[Postmark: April 4, 1846]ZM, CC
Saturday.
Oh, my two letters — and to turn from such letters to
you, to my own Ba ! — I very well know I am not grateful
enough, if there is any grace in that, any power to avert
punishment, as one hopes ! But all my hope is in future
endeavour — it is, my Ba, — this is earnest truth. And one
thing that strikes me on hearing such prognostications of
Mrs. Jameson’s opinion on our subject — is that — as far as I
am concerned . . or yourself, indeed — we must make up
our mind to endure the stress of it, and of such opinions
generally, with all resignation . . and by the time we can
answer, — why, alas, they are gone and forgotten, so that
there’s no paying them for their impertinence. I mean,
that I do not expect as a foolish fanciful boy might, that
on the sudden application of ‘ Hymen’s torch ‘ (to give the
old simile one chance more) your happiness will blaze out
apparent to the whole world lying in darkness, like a
wondrous ‘ Catherine-wheel,’ now all blue, now red, and so
die at the bed amid an universal clapping of hands — I trust
a long life of real work ‘ begun, carried on and ended,’ as it
never otherwise could have been (certainly by me , . . and if
I dare hope, you dearest, it is because you teach me to
aspire to the height) — that the attainment of all that
happiness of daily, hourly life in entire affection, which
seeing that men of genius need rather more — ah, these
words, I cannot look back and take up the thread of the
sentence, — but I wanted to say — we will live the real
answer, will we not, dearest, all the stupidity against ‘ genius ‘
‘ poets,’ and the like, is got past the stage of being treated
with patient consideration and gentle pity — it is too vexatious-
, if it will not lie still, out of the way, by this time.
What is the crime, to his fellow man or woman (not to God,
I know that— these are peculiar sins to Him — whether
greater in His eyes, who shall say ?) — but to mankind, what
is crime which would have been prevented but for the
‘ genius ‘ involved in it ? A man of genius ill-treats his wife
— well, take away the ‘genius’ — does he so naturally
improve? See the article in to-day’s Athenaeum, about
the French Duel — far enough from ‘ men of genius ‘ these
Dujarriers &c. — but go to-night into half the estaminets of
Paris, and see whether the quarrels over dice and some
wine present any more pleasing matter of contemplation
aufond. Sin is sin everywhere and the worse, I think, for
the grossness. Being fired at by a duellist is a little better,
I think also, than being struck on the face by some ruffian.
These are extreme cases — but go higher and it is the same
thing. Poor, cowardly miscreated natures abound — if you
could throw ‘ genius ‘ into their composition, they would
become more degraded still, I suppose !
I know I want every faculty I can by any possibility dare —
want all, and much more, to teach me what you are, my
own Ba, and what I should do to prove that I am taught,
and do know.
I will write at length to you to-morrow, my all beloved.
I am, somehow, overflowing with things to say, and the
time is fearfully short — my proofs have just arrived, here
they are, not even glanced over by me — (To-morrow, love !
not one thing answered in my letters, as when I read and
read them to-night I shall say to myself). Bless you,
dearest, dearest
R.