[Postmark: April 6, 1846]ZM, CC
Sunday.
I sent you some even more than usual hasty foolish words,
— not caring much, however — for dearest Ba shall have to
forgive my shortcomings every hour in the day, — it is her
destiny, and I began unluckily with that stupidest of all
notions, — that about the harm coming of genius &c., so I fell
with my subject and we rolled in the mud together — pas vrai?
But there was so many other matters alluded to in
your dearest (because last) letter — there are many things in
which I agree with you to such a tremblingly exquisite exactness, so to speak, that I hardly dare cry out lest the charm
break, the imaginary oscillation prove incomplete and your
soul, now directly over, pass beyond mine yet, and not stay !
Do you understand, dear soul of my soul, dearest Ba ? Oh,
how different it all might be ! In this House of life — where
I go, you go — where I ascend you run before — when I descend
it is after you. Now, one might have a piece of Ba,
but a very little of her, and make it up into a lady and a
mistress, and find her a room to her mind perhaps
when she should sit and sing, ‘ warble eat and dwell ‘ like
Tennyson’s blackbird, and to visit her there with due honour
one might wear the finest of robes, use the courtliest of
ceremonies — and then — after a time, leave her there and
go, the door once shut, without much blame, to throw off
the tunic and put on Lord Compton’s blouse and go whither
one liked — after, to me, the most melancholy fashion in the
world. How different with us ! If it were not, indeed —
what a mad folly would marriage be ! Do you know what
quaint thought strikes me, out of old Bunyan, on this very
subject ? He says (with another meaning though) ‘ Who
would keep a cow, that may buy milk at a penny the quart ‘
— (elegant allusion). Just so, — whoever wants ‘ a quart ‘ of
this other comfort, as solace of whatever it may be (at break-fast or tea time too), why not go and ‘ buy ‘ the same, and
having discussed it, drink claret at dinner at his club?
Why did not Mr. Butler read Fanny Kemble’s verses, paying
his penny of intellectual labour, and see her play ‘ Portia’
at night, and make her a call or ride with her in the middle
of the day — why ‘ keep the cow ‘ ? But — don’t you know
they prescribe to some constitutions the perpetual living in
a cow-house ? the breath, the unremitting influence is everything-
, — not the milk — (now, Ba — Ba is suddenly Ιω πλανωμενη and Mrs. Jameson is the Gadfly — and I am laughed
at — not too cruelly, or the other lock of hair becomes mine —
with which locks . . and not with Louis Seize iron knicknack
ones, I rather think I was occupied last time, last
farewell taking — )
From all which I infer — that I shall see you to-morrow!
Yes, or I should not have the heart to be so glad and
absurd.
Well, to-morrow makes amends — dear, dear Ba ! Why
do you persist in trying to turn my head so ? It does not
turn, I look the more steadfastly at the feet and the ground,
for all your crying and trying ! But something shocking
might happen — would happen, if it were not written that I
am to get nothing but good from Ba, — and who, who began
calling names — who used the word ‘ flatterer ‘ first ?
Bless you my own dearest flatterer — I love you with
heart and soul. Are you downstairs- to day ? it is warm, the
rain you like — yes you are down, I think. God keep you
wherever you are !
Your own.
I went last night to Lord Compton’s father’s Soiree, —
and for all our deep convictions, and philosophic rejoicing,
I assure you that of the two or three words that we interchanged-
— congratulation on the bright fortune of his son
formed no part, — any more than intelligence about ordering
Regiments to India whenever I met the relatives of the
ordered. And yesterday morning I planted a full dozen more
rose-trees, all white — to take away the yellow-rose reproach!
!