[Postmark: July 2, 1846]
Thursday.
Dear, you might as well imagine you had never given
me any other of the gifts, as that you did not call me, as I
tell you. You spoke quickly, interrupting me, and, for the
name, ‘I can hear it, ‘twixt my spirit and the earth-noise
intervene ‘ ; do you think I forget one gift in another, even
a greater ? I should still taste the first freshness of the
vinegar, (or whatever was the charm of it) – though Cleopatra
had gone on dissolving pearl after pearl in it. I love you for
these gifts to me now – hereafter, it seems almost as if I
must love you even better, should you choose to continue
them to me in spite of complete knowledge : I feel this as
often as I think of it, which is not seldom.
Do you know, Mrs. Jameson asked me to go and see
her on Friday morning – would you like me to go ? What
I like . . do not fancy, because your own pleasure is to
be consulted. Should you fear the eyes, which can, on
occasion, wear spectacles ? If not . . and if our Saturday
will not be interfered with . . and if you can tell me the
hour ‘ later than twelve ‘ you mean to appoint, . . so that
my call may be neither too early nor too late . . why, then,
Ba, dearest, dearest –
La Cava – is surely our cave, Ba – early in October will
be vintage-time, – no fire flies. There will be the advantage
in the vicinity of Naples, that through the Rothschilds’
House there we can, I believe, receive and dispatch letters
without any charge, which otherwise would be an expen-
sive business in Italy. The economy of the Post Office
there is astounding. A stranger goes to a window and asks
for ‘ A’s ‘ or ‘ Z’s ‘ letters . . not even professing himself to
be ‘A,’ or ‘Z’ – whereupon the official hands over sundry
dozens of letters, without a word of enquiry, out of which
the said stranger picks what pleases him, and paying for his
selections, goes away and there an end. At Venice, I
remember, they offered me, with other letters, about ten or
fifteen for the Marquis of Hastings who was not arrived yet –
I had only to say ‘ I am sent for them ‘ . . At Rome a
lady lamented to me the sad state of things ‘ A letter
might contain Heaven only knew what and lie at the office
and ‘ – ‘I might go and get it,’ I said – ‘ You? Nay, my
husband might ! ‘ she answered as one mightily wronged.
But of your dear self now – the going out will soon and
effectually cure the nervousness, we may be sure. I am
most happy, love, to hear of the walking and increased
strength. So you used to like riding on a donkey ? Then
you shall have a mule, un bel mulo, and I will be your
muleteer, walk by your side – and you will think the
moment you see him of the wicked shoeing of cats with
walnut-shells, for they make a mule’s shoes turn up, for all
the world like large shells – those on his forefeet at least.
Will the time really come then ? Meanwhile, your visitors
. . let us hope they will go sight-seeing or call-making, do
anything but keep the house on our days . . The three
hours seem as a minute . . if they are to be curtailed, oh,
no, no, I hope. Tell me all you can, dearest . . and let me
tell you all I can, little as it is, in kissing you, my best and
dearest Ba, as now kisses your very own.