Day: August 3, 2018

[Postmark: August 3, 1846]

Monday Morning.

Oh, the comfort you are to me, Ba — the perpetual
blessing and sustainment ! And what a piece of you, how
instinct with you, this letter is ! I will not try to thank
you, but my whole life shall.

See ! Now talk of ‘ three or four months ‘ ! And is not
the wonder, that this should wait for the eighty-second visit
to happen ? Or could anything be more fortunate, more
mitigating than the circumstances under which it did happen
at last? The rain and thunder, — the two hours (see the
accounts — nothing like it has been known, for years), at most,
proved against us, — the ignorance of the visits last week —
in spite of all which, see what comes and is likely to come !

Let me say at once that, at the worst, it may come !
You have had time to know enough of me, my Ba, — and I,
who from the first knew you, have taken one by one your
promises from your lips, — I believe what you write here ; I
accept it as the foundation of all my future happiness — ‘ you
will never fail me ‘ — I will never fail you, dearest dearest.

How you have mistaken my words, whatever they may
have been, about the ‘ change ‘ to be expected in my life !
I have, most sincerely I tell you, no one habit nor manner
to change or persevere in, — if you once accept the general
constitution of me as accordant to yours in a sufficient
degree, — my incompleteness with your completeness,
dearest, — there is no further difficulty. I want to be a
Poet — to read books which make wise in their various ways,
to see just so much of nature and the ways of men as seems
necessary — and having done this already in some degree, I
can easily and cheerfully afford to go without any or all of
it for the future, if called upon, — and so live on, and ‘ use
up, ‘ my past acquisitions such as they are. I will go to Pisa
and learn, — or stay here and learn in another way — putting,
as I always have done, my whole pride, if that is the proper
name, in the being able to work with the least possible
materials. There is my scheme of life without you, before
you existed for me ; prosecuted hitherto with every sort of
weakness, but always kept in view and believed in. Now
then, please to introduce Ba, and say what is the habit she
changes ? But do not try to say what divinest confirmation
she brings to ‘ whatever is good and holy and true ‘ in this
scheme, because even She cannot say that ! All the liberty and
forbearance . . most graceful, most characteristic of you,
sweet ! But why should I play with you, at taking what I
mean to give again ? — or rather, what it would be a horror
to have to keep — why make fantastic stipulations only to
have the glory of not abiding by them ? If I may speak of
my own desires for a moment unconnected with your happiness,
— of what I want for myself, purely — what I mean
by marrying you, — it is, that I may be with you forever — I
cannot have enough of you in any other relation : why then
should I pretend to make reservations and say ‘ Yes, you
shall deprive me of yourself ‘ (of your sympathy, of your
knowledge, and good wishes, and counsel) on such and
such occasions? But I feel your entire goodness, dear
angel of my life, — ever more I feel it, though all seems
felt and recorded.

And now of your ‘ chronicling ‘ — of course Mr. Kenyon
knows — and this is the beginning of his considerate,
cautious kindness — he has determined to hurry nothing,
interfere abruptly in no case, to make you infer rather than
pretend to instruct you — as you must, — for ‘ if the
visits of Captain Cook have that appearance &c., must not
those of R.B. &c., &c., ‘ So, this is not from Chorley’s
information, mind, but from his own spectacled acumen.

After this, it seems very natural to remark that the Havre
packets leave now at nine instead of eight o’clock on
Thursdays and Sundays — while the departures from
Southampton are on Tuesdays and Fridays. My presentiment
is that suddenly you will be removed to Devonshire or
Sussex or — . In which case, our difficulties will multiply
considerably — be prepared for such events !

And for to-morrow — only think of yourself, lest you
should forget my interests : pray write to-night, if but two
or three words. If I am allowed to call, I will bring
Mrs. Butler’s book in a cover, and, if I find a note from you,
leave that, as an excuse for the knock. Will you contrive
that a note shall be ready — in case of your Aunt’s presence
&c. If it saves you from a danger, let me stay away — until
the letters stop, I can bear absence till the two months end
— any such journey as I apprehend would be most annoying,
deplorable indeed.

Would you not if the worst came, — what would you
do?

May God bless you, infinitely bless you, ever dearest
dearest, prays ever your very own —

R.

Mrs. Procter wants me to go to her on Thursday — is there
anything to get out of that arrangement ? — probably not
— but write !

Do reconsider, Ba, — had I better stay away to-morrow ?
You cannot misunderstand me, — I only think of you — any
man’s anger to me is Flushie’s barking, without the
respectability of motive, — but, once the door shut on me,
if he took to biting you ! Think for us both ! Is there any
possibility of a suspicious sudden return because of the
facilities of the day ? Or of the servant being desired to
mention my visits — or to ‘ deny you, ‘ as unwell &c. ? Ah
my soul revolts at the notion of a scene in your presence
— my own tied tongue, and a system of patience I can well
resolve upon, but not be sure of, as experience makes sure.

[Postmark: August 3, 1846]

Sunday.

What can I tell you, ever dearest, while I am expecting
all you are to tell me ? I will not conjecture, nor be afraid
(for you) before the time — I felt your dear hand press mine
closer while the thunder sounded — so it will always be, I
know, in life, in death — and when a thunder shall break, of
a kind that I can fear. I will hold your hand, my Ba.
Perhaps there is nothing formidable here . . indeed there
can hardly be — tell me all. I got to your Hodgson’s,
waited a few minutes till a cab passed, and then was
properly deposited at the Haymarket. The streets, at least
the roads out of Town, were flooded — very canals. Here, at
home our skylight was broken, — and our chimneys behaved
just as yours.

And now — shall I see you really on Tuesday after this
Saturday of perils? And how will your head be, — your
health in general be, you sweetest Ba ? Is it the worse for
the storm and the apprehension, — to say nothing of what
may have followed ? Oh, if but a ‘ sign ‘ might be
vouchsafed me — if I might go to Wimpole Street presently,
and merely know by the disposition of a blind or of a shutter,
that you were better, or no worse ! I ought to have contrived
something of the kind yesterday — but ‘ presence of mind ‘ !

Ba, I have been reading those poems — now to speak
soberly — I had no conception, Mrs. Butler could have
written anything so mournfully mediocre . . to go as near
flattery as I can. With the exception of three or four pieces
respectable from their apparent earnestness, all that album
writing about ‘ sprites,’ and the lily-bell, and ‘ wishes ‘ —
now to be dead and now alive, — descriptions without colour,
songs without tune, — why, Bennett towers above it ! Either
Bennett — for the one touch you recorded, ‘ I will not be
forgot ‘ — seems grandly succinct contrasted with

Yet not in tears remembered be my name —
Weep over those ye loved — for me, for me,
Give me the wreath of glory and let fame
Over my tomb spread immortality.

How many of these unfortunate Sundays are in store
for me, I wonder — eight or nine, then the two months . .
‘ when constant faith and holy hope shall die, ‘ one lost in
certainty and one in the deep deep joy of the ever present
ever dearest Ba ! Oh, Ba, how I love you !

Your own R.

[Postmark: August 3, 1846]

Sunday Morning and Evening.

Ever dearest, you were wet surely ? The rain came
before you reached the front door ; and for a moment
(before I heard it shut) I hoped you might return. Dearest,
how I blame myself for letting you go — for not sending you
a cab in despite of you ! I was frightened out of all wisdom
by the idea of who was down-stairs and listening perhaps,
and watching — as if the cab would have made you appear
more emphatically you ! And then you said ‘ the rain was
over ‘ — and I believed you as usual. If this isn’t a
precedent of the evils of too much belief … ! !

Altogether, yesterday may pass among the ‘ unsatisfactory
days, ‘ I think — for if I was not frightened of the storm,
and indeed I was not, much — of the state of affairs down in
the provinces, I was most sorely frightened — uneasy the
whole time. I seem to be with you, Robert, at this moment,
more than yesterday I was . . though if I look up now, I do
not see you sitting there ! — but when you sate there
yesterday, I was looking at Papa’s face as I saw it through
the floor, and now I see only yours.

Dearest, he came into the room at about seven, before
he went to dinner — I was lying on the sofa and had on a
white dressing gown, to get rid of the strings . . so
oppressive the air was, for all the purifications of lightning.
He looked a little as if the thunder had passed into him, and
said, ‘ Has this been your costume since the morning,
pray ? ‘

‘ Oh no ‘ — I answered — ‘ Only just now, because of
the heat.’

‘ Well, ‘ he resumed, with a still graver aspect . . (so
displeased he looked, dearest ! ) ‘ it appears, Ba, that
that man has spent the whole day with you. ‘ To which I
replied as quietly as I could, that you had several times
meant to go away, but that the rain would not let you, —
and there the colloquy ended. Brief enough — but it took
my breath away . . or what was left by the previous fear.
And think how it must have been a terrible day, when the
lightning of it made the least terror.

I was right too about the message — he took up the
fancy that I might be ill perhaps with fear . . ‘ and only
Mr. Browning in the room ‘ ! ! which was not to be
permitted. He was peremptory with Arabel, she told me.

Well — we need not talk any more of it — it has made one
of us uncomfortable long enough. Shall you dare come on
Tuesday after all ? He will be out. If he is not — if my
aunt should not be . . if a new obstacle should occur . .
why you shall hear on Tuesday. At any rate I shall write,
I think. He did not see you go yesterday — he had himself
preceded you by an hour . . at five o’clock . . which if it
had been known, would have relieved me infinitely. Yet it
did not prevent . . you see . . the appalling commentary at
seven — No.

With all the rest I am afraid besides of Mr. Chorley and
his idea about your ‘ mysteriousness. ‘ Let Mr. Kenyon
hold that thread in one hand, and in the other the thread
Henrietta gave him so carelessly, why he need not ask you
for information — which reminds me of the case you put to
me, Robert — and certainly you could not help a confession,
in such possible circumstances. Only, even granting the
circumstances, you need not confess more than is wrung
from you — need you ? Because Mr. Kenyon would undo us.

Before yesterday’s triple storms, I had a presentiment
which oppressed me during two days . . a presentiment that
it would all end ill, through some sudden accident or misery
of some kind. What is the use of telling you this ? I do
not know. I will tell you besides, that it cannot . . shall
not . . be, by my fault or failing. I may be broken indeed,
but never bent.

If things should go smoothly, however, I want to say
one word, once for all, in relation to them. Once or twice
you have talked as if a change were to take place in your
life through marrying — whereas I do beg you to keep in
mind that not a pebble in the path changes, nor is pushed
aside because of me. If you snould make me feel myself
in the way, should I like it, do you think ? And how could
I disturb a single habit or manner of yours . . as an un-
married man . . though being within call — I ? The best
of me is, that I am really very quiet and not difficult to
content — having not been spoilt by an excess of prosperity
even in little things. It will be prosperity in the greatest,
if you seem to be happy — believe that, and leave all the
rest. You will go out just as you do now . . when you choose,
and as a matter of course, and without need of a word — you
will be precisely as you are now in everything, — lord of the
house-door-key, and of your own ways — so that when I
shall go to Greece, you shall not feel yourself much better
off than before I went. That shall be a reserved vengeance,
Robert.

While I write, comes Mr. Kenyon, — and through a
special interposition of guardian-angels, he has broken his
spectacles and carries them in his hand. On which I
caught at the opportunity and told him that they were the
most unbecoming things in the world, and that fervently
(and sincerely) I hoped never to see them mended. The
next word was . . ‘ Did you see Browning yesterday ? ‘
‘ Yes.’ ‘ I thought so, I intended to come myself, but I
thought it probable that he would be here, and so I stayed
away — ‘

Now — — confess to you that that thought carries me
a good way over to your impression. It is at least ‘
suspicious, ‘ that he who knew you were with me on Saturday
and Tuesday should expect to find you again on the next
Saturday. ‘ Oh — how uncomfortable ‘ — the miracle of the
broken spectacles not saving one from the discomfort of the
position open to the bare eyes ! —

He talked of you a little — asked what you were doing —
praised you as usual . . for inexhaustible knowledge and
general reasonableness, this time. Did I not think so?
Yes — of course I thought so.

Presently he made me look aghast by just this question —
‘ Is there an attachment between your sister Henrietta
and Capt. Cook ? ‘ –(put as abruptly as I put it here).

My heart leapt up — as Wordsworth’s to the rainbow in
the sky — but there was a recoil in my leap. ‘ Why, Mr.
Kenyon ? ‘ — I said . . ‘ what extraordinary questions, opening
into unspeakable secrets, you do ask. ‘

‘ But I did not know that it was a secret. How was I
to know ? I have seen him here very often, and it is a
natural enquiry which I might have put to anybody in the
house touching a matter open to general observation. I
thought the affair might be an arranged one by anybody’s
consent.’

‘ But you ought to know, ‘ I answered, ‘ that such
things are never permitted in this house. So much for
the consent. As for the matter itself you are right in your
supposition — but it is a great secret, — and I entreat
you not to put questions about it to anybody in or out of
the house. ‘ Something to that effect I believe I said — I
was frightened . . frightened . . and not exactly for
Henrietta. What did he mean ? — Had he too in his mind . . .

He touched on Mrs. Jameson . . just touched . . He had
desired my sisters to tell me. He thought I had better
write a note to thank her for her kindness. He had told
her that if I had any thoughts of Italy they could be
accomplished only by a sea-voyage, which was impossible to
her.

I briefly expressed a sense of the kindness and said that
I meant to write. On which the subject was changed in
mutual haste, as seemed to me.

Is not this the book of the chronicles ? . . And you shall
hear again on Tuesday, if the post should be faithful to me
that morning. I might be inclined to put off our Tuesday’s
meeting, but Mrs. Hedley remains in London for a few days
after her daughter’s marriage, and ‘ means to see a great
deal ‘ of me — therefore Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, . .
where should we look, from Tuesday ? but I must consider
and will write. May God bless you ! Do say how you
are after that rain. The storm is calm,

and ever and ever I am your own BA.