Day: July 23, 2018

[Postmark: July 23, 1846]

R. B. to E. B. B.

Wednesday.

I have just returned from Town and Mr. Kenyon’s, my
own Ba. I called, according to compact, to point out the
precise way he must go to reach us. He seemed to make sure
I was going to Wimpole Street — ‘ Oh, no ! ‘

So, losing Wimpole Street, I made haste home, and gain
my letter, — my dear letter : yesterday night, too, the first
letter arrived duly — you perfect in kindness !

My dearest — dearest, — you might go to Pisa without
shoes, — or feet to wear them, for aught I know, since you
may have wings, only folded away from me — but without your
Wilson, or some one in her capacity, you . . no, I will not
undertake to speak of you ; then, I, should be simply, exactly,
INSANE to move a step ; I would rather propose, let us live
on bread and water, and sail in the hold of a merchant-ship ;
THIS CANNOT be dispensed with ! It is most fortunate, most
providential, that Wilson is inclined to go — I am very
happy ; for a new servant, with even the best dispositions,
would never be able to anticipate your wants and wishes
during the voyage, at the very beginning. Yet you write of
this to me so, my Ba ! I think I will, in policy, begin the
anger at a good place. Yes, all the anger I am capable of
descends on the head — (not in kisses, whatever you may
fancy).

And so poor Flush suffered after all ! Dogs that are
dog-like would be at no such pains to tell you they would
not see you with comfort approached by a stranger who
might be — ! A ‘muzzle’? oh, no, — but suppose you have
him removed next time, and perhaps the next, till the whole
occurrence is out of his mind as the fly bite of last week
— because, if he sees me and begins his barking and valiant
snapping, and gets more and heavier vengeance downstairs,
perhaps, — his transient suspicion of me will confirm itself
into absolute dislike, hatred, whereas, after an interval, we
can renew acquaintance on a better footing. Dogs have
such memories ! My sister told me last week she saw in a
provincial newspaper an anecdote of one, — a miller’s dog,
that was a good fellow in the main, but chose to take an
especial dislike to one of his master’s customers, whom he
invariably flew at and annoyed — so much so that the man
declared he must carry his custom elsewhere unless the dog
was parted with : this the miller was unwilling to do ; so he
hit on an expedient — by some contrivance, the dog was
suffered to fall into a deep well, and bark himself hoarse
there in vain — no help came — till the obnoxious individual
arrived, let himself down and brought up the prisoner.
From which time nothing could exceed the devotion of the
dog to his rescuer ; whom he always insisted henceforth on
accompanying as far as his home, for one instance of it.

I wonder whether I have anywhere one of the sketches
my father made of my bulldog’s face.

What ‘ tired ‘ you, dearest ? You are not less well, I
trust ? Pray tell me, — and remember there are three days
before our Saturday. I am very much better — the walking
and riding of this morning did me good, too — and what
profits it, if you are not better also ? Love me in caring for
yourself, which is my truest self! And I will go on and
try to love you more than I do — for what may happen ?

Ever your own R.

[Postmark: July 23, 1846]

Wednesday.

Dearest, what you say is unnecessary for you to say — it
is in everything so of course and obvious ! You must have
an eccentric idea of me if you can suppose for a moment
such things to be necessary to say. If they had been unsaid,
it would have been precisely the same, believe me, in
the event.

As to the way of living — now you shall arrange that
for yourself. You shall choose your own lodging, order
your own dinner . . and if you choose to live on locusts and
wild honey, I promise not to complain . . I shall not indeed
be inclined to complain . . having no manner of ambition
about carriages and large houses, even if they were within
our possibilities, — which they may not be, according to Mr.
Surtees’s calculation or experience. The more simply we
live, the better for me ! So you shall arrange it for yourself,
lest I should make a mistake ! . . which, in that question,
is a just possible thing.

One extravagance I had intended to propose to you . .
but it shall be exactly as you like, and I hesitate a little as
I begin to speak of it. I have thought of taking Wilson
with me, . . for a year, say, if we returned then — if not, we
might send her home alone . . and by that time, I should
be stronger perhaps and wiser . . rather less sublimely
helpless and impotent than I am now. My sisters have urged
me a good deal in this matter — but if you would rather it
were otherwise, be honest and say so, and let me alter my
thoughts at once. There is one consideration which I sub-
mit to yours, . . that I cannot leave this house with the
necessary number of shoes and pocket handkerchiefs, without
help from somebody. Now whoever helps me, will
suffer through me. If I left her behind she would be turned
into the street before sunset. Would it be right and just of
me, to permit it ? Consider ! I must manage a sheltering
ignorance for my poor sisters, at the last, . . and for all our
sakes. And in order to that, again, I must have some one
else in my confidence. Whom, again, I would unwillingly
single out for an absolute victim.

Wilson is attached to me, I believe — and, in all the
discussions about Italy, she has professed herself willing to
‘ go anywhere in the world with me.’ Indeed I rather fancy
that she was disappointed bitterly last year, and that it
would not be a pure devotion. She is an expensive servant —
she has sixteen pounds a year, . . but she has her utilities
besides, and is very amiable and easily satisfied, and would
not add to the expenses, or diminish from the economies,
even in the matter of room — I would manage that for her.
Then she would lighten your responsibilities . . as the
Archbishop of Canterbury and company do Mr. Sevan’s.
Well — you have only to consider your own wishes. I
shall not care many straws, if you decide this way or that
way. Let it be as may seem to you wisest.

I like Mr. Chorley’s note. I began to write so late
that I, too, must send you a bare note to-night. May God
bless you, ever dearest. I am tired . . so tired — yet I have
not a long story to tell you of myself for the day’s chronicle
I was just out for the few minutes my walking occupies, and
came home and had coffee at half-past four ; and scarcely
was the cup empty, when Mrs. Jameson arrived — she stayed
while you might count to a hundred — and your name was
not once mentioned. And now, good-night. I hope the
‘ testimonials ‘ may be ‘ satisfactory,’ in this note which will
not wait to be a letter ! Dearest, say how your head is —
do.

I am your Ba, always !