[Postmark: March 26, 1846]
Wednesday Evening.
But if people half say things, — intimate things, as when
your disputant in the street (you are felicitous, I think,
in your street-experiences) suggested the possible case of the
‘ three oyster shells to an oyster,’ — why you must submit
to be answered a little, and even confuted at need. Now
just see —
. . ‘ Got all his distinction from the fact that no better ‘
. . That is precisely the fact . . so . . as you have stated
it, and implied . . ‘ The fact that no better ‘ . . is to
be found in the world — no better . . none. There, is the
peculiar combination. The isolation on one side, and the
best in the whole world, coming in for company ! And I
‘ dwell ‘ upon it, never being tired . . and if you are tired
already, you must be tired of me, because the ‘ dwelling ‘ has
grown to be a part of me and I cannot put it away. It is
my especial miracle a moi, ‘ No better ? ‘ No, indeed ! not in
the seven worlds ! and just there, lies the miraculous point.
But you mean it perhaps otherwise. You mean that it
is a sort of pis aller on my part. A pis aller along the Via
lactea . . is that what you mean ?
Shall I let you off the rest, dearest, dearest ? though you
deserve ever so much more, for implying such monstrous
things, and treading down all my violets, so and so. What
did I say to set you writing so ? I cannot remember at all ?
If I ‘ dwell ‘ on anything, beloved, it is that I feel it strongly,
be sure — and if I feel gratitude to you with the other feelings,
you should not grudge what is a happy feeling in itself, and
not dishonouring (I answer for that) to the object of it.
Now I shall tell you. I had a visitor to-day — Mrs.
Jameson ; and when she went away she left me ashamed
of myself — I felt like a hypocrite – I, who was not born
for one, I think. She began to talk of you . . talked like
a wise woman, which she is . . led me on to say just
what I might have said if I had not known you, (she,
thoroughly impressed with the notion that we two are
strangers !) and made me quite leap in my chair with a
sudden consciousness, by exclaiming at last . . ‘ I am really
glad to hear you speak so. Such appreciation ‘ &c. &c.
… imagine what she went on to say. Dearest — I believe
she rather gives me a sort of credit for appreciating you without
the jealousy ‘ de metier.’ Good Heavens . . how humiliating some conditions of praise are ! She approved me
with her eye — indeed she did. And this, while we were
agreeing that you were the best . . ‘ none better ‘ . . none
so good . . of your country and age. Do you know, while
we were talking, I felt inclined both to laugh and to cry,
and if I had ‘ given way ‘ the least, she would have been
considerably astounded. As it was, my hands were so
marble-cold when she took leave of me, that she observed it
and began making apologies for exhausting me. Now here
is a strip of the ‘ world,’ . . see what colour it will turn to
presently ! We had better, I think, go farther than to
your siren’s island — into the desert . . shall we say ? Such
stories there will be ! For certain, . . I shall have seen
you just once out of the window ! Shall you not be afraid ?
Well — and she talked of Italy too — it was before she talked
of you — and she hoped I had not given up the thoughts
of going there. To which I said that ‘ I had not . . but
that it seemed like scheming to travel in the moon.’ She
talked of a difference, and set down the moon-travelling as
simple lunacy. ‘ And simply lunatical,’ . . I said, . . ‘ my
thoughts, if chronicled, would be taken to be, perhaps ‘ –
‘No, no, no, ! . .’ she insisted . . ‘as long as I kept to the
earth, everything was to be permitted to me.’
How people talk at cross-purposes in this world . . and
act so too ! It’s the very spirit of worldly communion.
Souls are gregarious in a sense, but no soul touches another,
as a general rule. I like Mrs. Jameson nevertheless — I
like her more. She appreciates you — and it is my turn to
praise for that, now. I am to see her again to-morrow
morning, when she has the goodness to promise to bring
some etchings of her own, her illustrations of the new essays,
for me to look at.
Ah — your ‘failures in ” Luria ” and the ” Tragedy ” ‘ —
Proud, we should all be, to fail exactly so.
Dearest, are you better indeed? Walk . . talk to the
Ba in the chair , . go on to be better, ever dearest. May
God bless you ! Ah . . the ‘ I’s.’ You do not see that the
‘ I’s’ — you make them, . . all turn to ‘ yous ‘ by the time
they get to me. The ‘ Is ‘ indeed ! How dare you talk
against my eyes ? For me, I was going down-stairs to-day,
but it was wet and windy and I was warned not to go. If
I am in bad or good spirits, judge from this foolish letter —
foolish and wise, both ! — but not melancholy, anywise.
When one drops into a pun, one might as well come to an
end altogether — it can’t be worse with one.
Nor can it be better than being
Your own
‘ No better’ !! .