Life and Letters of Robert Browning [54]
very ignorance of her condition
left him without security for her ever being able to stand.
A strong sense of sympathy and pity could alone entirely justify or explain
his act -- a strong desire to bring sunshine into that darkened life.
We might be sure that these motives had been present with him
if we had no direct authority for believing it; and we have this authority
in his own comparatively recent words: `She had so much need
of care and protection. There was so much pity in what I felt for her!'
The pity was, it need hardly be said, at no time a substitute for love,
though the love in its full force only developed itself later;
but it supplied an additional incentive.
Miss Barrett had made her acceptance of Mr. Browning's proposal
contingent on her improving in health. The outlook was therefore vague.
But under the influence of this great new happiness she did gain
some degree of strength. They saw each other three times a week;
they exchanged letters constantly, and a very deep and perfect understanding
established itself between them. Mr. Browning never mentioned his visits
except to his own family, because it was naturally feared
that if Miss Barrett were known to receive one person, other friends,
or even acquaintances, would claim admittance to her; and Mr. Kenyon,
who was greatly pleased by the result of his introduction,
kept silence for the same reason.
In this way the months slipped by till the summer of 1846
was drawing to its close, and Miss Barrett's doctor then announced
that her only chance of even comparative recovery lay
in spending the coming winter in the South. There was no rational obstacle
to her acting on this advice, since more than one of her brothers
was willing to escort her; but Mr. Barrett, while surrounding his daughter
with every possible comfort, had resigned himself to her invalid condition
and expected her also to acquiesce in it. He probably did not believe
that she would benefit by the proposed change. At any rate
he refused his consent to it. There remained to her only one alternative --
to break with the old home and travel southwards as Mr. Browning's wife.
When she had finally assented to this course, she took a preparatory step
which, in so far as it was known, must itself have been sufficiently startling
to those about her: she drove to Regent's Park, and when there,
stepped out of the carriage and on to the grass. I do not know
how long she stood -- probably only for a moment; but I well remember hearing
that when, after so long an interval, she felt earth under her feet
and air about her, the sensation was almost bewilderingly strange.
They were married, with strict privacy, on September 12, 1846,
at St. Pancras Church.
The engaged pair had not only not obtained Mr. Barrett's
sanction to their marriage; they had not even invoked it;
and the doubly clandestine character thus forced upon the union
could not be otherwise than repugnant to Mr. Browning's pride;
but it was dictated by the deepest filial affection on the part
of his intended wife. There could be no question in so enlightened a mind
of sacrificing her own happiness with that of the man she loved;
she was determined to give herself to him. But she knew that her father
would never consent to her doing so; and she preferred marrying
without his knowledge to acting in defiance of a prohibition which,
once issued, he would never have revoked, and which would have weighed
like a portent of evil upon her. She even kept the secret of her engagement
from her intimate friend Miss Mitford, and her second father, Mr. Kenyon,
that they might not be involved in its responsibility. And Mr. Kenyon,
who, probably of all her circle, best understood the case,
was grateful to her for this consideration.
Mr. Barrett was one of those men who will not part with their children;
who will do anything for them except allow them to leave the parental home.
We have all known fathers of this type. He had nothing to urge
against Robert Browning. When Mr.
left him without security for her ever being able to stand.
A strong sense of sympathy and pity could alone entirely justify or explain
his act -- a strong desire to bring sunshine into that darkened life.
We might be sure that these motives had been present with him
if we had no direct authority for believing it; and we have this authority
in his own comparatively recent words: `She had so much need
of care and protection. There was so much pity in what I felt for her!'
The pity was, it need hardly be said, at no time a substitute for love,
though the love in its full force only developed itself later;
but it supplied an additional incentive.
Miss Barrett had made her acceptance of Mr. Browning's proposal
contingent on her improving in health. The outlook was therefore vague.
But under the influence of this great new happiness she did gain
some degree of strength. They saw each other three times a week;
they exchanged letters constantly, and a very deep and perfect understanding
established itself between them. Mr. Browning never mentioned his visits
except to his own family, because it was naturally feared
that if Miss Barrett were known to receive one person, other friends,
or even acquaintances, would claim admittance to her; and Mr. Kenyon,
who was greatly pleased by the result of his introduction,
kept silence for the same reason.
In this way the months slipped by till the summer of 1846
was drawing to its close, and Miss Barrett's doctor then announced
that her only chance of even comparative recovery lay
in spending the coming winter in the South. There was no rational obstacle
to her acting on this advice, since more than one of her brothers
was willing to escort her; but Mr. Barrett, while surrounding his daughter
with every possible comfort, had resigned himself to her invalid condition
and expected her also to acquiesce in it. He probably did not believe
that she would benefit by the proposed change. At any rate
he refused his consent to it. There remained to her only one alternative --
to break with the old home and travel southwards as Mr. Browning's wife.
When she had finally assented to this course, she took a preparatory step
which, in so far as it was known, must itself have been sufficiently startling
to those about her: she drove to Regent's Park, and when there,
stepped out of the carriage and on to the grass. I do not know
how long she stood -- probably only for a moment; but I well remember hearing
that when, after so long an interval, she felt earth under her feet
and air about her, the sensation was almost bewilderingly strange.
They were married, with strict privacy, on September 12, 1846,
at St. Pancras Church.
The engaged pair had not only not obtained Mr. Barrett's
sanction to their marriage; they had not even invoked it;
and the doubly clandestine character thus forced upon the union
could not be otherwise than repugnant to Mr. Browning's pride;
but it was dictated by the deepest filial affection on the part
of his intended wife. There could be no question in so enlightened a mind
of sacrificing her own happiness with that of the man she loved;
she was determined to give herself to him. But she knew that her father
would never consent to her doing so; and she preferred marrying
without his knowledge to acting in defiance of a prohibition which,
once issued, he would never have revoked, and which would have weighed
like a portent of evil upon her. She even kept the secret of her engagement
from her intimate friend Miss Mitford, and her second father, Mr. Kenyon,
that they might not be involved in its responsibility. And Mr. Kenyon,
who, probably of all her circle, best understood the case,
was grateful to her for this consideration.
Mr. Barrett was one of those men who will not part with their children;
who will do anything for them except allow them to leave the parental home.
We have all known fathers of this type. He had nothing to urge
against Robert Browning. When Mr.