The Letters of Two Romantics
[Postmark: May 11, 1846]
Sweetest, I have this moment come from Town and Mrs.
Jameson the Marc-Antonio Prints kept us all the morning
— and at last I said ‘ There is a letter for me at home which
I must go and answer.’ And now I cannot answer it — but I
can love you and say so . God bless you, ever dearest. I
have read your letter . . but only once. Now I shall begin
my proper number of times —
Ever your very own
[Postmark: May 11, 1846]
I am always telling you, because always feeling, that I
can express nothing of what goes from my heart to you, my
Ba ; but there is a certain choice I have all along exercised,
of subjects on which I would try and express somewhat —
while others might be let alone with less disadvantage.
When we first met, it was in your thought that I loved you
only for your poetry . . I think you thought that. And be-
cause one might be imagined to love that and not you, —
because everybody must love it, indeed, that is worthy, and yet
needs not of necessity love you, — yet might mistake or determine
to love you through loving it . . for all these reasons,
there was not the immediate demand on me for a full ex-
pression of my admiration for your intellectuality, — do you
see ? Rather, it was proper to insist as little as possible on
it, and speak to the woman, Ba, simply — and so I have tried
to speak, — partly, in truth, because I love her best, and love
her mind by the light and warmth of her heart — reading her
verses, saying ‘ and these are Ba’s,’ — not kissing her less
because they spoke the verses. But it does not follow that
I have lost the sense of any delight that has its source in
you, my dearest, dearest — however I may choose to live
habitually with certain others in preference. I would shut
myself up with you, and die to the world, and live out fifty
long, long lives in bliss through your sole presence — but it
is no less true that it will also be an ineffable pride, — some-
thing too sweet for the name of pride, — to avow myself,
before anyone whose good opinion I am soliciting to retain,
as so distinguished by you — it is too sweet, indeed, — so I
guard against it, — for frequent allusion to it, might, — (as I
stammer, and make plain things unintelligible) . . might
cause you to misconceive me, which would be dreadful
. . for after all, Ba’s head has given the crown its worth, —
though a wondrous crown it is, too ! All this means . .
the avowal we were speaking of, will be a heart’s pride above
every other pride whenever you decide on making such an
avowal. You will understand as you do ever your own R.
On getting home I found letters and letters — the best
being a summons to meet Tennyson at Moxon’s on Tuesday,
— and the frightfullest . . nay, I will send it. Now, Ba,
hold my hand from the distant room, tighter than ever, at
about 8 o’clock on Wednesday . . for I must go, I fear
— ‘ Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking’ &c. &c.
‘ ἐα, ἐα, ἀπεχε, φεῦ.’ Then Mr. Kenyon writes that his
friend Commodore Jones is returned to England in bad
health and that he must away to Portsmouth and see him
— so I do not go on Monday. While I was away Chorley’s
brother (John Chorley) called, — having been put to the
trouble of a journey hither for nothing.
I have been out this morning — to church with my sister
— and the sun shone almost oppressively, — but now all is
black and threatening. How I send my heart after your
possible movements, my own all-beloved ! Care for your-
self, and for me. But a few months more, — if God shall
please. May He bless you —
Ever your own
Hail and rain — at a quarter to four o’clock !
[Postmark: May 11, 1846]
Dearest when you use such words as ‘ eligible . . .’ in-
vestment . . was it ?) and I do not protest seriously and at
length, it is through the very absurdity and unnaturalness
. . as if you were to say that the last comet was made of
macaroni, and Arago stood by, he would not think it worth
while to confute you. Talking the worldly idiom, as you
will tell me you just meant to do in those words, and con-
sidering the worldly considerations, why still the advantage
is with you — I can do nothing that I can see, but stand in
your sunshine. I solemnly assure you that only the
apparent fact of your loving me, has overcome the scruple,
which, on this ground, made me recoil from . . . Well !
there is no use now in talking. But for you to talk of what
is eligible and ineligible for me, is too absurd — indeed it is.
You might be richer, to be sure — but I like it better as it is,
a hundred times — I should choose it to be so, if it were left
to my choice. In every other respect, using the world’s
measures, . . or the measure of the angel who measured
the heavenly Jerusalem, . . you are beyond me . . above
me — and nothing but your love for me could have brought
us to a level. My love for you could not have tried, even !
Now, if I teaze you with saying such things over and over,
it is the right punishment for what you said yesterday about
‘ eligible marriages ‘ — now, isn’t it ?
But your conclusion then was right. For if you were
twice yourself, with a duchy of the moon to boot, it would
avail nothing. We should have to carry all this underground
work on precisely the same. Miserable it is, nevertheless —
only, I keep my eyes from that side, as far as I can. I keep
my eyes on your face. Yesterday Henrietta told me that
Lady Carmichael, a cousin of ours, met her at the Royal
Academy and took her aside to ‘ speak seriously to her ‘ . .
to observe that she looked thin and worried, and to urge
her to act for herself . . to say too, that Mrs. Bayford, an
old hereditary friend of ours, respected by us all for her
serene, clear-headed views of most things, — and ‘ of the
strictest sect,’ too, for all domestic duties, — ‘ did not like, as
a mother, to give direct advice, but was of opinion that the
case admitted certainly and plainly of the daughter’s acting
for herself.’ In fact, it was a message, sent under cover of
a supposed irresponsibility. Which is one of a hundred
proofs to show how this case is considered exceptional
among our family friends, and that no very hard judgment
will be passed at the latest. Only, on other grounds, I
shall be blamed . . and perhaps by another class of
speakers. As for telling Mr. Kenyon, it is most un-
advisable, both for his sake and ours. Did you never hear
him talk of his organ of caution ? We should involve him
in ever so many fears for us, and force him to have his share
of the odium at last. Papa would not speak to him again
while he lived. And people might say, ‘ Mr. Kenyon did it
all.’ No — if we are to be selfwilled, let us be selfwilled . .
at least, let me ! for you, of course, are free to follow your
judgment in respect to your own friends. And then, it is
rather a matter of feeling with me after all, that as I cannot
give my confidence to my father, I should refuse it to
others. I feel that a little.
Henrietta will do nothing, I think, this year — there are
considerations of convenience to prevent it ; and it is
better for us that it should be so, and will not be worse for
her in the end. I wish that man were a little nobler, higher
. . more of a man ! He is amiable, good-natured, easy-
tempered, of good intentions in the main : but he eats and
drinks and sleeps, and shows it all when he talks. Very
popular in his regiment, very fond of his mother — there is
good in him of course — and for the rest. . .
Dearest . . to compare others with you, would be too
hard upon them. Besides, each is after his kind. Yet . .
as far as love goes . . and although this man sincerely loves
my sister, I do believe, . . I admit to myself, again and
again, that if you were to adopt such a bearing towards me,
as he does to her, I should break with you at once. And
why? Not because I am spoilt, though you knit your
brows and think so . . nor because I am exacting and
offensible, though you may fancy that too. Nor because
I hold loosely by you . . dearest beloved . . ready at a
caprice to fall away. But because then I should know you
did not love me enough to let you be happy hereafter with
me . . you, who must love according to what you are !
greatly, as you write ‘ Lurias ‘ !
To-morrow, shall you be at Mr. Kenyon’s ? To-morrow
I shall hear. Nothing has happened since I saw you.
May God bless you.
Your own, I am.