[Postmark: July 22, 1846]
Tuesday.
How I long, my sweetest Ba, to know whether any heavy
price is to be paid for our three hours yesterday, — if your
Aunt knew or has discovered since ? I shall not murmur in
any case, I hope . . they are too delicious, these three-hour
visits — and if I could pay for them by myself, Ba, — what
would I not pay ?
Will you let me write something, and forgive me ?
Because it is, I know, quite unnecessary to be written, and,
beside, may almost seem an interference with your own
delicacy, — teaching it its duty ! However, I will venture
to go on, with your hand before my two eyes. Then, — you
remember what we were speaking of yesterday, — house-rents
and styles of living ? You will never overlook, through its
very obviousness, that to consult my feelings on the only point
in which they are sensitive to the world you must endeavour
to live as simply and cheaply as possible, down to my own
habitual simplicity and cheapness, — so that you shall come
and live with me, in a sense, rather than I with Miss
Campbell ! You see, Ba, if you have more money than you
want, you shall save it or spend it in pictures or parrots or
what you please . . you avoid all offence to me who never
either saved money nor spent it — but the large house, I
should be forced to stay in, — the carriage, to enter, I suppose.
And you see too, Ba, that the one point on which I desire
the world to be informed concerning our future life, will be
that it is ordered so — I wish they could hear we lived in one
room like George Sand in ‘ that happy year — ‘
No, there I have put down an absurdity — because, I
shall have to confess a weakness, at some time or other,
which is hardly reconcilable to that method of being happy
— why may I not tell you now, my adored Ba, to whom I
tell everything as it rises to me ? Now put the hand on my
eyes again — now that I have kissed it. I shall begin by
begging a separate room from yours — I could never brush
my hair and wash my face, I do think, before my own
father — I could not, I am sure, take off my coat before you
now — why should I ever ? The kitchen is an unknown
horror to me, — I come to the dining-room for whatever
repast there may be, — nor willingly stay too long there,
— and on the day on which poor Countess Peppa taught me
how maccaroni is made, — then began a quiet revolution,
(indeed a rapid one) against ‘ tagliolini,’ ‘ fettucce,’ ‘ lasagne,’
etc., etc., etc. – typical, typical !
What foolishness . . spare me, my own Ba, and don’t
answer one word, — do not even laugh, — for I know the
exceeding unnecessary foolishness of it !
Chorley has just sent me a note which I will send you
because it is most graceful in its modesty — but you must
not, if you please, return it to me in an envelope that ought
only to hold your own writing, — and so make my heart beat
at first, and my brows knit at last ! (Toss it into ‘ my room,’
at Pisa ! !)
Thus it is to be made happy and unwise ! Never mind
— make me happier still by telling me you are well and have
been out, and where, and when, and how — the footsteps of
you, Ba, should be kissed if I could follow them.
Bless you, ever dearest, dearest, as yesterday, and always
you bless me — I love you with all my heart and soul — yes
Ba!
Your own, very own.