Day: May 30, 2018

[Postmark: May 30, 1846]

Saturday.

You shall have a visit from me on the seventh day as
on the others, I think, because I remember you every day
equally, and because, without waiting for your Saturday’s
letter, I have always with me enough of you, to thank you.
This morning, Henrietta and I went as usual to Hodgson’s
and took possession of the chair in waiting, as Flush did of
the whole territory, setting himself, with all the airs of a
landed proprietor, to snap at the shop boy. Nota bene —
Flush is likely to injure my popularity if I take him about
with me much. He has been used, you see, to be ‘ CÊsar
in his own house,’ and the transition to being CÊsar everwhere
is the easiest thing in the world. Yet as to leaving
him at home, it is impossible, . . not to mention other
objections ! His delight in going out in the carriage is
scarcely a natural thing — but I have told you of it. Yesterday
I was in the back drawing-room waiting to go out, and
just said to him, ‘ Flush ! go and see if the carriage is come’
— instantly he ran to the front windows, standing on his
hind legs and looking up the street and down. Now Mr.
Kenyon would declare that was my invention. Yet it
is the literal truth of history.

Coming back from Hodgson’s, we passed our door and
walked to 57 and home, which is an improvement in the
distance. Then I walked up-stairs to the drawing-room,
and was carried the rest of the way. May I be tired a
little, after it all ? Just a little, perhaps.

Henrietta dined at Mr. Lough’s yesterday, and met Miss
Camilla Toulmin who was gracious . . and Professor
Forbes, who can do nothing without the polka, . . and
sundries. There was a splendid dinner, and wine of all
vintages — one is in a strait in such cases to know how to
praise at once the hospitable intentions and to blame the
bad taste — surely it is bad taste in a man like Mr. Lough
who lives by his genius, to give ambitious dinners like a man
who lives by his dinners. The true dignity of simplicity in
these things were worth such a man’s holding, one might
think. But he is kind and liberal, and a good artist, . .
and sent me a very gracious invitation to go and see his
works.

The Hedleys are likely to be in England this summer
again more’s the pity. I am fond of them, but would
rather, rather, not see them just now, and not be seen by
them — for eyes have they, and can see. My uncle Hedley
comes next week, . . comes to London for several weeks
. . that is certain — and my aunt after settling the younger
part of her family, at Bareges for the summer, ponders
coming, . . as I behold from afar off, . . with her daughter
Arabella, who is to be married immediately to the younger
brother of the great Brewery partner, Barclay and Bevan, a
Mr. Bevan. But they will not be in this house, and we
must manage as we can, dearest ! One leap over Sunday,
and Monday comes bringing you ! Then, I shall have you
near on Tuesday besides, and Wednesday, afterwards ! how
the cup overflows ! May God bless you my beloved ! It
is not exaggeration to say that I feel you in the air and the
sun.

Ever and ever your own I am !

Ba.

[Postmark: May 30, 1846]

Saturday.

Oh, yes, do ‘ show me how to get rid of you,’ my best
Ba,— for so I shall have the virtuous delight of deciding to
keep you, instead of being wholly kept by you, — it is all out
of my head, now, how I used to live when I was my own :
and if you can, by one more witchery, give me back that
feeling for once . . Ba, I have no heart to write more
nonsense, when I can take your dearest self into my arms ;
yet I shall never quite lie quiet and happy, I do think . .
I shall be always wishing you would be angry and cruel
and unjust, for a moment, — for my love overflows the
bounds, needs to prove itself all which is foolish, I know.
To-day, for some unknown reason, is a day of hope with me
. . all bright things seem possible ; I was feeling them so,
when your note came — as I sate in the garden — and when I
saw the flower (Paracelsus’ own . . they usually ornament
his pictures with it, — I said something on the subject in
the poem, too, and gave a note about ‘ Flammula citrinula
— herba Paracelso multum familiaris ‘ — ) when I saw that,
and read on and on, — every now and then laying the letter
down to feel the entire joy, — and when the end came, —
Ba, dearest Ba, it was with me then as now, as always after
steady thinking of what you are to me . . I cannot tell you
— but for the past, utterly irrespective of the future, — for
what you have been, this love cannot cease though you were
transformed into all you are not nor could ever be. I mean,
that after the blow struck, the natural vibration must follow
and continue its proper period — and that my love for what
I have received from you already must last to my life’s end
— cannot end sooner ! ‘ Shall I continue to love you ! ‘

You said in Thursday’s letter — ‘We have not been
frightened much yet,’ our meetings have been uninterrupted
hitherto, and these letters : yes, that I am most thankful for
— whatever should happen, our real relation one to the
other is wholly known — that fact has been established
beyond possibility of doubt at least. I don’t make myself
understood here, I know, — but, think, — if at the very
beginning any accident had separated us . .

But I will believe in the end now and henceforth — I
will believe you are my very own Ba, — my best dream’s
realization, my life’s fulfilment and consummation — and
having discovered you, I shall live and die with you. So
may God dispose.

I will write the rest, — (nothing is here) a longer letter
to-morrow — but now my mind is too full of you — the poor
hand gets despised for lagging after ! All my thoughts are
with you, dearest. May God bless you and make me less
unworthy — being your own, own R.

One more day — one, and Monday !

(See what kindness of Mr. Kenyon ! I do not accept,
having no need to trouble him as he desires — but see how
kind.)

[Postmark: May 30, 1846]

Friday.

I have your letter . . you who cannot write ! The
contrariety is a part of the ‘ miracle.’ After all it seems to
me that you can write for yourself pretty well— rather too
well I used to think from the beginning. But if you persist
in the proposition about my doing it for you, leaving room
for your signature . . shall it be this way ?

Show me how to get rid of you.

(signed) R. B.

Now isn’t it I who am . . not ‘balancing my jewel’
over the gulph . . but actually tossing it up in the air out
of sheer levity of joyousness ? Only it is not perhaps such
dangerous play as it looks : there may be a little string
perhaps, tying it to my finger. Which, if it is not imprudence
in act, is imprudence in fact, you see !

Dearest, I committed a felony for your sake to-day — so
never doubt that I love you. We went to the Botanical
Gardens, where it is unlawful to gather flowers, and I was
determined to gather this for you, and the gardeners were
here and there . . they seemed everywhere . . but I
stooped down and gathered it. Is it felony, or burglary on
green leaves — or what is the name of the crime ? would the
people give me up to the police, I wonder ? Transie de peur,
I was, . . listening to Arabel’s declaration that all gathering
of flowers in these gardens is highly improper, — and I
made her finish her discourse, standing between me and
the gardeners — to prove that I was the better for it.

How pretty those gardens are, by the way ! We went
to the summer-house and sate there, and then on, to the
empty seats where the band sit on your high days. What I
enjoy most to see, is the green under the green . . where
the grass stretches under trees. That is something unspeakable
to me, in the beauty of it. And to stand under
a tree and feel the green shadow of the tree ! I never knew
before the difference of the sensation of a green shadow and
a brown one. I seemed to feel that green shadow through
and through me, till it went out at the soles of my feet and
mixed with the other green below. Is it nonsense, or not ?
Remember that by too much use we lose the knowledge
and apprehension of things, and that I may feel therefore
what you do not feel.

But in everything I felt you — and always, dearest
beloved, you were nearer to me than the best.

Well ; to go on with my story. Coming home and
submitting to be carried up-stairs because I was tired, the
news was that Miss Bayley had waited to see me three
quarters of an hour. Then she sate with me an hour — and
oh, such kind, insisting, persisting plans about Italy ! I did
not know what to say, so I was niaise and grateful, and said
‘ thank you, thank you ‘ as I could Did Mrs. Jameson
tell you of her scheme of going to Florence for two years
and to Venice for one, taking her niece with her in order to
an ‘ artistical education ‘ ? And Mr. Bezzi, who is the ‘ most
accurate of men,’ furnishes the details of necessary expenses,
and assures her in his programme that she may ‘ walk in silk
attire ‘ and drive her carriage like an English aristocrat, for
three hundred a year, at Florence — but the place is English-
ridden . . filled and polluted. Sorrento is better or even
Pisa. We will keep our Siren-isles to ourselves . . will we
not?

And now tell me. Was there not a picture of Sirens by
Etty, exhibited years ago . . which was also ‘ abominable,’
as I thought when I saw it ? Is it the same picture returning
like a disquieted ghoule . . much more that, than like
a Siren at all, if it is the same, . . I remember it was
scarcely to be looked at for hideousness . . though I heard
some carnivorous connoisseurs praising the ‘ colouring ‘ ! !
Foreigners might refer such artistical successes to our
national ‘beef . . . ‘le bifteak’ ideal. The materialism
of Art.

Can you love me so? do you? . . will you always?
And is any of that love ‘ lost,’ do you think, . . as the saying
is ? Indeed it is not. I put golden basins all round (the
reverse shape of lachrymatories) to catch every drop as it
falls, . . so that when we two shall meet together in the
new world, I may look in your face (as I cannot at this
moment) and say ‘ None of the love was lost, though all of
it was undeserved.’ May God bless you, dearest, best !
My heart is in you, I think. You would laugh to see the
books I take up . . first, ‘ Strafford ‘ . . then Suetonius to
see about your Caesar . . then the Naples book. Oh, but I
find you out in the Statesmen . . for all the dim light.

Your very own

Ba.