2340. EBB to RB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 12, 293–294.
[London]
Friday. [1 May 1846] [1]
How you write to me! Is there any word to answer to these words .. which, when I have read, I shut my eyes as one bewildered, & think blindly .. or do not think—some feelings are deeper than the thoughts touch. My only beloved, it is thus with me … I stand by a miracle in your love,—& because I stand in it & it covers me, just for that, you cannot see me——! May God grant that you never see me—for then we two shall be “happy” as you say, & I, in the only possible manner, be very sure. Meanwhile, you do quite well not to speculate about making me happy .. your instinct knows, if you do not know, that it is implied in your own happiness .. or rather (not to assume a magnanimity) in my sense of your being happy, not apart from me. As God sees me, & as I know at all the motions of my own soul, I may assert to you that from the first moment of our being to each other anything, I never conceived of happiness otherwise .. never thought of being happy through you or by you or in you, even—your good was all my idea of good, & is. I hear women say sometimes of men whom they love .. “such a one will make me happy, I am sure”, or “I shall be happy with him, I think”—or again .. “He is so good & affectionate that nobody need be afraid for my happiness”. Now, whether you like or dislike it, I will tell you that I never had such thoughts of you, nor ever, for a moment, gave you that sort of praise. I do not know why .. or perhaps I do—but I could not so think of you .. I have not time nor breath .. I could as soon play on the guitar when it is thundering. So be happy, my own dearest .. & if it should be worth a thought that you cannot be alone, so, you may think that too. You have so deep and intense a nature, that it were impossible for you to love after the fashion of other men, weakly & imperfectly, & your love, which comes out like your genius, may glorify enough to make you happy, perhaps. Which is my dream, my calculation rather, when I am happiest now– May God bless you. Suppose I should ever read in your eyes that you were not happy with me?—can I help, do you fancy, such thoughts? Could you help being not happy? The very word “unhappiness” implies that you cannot help it. Now forgive me my naughtiness, because I love you, & never loved but you, .. & because I promise not to go with Miss Bayley to Italy .. I promise. Ah– If you could pretend to be afraid of that, indeed, I [2] have a right to be afraid, without pretence at all .. I who am a woman & frightened of lightning. And see the absurdity. If I did not go to Italy with you, the reason would be that you did not choose—and if you did not choose, I should not choose .. I would not see Italy without your eyes—could I, do you think? So if Miss Bayley takes me to Italy with a volume of the Cyclic poets, it will be as a dead Ba clasped up between the leaves of it. You talked of a ‘Flora’, [3] you remember, in the first letter I had from you.
How bad of William Howitt! How right you are, always! Yet not quite always, dear dearest beloved, happily for your own
Ba.
Say how you are I beseech you, & honestly! I was down stairs today, since the wind changed, & am the better for it– What writing for a postman!—or for you even!
Address: Robert Browning Esqre / New Cross / Hatcham / Surrey.
Postmarks: 12NN12 MY2 1846 A; 1AN1 MY2 1846 A.
Dockets, in RB’s hand: 165.; + Monday. May 4 / 3–5¾. p.m. (63.)
Publication: RB-EBB, pp. 670–671.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Date provided by postmark.
2. Underscored twice.
3. See letter 1811.
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