The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume II | Page 3

most Romish version of the S.S.[1] The
differences between the Protestant version and the Papistical are not
certainly justifiable by the Greek original, on the side of the latter. In
fact, the Papistical version does not pretend to follow the Greek text,
but a Latin translation of the same--it's a translation from a translation.
Granting it, however, to be faithful, I must repeat that to make out the
Romish system from even such a Romish version could not be
achieved. So little does Scripture (however represented) seem to me to
justify that system of ecclesiastical doctrine and discipline. I answer
your question because you bid me, but I am not a bit frightened at the
idea of your becoming a R.C., however you may try to frighten me.
You have too much intelligence and uprightness of intellect. We do
hope you have enjoyed Rome, and that dearest Miss Agassiz (give our
kind love to her) is better and looks better than we all thought her a
little while ago. I have a book coming out in England called 'Casa
Guidi Windows,' which will prevent everybody else (except you) from
speaking to me again. Do love me always, as I shall you. Forgive me,
and _don't_ forget me. I shall try, after a space of calm, to behave better
to you, and more after my _heart_--for I am ever (as Robert is)
Your faithfully affectionate friend, ELIZABETH B. BROWNING.
* * * * *
To Miss Mitford Venice: June 4, [1851].

My ever dearest Miss Mitford,--I must write to you from Venice,
though it can only be a few lines. So much I have to say and feel in
writing to you, and thinking that you were not well when you wrote last
to me, I long to hear from you--and yet I can't tell you to-day where a
letter will find me. We are wanderers on the face of the world just now,
and with every desire of going straight from Venice to Milan
to-morrow (Friday) week, we shall more probably, at the Baths of
Recoaro, be lingering and lingering. Therefore will you write to the
care of Miss Browning, New Cross, Hatcham, near London? for so I
shall not lose your letter. I have been between heaven and earth since
our arrival at Venice. The heaven of it is ineffable. Never had I touched
the skirts of so celestial a place. The beauty of the architecture, the
silver trails of water up between all that gorgeous colour and carving,
the enchanting silence, the moonlight, the music, the gondolas--I mix it
all up together, and maintain that nothing is like it, nothing equal to it,
not a second Venice in the world. Do you know, when I came first I felt
as if I never could go away. But now comes the earth side. Robert, after
sharing the ecstasy, grows uncomfortable, and nervous, and unable to
eat or sleep; and poor Wilson, still worse, in a miserable condition of
continual sickness and headache. Alas for these mortal Venices--so
exquisite and so bilious! Therefore I am constrained away from my
joys by sympathy, and am forced to be glad that we are going off on
Friday. For myself, it does not affect me at all. I like these moist, soft,
relaxing climates; even the scirocco doesn't touch me much. And the
baby grows gloriously fatter in spite of everything.
No, indeed and indeed, we are not going to England for the sake of the
Exposition. How could you fancy such a thing, even once. In any case
we shall not reach London till late, and if by any arrangement I could
see my sister Arabel in France or on the coast of England, we would
persuade Robert's family to meet us there, and not see London at all.
Ah, if you knew how abhorrent the thought of England is to me! Well,
we must not talk of it. My eyes shut suddenly when my thoughts go
that way.
Tell me exactly how you are. I heartily rejoice that you have decided at
last about the other house, so as to avoid the danger of another autumn

and winter in the damp. Do you write still for Mr. Chorley's periodical,
and how does it go on? Here in Italy the fame of it does not penetrate.
As for Venice, you can't get even a 'Times,' much less an 'Athenæum.'
We comfort ourselves by taking a box at the opera (the whole box on
the ground tier, mind) for two shillings and eightpence English. Also,
every evening at half-past eight, Robert and I are sitting under the
moon in the great piazza of St. Mark, taking excellent coffee and
reading the French papers. Can you fancy me so?
You will receive a copy of my