Day: June 16, 2018

[Postmark: June 16, 1846]

Tuesday.

I have just returned from Town – some twelve miles at
least I must have walked in this extreme heat . . so what
has become of the headache ? And now I sit down to write
what Ba will read . . what has become of the heat and
fatigue ? In this sense Ba ‘ looks cool at me ! ‘

I shall just write that I love, and love you, and love you
again – my own Ba – just this, lest you learn the comfort of
a respite from hearing what you are doomed to hear, with
variations, all the days of your life. But not much more
than this shall I write, because the love lies still in me, and
deep, as water does, – cannot run forth in rivulets and sparkle,
this hot weather ; but then how I love her when I can only
say so, – how I feel her . . as in an old opera’s one line that
stays in my recollection the tropical sun is described on the
ocean – ‘fervid on the glittering flood’ – so she lies on
me.

See the pure nonsense, my own Ba, and laugh at it,
but not at what lies at bottom of it, because that is true as
truth, true as Ba’s self in its way.

I called on Forster this morning : he says Landor is in
high delight at the congratulatory letters he has received –
so you must write, dearest, and add the queen-rose to his
garland. F– talks about some 500 copies or did he
say 300 ? being sold already . . so there is hope for
Landor’s lovers.

So I should have written once . . but like Virgil’s
shepherd . . ‘ know I now what love is ! ‘ – Do you re-
member that the first word I ever wrote to you was ‘ I love
you, dear Miss Barrett ? ‘ It was so, – could not but be so –
and I always loved you, as I shall always.

Tell me all you can about your dearest self, my own
love. I am so happy in you, in your perfect goodness and
truth, – in all of you.

Be careful this fatiguing weather . . the evenings and
mornings are the only working time of the day, as in the
beginning of things. But all day long is rest-time to love
you, dear, and kiss you, as now – kisses

Your own.

[Postmark: June 16, 1846]

Tuesday.

As to ‘ practical sense ‘ I never saw, I confess, much to
praise you for – but you began by making a great profession
of it, please to remember – and, otherwise, you certainly
ought to know more of the world and the wisdom thereof
than I, or you are dull, dearest mine, and one might as well
call the sun so on this burning dazzling morning, when
everything is at a white heat. Then for the ‘ calmness ‘
…. I did not call your eyes ‘ green ‘ after all . . nor did
I mean what you would force on me for a meaning in the
other way : you pretend to misunderstand? Eyes, at
least, that had the mastery with me from the beginning !
and it was so long, so long (as you observed yourself), that
I could not lift up mine against them they were the mystic
crystal walls, so long !

After you were gone yesterday and I had done with the
roses (exquisite roses !) and had my coffee, I saw my uncle
Hedley who had been inquiring about me, said my sisters,
all the afternoon, . . for it was he who came when we heard
the greetings on the stairs – and he told me that his wife and
daughter were to be in London early in July . . so that we
shall have the whole squadron sooner than we thought –
drawn up like a very squadron . . my other aunt, Miss
Clarke, coming at the same time, and my cousin with her,
Arlette Butler. But only those two will be in the house
here, and they will not be for very long, nor will they be
much in the way, I hope.

Shall I tell you ? I repented yesterday . . I repented
last night . . I repent to-day, having made the promise you
asked of me. I could scarcely sleep at all last night,
through thinking that I ought not to have made it. Be
generous, and free me from that promise. To be true to
you in the real right sense, I need no promises at all and if
an argument were addressed to me in order to separate us,
I should see through the piteous ingenuity of it, I think,
whatever ground it took, and admit no judgment and
authority over your life to be higher than your own. But I
have misgivings about that promise, because I can conceive
of circumstances . . Loose me from my promise, and let
me be grateful to you, my beloved, in all things and ways,
and hold you to be generous in the least as in the greatest.
What I asked of you, was as different as our positions are
– different beyond what you see or can see. No third
person can see, no second person can see . . what my
position is and has been . . I do not enter on it here.
But there is just and only one way in which I may be in-
jured by you, . . and that is, in being allowed to injure you
– so remember, remember, . . to the last available moment.

Then . . I have lived so in a dream for very long ! –
and everything, all undertakings, all movements, seem easy
in dream-life. The sense of this has lately startled me. To
waken up suddenly and find that I have wronged you –
what more misery ? – and I feel already that I am bringing
you into a position which will by some or many be
accounted unworthy of you. Well – we will not talk of it –
not now ! there is time for the grave consideration which
must be. Let us both think.

And may God bless you, ever dearest ! You are the
best and most generous of all in the world ! Whatever my
mistake may be, it is not concerning that. Also I love you,
love you. Premature things I say sometimes, which are
foolish always. Tell me how you are . . tell me how your
mother is – but speak of your own head . . tam chari . .
particularly. Overcoming, the heat is – and I do hope that
Mrs. Jameson won’t come after all.

Your
BA.