When I think of literature on Valentines Day, the poetry of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, as one of the most romantic literary couple during the Victorian period, comes to mind. Robert wrote to her, after reading her poetry for the first time, "I love your verses with all my mind, dear Miss Barrett--I do, as I say, love these verses with all my heart."
With the first brush of the hearts on both sleeves, a love affair blossomed between the two. They exchanged almost 600 letters during the 20 months of their courtship phase. And they thought some suitors had it hard.
Their marriage on September 12, 1846 at Marylebone Church was a secret. While the rest of her family accepted the match, eventually, her father, however, disowned her. He would not open her letters nor see her. As a sign of her devotion, Elizabeth stood by her husband.
During the early years of marriage, and from that length of courtship, the two amassed a sizeable amount of poetry that would go on to be distinguished and appreciated by the modern reader and the readers before him. When Elizabeth decided to surrender her sonnets to her husband, Robert couldn't help but share it to the world. "I dared not," he said, "reserve to myself the finest sonnets written in any language since Shakespeare's." The collection would appear as "Sonnets from the Portuguese" in 1850.
The couple lived in Italy until Elizabeth died in Robert's arms on June 29, 1861. That was 15 years of their lives. It was during those years that they both wrote some of their most memorable poems.
The Brownings' romance was undoubtedly legendary. Here's the first letter by Robert to Elizabeth, his future wife. Enjoy!
January 10th, 1845
New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey
I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett,--and this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write,--whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your genius and there a graceful and natural end of the thing: since the day last week when I first read your poems, I quite laugh to remember how I have been turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you of their effect upon me--for in the first flush of delight I though I would this once get out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, when I do really enjoy, and thoroughly justify my admiration--perhaps even, as a loyal fellow-craftsman should, try and find fault and do you some little good to be proud of herafter!--but nothing comes of it all--so into me has it gone, and part of me has it become, this great living poetry of yours, not a flower of which but took root and grew... oh, how different that is from lying to be dried and pressed flat and prized highly and put in a book with a proper account at bottom, and shut up and put away... and the book called a 'Flora', besides! After all, I need not give up the thought of doing that, too, in time; because even now, talking with whoever is worthy, I can give reason for my faith in one and another excellence, the fresh strange music, the affluent language, the exquisite pathos and true new brave thought--but in this addressing myself to you, your own self, and for the first time, my feeling rises altogether. I do, as I say, love these Books with all my heart-- and I love you too: do you know I was once seeing you? Mr. Kenyon said to me one morning "would you like to see Miss Barrett?"--then he went to announce me,--then he returned... you were too unwell -- and now it is years ago--and I feel as at some untoward passage in my travels--as if I had been close, so close, to some world's-wonder in chapel on crypt,... only a screen to push and I might have entered -- but there was some slight... so it now seems... slight and just-sufficient bar to admission, and the half-opened door shut, and I went home my thousands of miles, and the sight was never to be!
Well, these Poems were to be--and this true thankful joy and pride with which I feel myself. Yours ever faithfully Robert Browning.
† Jofer
Posts
