Day: September 14, 2018

[Postmark: 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.

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, . . and 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 and 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, and you must not think of putting any ‘ At home’ anywhere, or any other thing in the place of it. A Fellows 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, and no intimation of address, which is not necessary, and would be under our circumstances quite wrong. Then I had better perhaps send you a list of names and 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.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Monday Morning.

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

Do you feel so, through 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 chose 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 and mother’s childlike faith in goodness – and my sister is very high-spirited, and quick of apprehension – so as to seize the true point 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 fervour 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.

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 profiting, – 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 and 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 R.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Sunday Afternoon.

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 for ever, your proof of love to me is made . . I know 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 farther : 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 await 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.

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. and 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 – Fellows’ (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 and mother and 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 to-morrow. Bless you, my very own, only Ba – my pride, and joy, and utter comfort. I kiss you and am ever your own.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Sunday.

My own beloved, if ever you should have reason to complain of me in things voluntary and possible, all other women would have a right to tread me underfoot, I should be so vile and 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 and carrying me into life and the sunshine ? I was yours rather by right than by gift (yet by gift also, my beloved !) ; for what you have saved and renewed is surely yours. All that I am, I owe you – if I enjoy anything now and 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.

Dearest, in the emotion and 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, and 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 and devotion towards the man she married, – not one ! And then I both thought and felt, that it was only just, for them, . . those women who were less happy, . . to have that affectionate sympathy and support and presence of their nearest relations, parent or sister . . which failed to me, . . needing it less through being happier !

All my brothers have been here this morning, laughing and talking, and discussing this matter of the leaving town, – and 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. Treppy too being one of them, I promised to go to see her to-morrow and dine in her drawing-room if she would give me, for dinner, some bread and 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, and sit 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 ; and 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 and he saw it, I yet answered with a tolerably quick evasion, . . ‘ He was here on Friday’ – and leapt straight into another subject, and 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 – and he told me that he meant to leave town again on Wednesday, and 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.

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-stupor which falls on me when left to myself a little, and 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 and painful situation, I look over the palms to Troy – I feel happy and exulting 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, and 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 and ever dearest ! Beseech for me the indulgence of your father and mother, and 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 and affectionate to them all, while I live, is all that I can do, and 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 – and 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.