[Postmark: July 29, 1846]
Wednesday Morning.
This is just the way, the only way, my ever, ever dearest,
you make cares for me — it is hard to dare to settle whether
the pain of the lost quarters of the hour yesterday be not
balanced by the gladness and gain of this letter ; as it is
hard saying whether to kiss your hand (mind, only the
hand !) with shut eyes, be better than seeing you and only
seeing : you cause me abundance of such troubles, dearest,
best, divinest that you are ! Oh, how can you, blessing me
so, speak as you spoke yesterday — for the first time ! I
thought you would only write such suppositions, such
desires — (for it was a desire) . . and that along with you I
was safe from them, — yet you are adorable amid it all —
only I do feel such speaking, Ba, lightly as it fell — no, not
now I feel it, — this letter is before my heart like the hand
on my eyes. I feel this letter, only how good, good,
good of you to write it ! Yes, I did meet Mr. Kenyon on
the stairs — with a half opened door that discovered sundry
presences, and then had I to speak of a sudden — put it to
my credit on one side that I did speak and laugh ; and on
the other side, that I did neither too a propos. He most
kindly (SEEING IT ALL) began asking about Forster and
Moxon — and I remember some kind of stammering remark
of the latter which I retailed . . to the effect that ‘ now would
be a favourable time to print a volume of poems ‘ this I
did, to seem to have something on my mind calling for a
consultation with you ! Then he made that proposal about
Landor and Mr. Eagles . . whether I ‘ encouraged the idea, ‘
or no, it encouraged me, and helped me a good deal this
morning, — for Eliot Warburton sent two days ago a pressing
letter to invite me to go to Ireland, — I should have
yachting and other delights, — and I was glad to return for
an answer, that, ‘ conditional on
my accepting any. ‘ As for my ‘ excellent story on the
stairs ‘ — you alarm me ! Upon my honour, I have not the
least recollection of having told one, or said another word
than the above mentioned. So people are congratulated on
displaying this or the other bravery in battle or fire, when
their own memory is left a blank of all save the confusion !
Let me say here, that he amused me also with the
characteristic anecdote of poor Mr. Reade, on Saturday.
And — now ! now, Ba, to the subject-matter : whatever
you decide on writing to Mrs. Jameson will be rightly
written — it seems to me nearly immaterial ; (putting out of
the question the confiding the whole secret, which, from its
responsibility, as you feel, must not be done) whether you
decline her kindness for untold reasons which two months
(Ba ?) will make abundantly plain, — or whether you farther
inform her that there is a special secret — of which she must
bear the burthen, even in that mitigated form, for the same
two months, — as I say, it seems immaterial — but it is most
material that you should see how the ground is crumbling
from beneath our feet, with its chances and opportunities
— do not talk about ‘four months,’ — till December, that is
— unless you mean what must follow as a consequence. The
next thing will be Mr. Kenyon’s application to me — he
certainly knows everything . . how else, after such a speech
from your sister? But his wisdom as well as his habits
incline him to use the force that is in kindness, patience,
gentleness : your father might have entered the room suddenly
yesterday and given vent to all the passionate indignation
in the world. I dare say we should have been
married to-day : but I shall have the quietest, most
considerate of expositions made me (with one arm on my
shoulder), of how I am sure to be about to kill you, to ruin
you, your social reputation, your public estimation, destroy
the peace of this member of your family, the prospects of
that other, — and the end will be ?
Because I can not only die for you but live without you
for you — once sure it is for you : I know what you once
bade me promise — but I do not know what assurances on
assurance, all on the ground of a presumed knowledge of
your good above your own possible knowledge, — might not
effect ! I do not know !
This is through you ! You ought to know now that ‘ it
would not be better for me to leave you ‘ ! That after this
devotion of myself to you I cannot undo it all, and devote
myself to objects so utterly insignificant that yourself do not
venture to specify them — ‘ it would be better — people will
say such things ‘ . . I will never force you to know this,
however — if your admirable senses do not instruct you, I shall
never seem to, as it were, threaten you, by prophecies of
what my life would probably be, disengaged from you — it
should certainly not be passed where the ‘ people ‘ are, nor
where their ‘ sayings ‘ influenced me any more — but I ask
you to look into my heart, and into your own belief in what
is worthy and durable and the better — and then decide : —
for instance, to speak of waiting for four months will be a
decision.
See, dearest — I began lightly, — I cannot end so. I
know, after all, the words were divine, self-forgetting words
— after all, that you are mine, by the one tenure, of your own
free gift, — that all the other words have not been mere
breath, nor the love, a playful show, an acting, an error you
will correct. I believe in you, or what shall I believe in ?
I wish I could take my life, my affections, my ambitions, all
my very self, and fold over them your little hand, and leave
them there — then you would see what belief is mine ! But
if you had not seen it, would you have uttered one word,
written one line, given one kiss to me ? May God bless
you, Ba —
R. B.