Monday.
November 24, 1845.
But what unlawful things have I said about ‘kindness’? I did not mean any harm — no, indeed! And as to thinking . . . as to having ever thought, that you could ‘imitate’ (can this word be ‘imitate’?) an unfelt feeling or a feeling unsupposed to be felt . . . I may solemnly assure you that I never, never did so. ‘Get up’ — ‘imitate’!! But it was the contrary . . . all the contrary! From the beginning, now did I not believe you too much? Did I not believe you even in your contradiction of yourself . . . in your yes and no on the same subject, . . . and take the world to be turning round backwards and myself to have been shut up here till I grew mad, . . . rather than disbelieve you either way? Well! — You know it as well as I can tell you, and I will not, any more. If I have been ‘wrong,’ it was not so . . . nor indeed then . . . it is not so, though it is now, perhaps.
Therefore . . . but wait! I never gave away what you ask me to give you, to a human being, except my nearest relatives and once or twice or thrice to female friends, . . . never, though reproached for it; and it is just three weeks since I said last to an asker that I was ‘too great a prude for such a thing’! it was best to anticipate the accusation! — And, prude or not, I could not — I never could — something would not let me. And now . . . what am I to do . . . ‘for my own sake and not yours?’ Should you have it, or not? Why I suppose . . . yes. I suppose that ‘for my own sense of justice and in order to show that I was wrong’ (which is wrong — you wrote a wrong word there . . . ‘right,’ you meant!) ‘to show that I was right and am no longer so,’ . . . I suppose you must have it, ‘Oh, You,’ . . . who have your way in everything! Which does not mean . . . Oh, vous, qui avez toujours raison — far from it.
Also . . . which does not mean that I shall give you what you ask for, to-morrow, — because I shall not — and one of my conditions is (with others to follow) that not a word be said to-morrow, you understand. Some day I will send it perhaps . . . as you knew I should . . . ah, as you knew I should . . . notwithstanding that ‘getting up’ . . . that ‘imitation’ . . . of humility: as you knew too well I should!
Only I will not teaze you as I might perhaps; and now that your headache has begun again — the headache again: the worse than headache! See what good my wishes do! And try to understand that if I speak of my being ‘wrong’ now in relation to you . . . of my being right before, and wrong now, . . . I mean wrong for your sake, and not for mine . . . wrong in letting you come out into the desert here to me, you whose place is by the waters of Damascus. But I need not tell you over again — you know. May God bless you till to-morrow and past it for ever. Mr. Kenyon brought me your note yesterday to read about the ‘order in the button-hole’ — ah! — or ‘oh, you,’ may I not re-echo? It enrages me to think of Mr. Forster; publishing too as he does, at a moment, the very sweepings of Landor’s desk! Is the motive of the reticence to be looked for somewhere among the cinders? — Too bad it is. So, till to-morrow! and you shall not be ‘kind’ any more.
Your
E.B.B.
But how, ‘a foolish comment’? Good and true rather! And I admired the writing . . . worthy of the reeds of Jordan!