Elizabeth Barrett to Robert Browning
    On January 10, 1845, a struggling 32 year old writer, Robert Browning, wrote to congratulate the English poet Elizabeth Barrett on her latest book of poems, which included in it a tribute to his own verse. He wrote enthusiastically,

"I love your verses."
Near the end of his letter, he added

"and I love you too."
His declaration was sincere, and the more extraordinary in that he made it to a woman whom he had never met. A back injury had made Elizabeth a semi-invalid 24 years earlier. The death of her favorite brother, Edward (known as Bro)--who drowned at sea in a mysterious boating accident in 1840--added to her sorrow. She scarcely moved from the sofa on which she spent her housebound days in London's Wimpole Street, exacerbating her ill health with the painkiller opium. She was watched over by her widowed father, Edward Barrett, a sternly loving, but possessive man. To him, Elizabeth was,

"the purest woman he ever knew,"
by which, as she told Robert, he meant she had not

"troubled him with the inquity of love affairs, r any impropriety of seeming to think about being married."
Little did Robert know at the time that his letter to his fellow poet ended Mr. Barrett's comfortable circumstance with his daughter once and for all.
    Browning's first impulsive letter to Elizabeth was written as one poet to another. His only substantial knowledge of her was surmized from having read and greatly admired her poems. He could "love" her only as the "great soul" he believed her words revealed. In later years his subtle, ironic genius would flower too and be recognized, but at this stage, the 38 year old Elizabeth was the greater in both reputation and achievement. Yet, in response to his first letter to her, she wrote back excitedly, asking to take up his offer to give advice on her work,

"as a fellow-craftsman should."
She encouraged him to:

"tell me of such faults as rise to the surface and strike you as important,"
believing he had much he could teach her. As the two poets "talked on paper", "the honor of acquaintance" quickly developed into "the delight of friendship". Nothing pleased her more than to have found a kindred spirit who understood what she was trying to achieve in her poetry. And in her fourth letter to him--more relaxed in tone than the previous letters she had written him--she told him that she wanted to know everything about him, by what she described as,

"refracted lights as well as direct ones."
Fear that he would not like hr when he met her made her put off the occasion for as long as possible, but with Robert's gentle encouragement she finally relented. When they met for the first time in May 1845, they already knew a good deal about each other. To the diminutive Elizabeth lying on her sofa, her pale face framed by thick black ringlets, Robert seemed to have

"drunken the cup of life full..."
while she had

"lived only inwardly. Book and dreams were what I lived in."
This was not quite true. Certainly Browning had seen more places and lived more in the world, but he too was sheltered. Like Elizabeth he was largely self-educated, reading from childhood in his father's 6,000 volume library. Like her he still lived at home. Like her he had never had to earn a living and could dedicate himself entirely to writing poetry. But Elizabeth, who had

"behold no great mountain or river,"
felt the need to escape from seclusion into experience, and Robert was her lifeline, the more so because he was in love. For her, this new-found love was nothing more than a miracle,

"a silver flooding,"
as she wrote in her letter extracted here, exactly one year after she had received his first letter to her. For Browning, she was the miracle. Prior to their first meeting he had never kept a journal, but now he recorded the date and length of every visit,

"the number of minutes you have given me"
as well as his feelings:

"love was to feel you in my very heart and hold you there for ever, through all chance and earthly changes."
Over the course of two years they exchanged some 600 letters. Such delight between well-suited people should naturally and simply have led to marriage. But the implacable Mr. Barrett only allowed "the poet" to visit because he did not see him as a threat to his household. Elizabeth seemed to be getting better, venturing outside, as she said,

"scarcely an invalid"
On May 12, 1846, she wrote excitedly to Robert,

"Look what is inside this letter--look! It is a laburnum flower,"
a return for all the flowers he had brought to brighten her invalid's drawing room. She had picked it herself, stopping the carriage, putting

"both my feet on the grass...which was the strangest feeling!"
    Throughout the summer of 1845 Elizabeth knew she could only marry against her father's will. She agonized over the wound she would inflict on him and what she feared would be inevitable loss of his love. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. After all, she wrote,

"Papa I am married; I hope you will not be too displeased,"
    On September 20 Rober, Elizabeth, Wilson her faithful servant, and Flush the dog landed in France. Elizabeth wrote:

"But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thous mayst love on, through love's eternity."
Mr. Barrett never spoke or wrote to his daughter again and died in 1857 without forgiving her. The two poets lived happily together for 15 years, alternating between Florence, Rome, London, and Paris. they were separated from each other only when Elisabeth died, cradled in Robert's arms.





Text from
Famous Love Letters
Messages of Intimacy and Passion
Edited by Ronald Tamplin