In the “Memoirs of Mrs. Jameson” that lady’s niece, Mrs. Macpherson, relates how on the eve of her and her aunt’s departure, a little note of farewell arrived from Miss Barrett, “deploring the writer’s inability to come in person and bid her friend good-bye, as she was ’forced to be satisfied with the sofa and silence.’”

It is easy to understand, therefore, with what amazement Mrs. Jameson, shortly after her arrival in Paris, received a letter from Robert Browning to the effect that he and his wife had just come from London, on their way to Italy.  “My aunt’s surprise was something almost comical,” writes Mrs. Macpherson, “so startling and entirely unexpected was the news.”  And duly married indeed the two poets had been!

From the moment the matter was mooted to Mr. Barrett, he evinced his repugnance to the idea.  To him even the most foolish assertion of his own was a sacred pledge.  He called it “pride in his word”:  others recognised it as the very arrogance of obstinacy.  He refused to countenance the marriage in any way, refused to have Browning’s name mentioned in his presence, and even when his daughter told him that she had definitely made up her mind, he flatly declined to acknowledge as even possible what was indeed very imminent.

Nor did he ever step down from his ridiculous pinnacle of wounded self-love.  Favourite daughter though she had been, Mr. Barrett never forgave her, held no communication with her even when she became a mother, and did not mention her in his will.  It is needless to say anything more upon this subject.  What Mr. and Mrs. Browning were invariably reticent upon can well be passed over with mere mention of the facts.

At the last moment there had been great hurry and confusion.  But nevertheless, on the forenoon of the 12th of September 1846, Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett had unceremoniously stepped into St. Maryle-bone Church and there been married.  So secret had the matter been kept that even such old friends as Richard Hengist Horne and Mr. Kenyon were in ignorance of the event for some time after it had actually occurred.

Mrs. Jameson made all haste to the hotel where the Brownings were, and ultimately persuaded them to leave the hotel for the quieter pension in the Rue Ville d’Eveque, where she and Mrs. Macpherson were staying.  Thereafter it was agreed that, as soon as a fortnight had gone by, they should journey to Italy together.

Truly enough, as Mrs. Macpherson says, the journey must have been “enchanting, made in such companionship.”  Before departing from Paris, Mrs. Jameson, in writing to a friend, alluded to her unexpected companions, and added, “Both excellent:  but God help them! for I know not how the two poet heads and poet hearts will get on through this prosaic world.”  This kindly friend was not the only person who experienced similar doubts.  One acquaintance, no other than the Poet-Laureate, Wordsworth, added:  “So, Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett have gone off together!  Well, I hope they may understand each other—­nobody else could!”