Day: June 15, 2018

[Postmark: June 15, 1846]

Sunday.

May I venture to speak to dearest Ba as if I had seen
her or heard from her since I wrote yesterday, – and that
seeing or that hearing had brought the usual comfort and
assurance, – and forgiveness when needed, but delight at all
times ? Do you forgive me indeed, Ba ?

I shall know to-morrow – which ‘ to-morrow ‘ is your to-
day. I am soon to be with you to-day. I trust there is
occasion to exercise fancy and say – ‘ When we meet on your
return from Tunbridge a month hence,’ or two, or three . .
to go on fancying ! What should I do, – be able to do ?
and if I understood you rightly the letter-communication
would be hindered, if not stopped altogether. Thus is one
the sport of one’s own wishes. Fine weather is desired . .
fine enough to drive people out of town into the country !

As it is, I have been sufficiently punished for that foolish
letter, which has lost me the last two or three days of your
life and deeds, my Ba. You went to Mr. Kenyon’s – may
have gone elsewhere (and gathered roses I did not deserve
to receive) – but I do not know, and shall not recover my
loss not ever . . because if you tell me now, you exclude
something new you would say otherwise . . if you write it on
Tuesday, what becomes of Tuesday’s own stock of matter
for chronicling?

Well, the proper word in my mouth is – I am sorry to
the heart, and will try never to offend so again. How you
wrote to me, also ! How you rise above yourself while I
get no nearer where you were first of all, no nearer than
ever ! But so it should be ! so may it ever be !

I believe the fault comes from a too-sweet sense of the
freedom of being true with you, telling you all, hiding
nothing. Carlyle was saying in his fine way, he understood
why the Romans confined acting to their slaves . . it was
no employment for a free man to amuse people . . be bound
to do that, and if other faculties interposed, tending to
other results on an audience than amusement, be bidden
suppress them accordingly . . and so, he thought, it would
be one day with our amusers, writers of fun, concocters of
comic pieces. I feel it delicious to be free when most
bound to you, Ba, – to be able to love on in all the liberty
of the implied subjection . . so I am angry to you, despond-
ing sometimes to you, as well as joyous and hopeful – well,
well, I love, at any rate, do love you with heart and soul,
my Ba, – ever shall love you, dearest above all dearness :
God bless you !

[Postmark: June 15, 1846]

Saturday Morning.

I wrote last night when my head was still struggling and
swimming between two tides of impressions received from
the excitement and fatigue of the day. Mr. Kenyon (dear
Mr. Kenyon in his exquisite kindness !) took me to see the
strange new sight (to me !) of the Great Western . . the
train coming in : and we left the carriage and had chairs –
and the rush of the people and the earth-thunder of the
engine almost overcame me . . not being used to such
sights and sounds in this room, remember ! ! and after-
wards I read and answered your letter with a whirling head.
I cannot be sure how I answered it, my head whirled so. I
only hope . . hope . . hope . . that it did not seem un-
worthy of your goodness and generosity – for that would
be unworthy of my perception of them and reverence for
them, besides. You do not, in particular, I do hope, mis-
understand my reasons for refusing to improve what you
call my ‘ advantages,’ by turning them into disadvantages
for you. Really it struck me at the moment and strikes me
new every time I think of it, that it would be monstrous in
me to stop at such an idea long enough to examine it. To
do such a thing would complete the ‘ advantages ‘ of my
alliance – if that is a desire of yours. And if I were to be
ill afterwards, there would be the crown of the crown. Now
ask yourself if I ought –

I cannot conceive of the possibility of a ‘ calumny ‘ on
such a pretext – there seems no room for it. You will how-
ever have it in your power hereafter, without injury to either
of us, to do yourself full justice in this particular – only
neither now nor hereafter shall I consent to let in sordid
withering cares with your life. God has not made it so
and it shall not be so by an act of mine.

And after all, shall we be so much . . so much too
rich ? do you fancy that Miss Kilmansegg is made of brass
compared to me ? It is not so bad, be very sure. If Arabel
should not offend Papa, she will be richer hereafter than we
are . . yet not rich even so. Why are you fanciful in that
way ? People are more likely to say that I have taken you
in. The sign of the Red Dragon ! as you suggested once
yourself !

I could make you laugh, if it were not too hot to laugh,
with telling you how I really do not know what my ‘ advan-
tages ‘ are – specifically so many, and so many. I am not
‘ allowed ‘ to spend what I might – but the motive is of
course a kind one – there is no mistaking that. Poor
Papa ! He attends just to those pecuniary interests which
no one cares for, with a scrupulous attention. Nearly two
hundred a year of ship shares I never touch. Then there is
the interest of six thousand pounds (not less at any rate) in
the funds – and I referred to the principal of that, when I
said yesterday, that when we had ceased to need it, it might
return to my family, since it came from them, if you chose.
But this is all air – and nothing shall be said of it now – and
whatever may be said hereafter, shall come from you, and be
your word rather than mine. So I beseech you, by your
affection for me, to speak no more of this hateful subject,
which I have entered for a moment lest you should exaggerate
to yourself and mistake me for the least in the world of an
heiress. As to Lord Monteagle, we can do without him, I
think – and unless he would give us a house to keep, or
something of that sort, at Sorrento or Ravenna, I do not
exactly see what he can do for us. To make an agreement
with a periodical, would be more a possibility perhaps but
it is not a necessity – there is no sort of need, in fact and
why should you be tormented ‘in the multitude of the
thoughts within you,’ utterly in vain ?

As to your family . . I understand your natural desire
of giving your confidence at the fullest to your father and
mother, who deserve and claim it . . I understand that you
should speak and listen to them, and cross no wish of theirs,
and in nothing displease and pain them. But I do not
understand the argument by which you involve the question
with other questions . . when you say, for instance, that I
‘ ought not to countenance the preposterousness and
tyranny.’ How do I seem to countenance what I revolt
from ? Do you mean that we ought to do what we are
about, openly ? It is the only meaning I can attach to your
words. Well – If you choose it to be so, knowing what
I have told you, let it be so. I can however, as I
said yesterday, answer only for my will and mind, and
not for my strength and body – and if the end should be
different from the end you looked for, you will not blame
me, being just, . . any more than I shall blame myself.
May God bless you, ever dearest !

I am your own as ever.