[West Cowes]: September 13, 1856 [postmark].

My dearest Sarianna,--Robert comes suddenly down on me with news that he
is going to write to you, so, though I have been writing letters all the
morning, I must throw in a few words. As to keeping Penini at the sea
longer, he will have been three weeks at the sea to-morrow, and you must
remember how late into the year it is getting--and we with so much work
before us! And if Peni recovered his roses at Ventnor, I recovered my
cough (from the piercing east winds); but I am better since, and last
night slept well. It's far too early for cough, however, in any shape.
We have heaps of business to do in London--heaps--and the book is only
half-done. Still, we are asked to stay here till three days after Madame
Braun's arrival, and it isn't fixed yet when she will arrive; so that I
daresay Peni will have a full month of the sea, after all. Then I have a
design upon Robert's good-nature, of persuading him to _go round by
Taunton_ to London (something like going round the earth to Paris), that
I may see my poor forsaken sister Henrietta, who wants us to give her a
week in her cottage, pathetically bewailing herself that she has no
means for the expense of going to London this time--that she has done it
twice for me, and can't this time (the purse being low); and unless we
go to her, she must do without seeing me, in spite of a separation of
four years. So I am anxious to go, of course.

Robert will have told you of our dear friend here. We began by finding
him much better than we expected, but gradually the sad truth deepens
that he is very ill--oh, it deepens and saddens at once. The face lights
up with the warm, generous heart; then the fire drops, and you see the
embers. The breath is very difficult--it is hard to live. He leans on
the table, saying softly and pathetically 'My God! my God!' Now and then
he desires aloud to pass away and be at rest. I cannot tell you what
his kindness is--his consideration is too affecting; kinder he is than
ever. Miss Bayley is an excellent nurse--at once gentle and
decided--and, if she did but look further than this life and this death,
she would be a perfect companion for him. Peni creeps about like a
mouse; but he goes out, and he isn't over-tired, as he was at Ventnor.
We think he is altogether better in looks and ways.

Your affectionate
BA.

      * * * * *


A short visit to Taunton seems to have been made about the end of
September, as anticipated in the last letter, and then, at some time in
the course of October, they set out for Florence. But Mrs. Browning, in
thus quitting England for the last time, left behind her as a legacy the
completed volume of 'Aurora Leigh.' This poem was the realisation of her
early scheme, which goes back at least to the year 1844, of writing a
novel in verse--a novel modern in setting and ideas, and embodying her
own ideals of social and moral progress. And to a large extent she
succeeded. As a vehicle of her opinions, the scheme and style of the
poem proved completely adequate. She moves easily through the story; she
handles her metre with freedom and command; she can say her say without
exaggeration or unnatural strain. Further, the opinions themselves, as
those who have learnt to know her through her letters will feel sure,
are lofty and honourable, and full of a genuine enthusiasm for humanity.
As a novel, 'Aurora Leigh' may be open to the criticism that most of the
characters fail to impress us with a sense of reality and vitality, and
that the hero hardly wins the sympathy from the reader which he is meant
to win. But as a poem it is unquestionably a very remarkable work--not
so full of permanent poetic spirit as the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese,'
not so readily popular as 'The Cry of the Children' or 'Cowper's
Grave'--but a highly characteristic work of one whose character was
made up of pure thoughts and noble ideals, which, in spite of the
inevitable change of manners and social interests with the lapse of
years, will retain into an indefinite future a very considerable
intrinsic value as poetry, and a very high rank among the works of its
author.

At the time of its publication its success was immediate. The subjects
touched on were largely such as always attract interest, because they
are open to much controversy; and the freshness of style and originality
of conception (for almost the only other novel-poem in the language is
'Don Juan,' which can hardly be regarded as of the same type as 'Aurora
Leigh') attracted a multitude of readers. A second edition was required
in a fortnight, a third in a few months--a success which must have
greatly pleased the authoress, who had put her inmost self into her
work, and had laboured hard to leave behind her an adequate
representation of her poetic art.

This natural satisfaction was darkened, however, by the death, on
December 3, of Mr. Kenyon, in whose house the poem had been completed,
and to whom it had been dedicated. Readers of these letters do not
require to be told how near and dear a friend he had been to both Mrs.
Browning and her husband. During his life his friendship had taken the
practical form of allowing them 100_l._ a year, in order that they might
be more free to follow their art for its own sake only, and in his will
he left 6,500_l._ to Robert Browning and 4,500_l._ to Mrs. Browning.
These were the largest legacies in a very generous will--the fitting end
to a life passed in acts of generosity and kindness to those in need.