her villa up [at] Bellosguardo (not exactly Aurora
Leigh's,[54] mind). You seemed to be lifted up above the world in a
divine ecstasy. Oh, what a vision!

Have you read Victor Hugo's 'Contemplations'? We are doing so at last.
As for _me_, my eyes and my heart melted over them--some of the personal
poems are overcoming in their pathos; and nothing more exquisite in
poetry can express deeper pain....

Robert comes back. He says that Mrs. Stowe was very simple and pleasant.
He likes her. So shall I, I think. She has the grace, too, to admire our
Florence.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

I dare say the illustrations will be beautiful. But you are at work on a
new book, are you not?

* * * * *

The mention of the 'Contemplations' of Victor Hugo in the preceding
letter supplies a clue to the date of the following draft of an appeal
to the Emperor Napoleon on behalf of the poet, which has been found
among Mrs. Browning's papers. An endorsement on the letter says that it
was not sent, but it is none the less worthy of being printed.

* * * * *

_To the Emperor Napoleon_

[April 1857.]

Sire,--I am only a woman, and have no claim on your Majesty's attention
except that of the weakest on the strongest. Probably my very name as
the wife of an English poet, and as named itself a little among English
poets, is unknown to your Majesty. I never approached my own sovereign
with a petition, nor am skilled in the way of addressing kings. Yet
having, through a studious and thoughtful life, grown used to great men
(among the dead, at least), I cannot feel entirely at a loss in speaking
to the Emperor Napoleon.

And I beseech you to have patience with me while I supplicate you. It is
not for myself nor for mine.

I have been reading with wet eyes and a swelling heart (as many who love
and some who hate your Majesty have lately done) a book called the
'Contemplations' of a man who has sinned deeply against you in certain
of his political writings, and who expiates rash phrases and
unjustifiable statements in exile in Jersey. I have no personal
knowledge of this man; I never saw his face; and certainly I do not come
now to make his apology. It is, indeed, precisely because he cannot be
excused that, I think, he might worthily be forgiven. For this man,
whatever else he is not, is a great poet of France, and the Emperor, who
is the guardian of her other glories, s