Day: July 30, 2018

[Postmark: July 30, 1846]

Thursday.

Now you are my very own best, sweetest, dearest Ba —
Do you think after such a letter as mine any amount of
confidence in my own intentions, or of the reasonableness
of being earnest on such a subject, can avail to save me
from mortal misgivings ? I should not have said those
words, certainly I should not — but you forgive them and
me, do you not ?

It was through seeing the peril about Mr. Kenyon just as
you see it ; but do not suppose I could break my promise,
— to every point urged after that sad irresistible fashion,
my answer would be, — would in the end amount to, — ‘
provided she consents. ‘ And then he would return to you,
put away altogether the arguments just used to me, take up
in their stead the corresponding ones founded on my
interests as he would profess to understand them, and the
result would be that a similar answer would be obtained
from you, — which he would call your ‘ consent.’ This is
not what I fear now, — oh, no ! — but the fancy that I was
frightened by, yesterday, while I wrote. Now, I seem to
have my powers about me, and could get to the truth and
hold by it through every difficulty, — and if I, how much
more you !

Then, this is expecting the worst of Mr. Kenyon, — and
the best is at least as likely. In any case, one may be sure
of cautions and warnings and a wise, good, shaking of the
head — he is none of the ardent anticipators of exuberant
happiness from any scheme begun and ended here below.
But after that, — why, ours is the only thoroughly rational
match that ever came under my notice, and he is too clever
not to see some justification in it. At all events, he will
say ‘ we shall see ! ‘ — whether he sigh or smile in the saying
— and if he waits, he will see.

And we will ‘ decide ‘ on nothing, being sure of the one
decision — I mean, that, if the summer be long, and likely to
lead in as fine an Autumn, and if no new obstacles arise,
— September shall go as it comes, and October too, if your
convenience is attained thereby in the least degree, — after-
ward, you will be all my own, all your days and hours
and minutes. I forgot, by the way, to reply to your
question concerning Mrs. J. — if there is good to you, decided
or even not impossible good — of course, let her be with us
if she will, otherwise, oh let us be alone, Ba ! I find by
the first map, that from Nevers the Loire proceeds S.E. till
the Arroux joins it, and that just below it communicates
with the Canal du Centre, which runs N.E. from Paray to
Chagny and thence to Chalons sur Saone. It is a roundabout
way, but not more so than the post-road by Autun —
the Canal must be there for something, and in that case, you
travel from Orleans to Leghorn by water and with the least
fatigue possible. I observe that steam-boats leave St.
Katherine’s Wharf every Thursday and Sunday morning at
8 o’clock for Havre, Rouen and Paris — would that way be
advisable ? I will ascertain the facts about Nevers and
Chalons by the time we meet.

Dearest Ba, my very own, I love you with a love — not
to die before any sorrow ! perhaps that is the one remaining
circumstance of power to heighten it ! May God bless you
for me —

[Postmark: July 30, 1846]

Wednesday Evening.

‘ Such desires — (for it was a desire — ‘)

Well put into a parenthesis that is ! — ashamed and hiding
itself between the brackets !

Because — my own dearest — it was not a ‘ desire ‘ — it
was the farthest possible from being a ‘ desire ‘ . . the word
I spoke to you on Tuesday . . yesterday !

And if I spoke it for the first time instead of writing
it — what did that prove, but I was able to speak it,
and that just it was so much less earnest and painfully felt ?
Why it was not a proposition even — . I said only ‘ You
had better give me up ! ‘ It was only the reflection, in the
still water, of what had been a proposition. ‘ Better ‘
perhaps ! — ‘ Better ‘ for you, that you should desire to
give me up and do it — my ‘Idee fixe’ you know. But
said with such different feelings from those which have
again and again made the tears run down my cheeks while
I wrote to you the vexatious letter . . . that I smile at you
seeing no difference. You, blind ! — Which is wrong of
me again. I will not smile for having vexed you . .
teased you. Which is wrong of you, though . . the being
vexed for so little ! because ‘you ought to know by this
time ‘ . . (now I will use your reproachful words) — you
ought certainly to know that I am your own, and ready to
go through with the matter we are upon, and willing to leave
the times and the seasons in your hand ! Four months !
meant nothing at all. Take September, if you please. All
I thought of answering to you, was, that there was no need
yet of specifying the exact time. And yet —

Ah — yes ! — I feel as you feel, the risks and the
difficulties which close around us. And you feel that about
Mr. Kenyon ? Is it by an instinct that I tremble to think
of him, more than to think of others ? The hazel-rod turns
round in my hand when I stand here. And as you show
him speaking and reasoning . . his arm laid on your
shoulder . . oh, what a vision, that is ! before that, I
cannot stand any longer ! — it takes away my breath — the
likelihood of it is so awful that it seems to promise to realise
itself, one day !

But you promised. I have your solemn promise, Robert !
If ever you should be moved by a single one of those vain
reasons, it will be an unfaithful cruelty in you. You will
have trusted another, against me. You would not do it, my
beloved.

For I have none in the world who will hold me to make
me live in it, except only you. I have come back for you
alone . . at your voice and because you have use for me !
I have come back to live a little for you — I see you. My
fault is . . not that I think too much of what people will
say. I see you and hear you. ‘ People ‘ did not make
me live for them. I am not theirs, but yours. I deserve
that you should believe in me, beloved, because my love
for you is ‘Me.’

Now tell me again to ‘ decide ‘ — and I will tell you that
the words are not ‘breath,’ nor the affection ‘a show.’
Dearest beyond words, did I deserve you telling me to
‘ decide ‘ ?

Let it be September then, if you do not decide other-
wise — I would not lean to dangerous delays which are
unnecessary — I wish we were at Pisa, rather !

So try to find out if and how (certainly) we can get from
Nevers to Chalons . . I could not to-day, with my French
travelling-book, find a way, either by the chemin de fer or
coche d’eau. — All the rest is easy and direct . . and very
cheap. We must not hesitate between the French route
and the sea voyage.

Now I will tell you your good story. You said that
you had only heard six words from Mr. Reade — but that
they were characteristic. Someone was talking before him
and you of the illness of Anacreon Moore — ‘ He is very ill ‘
said the someone. ‘ But he is no poet ‘ said Mr. Reade.

Isn’t it a good story ? Mr. Kenyon called it ‘ exquisite.’
It is what your man of science would have called ‘ A
beautiful specimen ‘ — now isn’t it ?

May God bless you, dearest, dearest ! — I owe all to
you, and love you wholly — I am your very own —