You let 'flowers be sent you in a letter,' every one knows, and this
hot day draws out our very first yellow rose.
_E.B.B. to R.B._
Monday.
[Post-mark, June 17, 1845.]
Yes, I quite believe as you do that what is called the 'creative
process' in works of Art, is just inspiration and no less--which made
somebody say to me not long since; And so you think that Shakespeare's
'Othello' was of the effluence of the Holy Ghost?'--rather a startling
deduction, ... only not quite as final as might appear to somebodies
perhaps. At least it does not prevent my going on to agree with the
saying of _Spiridion_, ... do you remember?... 'Tout ce que l'homme
appelle inspiration, je l'appelle aussi revelation,' ... if there is
not something too self-evident in it after all--my sole objection! And
is it not true that your inability to analyse the mental process in
question, is one of the proofs of the fact of inspiration?--as the
gods were known of old by not being seen to move their feet,--coming
and going in an equal sweep of radiance.--And still more wonderful
than the first transient great light you speak of, ... and far beyond
any work of _re_flection, except in the pure analytical sense in which
you use the word, ... appears that gathering of light on light upon
particular points, as you go (in composition) step by step, till you
get intimately near to things, and see them in a fullness and
clearness, and an intense trust in the truth of them which you have
not in any sunshine of noon (called _real_!) but which you have _then_
... and struggle to communicate:--an ineffectual struggle with most
writers (oh, how ineffectual!) and when effectual, issuing in the
'Pippa Passes,' and other master-pieces of the world.
You will tell me what you mean exactly by being jealous of your own
music? You said once that you had had a false notion of music, or had
practised it according to the false notions of other people: but did
you mean besides that you ever had meant to despise music
altogether--because _that_, it is hard to set about trying to believe
of you indeed. And then, you _can_ praise my verses for music?--Why,
are you aware that people blame me constantly for wanting
harmony--from Mr. Boyd who moans aloud over the indisposition of my
'trochees' ... and no less a person than Mr. Tennyson, who said to
somebody who repeated it, that in the want of harmony lay the chief
defect of the poems, 'although it might verily be retrieved, as he
could fancy that I had an ear by nature.' Well--but I am pleased that
you should praise me--right or wrong--I mean, whether I am right or
wrong in being pleased! and I say so to you openly, although my belief
is that you are under a vow to our Lady of Loretto to make giddy with
all manner of high vanities, some head, ... not too strong for such
things, but too low for them, ... before you see again the embroidery
on her divine petticoat. Only there's a flattery so far beyond praise
... even _your_ praise--as where you talk of your verses being liked
&c., and of your being happy to bring them here, ... that is scarcely
a lawful weapon; and see if the Madonna may not signify so much to
you!--Seriously, you will not hurry too uncomfortably, or
uncomfortably at all, about the transcribing? Another day, you know,
will do as well--and patience is possible to me, if not 'native to the
soil.'
Also I am behaving very well in going out into the noise; not quite
out of doors yet, on account of the heat--and I am better as you say,
without any doubt at all, and stronger--only my looks are a little
deceitful; and people are apt to be heated and flushed in this
weather, one hour, to look a little more ghastly an hour or two after.
Not that it _is_ not true of me that I am better, mind! Because I am.
The 'flower in the letter' was from one of my sisters--from Arabel
(though many of these poems are _ideal_ ... will you understand?) and
your rose came quite alive and fresh, though in act of dropping its
beautiful leaves, because of having to come to me instead of living on
in your garden, as it intended. But I thank you--for this, and all, my
dear friend.