3596. EBB to Julia Martin
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 21, 224–226.
13. Dorset street. Baker street.
Tuesday [7 August 1855] [1]
My dearest Mrs Martin.
I have waited days & days in the answering your dear, kind, welcoming letter, & yet I have been very very grateful for it. Thank you. I need such things in England, above other places.
For the rest, we could not go to Herefordshire, even if I were rational .. which I am not, I could as soon open a coffin as do it—there’s the truth. The place is nothing to me of course—only the string round a faggot burnt or scattered. But if I went there the thought of one face which never ceases to be present with me (& which I parted from for ever in my poor blind unconsciousness, with a pettish word;) [2] would rise up, put down all the rest, & prevent my having one moment of ordinary calm intercourse with you—so dont ask me—set it down to mania or obstinacy .. but I never could go into that neighbourhood except to die .. which I think sometimes I should like. So you may have me some day when the physicians give me up—but then, you wont, you know, & it would’nt, anyway, be merry visiting.
Foolish to write all this! As if any human being could know thoroughly what he was to me. It must seem so extravagant, & perhaps affected .. even to you, who are large-hearted & make allowances. After these years!–
And after all I might have just said the other truth .. that we are at the end of our purse, & cant travel any more .. not even to Taunton, where poor Henrietta who is hindered from coming to me by a like pecuniary straightness, begs so hard that we should go. Also, we are bound to London by business-engagements .. a book in the press (Robert’s two volumes) & proofs coming in at all hours. We have been asked to two or three places at an hour’s distance from London, & cant stir—to Knebworth for instance, where Sir Edward Lytton wants us to go. It would be amusing in some ways—but we are tied. Also Robert’s sister is staying with us.
Also .. we shall see you in Paris on the way to Pau next november .. shall we not? Write & tell me that we shall, & that you are not disgusted with me meanwhile.
Do you know our news—? Alfred is just married .. at the Paris embassy .. to Lizzie Barrett .. who is pretty & will have eight thousand pounds at her mother’s death .. & that’s all. The malady in the family is a terrible objection [3] —but Alfred has chosen, & acted, & it remains to make the best of it. Of course he makes the third exile from Wimpole Street—the course of true love running remarkably rough in our house. [4] For the rest, there have been no scenes. I thank God for dearest Arabel’s sake! He had written to my father nine or ten days before the ceremony, received no answer, & followed up the silence rather briskly by another letter to announce his marriage. Both letters were sent up stairs to the public .. a few words of a sharp character, said to Sette .. and there was an end!– Poor Alfred– In the actual state of his affairs nothing could be so illjudged as this marriage .. but he has “gone & done it,” & we must hope for the best. I am going to write to him at Marseilles.
You cannot image to yourself the unsatisfactory & disheartening turmoil in which we are at present– Its the mad bull & the china-shop—& nota bene we are the china-shop. People want to see if Italy has cut off our noses .. or what!– A very kind anxiety certainly, but so horribly fatiguing, that my heart sinks & my brain goes round under the process. O my Florence! how much better you are!–
Have you heard that Wilson is married to a Florentine who lived once with the Peytons, & is here now with us, .. a good, tender-hearted man?
I am tolerably well, though to breathe this heavy air always strikes me as difficult .. & my little Penini is very well, thank God. I want so much to show him to you. We shall be here till the end of september if the weather admits of it—then, go to Paris for the winter—then, return to London … & then & then .. why that “then” is too far off to see.
Only we talk of Italy in the distance.
My book is not ready for the press yet .. and as to writing here– Who could produce an epic in the pauses of a summerset? Not that my poem is an epic .. I hurry on to say in consideration for dear Mr Martin’s feelings. I flatter myself it’s a novel, rather—a sort of novel in verse. Arabel looks well.
What pens!—what ink! Do write, & tell me of you both. I love you cordially indeed.
Your ever affectionate Ba.
Publication: LEBB, II, 206–208 (in part, as [July–August 1855]).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Dated by EBB’s reference to the marriage of Alfred and Lizzie Barrett, which occurred on 1 August 1855.
2. EBB refers to “Bro,” as she did when the Martins asked her to visit Colwall in the summer of 1851 (see letter 2936).
3. i.e., insanity, as EBB explains in letter 3611.
4. Cf. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I, 1, 134.
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