[Postmark: July 29, 1846]
Tuesday Evening.
Dearest, as I lost nearly an hour of you to-day, I make
amends to myself by beginning to write to you as if I had
not seen you at all. A large sheet of paper, too, has flown
into my hands — the Fates giving ample room and verge
enough, my characters . . not ‘ of Hell ‘ . . to trace, as I am
not going to swear at Mr. Kenyon, whatever the provocation !
Dear Mr. Kenyon !
It appears that he talked to my sisters some time before
he let himself be announced to me — he said to them ‘ I
want to talk to you . . sit down by me and listen. ‘ Then he
began to tell them of Mrs. Jameson, repeating what you told
me, of her desire to take me to Italy, . . and of her earnestness
about it. To which, he added, he had replied by every
representation likely to defeat those thoughts — that only
a relative would be a fit companion for me, and that no
person out of my family could be justified in accepting
such a responsibility, on other grounds, entering on the
occurrences of last year, and reasoning on from them to the
possibility that if I offended by an act of disobedience, I
might be ‘ cast off ‘ as for a crime. Oh — poor Papa was
not spared at all — not to Mrs. Jameson, not to my sisters.
Mr. Kenyon said . . ‘ It is painful to you perhaps to hear
me talk so, but it is a sore subject with me, and I cannot
restrain the expression of my opinions. ‘ He ‘ had told Mrs.
Jameson everything — it was due to her to have a full
knowledge, he thought . . and he had tried to set before
her the impossibility she was under, of doing any good. ‘
Then he asked my sisters . . if I ever spoke of Italy . . if
they thought I dwelt on the idea of it. ‘ Yes, ‘ they
answered ‘ in their opinion, I had made up my mind to
go.’ ‘ But how? what is the practical side of the question ?
She can’t go alone — and which of you will go with
her ? You know, last year, she properly rejected the
means which involved you in danger. ‘ Henrietta advised
that nothing should be said or done. ‘ Ba must do everything
for herself. Her friends cannot help her. She must
help herself. ‘ ‘ But she must not go to Italy by herself.
Then, how? ‘ ‘ She has determination of character, ‘
continued Henrietta — ‘ She will surprise everybody some
day. ‘
‘ But how ? ‘ — Mr. Kenyon repeated . . looking uneasy.
(And how imprudent of Henrietta to say that ! I have been
scolding her a little.)
The discussion ended by his instructing them to tell me
of Mrs. Jameson’s proposal ; ‘ because it was only right that
I should have the knowledge of her generous kindness,
though for his part, he did not like to agitate me by
conversing on the subject.’
Yes, one thing more was said. He mentioned having
had some conversation with my uncle Hedley, who was
‘very angry’ — and he asked if my aunt Hedley had no
influence with the highest authority. My sisters answered
in the negative. And this is all. He appears to have no
‘ plan ‘ of his particular own.
What do you say, Robert, to all this ? Since I am
officially informed of Mrs. Jameson’s goodness, I must thank
her certainly — and in what words ? ‘ How ‘ ! — — as Mr.
Kenyon asks. Half I have felt inclined to write and thank
her gratefully, and confide to her, not the secret itself, but
the secret of there being a secret with the weight of which I
am unwilling to oppress her at this time. Could it be
done, I wonder ? Perhaps not. Yet how hard, how very
difficult, it seems to me, to thank her worthily, and be silent
wholly on my motives in rejecting her companionship !
And a whole confidence NOW is dangerous . . would torment
her with a sense of responsibility. Think which way it
should be.
Once you asked me about joining travelling-company,
with Mrs. Jameson. Should you like it ? prefer it for any
cause? . if it could be done without involving her in trouble,
of course.
Ah, dearest . . what a loss the three quarters of an hour
were to me ! like the loss of four quarters of a moon on a
dark night ! When dear Mr. Kenyon came to me, he found
me with my thoughts astray — following you up the street !
He asked how long you had been here . . ‘ Some time, ‘ I
said — by an answer made to fit anything. The rest of my
answers were not so apt ! were more like ‘ cross-questions,’
perhaps, than answers of the common. But he roused me
a little by telling me that he wanted you to ‘ make an
excursion ‘ with Landor and himself, and that you did not
‘ encourage the idea ‘ — and by proceeding to tell me further,
that at a dinner the other day at his house, your poetry
being taken up and praised to the right measure, before
that wretched Mr. Reade, he wrote a letter by the morning’s
post to Mr. Kenyon, to express a regret that he (Mr. Reade)
should have found it impossible to join in the plaudits ‘ of
a brother-bard, ‘ but that Edmund Reade could not recognize
Robert Browning as a master-mind of the period, ‘ for
reasons, which were given at length. ‘ He, (Robert Browning)
had never rushed, with a passionate genius, into the
production of long poems ‘ . . (like ‘ Italy ‘) ‘ and long dramas
. . (like . . like . . . what’s the name of Mr. Reade’s last ?)
Poor, wretched man ! Mr. Kenyon tore up the letter in
compassion too tender toward humanity ! Also he told
me your excellent story on the stairs.
On the stairs ! I heard the talking and the laughing,
and felt ready to cry out the burden. Well — , Saturday
will come, as surely as you could go. May God bless you,
my own ! — are you my own ? and not rather, yes, rather, far
rather, I am your own, your very own
BA.
I doubt your being able to read what is written. Only
don’t send the ‘ manuscript ‘ to Mr. Forster, to be
interpreted . . after the fashion of others !