September 16, 1845

Miss Barrett responds to Browning's latest avowal from September 13th on September 16, 1845:

"I scarcely know how to write what is to be written nor indeed why it is to be written and to what end. I have tried in vain—and you are waiting to hear from me. I am unhappy enough even where I am happy—but ungrateful nowhere—and I thank you from my heart—profoundly from the depths of my heart ... which is nearly all I can do.

One letter I began to write and asked in it how it could become me to speak at all if 'from the beginning and at this moment you never dreamed of' ... and there, I stopped and tore the paper; because I felt that you were too loyal and generous, for me to bear to take a moment's advantage of the same, and bend down the very flowering branch of your generosity (as it might be) to thicken a little the fence of a woman's caution and reserve. You will not say that you have not acted as if you 'dreamed'—and I will answer therefore to the general sense of your letter and former letters, and admit at once that I did state to you the difficulties most difficult to myself ... though not all ... and that if I had been worthier of you I should have been proportionably less in haste to 'bid you leave that subject.' I do not understand how you can seem at the same moment to have faith in my integrity and to have doubt whether all this time I may not have felt a preference for another ... which you are ready 'to serve,' you say. Which is generous in you—but in me, where were the integrity? Could you really hold me to be blameless, and do you think that truehearted women act usually so? Can it be necessary for me to tell you that I could not have acted so, and did not? And shall I shrink from telling you besides ... you, who have been generous to me and have a right to hear it ... and have spoken to me in the name of an affection and memory most precious and holy to me, in this same letter ... that neither now nor formerly has any man been to my feelings what you are ... and that if I were different in some respects and free in others by the providence of God, I would accept the great trust of your happiness, gladly, proudly, and gratefully; and give away my own life and soul to that end. I would do it ... not, I do ... observe! it is a truth without a consequence; only meaning that I am not all stone—only proving that I am not likely to consent to help you in wrong against yourself. You see in me what is not:—that, I know: and you overlook in me what is unsuitable to you ... that I know, and have sometimes told you. Still, because a strong feeling from some sources is self-vindicating and ennobling to the object of it, I will not say that, if it were proved to me that you felt this for me, I would persist in putting the sense of my own unworthiness between you and me—not being heroic, you know, nor pretending to be so. But something worse than even a sense of unworthiness, God has put between us! and judge yourself if to beat your thoughts against the immovable marble of it, can be anything but pain and vexation of spirit, waste and wear of spirit to you ... judge! The present is here to be seen ... speaking for itself! and the best future you can imagine for me, what a precarious thing it must be ... a thing for making burdens out of ... only not for your carrying, as I have vowed to my own soul. As dear Mr. Kenyon said to me to-day in his smiling kindness ... 'In ten years you may be strong perhaps'—or 'almost strong'! that being the encouragement of my best friends! What would he say, do you think, if he could know or guess...! what could he say but that you were ... a poet!—and I ... still worse! Never let him know or guess!

Some friends and I have been discussing the concept of 'nobility' recently since there is a regional business which has a new marketing campaign which claims that the business being promoted is 'noble'. I have has a great problem with this claim. While there is nothing illegal or immoral in the business I cannot see how using their services is in any way ennobling. And calling your own business 'noble' seems doubtfully noble. Perhaps I reject this marketing campaign because I have seen real nobility in action among all kinds of people. People who sacrifice their own comfort, money and lives for the good of others, strangers or family, with no consideration of the cost to them. Or, if they do consider the cost, and perhaps even fear it, they make the sacrifice anyway. That is nobility. That is love.

Miss Barrett was noble. She loved this man but was willing to sacrifice her own happiness to protect him from what she saw as a burden. There were many other reasons for her rejection of his proposal (which he was able to overcome) but this fear that she would burden him stayed with her to the end of her life. Browning repeatedly told Miss Barrett that he 'believed' in her. Miss Barrett 'believed' in Browning too. She believed that he was a great poet and was born for just that purpose and that to be forced to care for her would prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. She also feared that being forced to make a living doing something besides creating poetry, in order to support her, would be a sacrifice of his gift. She was ultimately proved wrong in her belief that she would harm his life and career, but she was noble in her reasons for believing as she did.


"And so if you are wise and would be happy (and you have excellent practical sense after all and should exercise it) you must leave me—these thoughts of me, I mean ... for if we might not be true friends for ever, I should have less courage to say the other truth. But we may be friends always ... and cannot be so separated, that your happiness, in the knowledge of it, will not increase mine. And if you will be persuaded by me, as you say, you will be persuaded thus ... and consent to take a resolution and force your mind at once into another channel. Perhaps I might bring you reasons of the class which you tell me 'would silence you for ever.' I might certainly tell you that my own father, if he knew that you had written to me so, and that I had answered you—so, even, would not forgive me at the end of ten years—and this, from none of the causes mentioned by me here and in no disrespect to your name and your position ... though he does not over-value poetry even in his daughter, and is apt to take the world's measures of the means of life ... but for the singular reason that he never does tolerate in his family (sons or daughters) the development of one class of feelings. Such an objection I could not bring to you of my own will—it rang hollow in my ears—perhaps I thought even too little of it:—and I brought to you what I thought much of, and cannot cease to think much of equally. Worldly thoughts, these are not at all, nor have been: there need be no soiling of the heart with any such:—and I will say, in reply to some words of yours, that you cannot despise the gold and gauds of the world more than I do, and should do even if I found a use for them. And if I wished to be very poor, in the world's sense of poverty, I could not, with three or four hundred a year of which no living will can dispossess me. And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the need of thinking of it? It seems so to me."

She does not have much luck in persuading Browning or 'forcing' his mind into another channel. Two points here: she points out that her father will reject her if she went with Browning although she also points out that this consideration is secondary. Also she makes the point that she is not rejecting him due to the fact that he is a penniless poet. She has money enough of her own. She will not dishonor him by rejecting him due to his lack of fortune. Noble and kind.


"The obstacles then are of another character, and the stronger for being so. Believe that I am grateful to you—how grateful, cannot be shown in words nor even in tears ... grateful enough to be truthful in all ways. You know I might have hidden myself from you—but I would not: and by the truth told of myself, you may believe in the earnestness with which I tell the other truths—of you ... and of this subject. The subject will not bear consideration—it breaks in our hands. But that God is stronger than we, cannot be a bitter thought to you but a holy thought ... while He lets me, as much as I can be anyone's, be only yours. E.B.B."

This letter is almost inconceivable today. How hard it must have been to turn away such an offer of love. Her morality, duty and personal integrity, so evident in this letter, are exactly what drew him to her and kept him fighting for her. Perhaps this letter had just the opposite effect than she anticipated. It would surely have brought into focus in his mind her higher qualities. As we shall see, it certainly does not discourage him, especially with her statement at the end that she will 'be only yours.' That is certainly all the encouragement he needs.

September 16, 1846

The discussion about the wedding announcement and travel arrangements continue with Browning on September 16, 1846:

"Wednesday.

Ever dearest, you are right about the date .. so it shall be—and so the advertisement shall run, save & except the avowal of 'Paracelsus' .. I avow you, and to add another title of honor would succeed no better than in Dalhousie’s case who was 'God of War and Lieutenant-general to the Earl of Mar'- I wanted the description &c of your Father. What a strange mistake I made—(but as for invalidation, oh no!)—I save your every word and then apply them thus! (In to-day’s Times is a notice without a date .. not looking at all singular. It is far better)"

 

I don't think he is all that proud of 'Paracelsus'. But even so, he should look to marketing! The 'stange mistake', of course, is the confusing of her Christian name for her family name. And he finally resolves on no date for the announcement.

 

"It is absolutely for yourself to decide on the day and the mode—if for no other reason, because I am quite ready, and shall have no kind of difficulty,—while you have every kind– Make the arrangements that promise most comfort to yourself– Observe the Packets and alter the route if necessary. There is one from Brighton to Dieppe every day, for instance .. but then the getting to Rouen! The Havre-boat leaves Southampton, Wednesdays & Saturdays—and Portsmouth, Mondays & Thursdays. The Boat from London, Thursdays & Sundays at 9. a.m. I do not know where 'Bookham' is—you must decide .. I am sure you will be anxious to get away."

 

He isn't being very helpful here. He needs to make firm proposals and then allow for her to make adjustments.

 

"The business of the letters will grow less difficult once begun—see if it will not! and in these four or five days whole epics might be written, much more, letters– Have you arranged all with Wilson? Take, of course, the simplest possible wardrobe &c—so as to reduce our luggage to the very narrowest compass. The expense—(beside the common sense of a little luggage)—is considerable—every ounce being paid for. Let us treat our journey as a mere journey—we can return for what else we want, or get it sent, or procure it abroad– I shall take just a portmanteau and carpet bag. I think the fewer books we take the better,—they take up room—and the wise way always seemed to me to read in rooms at home, and open one’s eyes and see abroad– A critic somewhere mentioned that as my characteristic—were two other poets he named placed in novel circumstances .. in a great wood, for instance, Mr Trench would begin opening books to see how woods were treated of .. the other man would set to writing poetry forthwith, from his old stock of associations, on the new impulse—and RB. would sit still and learn how to write after! A pretty compliment, I thought that! .. But seriously, there must be a great library at Pisa .. (with that University!) and abroad they are delighted to facilitate such matters .. I have read in a chamber of the Doges’ palace at Venice, painted all over by Tintoretto, walls & ceiling—& at Rome there is a library with a learned priest always kept ready 'to solve any doubt that may arise'! Murray’s Book you have, I think? Any guide-books &c."

 

Browning's belief that there are plenty of books to be had in Europe is correct as far as it goes but one common theme that runs through Mrs. Browning's letters for the next 15 years is her struggle to get books in Italy. English language books have to be delivered by friends or at great expense as do her beloved French novels. But also something that Browning never considered: these great Italian libraries and reading rooms would not allow women to enter. She actually describes Browning sneaking her into reading rooms early in the morning before the general male population should arrive to object.

 

"Be sure, dearest, I will do my utmost to conciliate your father: sometimes I could not but speak impatiently to you of him .. that was while you were in his direct power—now there is no need of a word in any case .. I shall be silent if the worst imaginable happens; and if any thing better,—most grateful. You do not need to remind me he is your father .. I shall be proud to say, mine too. Then, he said that of you—for which I love him—love the full prompt justice of that ascription of 'perfect purity'—it is another voice responding to mine, confirming mine."

 

How sweet that pride in her 'perfect purity'. Do men value perfect purity in a wife in the 21st Century? I am sure it would not be politically correct to say it out loud. But perhaps it is better to askew the requirement than the practice of rejecting a bride for the lack thereof; or killing her as is the custom in some barbaric cultures. There is redemption for all. And again, there are more aspects to 'perfect purity' than might be obvious to the lower order of men and women.

 

"Goodbye, dearest dearest,—I continue quite well .. I thank God, as you do, and see his hand in it. My poor mother suffers greatly, but is no worse .. rather, better I hope. They (all here) will leave town for some quiet place at the beginning of October for some three weeks at least– Dear, kind souls they are.

Kiss me as I kiss you, dearest Ba,—I can bring you no flowers but I pluck this bud and send it with all affectionate devotion. Your own RB–

 

Browning's family is leaving town. The Barretts are leaving. Mr. Kenyon is leaving. Everything is working for the best as both families will be away from the city and there will be very little opportunity for a chance meeting, a confrontation, an insult and a duel. Hey, I am just imagining the worst. That is what I do as a blogger of serious and grave intent. And now a word from Mrs. Browning:

 

"Dearest, the general departure from this house takes place on monday—& the house at Little Bookham is six miles from the nearest railroad & a mile & a half from Leatherhead where a coach runs. Now you are to judge– Certainly if I go with you on Saturday I shall not have half the letters written—you, who talk so largely of epic poems, have not the least imagination of my state of mind & spirits– I began to write a letter to Papa this morning, & could do nothing but cry, & looked so pale thereupon, that everybody wondered what could be the matter. Oh—quite well I am now, & I only speak of myself in that way to show you how the inspiration is by no means sufficient for epic poems. Still, I may certainly write the necessary letters, .. & do the others on the road .. could I, do you think? I would rather have waited—indeed rather—only it may be difficult to leave Bookham .. yet possible—so tell me what you would have me do."

 

I hope Browning starts getting firm here about leaving on Saturday. Not knowing the terrain in Little (as opposed to Medium or Big) Bookham, it would be desirable to not test its parameters. And while her general anxiety seems to be strong, her mind seems as sharp as ever.

 

"Wilson & I have a light box & a carpet bag between us—& I will be docile about the books, dearest– Do you take a desk? Had I better not, I wonder?

Then for box & carpet bag–– Remember that we cannot take them out of the house with us– We must send them the evening before, Friday evening, if we went on saturday—and where? Have you a friend anywhere, to whose house they might be sent, or could they go direct to the railroad office—& what office? In that case they should have your name on them, should they not?"

 

I am amazed that she and her maid are leaving home forever and only take with them "one light box & a carpet bag between us". How is this possible? I dare to guess that the light box represents a trunk, however, even so, think of the dresses of the period. Multiple petticoats and huge skirts. And dealing with long hair took a lot of equipment as well. And then all of the accoutrement that go into simple daily living: soap, brushes, combs, pins, cologne, nail care, etc. And then there is feminine hygiene. And coats, sweaters, shawls, shoes and nightwear. This one box and bag equation seems crazy to me. Browning has the same number of cases! My conclusion: Mrs. Browning owned two dresses. She wore one and aired out the other, rotating them on a daily basis. If I could travel back in time I think that is one of the things I would want to do: go through Mrs. Browning's box and bag, because when you factor in her books and papers you have to wonder: where did it all go?

 

And again, despite her anxiety she is still supremely practical, thinking through how she can get her worldly goods out of the house in good order prior to the actual event. She was not a weak vessel, she had a mind and she used it.

 

"Now think for me, ever dearest—& tell me what you do not tell me .. that, you continue better. Oh no—you are ill again—or you would not wait to be told to tell me. And the dear, dear little bud!– I shall keep it to the end of my life, if you love me so long, .. or not, Sir! I thank you, dearest.

Your mother!– I am very, very sorry. Would it be better & kinder to wait on her account?—tell me that too–

Yes, they are perfectly kind– We must love them well:—& I shall, I am sure.

Mr Kenyon sends the ‘Faun’, which is Landor’s Faun, & desires me to send it to you when I have done with it– As if I could read a word!– He directs me to write to him to Taunton, Somersetshire. May God bless you, beloved.

No more tonight from your very own Ba

Are not passengers allowed to carry a specific proportion of luggage? What do you mean then, by paying for every ounce? As to Dieppe, the diligence wd be more fatiguing than the river, &, without strong reasons, one wd prefer of course the Havre plan. Still I am not afraid of either. Think.

You might put in the newspaper .. of Wimpole Street & Jamaica, or .. & Cinnamon Hill, Jamaica. That is right & I thought of it at first—only stopped .. seeming to wish to have as little about poor Papa as possible. Do as you think best now."

 

Accordingly the notice of the marriage was printed in the Times on September 21, 1846 thusly:

 

“[Married:] On Saturday, at St. Marylebone Church by the Rev. Thomas Woods Goldhawk, M.A., Robert Browning, jun., Esq., of New-cross, Hatcham, to Elizabeth Barrett, eldest daughter of Edward Moulton Barrett, Esq., of Wimpole-street.”

 

The identical announcement was in The Morning Chronicle but The Daily News and The Sun recorded the date of the marriage as 19 September for a reason not apparent. Perhaps that is the date they received the notice.

September 15, 1846

We  will begin with Browning on September 15, 1846 clarifying his thinking on Mr. Kenyon:

"Tuesday Mg

My own Ba, could you think me capable of such a step? I forget what I exactly said in the first letter, but in the second, which you have received by this, I know there is mention made of your account which is to accompany mine:– You never quite understood, I think, my feeling about Mr Kenyon and desire to tell him earlier; in the first place, at the very beginning, he seemed to stand (as he did) in closer connection with you than any other person I could communicate with; therefore to represent, in some degree, your dear self in the worldly sense, and be able to impose on me any conditions &c which your generous nature might be silent on, and my ignorance & excitement overlook: then there was another reason, the natural one, of our own .. his friendship, rather, for me, and the circumstance of his having in a manner introduced me to your acquaintance,—at all events, facilitated my introduction,—and so being after a fashion responsible in some degree for my conduct: these two reasons, added to a general real respect for his circumspection & sagacity, and a desire to make both of them instruct me in the way of doing you good. But you effectually convinced me that in neither case would the benefit derivable, balance the certain injury, or at least, annoyance, to himself—while you showed me that I should not be so truly serving you, as I had intended, by the plans I used to turn over in my mind. In brief, it was written that your proof of love and trust to me was to be complete, the completest—and I could not but be proud and submit: and a few words will explain the mere sin against friendship. I quite, quite feel as you feel,—nor ever had the least intention of writing .. that is, of sending any letter,—till the very last. Be sure of it."

 

I think marriage has cleared Browning's mind. That is perhaps one of the clearest paragraphs he has written in  quite some time. She is doing him a world of good already.

 

"For the cards, I have just given orders, as you desire and as I entirely agree– The notion of a word about our not being in England, was only a fancy for your family’s sake .. just to save people’s applications to them, to know what had become of us—and I had heard Mr Kenyon commend the considerateness of those “Lycian measures” .. albeit there was .. or narrowly escaped being .. an awful oversight of the Traveller’s which would have made him the sad hero of a merry story for ever .. as I will tell you some day. If you will send the addresses, at any time, that trouble will be over. In all these mighty matters, be sure I shall never take the least step without consulting you: will you draw up the advertisement, please? I will supply the clergyman’s name &c &c."

 

Okay, well, I spoke too soon, because I have no idea what he is talking about--but don't worry, he will tell her later.

 

"I shall not see one friend more before I leave with you. So that nobody needs divine that since the 12th we have not been at Margate—seeking 'food for the mind.'

11.¾. a.m.

Dearest, I agree to all. I will not see you, for those reasons: I think, as you may, that it will be a point in excuse of the precipitancy, that a removal was threatened for 'next Monday perhaps' .. which, finding us unprepared, would have been ruinous. Say all you would have me say to your Father, .. no concession shall be felt by the side of your love. I will write a few words to Mrs J.—her kindness is admirable & deserves the attention. For the date,—you will have seen the precautions I take; I hope to see nobody now; but I don’t know that it will be necessary to suppress it in the advertisement, if we can leave England by the end of the week, as I hope .. do you not hope, too? For I see announcements, in today’s Times, of marriages on the 8th and 9th and our silence on that particular might be only the beginning of more mystery .. as if it had happened half a year ago, for instance. Beside, your relations will examine the register– All rests with you, however– .. and will rest, Ba! I shall ask you to do no more of my business than I can manage myself .. but where I can not manage .. why, then you shall think for me; that is my command! I suppose when a man buys a spinning-machine he loses dignity because he lets it weave stockings,—does not keep on with his clumsy fingers! No, I will retain my honour, be certain,—you shall say, “Ego et rex meus [I and my king]" like Wolsey—or rather, like dear, dear Ba—like yourself I will ever worship! See the good of taking up arms against me out of that service! If you 'honour & obey' me, 'with my body I thee worship'—my best, dearest, sweetest Ba—and that I have vowed thus, 'irrevocably'—is the heart’s delight of your own RB"

 

The etiquette of Victorian era marriages is interesting to observe, but pretty simple so far. The use of calling cards is lost on us now, of course, the only remnant being business cards. I know from other sources that there were rules about leaving the card and that the folding of certain corners of the card sent specific messages. In the case of our poets I think that the sending of the cards was a kind of marriage announcement. As for Browning, he seems placid, happy and affectionate, not overly excited. Let's see how Mrs. Browning is doing today:

 

 

"Tuesday.

Dearest, you were in the right as usual, & I in a fright as sometimes. I took a mere fancy into my head about your writing to Mr. Kenyon. Today he came, & I did not see him—on the ground of a headache, which though real, was not really sufficient of itself to keep me from seeing him, if I had not distrusted my self-controul—so I did not see him. Tomorrow he goes away. His letters will of course be made to follow him, & we may easily precede the newspapers by a day or two.

As for the advertisements, you quite amuse me by telling me to compose an advertisement. How should I know better than you, dearest, or as well even? All I intermeddle with willingly is the matter of the date—although there is something in what you say about the mystery, & the idea of our being six months married——still it is our disquieted conscience that gives us such thoughts—& when the advertisement appears & the cards come out so very properly, people will not have enough imagination to apprehend a single mystery in the case,—& the omission of the date will not be so singular .. will it? On the other hand I apprehend evil from the date of the marriage being known. One of my brothers may be sent to examine the register, but would not betray the fact in question, I think, to my father: would not, I am certain, willingly give cause for additional irritation against me. But if the date be publicly announced, Papa must know it, & most of my personal friends will be sure to know it. I have written letters & seen people since the twelfth .. Mr Kenyon on sunday, Miss Bordman, on monday. Moreover Papa would be exposed to unpleasant observations—he going everyday among his city friends, & on saturday among the rest– What quantities of good reasons, .. till you are tired of them & me!

 

Would you put it this way .. At such a church, by such a minister, Robert Browning Esqre of New Cross, author of Paracelsus, to Elizabeth Barrett eldest daughter of Edward Moulton Barrett Esqre of Wimpole Street– Would you put it so? I do not understand really, .. & whether you should be specified as the author of Paracelsus .. but, for me, it ought to be, I think, simply as I have written it. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that what we did on saturday is quite invalid, so that you may give me up now if you like—it is’nt too late. You gave me a wrong name—Moulton is no Christian name of mine. Moulton Barrett is our family name; Elizabeth Barrett, my Christian name– Behold & see!"

 

Mrs. Browning sees the opportunity to publicise her husband's poetry through the marriage announcement in the newspapers. How many people would see the announcement and want to go forth and purchase a copy of the work? She is a born entrepreneur. Unfortunately, her husband is not. And her humor continues with her teazing about the invalid marriage. She knows that will not put him off, but it does clarify her name. When she goes by Elizabeth Barrett Browning she has not kept her maiden name as the feminists would approve, she is simply using her Christian and married names. And it helps that she maintains her initials; she won't have to worry about the added expense of replacing monograms.

 

"I will send the list if I can have time tonight, to write it—but the haste, the hurry—do you think, when in your right mind, of getting away this week? Think of the work before us! Next monday is the day fixed for the general departure to a house taken at Little Bookham or Hookham .. what is it? Well—we must think. Tell me when you want me to go. I might go from the new house, perhaps– But you will think, dearest, & tell me. Tell me first, though, how your head continues or begins again .. for I fear that the good news is too sudden to last long—I fear.

Thankful, thankful I shall be when we are gone out of reach of evil, when I shall have heard that my poor dearest Papa, is only angry with me, & not sorry because of me, & that Henrietta & Arabel are not too miserable. They come between me & the thought of you often .. but I do not, for that, love you less—oh no. You are best & dearest in saying what you say—only, observe, there is not any practicable 'concession' now for you. All you can do now, is what you will do .. in being tolerant, & gentle, for my sake– My own dearest, I am your Ba.

The list tomorrow–"

 

Things seem to be going along fairly smoothly. Both seem fairly calm and rational. Will they leave by the end of the week or is a crisis looming that they have not anticipated?

September 14, 1846

We will begin with Mrs. Browning's first letter of the day on September 14, 1846:

"Monday morning.

Ever dearest, this one word goes to you to say about Mr Kenyon’s letter——oh, do not send any letter dearest, till we are out of hearing of the answer. It terrifies me to think of your sending a letter, perhaps, without delay—— Do let no letter nor intimation be given till the very last– Remember that I shall be killed——it will be so infinitely worse than you can have an idea."

 

Well, it appears that she is against telling Kenyon before they leave. Yes, definitely against it. Then again, no, yes, no, definitely DO NOT send the letter. Do you think Browning got the message? Don't send the letter.

 

"Afterwards—yes!—you will, for my sake, forget some natural pride, as I, for yours, have forgotten some as natural apprehensiveness. That kindness, I expected from you, .. & now accept—thanking you, dearest. In the meanwhile, there seems to remain the dreadful danger of the newspapers– We must trust, as you say.

Your mother’s goodness touches me very deeply– I am grateful to her & to all your family, beyond any power of mine to express my feelings. Let me be silent therefore, instead of trying.

As to the important business of the cards, you know I have heard the whole theory of etiquette lately on that subject, & you must not think of putting any ‘At home’ anywhere, or any other thing in the place of it– A Fellowes is an authority in Asia Minor, but for the minora of the cards, not at all. Put simply the names, as you say, on one card, only without abbreviation or initial, & no intimation of address, which is not necessary, & would be under our circumstances quite wrong. Then I had better perhaps send you a list of names & addresses—— But for this, enough time–

They hasten me—I must go–Not from the thought however of you, .. being your very own Ba

I shall write of course in the evening again.

 

She has certainly gotten pretty adamant since becoming Mrs. Browning. Don't send the letter to Kenyon and don't put 'at home' on the calling card. But it turns out Browning was in agreement with her all along and didn't need admonition at all for he writes the same morning:

 

"Monday Mg.

You go on to comfort me, love—bless you for it. I collect from the letter that you are recovering from the pain & excitement: that is happy! I waited to hear from you, my own Ba, and will only write a word—then go out—I think.

Do you feel so, thro’ the anxieties and trouble of this situation? You take my words from me– I 'exult' in the irrevocability of this precious bestowal of yourself on me: come what will, my life has borne flower, and fruit—it is a glorious, successful, felicitous life, I thank God and you!

All has been for the best, you will see, even in these apparently untoward circumstances: this particular act was precipitated by them, certainly—but it is done, and well done. Does it not simplify our arrangements that this is done? And surely there was every justification for the precipitancy in that proposed journey, and uncertain return,—(in winter, to a freshly-painted house!) But every moment of my life brings fresh proof to me of the intervention of Providence. How the natural course would have embarrassed us! .. any consultation with you respecting your own feelings on a removal at present .. any desire to gratify them ..

Will not Mr Kenyon understand, at least? Would it not be well to ascertain his precise address in the country,—so as to send your letter there, before the newspaper reaches him,—or any other person’s version? I will send you my letter to accompany yours—just a few words to explain why he was not consulted—(by me) .. what is strictly, my own part to be excused. What do you intend to do about Mrs Jameson? I only want to know in the case of our mutual friends, of course, so as to avoid the necessity of going over the same ground in our letters.

I confided my approaching marriage to that kind old Pritchard, lest he should be too much wounded .. if his surprise was considerable, his delight kept due proportion– You may depend on his secrecy: I need not say, I mentioned the fact simply .. without a word about any circumstances. If your father could be brought to allow the matter to pass as indifferent to him .. what he did not choose to interfere with, However little he approved it,—we should be fortunate! Perhaps pride, if no kinder feeling, may induce him to that.

My family all love you, dearest– You cannot conceive my father & mother’s childlike faith in goodness—and my sister is very high spirited, and quick of apprehension—so as to seize the true points of the case at once– I am in great hopes you will love them all, and understand them. Last night, I asked my father, who was absorbed over some old book, 'if he should not be glad to see his new daughter'—to which he, starting, replied 'Indeed I shall!' with such a fervor as to make my mother laugh—not abated by his adding, 'And how I should be glad of her seeing Sis!'—his other daughter, Sarianna, to wit—who was at church."

 

Would that Papa Barrett would take it so well. But it is too bad that circumstances would not permit the new Mrs. Browning from meeting the older Mrs. Browning. I must say that the one time I was ashamed of Miss Barrett during this entire courtship was when she refused to meet Browning's sister. I understand her horrible, painful shyness, but she was too prideful to admit that she was simply too shy and made the poorest excuses imaginable. She could have used some Xanax to go with her laudanum.

 

Trifles, trifles, only commended to your dear, affectionate heart—do you confide in me, Ba? Well, you shall!—in my love, in my pride, in my heart’s purposes; but not in anything else. —Give me your counsel at all times, beloved: I am wholly open to your desires, and teaching, and direction– Try what you can make of me,—if you can in any way justify your choice to the world. So I would gladly counsel you on any point! See how I read lectures about Flush! Only, give a kiss before beginning, and promise me another upon my profitting,—and I shall be twice blessed beside the profit. So, my counsel being done, here begin the kisses, you dear dear Ba of mine– Bless you ever, Ba! I continue quite well—is it not strange .. or is it? And my mother is better decidedly—when she comes back from Town (where she & my sister are caring for me) I will tell her what you bade me promise to give her—in return for what she has long given you. Good bye, my own—very own Ba, from your RB"

 

He asked for her counsel and he will certainly get it when he receives her morning letter, he need not have urged her to counsel. She writes again in the evening as she promised and with more counsel:

 

"Monday evening.

First, God is to be thanked for this great joy of hearing that you are better, my ever dearest—it is a joy that floats over all the other emotions. Dearest I am so glad! I had feared that excitement’s telling on you quite in another way. When the whole is done, & we have left England & the talkers thereof, behind our backs, you will be well, stedfastly & satisfactorily, I do trust. In the meantime, there seems so much to do, that I am frightened to look towards the heaps of it– As to acoutrements, everything has been arranged as simply as possible that way—but, still, there are necessities—and the letters, the letters! I am paralyzed when I think of having to write such words as .. 'Papa, I am married,—I hope you will not be too displeased'. Ah, poor Papa!– You are too sanguine if you expect any such calm from him as an assumption of indifference would imply. To the utmost, he will be angry, .. he will cast me off as far from him—— Well—there is no comfort in such thoughts. How I felt tonight when I saw him at seven oclock, for the first time since friday, & the event of saturday! He spoke kindly too, & asked me how I was.

Once I heard of his saying of me that I was 'the purest woman he ever knew',—which made me smile at the moment, or laugh, I believe, outright, because I understood perfectly what he meant by that—viz,—that I had not troubled him with the iniquity of love-affairs, or any impropriety of seeming to think about being married. But now, the whole sex will go down with me to the perdition of faith in any of us. See the effect of my wickedness!– ‘Those women!’

But we will submit, dearest .. I will put myself under his feet, to be forgiven a little, .. enough to be taken up again into his arms– I love him—he is my father—he has good & high qualities after all: he is my father above all– And you, because you are so generous & tender to me, will let me, you say, & help me, to try to win back the alienated affection——for which, I thank you & bless you,—I did not thank you enough this morning. Surely I may say to him, too, .. 'With the exception of this act, I have submitted to the least of your wishes all my life long– Set the life against the act, & forgive me, for the sake of the daughter you once loved'. Surely I may say that,—& then remind him of the long suffering I have suffered,—and entreat him to pardon the happiness which has come at last—.

And he will wish in return, that I had died years ago!—— For the storm will come & endure– And at last, perhaps, he will forgive us—it is my hope."

 

 

Such sadness that he never will forgive her in his life. How sad for him. How sad for her. The biographers report that while Papa Barrett did tell persons who approached him on her behalf that he did forgive her, he never communicated this to her and so the forgiveness was simply words. Strange sad man. He threw love away as though it was very easy to obtain.

 

"I accede to all you say of Mr Kenyon. I will ask him for his address in the country, & we will send, when the moment comes, our letters together.

From Mrs Jameson I had the letter I enclose, this morning. (Full of kindness—is it not?) and another really as kind from Miss Bayley, who begs me, if I cannot go to Italy, to go to Hastings & visit her. To both, I must write at some length– Will you write to Mrs Jameson, besides what I shall write? And what are we to say as to travelling? As she is in Paris, perhaps we may let her have the solution of our problem sooner than the near people– May we? shall we? Yet we dare not, I suppose, talk too historically of what happened last saturday– It is like the dates in the newspaper-advertisements, which we must eschew, as you observe."

 

"....what happened last saturday," the event that dare not speak it's name. You never know who might be reading your mail!

 

"Other things, too, you observe, my beloved, which are altogether out of date– In your ways towards me, you have acted throughout too much 'the woman’s part', as that is considered– You loved me because I was lower than others, that you might be generous & raise me up:—very characteristic for a woman (in her ideal standard) but quite wrong for a man, as again & again I used to signify to you, Robert—but you went on & did it all the same. And now, you still go on—you persist—you will be the woman of the play, to the last,—let the prompter prompt ever so against you. You are to do everything I like, instead of my doing what you like, .. and to 'honour & obey' me, in spite of what was in the vows last saturday,—is that the way of it & of you?—& are vows to be kept so, pray? after that fashion? Then, dont put 'at home' at the corner of the cards, dearest!—— It is my command!"

 

How she loves to teaze this man. That is the first good teaze she has gotten into a letter in quite a long time and it bodes well for their married life. She it truly laugh out loud funny in her hectoring of his womanly ways.

 

"And forgive the inveterate jesting, which jests with eyes full of tears– I love you—I bless God for you– You are too good for me, as always I knew. I look up to you continually.

It is best, I continue to think, that you should not come here—best for you, because the position, if you were to try it, would be less tolerable than ever—& best for both of us, that in case the whole truth were ever discovered (I mean, of the previous marriage) we might be able to call it simply an act in order to security—— I dont know how to put my feeling into words, but I do seem to feel that it would be better, & less offensive to those whom we offend at any rate, to avoid all possible remark on this point. It seems better to a sort of instinct I have.

Then, if I see you—farewell, the letter-writing. Oh no—there will be time enough when we are on the railway! We shall talk then.

Ah—you say such things to me. Dearest, dearestest!–And you do not start at that word, 'Irrevocable', as I have had fancies that you might, when the time came!!– But you may recover, by putting out your hand, all you have given me, .. nearly all, I never, never being myself, could willingly vex you, torment you– If I approach to it, you will tell me! I will confide in you, to that end also– Dearest–

And your father’s goodness, and the affectionateness of them all– When they shall have learnt most that I am not worthy of you, they will have learnt besides that I can be grateful to them & you—. Certainly I am capable, I hope, of loving them all, well & with appreciation– And then .. imagine the comfort I take to the deepest of my heart from these hands held out to me!– For your sake! Yes, for your sake entirely!—&, so, the more dearly comforting to

Your very own Ba–

There is still difficulty about the house– They think of Tunbridge Wells–

 

Humor and humility from Mrs. Browning.

 

 

 

September 13, 1845

This letter is written in response to Miss Barrett's letter of August 31, 1845. He has taken quite a while to think through his response, nearly two weeks in fact, although he has written other short notes in the meantime. If you take a look at the original letter on the Baylor website you will see that it is a very tightly written three page letter with few corrections. The handwriting gives no hint to his emotional state. He was obviously familiar with his material.

"Now, dearest, I will try and write the little I shall be able, in reply to your letter of last week—and first of all I have to entreat you, now more than ever, to help me and understand from the few words the feelings behind them—(should speak rather more easily, I think—but I dare not run the risk: and I know, after all, you will be just and kind where you can.) I have read your letter again and again. I will tell you—no, not you, but any imaginary other person, who should hear what I am going to avow; I would tell that person most sincerely there is not a particle of fatuity, shall I call it, in that avowal; cannot be, seeing that from the beginning and at this moment I never dreamed of winning your love. I can hardly write this word, so incongruous and impossible does it seem; such a change of our places does it imply—nor, next to that, though long after, would I, if I could, supplant one of any of the affections that I know to have taken root in you—that great and solemn one, for instance. I feel that if I could get myself remade, as if turned to gold, I would not even then desire to become more than the mere setting to that diamond you must always wear. The regard and esteem you now give me, in this letter, and which I press to my heart and bow my head upon, is all I can take and all too embarrassing, using all my gratitude. And yet, with that contented pride in being infinitely your debtor as it is, bound to you for ever as it is; when I read your letter with all the determination to be just to us both; I dare not so far withstand the light I am master of, as to refuse seeing that whatever is recorded as an objection to your disposing of that life of mine I would give you, has reference to some supposed good in that life which your accepting it would destroy (of which fancy I shall speak presently)—I say, wonder as I may at this, I cannot but find it there, surely there. I could no more 'bind you by words,' than you have bound me, as you say—but if I misunderstand you, one assurance to that effect will be but too intelligible to me—but, as it is, I have difficulty in imagining that while one of so many reasons, which I am not obliged to repeat to myself, but which any one easily conceives; while any one of those reasons would impose silence on me for ever (for, as I observed, I love you as you now are, and would not remove one affection that is already part of you,)—would you, being able to speak so, only say that you desire not to put 'more sadness than I was born to,' into my life?—that you 'could give me only what it were ungenerous to give'?

Have I your meaning here? In so many words, is it on my account that you bid me 'leave this subject'? I think if it were so, I would for once call my advantages round me. I am not what your generous self-forgetting appreciation would sometimes make me out—but it is not since yesterday, nor ten nor twenty years before, that I began to look into my own life, and study its end, and requirements, what would turn to its good or its loss—and I know, if one may know anything, that to make that life yours and increase it by union with yours, would render me supremely happy, as I said, and say, and feel. My whole suit to you is, in that sense, selfish—not that I am ignorant that your nature would most surely attain happiness in being conscious that it made another happy—but that best, best end of all, would, like the rest, come from yourself, be a reflection of your own gift."

He has very neatly answered her argument that her main reason for not accepting him was that she did not want to hurt him. He makes it very simple: she would make him 'supremely happy' and she would be happy because she made him happy.


"Dearest, I will end here—words, persuasion, arguments, if they were at my service I would not use them—I believe in you, altogether have faith in you—in you. I will not think of insulting by trying to reassure you on one point which certain phrases in your letter might at first glance seem to imply—you do not understand me to be living and labouring and writing (and not writing) in order to be successful in the world's sense? I even convinced the people here what was my true 'honourable position in society,' &c. &c. therefore I shall not have to inform you that I desire to be very rich, very great; but not in reading Law gratis with dear foolish old Basil Montagu, as he ever and anon bothers me to do;—much less—enough of this nonsense.

'Tell me what I have a claim to hear': I can hear it, and be as grateful as I was before and am now—your friendship is my pride and happiness. If you told me your love was bestowed elsewhere, and that it was in my power to serve you there, to serve you there would still be my pride and happiness. I look on and on over the prospect of my love, it is all onwards—and all possible forms of unkindness ... I quite laugh to think how they are behind ... cannot be encountered in the route we are travelling! I submit to you and will obey you implicitly—obey what I am able to conceive of your least desire, much more of your expressed wish. But it was necessary to make this avowal, among other reasons, for one which the world would recognize too. My whole scheme of life (with its wants, material wants at least, closely cut down) was long ago calculated—and it supposed you, the finding such an one as you, utterly impossible—because in calculating one goes upon chances, not on providence—how could I expect you? So for my own future way in the world I have always refused to care—any one who can live a couple of years and more on bread and potatoes as I did once on a time, and who prefers a blouse and a blue shirt (such as I now write in) to all manner of dress and gentlemanly appointment, and who can, if necessary, groom a horse not so badly, or at all events would rather do it all day long than succeed Mr. Fitzroy Kelly in the Solicitor-Generalship,—such an one need not very much concern himself beyond considering the lilies how they grow. But now I see you near this life, all changes—and at a word, I will do all that ought to be done, that every one used to say could be done, and let 'all my powers find sweet employ' as Dr. Watts sings, in getting whatever is to be got—not very much, surely. I would print these things, get them away, and do this now, and go to you at Pisa with the news—at Pisa where one may live for some £100 a year—while, lo, I seem to remember, I do remember, that Charles Kean offered to give me 500 of those pounds for any play that might suit him—to say nothing of Mr. Colburn saying confidentially that he wanted more than his dinner 'a novel on the subject of Napoleon'! So may one make money, if one does not live in a house in a row, and feel impelled to take the Princess's Theatre for a laudable development and exhibition of one's faculty."

After telling her that he believes in her, Browning fishes to see if her heart is taken elsewhere, and then explains why he is so ill-equipped to win her love. He has always done as he wanted in life because he never thought of actually trying to earn a living. He had no need of it because he was never going to bother with loving a woman, but that since he has met her he has resolved that he can quite easily make some money if he has to. Browning will remain sensitive on this issue their entire courtship.

"Take the sense of all this, I beseech you, dearest—all you shall say will be best—I am yours—

Yes, Yours ever. God bless you for all you have been, and are, and will certainly be to me, come what He shall please! R.B.

Now it will be Miss Barrett's turn to dissect this letter. She will make him wait a few days as she thinks it over.....

September 13, 1846

Let's begin with Browning on Sunday, September 13, 1846:

Thank you a thousand times for the note, my own Ba– I welcomed it as I never yet welcomed even your notes; entirely kind to write, and write so! Oh, I know the effort you made, the pain you bore for my sake! I tell you, once and forever, your proof of love to me is made .. I know your love, my dearest dearest: my whole life shall be spent in trying to furnish such a proof of my affection,—such a perfect proof,—and perhaps vainly spent—but I will endeavour with God’s help. Do you feel what I mean, dearest? How you have dared and done all this, under my very eyes, for my only sake? I believed you would be capable of it– What then? What is a belief? My own eyes have seen—my heart will remember!

Dearest, nothing needs much trouble you further: take your own time and opportunity. I confide in your judgment—(for I am not going to profess confidence in you!)—I am sure you will see and act for the best. My preparations are made; I have only to wait your desires. I will not ask to see you, for instance—though of course a word brings me as usual to you—your will is altogether my will.

"The first obvious advantage of our present relation, I will take. You are mine—your generosity has given to me my utmost claim upon your family—so far as I am concerned, putting aside my sympathy with you, there is nothing more they can give me: so, I will say, perhaps a little less reservedly than I could have brought myself to say before, that there is no conceivable submission I will refuse, nor possible satisfaction I will hesitate to make to those feelings I have been forced to offend, if by any means I may preserve, for you, so much of their affection as you have been accustomed to receive; I do not require anything beyond toleration for myself .. I will cheerfully accept as the truest kindness to me, a continuance of kindness to you. You know what I would have done to possess you:—now that I do possess you, I renew the offer, to you .. judge with what earnest purpose of keeping my word! I do not think .. nor do you think .. that any personal application, directly or by letter, would do any good—it might rather add to the irritation we apprehend: but my consent is given beforehand to any measure you shall ever consider proper. And your father may be sure that while I adore his daughter it will be impossible for me, under any circumstances, to be wanting in the utmost respect for, and observance of, himself. Understand, with the rest, why I write this, Ba. To your brothers and sisters I am bound for ever,—by every tie of gratitude; they may acquiesce more easily .. comprehending more, perhaps, of the dear treasure you are, they will forgive my ambition of gaining it. I will write to Mr Kenyon. You will probably have time to write all the letters requisite".

 

Done with the formalities of stating family obligations Browning drew a line across the paper and began to write of the practicalities of leaving.

 

"Do not trouble yourself with more than is strictly necessary—you can supply all wants at Leghorn or Pisa– Let us be as unencumbered with luggage as possible.

What is your opinion about the advertisements? If our journey is delayed for a few days, we had better omit the date, I think. And the cards? I will get them engraved if you will direct me. The simplest form of course:—and the last (or among the last) happens to be also the simplest—consisting merely of the words 'Mr & Mrs R.B' on one card—with the usual 'at home' in a corner. How shall we manage that, by the way? Could we put 'In Italy for a year'? There is precedent for it—Sir—Fellowe’s,—(what is the traveller’s name?—) his were thus subscribed– By which means we should avoid telling people absolutely, that they need never come and see us. Choose your own fashion, my Ba, and tell me how many you require–

I only saw my cousin for a few minutes afterward—he came up in a cab immediately—he understood all there was need he should. You to be 'uncourteous' to anybody! No, no—sweetest! But I will thank him as you bid, knowing the value of Ba’s thanks! For the prying penny a liners .. why, trust to Providence—we must! I do not apprehend much danger ..

Dearest, I woke this morning quite well—quite free from the sensation in the head– I have not woke so, for two years perhaps—what have you been doing to me?

My father & mother & sister love you thoroughly– My mother said this morning, in my room, 'If I were as I have been, I would try and write to her'– I said, 'I will tell her what I know you feel.' She is much better (—I hear her voice while I write .. below the open window). Poor Pritchard came home from the country on Friday night—late—and posted here immediately—he was vexed to be made understand that there was some way in which he might have served me and did not. It was kind, very kind of Wilson.

I will leave off—to resume tomorrow. Bless you, my very own, only Ba—my pride, and joy, and utter comfort. I kiss you and am ever your own RB"

 

So Pritchard, Browning's sailor friend, came too late to stand with him at the wedding. I think that might have been a disappointment to Browning who seemed to enjoy his sailor stories and ways.

 

And what does Mrs. Browning say today?

 

"My own beloved, if ever you should have reason to complain of me in things voluntary & possible, all other women would have a right to tread me underfoot, I should be so vile & utterly unworthy. There, is my answer to what you wrote yesterday of wishing to be better to me .. you! What could be better than lifting me from the ground & carrying me into life & the sunshine? I was yours rather by right than by gift,—(yet by gift—also, my beloved!) for what you have saved & renewed, is surely yours. All that I am, I owe you:—if I enjoy anything now & henceforth, it is through you. You know this well. Even as I, from the beginning, knew that I had no power against you, .. or that, if I had, it was for your sake."

 

All this humility can get cloying, but by the same token, I think she feels it sincerely. In her mind it is impossible that she is worthy of him and it never occurs to her that he could feel the same humility, because she knew that she was unworthy.

 

"Dearest, in the emotion & confusion of yesterday morning, there was yet room in me for one thought which was not a feeling—for I thought, that, of the many, many women who have stood where I stood, & to the same end, not one of them all perhaps, not one perhaps, since that building was a church, has had reasons strong as mine, for an absolute trust & devotion towards the man she married,—not one! And then I both thought & felt, that it was only just, for them, .. those women who were less happy, .. to have that affectionate sympathy & support & presence of their nearest relations, parent or sister, .. which failed to me, .. needing it less thro’ being happier!––"

 

One of her more complicated creations, justifying the compensation in her heart for the loss of her family. A family that was all she knew for 49 years. Browning must have been a strong drawn to accomplish the wrench from her family which was never totally healed. She certainly took the greater risk and suffered the greatest break with her marriage. Browning lost nothing and gained a great prize.

 

"All my brothers have been here this morning, laughing & talking, & discussing this matter of the leaving town,—& in the room, at the same time, were two or three female friends of ours, from Herefordshire—and I did not dare to cry out against the noise, though my head seemed splitting in two, (one half for each shoulder) I had such a morbid fear of exciting a suspicion. Trippy too being one of them, I promised to go to see her tomorrow & dine in her drawingroom if she would give me, for dinner, some bread & butter. It was like having a sort of fever. And all in the midst, the bells began to ring– 'What bells are those?' asked one of the provincials. ‘Marylebone Church bells’ said Henrietta, standing behind my chair.

And now .. while I write, & having escaped from the great din, & sat here quietly,—comes .. who do you think?—Mr Kenyon.

He came with his spectacles, looking as if his eyes reached to their rim all the way round,—& one of the first words was, 'When did you see Browning?' And I think I shall make a pretension to presence of mind henceforward,—for, though certainly I changed colour & he saw it, I yet answered with a tolerably quick evasion, .. 'He was here on friday'—& leapt straight into another subject, & left him gazing fixedly on my face– Dearest, he saw something, but not all. So we talked, talked. He told me that the ‘Fawn of Sertorius’, (which I refused to cut open the other day,) was ascribed to Landor—& he told me that he meant to leave town again on wednesday, & would see me once before then. On rising to go away, he mentioned your name a second time .. 'When do you see Browning again?' To which I answered that I did not know–"

 

When did you see Browning? He was here on friday. No, not a lie but certainly a deception. No, not very pleasant.

 

"Is not that pleasant? The worst is that all these combinations of things, make me feel so bewildered that I cannot make the necessary arrangements, as far as the letters go– But I must break from the dream-stupour which falls on me when left to myself a little, & set about what remains to be done.

A house near Watford, is thought of now—but, as none is concluded on, the removal is not likely to take place in the middle of the week even, perhaps.

I sit in a dream, when left to myself. I cannot believe, or understand– Oh! but in all this difficult, embarrassing & painful situation, I look over the palms to Troy– I feel happy & exalting to belong to you, past every opposition, out of sight of every will of man—none can put us asunder, now, at least. I have a right now openly to love you, & to hear other people call it a duty, when I do, .. knowing that if it were a sin, it would be done equally. Ah—I shall not be first to leave off that—see if I shall!– May God bless you, ever & ever dearest! Beseech for me the indulgence of your father & mother, & ask your sister to love me– I feel so as if I had slipped down over the wall into somebody’s garden—I feel ashamed. To be grateful & affectionate, to them all, while I live, is all that I can do, & it is too much a matter of course, to need to be promised– Promise it however for your very own Ba. Whom you made so happy with the dear letter last night– But say in the next how you are—& how your mother is–

I did hate so, to have to take off the ring! You will have to take the trouble of putting it on again, some day."

 

Yes, she is totally bewildered, but keeping her head.

September 12, 1846

Commemorating the 166th Anniversary of the Marriage of Miss Elizabeth Barrett Barrett and Mr. Robert Browning, Esq.

 

 

 

And so, Miss Barrett and her maid Wilson walked to the cab stand, stopping only to take a sniff of smelling salts, and took a cab to the Marylebone Parish church where they met Browning and his cousin James Silverthorne. Browning noted on the envelope of her most recent letter the date and time of their wedding: 

 

“+++ Saturday, Sept. 12, 1846

¼ 11 – 11 ¼. a.m. (91)”

 

The 91 designating that this was their 91st meeting. Given all of the emotional turmoil that lead to this day, the wedding was short and apparently free of undue inconvenience. Then they went their separate ways: Browning went home to his parents in New Cross and immediately wrote a letter to his new wife while the new Mrs. Browning went home  to her father in Wimpole Street. 

 

 

"1. p.m. Saturday.

You will only expect a few words—what will those be? When the heart is full it may run over, but the real fulness stays within–

You asked me yesterday 'if I should repent'? Yes—my own Ba,—I could wish all the past were to do over again, that in it I might somewhat more,—never so little more, conform in the outward homage to the inward feeling: what I have professed .. (for I have performed nothing—) seems to fall short of what my first love required even—and when I think of this moment’s love .. I could repent, as I say.

Words can never tell you, however,—form them, transform them anyway,—how perfectly dear you are to me—perfectly dear to my heart and soul–

I look back, and in every one point, every word and gesture, every letter, every silence—you have been entirely perfect to me—I would not change one word, one look–

My hope and aim are to preserve this love, not to fall from it—for which I trust to God who procured it for me, and doubtlessly can preserve it.

Enough now, my dearest, dearest, own Ba! You have given me the highest, completest proof of love that ever one human being gave another. I am all gratitude—and all pride, (under the proper feeling which ascribes pride to the right source—) all pride that my life has been so crowned by you.

God bless you prays your very own

RB

I will write to-morrow of course. Take every care of my life which is in that dearest little hand; try and be composed, my beloved.

Remember to thank Wilson for me."

 

And Mrs. Browning writes as well, letting him know that all is well with her:

 

"p.m. 4½

Ever dearest, I write a word that you may read it & know how all is safe so far, & that I am not slain downright with the day—oh, such a day!– I went to Mr Boyd’s directly, so as to send Wilson home the faster—and was able to lie quietly on the sofa in his sittingroom down stairs, before he was ready to see me, being happily engaged with a medical councillor. Then I was made to talk & take Cyprus wine,—&, my sisters delaying to come, I had some bread & butter for dinner, to keep me from looking too pale in their eyes– At last they came, & with such grave faces! Missing me & Wilson, they had taken fright,—& Arabel had forgotten at first what I told her last night about the fly. I kept saying, 'What nonsense, .. what fancies you do have to be sure', .. trembling in my heart with every look they cast at me– And so, to complete the bravery, I went on with them in the carriage to Hampstead .. as far as the heath,—& talked & looked––now you shall praise me for courage .. or rather you shall love me for the love which was the root of it all– How necessity makes heroes—or heroines at least!– For I did not sleep all last night, & when I first went out with Wilson to get to the flystand in Marylebone Street I staggered so, that we both were afraid for the fear’s sake,—but we called at a chemist’s for sal volatile & were thus enabled to go on– I spoke to her last night, & she was very kind, very affectionate, & never shrank for a moment– I told her that always I should be grateful to her.

You—how are you? how is your head, ever dearest?

It seems all like a dream! When we drove past that church again, I and my sisters, there was a cloud before my eyes—. Ask your mother to forgive me, Robert– If I had not been there, she would have been there, perhaps.

And for the rest, if either of us two is to suffer injury & sorrow for what happened there today,—I pray that it may all fall upon me! Nor should I suffer the most pain that way, as I know, & God knows.

Your own Ba–

Was I very uncourteous to your cousin? So kind, too, it was in him!——

Can there be the least danger of the newspapers? Are those books ever examined by penny a liners, do you suppose?"

 

The deed is done with some amateur acting on Mrs. Browning's part. All of the, shall we say 'prevarication', cannot be good for her. But she believes that she is performing this deception for the best, keeping everyone from blame but herself. All her fear centers around the idea that she will hurt other people: Browning, Browning's mother and Browning's cousin. But at least one person must be enjoying the game; imagine Mr. Boyd's glee at putting Papa Barrett on his ear.

 

All is safe for now. Next comes the race to get out of town before the general decampment of the Barrett clan. Oh yes, the drama and the letters will continue.