Day: July 3, 2018

[Postmark: July 3, 1846]

Friday.

No, dear, dear Ba, I shall not see you to-day in spite of
all the hoping and fancying . . for I could not, as I calculate,
reach Mrs. Jameson’s before 1 o’clock or a little
later . . and there would be the worst of vexations, to know
you had been and gone again ! I persuade myself you may
not pay the visit to-day, . . (‘it is impossible’ you say),
and that it may be paid next week, the week in which there
is only one day for us . . how do you say, dearest ? all
complaining is vain — let to-morrow make haste and arrive !

Ba, there is nothing in your letter that shocks me, —
nothing : if you choose to imagine that ‘possibility,’ you
are consistent in imagining the proper step to take . . it is
all imagining. But I feel altogether as you feel about the
horribleness of married friends, mutual esteemers &c. — when
your name sounds in my ear like any other name, your
voice like other voices, — when we wisely cease to interfere
with each other’s pursuits, — respect differences of taste &c.
&c., all will be over then !

I cannot myself conceive of one respect in which I shall
ever fall from this feeling for you . . there never has been
one word, one gesture unprompted by the living, immediate
love beneath — but there have been many, many, so many
that the same love has suppressed, refused to be represented
by ! I say this, because I can suppose a man taking
up a service of looks and words, which service is only to
last for a time, and so may be endured, — after which the
‘real affection,’ ‘honest attachment’ &c. &c. means to go
to its ends by a shorter road, saving useless ceremony and
phrases . . do you know what I mean ? I hardly do . .
except that it is, whatever it is, opposed, as heaven to earth,
to what I feel is. I count confidently on being more and
more able to find the true words and ways (which may not
be spoken words perhaps), the true rites by which you should
be worshipped, you dear, dear Ba, my entire blessing now
and ever — and ever ; if God shall save me also.

Let me kiss you now, and long for to-morrow — I shall
bring you the poorest flowers — all is brown, dry, autumnal.
The sun shines and reproves me . . After all, there would
have been some rocks in the pleasant water of to-day’s
meeting . . ‘Oh, hardness to dissemble’ !

Here is no dissembling . . I kiss you, my very own !

[Postmark: July 3, 1846]

Friday Morning.

I am forced to say something now which you will not
like and which I, for my part, hate to say — but you shall
judge how impossible it is for me to see you to-morrow.

The visitors did not come last night ; and as this
morning we expected them hourly, the post brought a letter
instead, to the effect that they were to arrive just on Saturday
. . leaving us to calculate the time of arrival between one
p.m. to five or six. If at one, . . Papa will be in the house
and likely to stay in it all day after . . which would be a
complication of disadvantages for us, and if at three . .
why even so, my aunt would ‘ admire ‘ a little the reason of
my not seeing her at once, and there would be questions
and answers a faire fremir. So dearest dearest, I must try
to live these two days more without seeing you — and
indeed it will be hard work — the very light of the sun to-morrow,
let it be ever so bright a sun, will only reproach
the day with what it ought to have been . . our day, instead
everybody’s day or nobody’s day, a poor, blank, dreary
day. What, when the clock is at three. . . oh what will
keep me, I wonder, from being sullen to my aunt and sulky
to my cousin ? They will think me (if my ministering angel
should not throw me some hallowing thought of you, best
beloved !) considerably fallen off in the morale, however the
improvement may be of the bodily health — I shall be as
cross, as cross . . well, if I am less than cross, you must be
right after all, and I, ‘ une femme miraculeuse ‘ without
illusion ! It is too bad, too bad. The whole week — from
Monday to Monday ! And I do not positively fix even
Monday, though I hope for Monday : — but Monday may
be taken from us just as Saturday is, and the Hedleys are
to come on Tuesday . . only not to this house. I wish
they were all at Seringapatam.

Do not mind it however. Yes, mind it a little, . .
Robert ! but not overmuch — because the day shall not be
lost utterly — I shall take care. I will be on the watch for
half-days when people go out to shop . . that solemn
business of life, . . and we will have our lost day back
again . . you will see. But I could not get to Mrs.
Jameson’s this morning, not being quite well enough. It is
nothing as illness, — I tell you the truth, dear — and even
now I feel better than I did in the early morning. It was
only just enough to prevent my going. And if I had gone
I should not have seen you — you would not go in time —
you would not perhaps even have my letter in time. The
stars are against us for the moment, it seems.

Write to me, think of me, love me. You shall hear on
Saturday and on Sunday, and we will settle about Monday.

After all, it would have been difficult to have met you at
Mrs. Jameson’s, observing the ‘ fitness of things ‘ :—and as
I am subject to the madness of saying ‘ Robert ‘ without
knowing it … !

May God bless you. Say how you are ! Don’t let me
slide out of your mind through this rift in the rock. I
catch at the jutting stones.

I am your own Ba.

[Postmark: July 3, 1846]

Thursday Evening.

But, ever dearest, I do so fear that I shall not be able
to get to Mrs. Jameson’s to-morrow at all ! not at twelve, I
fear, I fear. Our visitors are to arrive late to-night, too late
for me to see them : and for me to go away at twelve in
the morning, just about the hour when they might reason-
ably expect to have and to hold me, . . seems altogether
unlawful, according to my sisters. Yet the temptation is
strong. Would half-past twelve be too early for you, if I
could manage to go at twelve ? Ah – but I shall not be
able, I do fear. Just see how it becomes possible and
impossible at once for us to touch hands ! I could almost
wring mine, to see ! For I could dare the spectacles, the
hypothetical spectacles, and the eyes discerning without
them : she has no idea to begin with – and you would not
say ‘ Ba, let us order the mules,’ I suppose. If I went, it
would be alone – but probably I shall not be able – so you
had better not think of me, and pay your visit at your own
hour ‘after the devices of your heart.’

In the meanwhile, quite you make me laugh by your
positiveness about the name-calling. Well – if ever I did
such a thing, it was in a moment of unconsciousness all the
more surprising, that, even to my own soul, in the lowest
spirit-whisper, I have not been in the habit of saying
‘ Robert,’ speaking of you. You have only been The One.
No word ever stood for you. The Idea admitted of no
representative – the words fell down before it and were
silent. Still such very positive people must be right of
course – they always are. At any rate it is only one illusion
more – and some day I expect to hear you say and swear
that you saw me fly out of one window and fly in at
another. So much for your Cleopatra’s Roman pearls,
oh my famous in council ! – and appreciation of sour
vinegar !

Dear Miss Mitford came at two to-day and stayed until
seven, and all those hours you were not once mentioned –
I had not courage – and she perhaps avoided an old subject
of controversy . . I do not know. It is singular that for
this year past you are not mentioned between us, while
other names come up like grass in the rain. No single
person will be more utterly confounded than she, when she
comes to be aware of what you are to me now – and that
I was thinking to-day, while she talked to never a listener.
She will be confounded, and angry perhaps – it will be
beyond her sympathies or if they reach so far, the effort
to make them do so will prove a more lively affection for
me, than, with all my trust in her goodness, I dare count
on. Yet very good and kind and tender, she was to me
to-day. And very variously intelligent and agreeable. Do
you know, I should say that her natural faculties were
stronger than Mrs. Jameson’s – though the latter has a
higher aspiration and, in some ways, a finer sensibility of
intellect. You would certainly call her superior to her own
books – certainly you would. She walks strongly on her
two feet in this world but nobody shall see her (not even
you) fly out of a window. Too closely she keeps to the
ground, I always feel. Now Mrs. Jameson can ‘ aspire ‘ like
Paracelsus ; and believes enough in her own soul, to know
a poet when she sees one. Ah – but all cannot be all.

Miss Mitford wrung a promise from me that ‘ if I were
well enough and in England next summer, I would go to
see her.’ So remember. Isn’t it a promise for two ?

Only we shall be mule-riding in those days – unless I
shall have tired you. Shall you be tired of me in one
winter, I wonder ? My programme is, to let you try me
for one winter, and if you are tired (as I shall know without
any confession on your side) why then I shall set the mule
on a canter and leave you in La Cava, and go and live in
Greece somewhere all alone, taking enough with me for
bread and salt. Is it a jest, do you think ? Indeed it is
not. It is very grave earnest, be sure. I believe that I
never could quarrel with you ; but the same cause would
absolutely hinder my living with you if you did not love
me. We could not lead the abominable lives of ‘ married
people ‘ all round – you know we could not – I at least
know that I could not, and just because I love you so
entirely. Then, you know, you could come to England by
yourself and . . ‘ Where’s Ba ? ‘ – ‘ Oh, she’s somewhere
in the world, I suppose. How can I tell?’ And then
Mrs. Jameson would shake her head, and observe that
the problem was solved exactly as she expected, and that
artistical natures smelt of sulphur and brimstone, without
any exceptions.

Am I laughing ? am I crying ? who can tell. But I am
not teazing, . . Robert ! . because, my Robert, if gravely I
distrusted your affection, I could not use such light-
sounding words on the whole now could I ? It is only
the supposition of a possible future . . just possible . . (as
the end of human affections passes for a possible thing) –
which made me say what I would do in such a case.

But I am yours – your own : and it is impossible, in my
belief, that I can ever fail to you so as to be less yours, on
this side the grave or across it. So, I think of impossibilities
– whatever I may, of possibilities !

Will it be possible to see you to -morrow, I wonder ! I
ask myself and not you.

And if you love me only nearly as much (instead of the
prodigal ‘ more ‘) afterward, I shall be satisfied, and shall
not run from you further than to the bottom of the page.

Where you see me as your own

BA.