
Sonnets from the Portuguese and other treasured poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1967) — Author — 66 copies, 1 review
The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barret Barrett 1845-1846 vol I (1899) (2005) — Author; Author — 49 copies
Mrs. Browning Poems: The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barret Browning Complete in One Volume from the 12th London Edition (1900) 43 copies
How Do I Love Thee? the Love Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett (1969) 16 copies, 1 review
Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Letters to Mrs. David Ogilvy, 1849-1861, with recollections by Mrs. Ogilvy (1973) 14 copies, 1 review
The Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, 1845-1846, with Portraits and Facsimiles, in Two Volumes, Volume II (2005) — Author; Author — 14 copies, 1 review
Life, letters and essays of Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Volume 1. Letters of Elizabeth Barret Browning addressed to Richard Hengist Horne (1999) 10 copies
Twenty-two unpublished letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning addressed to Henrietta and Arabella Moulton-Barrett (1971) 7 copies
ELIZABETH BARRETT TO MISS MITFORD: LETTERS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. (1954) 6 copies
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Selected Writings (21st-Century Oxford Authors) (2018) — Author — 6 copies
Invisible Friends: The Correspondence of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Benjamin Robert Haydon, 1842-1845 (Rollins Fund) (1972) 6 copies
A selection from Mrs. Browning's poems; (Macmillan's pocket American and English classics) (2011) 5 copies
Women of letters : selected letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning & Mary Russell Mitford (1987) 5 copies
Sonnets 4 copies
Last poems 4 copies
Poems, by E.B. Barrett 3 copies
Browning — Author — 3 copies
Poetical Works (5 vols.) 3 copies
Poems by E B Browning 2 copies
Sonnet 43 2 copies
The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Complete in One Volume from the Last London Edition (Florence Edition) (1870) 2 copies
Poetical Works of Mrs. Browning 2 copies
Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning (Complete) from the Twelfth London Edition (1883) 2 copies
poems 2 copies
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: Over 100 poems on life and love (Gemini Gift Women's Poetry) (2026) 1 copy, 1 review
Poetical Works, The 1 copy
Sonetti Dal Portochese 1 copy
To George Sand (Desire) 1 copy
The poetical works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, complete Volume 1; With a memoir ... (2012) 1 copy
Mrs. browning's poems vol IV 1 copy
Rhyme Of The Duchess May. 1 copy
Mrs. Browning's Poems, Vol 3 1 copy
Mrs. Browning's Poems, Vol 2 1 copy
Mrs. Browning's Poems, Vol 1 1 copy
Lady Geraldine's Courtship and Other Poems [The Masterpiece Library] The Penny Poets VIII (1900) 1 copy
Let Me Count The Ways — Author — 1 copy
Mrs. Browning 1 copy
Pan 1 copy
Mrs. Brownings's Poems 1 copy
Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Complete (From the Twelfth London Edition) (1889) 1 copy
50 Greatest Poems 1 copy
Poems by Mrs. Browning 1 copy
Poems - Volume IV 1 copy
Poems by E. B. Browning and Selections from the Poetical Works of Robert Browning. Two Volume Set. (1896) — Author — 1 copy
EBB ( PORT ) 1 copy
Poems of E. Browning — Author — 1 copy
Aurora Leigh Book 1-4 1 copy
The poetical works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning complete in one volume by Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1879) 1 copy
Florentine friends : the letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning to Isa Blagden, 1850-1861 (2009) 1 copy
Sonnets From The Portguese 1 copy
A Musical Instrument 1 copy
The Lady's Yes 1 copy
Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Selected with an introduction by Samuel J. Looker (Crown Classics.) (1948) 1 copy
Aurora Leigh Book 5-9 1 copy
Browning poetry 1 copy
John Brown's Body 1 copy
The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, with Prefatory Memoir, including "Aurora Leigh" (1903) 1 copy
The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, complete in one volume, corrected by the Last London Edition (1870) 1 copy
The Cry of the Children 1 copy
Associated Works
The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms (2000) — Contributor — 1,474 copies, 9 reviews
The Best Poems of the English Language: From Chaucer Through Robert Frost (2004) — Contributor — 1,249 copies, 3 reviews
Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, and Drama (1995) — Contributor, some editions — 1,017 copies, 7 reviews
The Assassin's Cloak: An Anthology of the World's Greatest Diarists (2000) — Contributor, some editions — 623 copies, 9 reviews
The Norton Anthology of English Literature, 4th Edition, Volume 2 (1979) — Contributor — 271 copies, 1 review
Wise Women: Over Two Thousand Years of Spiritual Writing by Women (1996) — Contributor — 231 copies, 1 review
Poems Between Women: Four Centuries of Love, Romantic Friendship, and Desire (1997) — Contributor — 97 copies, 1 review
Gentlemen, Scholars and Scoundrels: A Treasury of the Best of Harper's Magazine from 1850 to the Present (1972) — Contributor — 62 copies
Out of the Best Books: An Anthology of Literature, Vol. 2: Love, Marriage, and the Family (1966) — Contributor — 36 copies
Out of the Best Books: An Anthology of Literature, Vol. 3: Intelligent Family Living (1967) — Contributor — 34 copies
Edexcel Poetry Anthology for Advanced subsidiary and advanced GCE examinations in English Literature (2000) — Contributor, some editions — 6 copies
Love & Marriage — Contributor — 3 copies
The Brownings for the young — Contributor — 2 copies
BBC Proms 2019 : Prom 39 : Elgar, Errollyn Wallen, Mendelssohn and Mussorgsky [sound recording] (2019) — Text — 1 copy
BBC Proms 2019 : Prom 39 : Elgar, Errollyn Wallen, Mendelssohn and Mussorgsky [programme] (2019) — Text — 1 copy
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Legal name
- Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
- Other names
- Barrett, Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett - Birthdate
- 1806-03-06
- Date of death
- 1861-06-29
- Gender
- female
- Occupations
- poet
writer
reviewer
translator - Relationships
- Browning, Robert (husband)
Browning, Robert Wiedemann Barrett (son)
Mitford, Mary Russell (friend)
Moulton Barrett, Edward (father) - Short biography
- The love story of Elizabeth Barrett, one of the most prominent poets of the Victorian era from a young age, and the poet and playwright Robert Browning, has itself inspired many works of fiction and biography. Their courtship had to be conducted in secret as her domineering father did not want his children to marry. After much planning, in 1846 the couple married in a private ceremony in London and then eloped to Paris. They went on to Italy, which became their home almost continuously until Elizabeth's death. In 1849, at the age of 43, between four miscarriages, she gave birth to a son, Robert Wiedemann Barrett Browning, whom they called Pen.
- Nationality
- UK
- Birthplace
- Coxhoe Hall, County Durham, England
- Places of residence
- Great Malvern, Worcestershire, England, UK
Durham, England, UK (Coxhoe Hall ∙ birth)
Florence, Italy
Sidmouth, England, UK
London, England, UK
Torquay, Devon, England, UK - Place of death
- Florence, Italy
- Burial location
- English Cemetery, Florence, Italy
- Map Location
- England, UK
- Disambiguation notice
- Officially, her given names were "Elizabeth Barrett", and her family name "Moulton Barrett", but the Moulton part was rarely used. Before her marriage (Sept. 1846) she published as "Elizabeth Barrett Barrett; subsequently as "Elizabeth Barrett Browning".
Members
Reviews
At the outset I was a little worried “Sonnets from the Portuguese” may be nothing but stuffy, out-of-date Victorian poetry; I knew little more about Browning than the oft-quoted lines “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways?” which has always sounded a bit trite and cliché.
Boy was I wrong to think that. This book may contain the purest and most intimate expression of love I’ve ever read.
Elizabeth Barrett was nearly 39 when fellow poet Robert Browning first wrote to her. He show more expressed adoration for her and her poetry at a point in her life when she had all but given up on the possibility of love. The sonnets start from those first feelings and then span a spectrum of emotions to a love which has been fully realized. Elizabeth was six years older than Robert and an invalid, spending most of her time in her room and seeing few people outside of her family. The sonnets reveal her doubt that she was worthy of him, how she considered herself damaged, and how she believed she could not adequately return his love. They paint a picture of Robert as very supportive and nurturing, but she occasionally doubted his love or worried it might be transient, and needed reassurance. Ultimately love prevailed, both in the sonnets and in real life. :)
The Brownings married in secret a year and a half after their first correspondence, eloped to Italy, and lived in happiness for fifteen years. She gave the poems to Robert in 1849, at age 43, and they were not originally intended for publication. This adds to their power: they are deeply personal, beautiful, and ring of truth. This particular edition is also very nicely put together, containing a handful of illustrations and a nice introduction. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Quotes:
On her skepticism:
“When we first met and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to over-lean
A finger even. …”
The desire for his love to be permanent:
“If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
‘I love her for her smile – her look – her way
Of speaking gently, - for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’ –
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee, - and love,
so wrought.
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry, -
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose they love thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.”
Her doubt:
“Beloved, I amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt’s pain
Cry, ‘Speak once more – thou lovest!’ Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me – toll
The silver iterance! - only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.”
Again:
“I see thine image through my tears tonight,
And yet today I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause? – Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad?...
…
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul’s eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come – falling hot and real?”
Needing reassurance:
“…Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dove-like help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.”
I love the innocence and purity of their love. She sends him a lock of her hair, and then treasures the lock he returns:
“…And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.”
She treasures his letters:
“My letters! All dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said, - he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in Spring
To come and touch my hand .. a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it! - this … the paper’s light …
Said Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God’s future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine – and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this … O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!”
And the delight of kissing innocently, and with a treasured progression because it is out of love:
“First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,…”
The realization she is difficult to love:
“Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me – wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.”
On being accepted for who she is:
“Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat thus blenchingly
With their rains,) and behold my soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race, -
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens, - because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,
Nor all which other’s viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, -
Nothing repels thee … Dearest, teach me so
To pour gratitude, as thou dost, good!”
On starting a new life, hitherto unforeseen, in middle age:
“I seek no copy now of life’s first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing uncurled,
And write me new my future’s epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!”
Lastly, on love which is complete, free, pure and yet passionate, from the most famous of the sonnets:
“I love freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old grief’s, and with my childhood’s faith.” show less
Boy was I wrong to think that. This book may contain the purest and most intimate expression of love I’ve ever read.
Elizabeth Barrett was nearly 39 when fellow poet Robert Browning first wrote to her. He show more expressed adoration for her and her poetry at a point in her life when she had all but given up on the possibility of love. The sonnets start from those first feelings and then span a spectrum of emotions to a love which has been fully realized. Elizabeth was six years older than Robert and an invalid, spending most of her time in her room and seeing few people outside of her family. The sonnets reveal her doubt that she was worthy of him, how she considered herself damaged, and how she believed she could not adequately return his love. They paint a picture of Robert as very supportive and nurturing, but she occasionally doubted his love or worried it might be transient, and needed reassurance. Ultimately love prevailed, both in the sonnets and in real life. :)
The Brownings married in secret a year and a half after their first correspondence, eloped to Italy, and lived in happiness for fifteen years. She gave the poems to Robert in 1849, at age 43, and they were not originally intended for publication. This adds to their power: they are deeply personal, beautiful, and ring of truth. This particular edition is also very nicely put together, containing a handful of illustrations and a nice introduction. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Quotes:
On her skepticism:
“When we first met and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to over-lean
A finger even. …”
The desire for his love to be permanent:
“If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
‘I love her for her smile – her look – her way
Of speaking gently, - for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’ –
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee, - and love,
so wrought.
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry, -
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose they love thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.”
Her doubt:
“Beloved, I amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt’s pain
Cry, ‘Speak once more – thou lovest!’ Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me – toll
The silver iterance! - only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.”
Again:
“I see thine image through my tears tonight,
And yet today I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause? – Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad?...
…
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul’s eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come – falling hot and real?”
Needing reassurance:
“…Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dove-like help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.”
I love the innocence and purity of their love. She sends him a lock of her hair, and then treasures the lock he returns:
“…And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.”
She treasures his letters:
“My letters! All dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said, - he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in Spring
To come and touch my hand .. a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it! - this … the paper’s light …
Said Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God’s future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine – and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this … O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!”
And the delight of kissing innocently, and with a treasured progression because it is out of love:
“First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,…”
The realization she is difficult to love:
“Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me – wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.”
On being accepted for who she is:
“Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat thus blenchingly
With their rains,) and behold my soul’s true face,
The dim and weary witness of life’s race, -
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens, - because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighborhood,
Nor all which other’s viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, -
Nothing repels thee … Dearest, teach me so
To pour gratitude, as thou dost, good!”
On starting a new life, hitherto unforeseen, in middle age:
“I seek no copy now of life’s first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing uncurled,
And write me new my future’s epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!”
Lastly, on love which is complete, free, pure and yet passionate, from the most famous of the sonnets:
“I love freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old grief’s, and with my childhood’s faith.” show less
I had not expected this collection of love poems to be so melancholic. Although a degree of self-doubt and uncertainty goes along with any lover's thoughts, the tone here is of such low self-esteem, such self-recrimination that it strikes me that the poet was suffering from depression. But through the darkness, there are sparks of hope, that maybe love will come, will be true and will rescue.
In the end, the poet is redeemed and transformed by love, but it seems to have been a close-run show more thing.
There's such beautiful imagery in every poem that it's almost impossible to select one out above the others, but I particularly like Sonnet V:
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As one Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up,...those laurels on thine head,
O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand further off then! go! show less
In the end, the poet is redeemed and transformed by love, but it seems to have been a close-run show more thing.
There's such beautiful imagery in every poem that it's almost impossible to select one out above the others, but I particularly like Sonnet V:
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As one Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up,...those laurels on thine head,
O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand further off then! go! show less
one of, if not the sole, best poetry collections i’ve ever read. ms. barrett browning poured her soul into each one of these sonnets and i listened like a child captivated by an encapsulating bedtime story from their parents. every word she wrote had my heart in shambles.
painfully relatable and heartbreakingly honest, she tells her lover of her feelings for him, and of her feelings for his feelings for her. does that make sense?
easiest 5 star read of the year so far. easiest 5 stars pretty show more much ever. from the first sonnet i KNEW this collection deserved 5 shiny stars because it touched my heart and my soul unlike nearly anything i’ve ever read. ms. barrett browning was a genius. a goddess among men. show less
painfully relatable and heartbreakingly honest, she tells her lover of her feelings for him, and of her feelings for his feelings for her. does that make sense?
easiest 5 star read of the year so far. easiest 5 stars pretty show more much ever. from the first sonnet i KNEW this collection deserved 5 shiny stars because it touched my heart and my soul unlike nearly anything i’ve ever read. ms. barrett browning was a genius. a goddess among men. show less
Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an industrious letter-writer: Robert published the two thick volumes of the courtship correspondence in 1898, Frederick Kenyon edited a similarly chunky two-volume edition of all the other letters he could get hold of in 1897, and a more modest 350 pages of letters to her sister Henrietta came out in the 1920s. But other little piles of letters continued to turn up throughout the 20th century: those printed here only came up for auction in 1971, when they were show more acquired by the Browning Institute, who published this book.
The Ogilvys met the Brownings in Florence in 1848. The two families, with babies a few months apart in age, soon became friends, and continued to see each other on and off until Elizabeth's death in 1861. This collection includes 37 of Elizabeth's letters, plus a final letter from Robert written shortly after her death. The editors also reproduce two versions of a short memoir of Elizabeth written by Mrs Ogilvy, and a small selection of her poems that are relevant to the correspondence.
Eliza Ann Harris Dick Ogilvy (she usually signed her poems as "EAHO") was rather different from EBB — fourteen years younger, for a start, and born into one very conventional Scottish army-and-empire family and married into another. She evidently didn't see eye-to-eye with EBB on spiritualism, Napoleon III, Italian politics, or the appropriate way to dress small children, and they are night and day as poets, but all that doesn't seem to have prevented them from liking each other and enjoying the exchange of ideas in their letters.
It's a shame that EAHO's side of the correspondence was lost: she was clearly a witty writer when she wanted to be. Her description of EBB in the memoir is a case in point — "She was just like a King Charles Spaniel, the same large soft brown eyes, the full silky curls falling around her face like a spaniel's ears, the same pathetic wistfulness of expression..." — she goes on to suggest that there must have been a resemblance to Flush when he was younger, but that by the time she met him he was mangy, old and smelly. Her poems, as included here, range from clever light verse to heavy Victorian sentimentality, well over a century past its read-by date.
The letters themselves are engaging and as full of opinions and curiosity as EBB always seems to be: there is a bit of gossip about Florentine friends, a lot of news about the young Pen Browning and his remarkable achievements and occasional ailments, the inevitable tirades in defence of spiritualism and Napoleon III, and the usual problems of travel, accommodation, servants, and the fraught business of getting parcels of books across Europe in pre-Amazon days.
A nice complement to the other collections of letters, probably filling in some gaps (it's so long since I studied them that I've forgotten where the gaps are), and with the editors' helpful notes you could almost read it as a self-contained look into the Brownings' life in the fifties. show less
The Ogilvys met the Brownings in Florence in 1848. The two families, with babies a few months apart in age, soon became friends, and continued to see each other on and off until Elizabeth's death in 1861. This collection includes 37 of Elizabeth's letters, plus a final letter from Robert written shortly after her death. The editors also reproduce two versions of a short memoir of Elizabeth written by Mrs Ogilvy, and a small selection of her poems that are relevant to the correspondence.
Eliza Ann Harris Dick Ogilvy (she usually signed her poems as "EAHO") was rather different from EBB — fourteen years younger, for a start, and born into one very conventional Scottish army-and-empire family and married into another. She evidently didn't see eye-to-eye with EBB on spiritualism, Napoleon III, Italian politics, or the appropriate way to dress small children, and they are night and day as poets, but all that doesn't seem to have prevented them from liking each other and enjoying the exchange of ideas in their letters.
It's a shame that EAHO's side of the correspondence was lost: she was clearly a witty writer when she wanted to be. Her description of EBB in the memoir is a case in point — "She was just like a King Charles Spaniel, the same large soft brown eyes, the full silky curls falling around her face like a spaniel's ears, the same pathetic wistfulness of expression..." — she goes on to suggest that there must have been a resemblance to Flush when he was younger, but that by the time she met him he was mangy, old and smelly. Her poems, as included here, range from clever light verse to heavy Victorian sentimentality, well over a century past its read-by date.
The letters themselves are engaging and as full of opinions and curiosity as EBB always seems to be: there is a bit of gossip about Florentine friends, a lot of news about the young Pen Browning and his remarkable achievements and occasional ailments, the inevitable tirades in defence of spiritualism and Napoleon III, and the usual problems of travel, accommodation, servants, and the fraught business of getting parcels of books across Europe in pre-Amazon days.
A nice complement to the other collections of letters, probably filling in some gaps (it's so long since I studied them that I've forgotten where the gaps are), and with the editors' helpful notes you could almost read it as a self-contained look into the Brownings' life in the fifties. show less
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