[Postmark: August 13, 1846]
Wednesday Evening.
‘ Did I ever receive such a letter ? ‘ Never — except
from you. It is a question easily answered.
As to other question, about the communion of contrarieties,
I agree with you, thought for thought, in all your
thinking about it — only adding one more reason to the
reasons you point out. There is another reason at the
bottom of all, I think — I cannot but think — and it is
just that, when women are chosen for wives, they are not
chosen for companions — that when they are selected to be
loved, it is quite apart from life — ‘ man’s love is of man’s
life a thing apart. ‘ A German professor selects a woman
who can merely stew prunes — not because stewing prunes
and reading Proclus make a delightful harmony, but because
he wants his prunes stewed for him and chooses to read
Proclus by himself. A fulness of sympathy, a sharing of
life, one with another, . . is scarcely ever looked for except
in a narrow conventional sense. Men like to come home
and find a blazing fire and a smiling face and an hour of
relaxation. Their serious thoughts, and earnest aims in
life, they like to keep on one side. And this is the carrying
out of love and marriage almost everywhere in the world —
and this, the degrading of women by both.
For friendship . . why Like seeks Like in friendship
very openly. To ‘ have sympathy ‘ with a person, is a good
banal current motive for friendship. Yet (for the minor
points) a man with a deficiency of animal spirits may like
the society of a man who can amuse him, and the amusing
man may have pleasure again in the sense of using a faculty
and conferring a benefit. It is happily possible to love
down, and even across a chasm — or the world would be
more loveless than it is. I have loved and still love people
a thousand souls off — as you have and do, of course ; —
but to love them better on that account, would be strange and
difficult.
Always I know, my beloved, that I am unworthy of
your love in a hundred ways — yet I do hold fast my sense
of advantage in one, — that, as far as I can see, I see
after you . . understand you, divine you . . call you by
your right name. Then it is something to be able to look
at life itself as you look at it — (I quite sigh sometimes with
satisfaction at that thought !) : there will be neither hope nor
regret away from your footsteps. Dearest — I feel to myself
sometimes, ‘ Do not move, do not speak — or the dream will
vanish.’ So fearfully like a dream, it is ! Like a reflection
in the water of an actual old, old dream of my own, too . .
touching which, . . now silent voices used to say “That
romantic child.”
What did you mean to say about my not believing in
your nature . . in your feelings . . what did you and could
you mean yesterday ? Was it because of my speech about
the ‘ calm eyes ‘ ? Ah — you ! — I did not think to make so
impressive a speech when I made it . . for this is not the
first time, Robert, you have quoted Hansard for it.
Well ! I shall not rise to explain after all. Only I do
justice to the whole subject . . eyes inclusively . .
‘ whatever you may think ‘ as you said yesterday with ever
such significance.
No — yes — now I will ask you one thing. Common eyes
will carry an emotion of a soul — and, so, not be calm, of
course. Calm ones, I know, will carry the whole soul and
float it up against yours, till it loses footing, and . . . . .
That is a little of what I meant by the calm in the eyes, and
so I will ask you whether I could wrong, by such meaning,
any depth in the nature.
At this moment you are at Mr. Kenyon’s — and you did
not, I think, go up this street. Perhaps you will go home
through it — but I shall not see — I cannot watch, being
afraid of the over-watchers. May God bless you, my own
dearest ! You have my heart with you as if it lay in your
hand ! I told you once that I never could love (in this
way of love) except upward very far and high — but you
are not like me in it, I thank God — since you can love
me. Love me, dearest of all — do not tire. I am your very
own
BA.
Another Bennett ! ! — yet the same. ! To Friday.