Day: July 27, 2018

[Postmark: July 27, 1846]

Monday Morning.

That is sufficient, ever dearest : now dismiss the matter
from your thoughts, as I shall — having forced myself once
to admit that most dreadful of possibilities and to provide
for it, I need not have compunction at dwelling on the
brighter, better chances which God’s previous dispensations
encourage me to expect. There may be even a claimant,
instead of a recipient, of whatever either of us can bequeath
— who knows ? For which reason, but most of all for the
stronger yourself adduce — the contingency of your illness
— I do not ask you to ‘ relinquish a part ‘ — not as our
arrangements now are ordered : for I have never been so
foolish as to think we could live without money, if not of my
obtaining, then of your possessing, and though, in certain
respects I should have preferred to try the first course, —
at the beginning at least, when my faculties seemed more my
own and that ‘ end of the summer ‘ had a less absorbing
interest (as I perceive now) — yet, as that is not to be, I
have only to be thankful that you are not dependent on my
exertions, — which I could not be sure of, — particularly
with this uncertain head of mine. I hope when we once
are together, the world will not hear of us again until
the very end — it would be horrible to have to come back to
it and ask its help.

I wish Mr. Kenyon had paid his visit — our Tuesday
would be safer — I shall be with you unless a letter forbids.
I can only say this now, because I expect my visitors nearly
directly, — Moxon and Forster, do you remember? And
the post is always late in arriving on Mondays. But I
should fill sheets of paper to no purpose if I thought to tell
you how I love you — ‘ more than ever ‘ — I am wholly your
own, dearest dearest.

Pat Flush for me — after having let me kiss you, Ba !

[Postmark: July 27, 1846]

Sunday.

Mr. Kenyon said nothing, — except a few words at
dinner about the mistake of Talfourd, to Forster, — nothing
whatever, though we sat together and talked for some time
before the arrival of the company. And all that I heard
about Mrs. Jameson, was her return to Ealing and some
wish she meant to express in a letter, of seeing me there.
So you will have to tell me and tell me, dearest, when you
know anything — to-day perhaps.

My own Ba, do not refer to what we spoke of — the next
vile thing to the vilest is, being too conscious of avoiding
that, — painfully, ostentatiously, protesting and debating —
only it seemed absolutely necessary to say thus much at
some time, and early : — now it is done with, — you
understanding what I expect at your hands.

Mr. Longman was of the party yesterday — speaking of
Haydon, he remarked on his omitting to mention in the
list of his creditors, ‘ the House ‘ — to which he owed about
100l. being the loss consequent on publishing his ‘Book’
— the Lectures, I suppose — then, in a break, he said, in
answer to a question from Forster, that the Book in question
had gone into a second edition, but ‘ Oh, no — the
Author had received nothing for it ! ‘ And he lost the
money, poor fellow, besides ! Is not that inexplicable to
all save booksellers ? Also, what could be his need for
another person’s intermediation with the Longmans since
he knew them so well and so long !

I hope there is nothing to prevent our meeting on
Tuesday. Do you think I am any longer able to appreciate
properly the additional gift of the day in the week ? I only
know that I do not see you now, my Ba — and I feel as if I
were — the words must not be written ! I need all of
you, — utterly dearest dearest that you are ! My next day,
my ‘ Sunday ‘ is the forlornest imaginable. I never wasted
time (in the worldly sense of not working in it) as at
present, — I read books and at the turning of every page go
back again for shame . . the words only before the eyes,
the thoughts of you before the mind.

I found a new litter of poetry in a letter of our
indefatigable Bennett, — the happy man ! By the way (a very
roundabout one), someone mentioned yesterday as an
agreeable, or at least characteristic trait in Sydney Smith,
that after dinner, or during dinner, he would occasionally
pour water down, or up, as we say, his coat-sleeves, for
coolness’ sake. Nobody made a remark — nor spoke of such
a feat’s disqualifying its performer from going into good
society. Now do you remember poor Horne and the
censorship of his manners? — were not his more rational
libations found abominable ? See the association — Bennett
— Miss Mitford — Horne? But I cannot write sensibly to-
day, nor insensibly, which would be more amusing perhaps
— I can only know I am — here, on Sunday ! and whatever
the pen may force itself to put down, my one thought is,
that you are not here. To-morrow I shall hear, and get
fresh strength in the anticipation of Tuesday, — if the letter
tells me you are well — the ‘ headache for two days,’ — tell
me, my own Ba !

Bless you, ever best and dearest.

[Postmark: July 27, 1846]

Sunday.

Why should you ask such a question of me yesterday,
as to whether I loved you as much then as ever ? Love you
as much ? Why should I not love you more ? . . to give
question for question. And it does seem to me, too, that
my question is more reasonable than yours. ‘Is it afternoon
at six o’clock,’ you might have asked in the same
breath with yours, and touched, so, as questionable a
matter.

Tell me how the evening passed at Mr. Kenyon’s. I
have seen nobody yet — not him, not Mrs. Jameson.

Seen nobody ? Except all the Hedleys, who have just
left my room. Do you know, the pomp and circumstance,
the noise and fuss and publicity of this marriage of theirs
happen just in time to make me satisfied with ‘ quite the
other principle ‘ as you said. The system they are carrying
out is detestable to its own extreme. Fifty or sixty people
are to breakfast at Fenton’s Hotel, . . with processions to
and fro ! . . which altogether, though the bride will bear it
very well, (for she has been used to be a Belle ex-officio,
and this business has been arranged by her and for her —
otherwise they would have all been in Paris) is likely, I
think, to half kill the bride’s mother. My poor aunt
wonders how she will get through it. To have to part with
her daughter in that crowd ! So barbarous a system it is,
this system of public marriages, under whatever light
considered. Both my sisters are invited ; and so was I ! (in
vain) and Henrietta officiates as a bridesmaid. Did I tell
you that Arabella Hedley is a glorious convert to Puseyism,
as might have been expected, and talked here like a
theologian a few days since, and ‘ considered the dissenters
in a most dangerous position,’ much to the amusement of my
brothers.

What am I writing of all this time ? Dearest, how did
you get home yesterday through the ambush at Mr.
Kenyon’s ? Tell me everything. And know that I love
you ‘ as much,’ my own beloved ! — you may know it.

When Flush came into the room and had spoken to me
(in the Flush-language) and had examined your chair, he
suddenly fell into a rapture and reminded me that the
cakes you left, were on the table. So I explained thoroughly
to him that you had brought them for him, and that
he ought to be properly ashamed therefore for his past
wickedness, and make up his mind to love you and not bite
you for the future — and then he was allowed to profit from
your goodness to him. How over-good of you ! It is an
encouragement to throw coffee-cups, . . such over-goodness !

Nobody knew of your being here yesterday — at least,
not that I know ! So Tuesday looks brightly, at a distance.
At a distance ! The day after to-morrow ! Ah, it seems
too near ! Too near, in the sense of saying ‘ Too good . .
to be true.’

I will write the paper as you bid me. Only, in the face
of all that is to come, I solemnly tell you that neither I nor
mine . . certainly not I . . will consent to an act of
injustice, disinheriting my last hours (whenever they shall
come) of a natural satisfaction. You are noble in all
things — but this will not be in your power — I will not
discuss it so as to teaze you. Your reputation is dear to
me of course . . the thoughts which men shall have of
you in the least matter, I would choose to keep clean . . .
free from every possible taint. But it will be obvious to all,
that if you pleased, you might throw out of the windows
everything called mine, the moment after our marriage —
interest and principal — why not? And if you abstain from
this, and after your own death allow the sum which originally
came from my family, to relapse there . . why it is all
of pure generosity on your part — and they will understand
it as I do, . . as generosity . . as more than justice.
Well — let that be ! It is your act, and not mine, letting it
be — and I have no objection to show you what my wishes
are, (mere wishes), so helping you to carry out such an act
in the best way. I send you the paper therefore — to that
end — and only that end. There, you must stop — I never
will consent to the extravagance you propose about yourself.
You shall not, if you love me, think of carrying it out.
If I thought you could be so hard on me, . . do you know,
I would rather throw it all up now into the hands of my
sisters, and be poor with you at once — I could bear that so
much better than the thoughts of leaving you to be poor.
Or, would you be easier, dearest — if a part were
relinquished now ? would it make you easier . . and would you
promise me, so, that what is mine should be accepted as
yours to the end ? The worst is that if I were ill, I should
be a burden to you, and thus we might have reasons for
regret. Still it shall be as pleases you best. But I must be
pleased a little too. It is fair that I should.

Certainly you exaggerate to yourself the position.
What would have become of you if you had loved a real
heiress instead ? That would have been a misfortune. As
it is, while you are plotting how to get rid of these penny-
pieces, everybody will be pitying you for having fixed
yourself in such conditions of starvation. You, who might
— have married Miss Burdett Coutts !

See how I tease you ! — first promising not to tease you !
But always I am worse than I meant to be. Wasn’t it your
fault a little for bringing up this horrible subject ? — but
here is the paper, the only sort of ‘ settlement ‘ we shall
have ! Always I have said and sworn that I never, if I married,
would have a settlement — and now I thank God to be able to
keep my word so. This only is a settlement of the question.

Beloved, how is your head ? I love you out of the
deepest of my heart, and shall not cease.

Your very own
BA.

Is this what is called a document”? It seems to me
that I have a sort of legal genius — and that I should be on
the Woolsack in the Martineau Parliament. But it seems,
too, rather bold to attach such a specification to your
name. Laugh and pardon it all !

In compliance with the request of Robert Browning,
who may possibly become my husband, that I would
express in writing my wishes respecting the ultimate disposal
of whatever property I possess at this time, whether
in the funds or elsewhere, . . I here declare my wishes to
be . . that he, Robert Browning, . . having, of course, as
it is his right to do, first held and used the property in
question for the term of his natural life, . . should bequeath
the same, by an equal division, to my two sisters, or, in the
case of the previous death of either or both of them, to
such of my surviving brothers as most shall need it by the
judgment of my eldest surviving brother.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT.
Wimpole Street : July, 1846.