August 30, 1845.
Can you understand me so, dearest friend, after all? Do you see me – – when I am away, or with you – – ‘taking offence’ at words, ‘being vexed’ at words, or deeds of yours, even if I could not immediately trace them to their source of entire, pure kindness; as I have hitherto done in every smallest instance?
I believe in you absolutely, utterly – – I believe that when you bade me, that time, be silent – – that such was your bidding, and I was silent – – dare I say I think you did not know at that time the power I have over myself, that I could sit and speak and listen as I have done since? Let me say now – – this only once – – that I loved you from my soul, and gave you my life, so much of it as you would take, – – and all that is done, not to be altered now: it was, in the nature of the proceeding, wholly independent of any return on your part. I will not think on extremes you might have resorted to; as it is, the assurance of your friendship, the intimacy to which you admit me, now, make the truest, deepest joy of my life – – a joy I can never think fugitive while we are in life, because I know, as to me, I could not willingly displease you, – – while, as to you, your goodness and understanding will always see to the bottom of involuntary or ignorant faults – – always help me to correct them. I have done now. If I thought you were like other women I have known, I should say so much! – – but – – (my first and last word – – I believe in you!) – – what you could and would give me, of your affection, you would give nobly and simply and as a giver – – you would not need that I tell you – – (tell you!) – – what would be supreme happiness to me in the event – – however distant – –
I repeat . . . I call on your justice to remember, on your intelligence to believe . . . that this is merely a more precise stating the first subject; to put an end to any possible misunderstanding – – to prevent your henceforth believing that because I do not write, from thinking too deeply of you, I am offended, vexed &c. &c. I will never recur to this, nor shall you see the least difference in my manner next Monday: it is indeed, always before me . . . how I know nothing of you and yours. But I think I ought to have spoken when I did – – and to speak clearly . . . or more clearly what I do, as it is my pride and duty to fall back, now, on the feeling with which I have been in the meantime – – Yours – – God bless you – –
R.B.
Let me write a few words to lead into Monday – – and say, you have probably received my note. I am much better – – with a little headache, which is all, and fast going this morning. Of yours you say nothing – – I trust you see your . . . dare I say your duty in the Pisa affair, as all else must see it – – shall I hear on Monday? And my ‘Saul’ that you are so lenient to.
Bless you ever – –