Day: September 7, 2018

[Postmark: September 7, 1846]

Monday Morning.

I had the greatest mind, when your letter came – (the most welcome of all letters – so much more than I could expect !) – to get up at once and be well in your dearest eyes or through them – but I checked myself and thought that I ought to be contented with one such a letter through whole long weeks of annoyance, instead of one day more.

I am delighted to know Flush is with you, if I am not. Did you remember my petition about him ? But, dearest, it was very imprudent to go to those disgusting wretches yourself – they have had a pretty honour without knowing it !

Here I lie with a dizzy head – unable to read more than a page or two . . there is something in the unwonted position that tires me – but whenever the book is left off, I turn to the dark side of the room and see you, my very own Ba, – and so I am soon better and able to try again.

How hot, and thunder-like this oppressive air ! And you who are affected by such weather ? Tell me, my dearest dearest, all you can tell me – since the real lips and eyes are away.

Bless you, my beloved. Remember, I count upon seeing you on Wednesday at farthest.

Your own R.

[Postmark: September 7, 1846]

Monday Morning.

Ever, ever dearest, how was it that without presentiment of evil I got up this morning in the good spirits of ‘ our days,’ hoping to see you, believing to see you, and feeling that it would be greater happiness than usual? The sight of your letter, even, did not provoke the cloud – that was only the lesser joy, I thought, preceding the greater ! And smiling to myself I was, both last night and this morning, at your phrase about the ‘ business ‘ to be talked by the ‘ grave man and woman ‘ ; understanding your precaution against all unlawful jesting ! – jesters forbidden in the protocol ! And then, at last, to be made so suddenly grave and sad even ! How am I to be comforted, my own dearest ? No way, except by your being really better, really well – in order to which I shall not let you come as soon as Wednesday : it will not be wise for you to leave your bed for a journey into London ! Rather you should be very quiet, and keep in the garden at farthest. Take care of yourself, dearest dearest, and if you think of me and love me, show it in that best way. And I praise you, praise you, – nay, I thank you and am grateful to you for every such proof of love, more than for other kinds of proof, – I will love you for it, my beloved ! Now judge – shall I be able to help thinking of you every moment of the day ? Could I help it, if I tried ? In return, therefore, you will attend to the orders, submit to the discipline – ah but, will not the leaving off all food but milk weaken you out of measure ? I am uneasy about that milk-diet for you, who always seem to me to want support, and something to stimulate. You will promise to tell me everything – will you, dearest ? whether better or worse, stronger or weaker, you will tell me ? And if you should be too unwell to write, as may God forbid, your sister will write – she will have that great goodness ? Let it be so, I beseech you.

But you will be better – oh, I mean to hope stedfastly toward your being better, and toward the possibility of our meeting before the week ends. And as for this day lost, it is not of importance except in our present thoughts : soon you will have more than enough of me, you know. For I am in earnest and not a jester au fond, and am ready to do just as you bid me and think best – which I tell you now, that you may not be vexed at a shadow, after my own fashion. May God bless you – ‘ and me in you.’ Have I not leave to say that, too, since I feel it more than you could . . (more intensely . . I do not say more sincerely . .) when you used it first ? My happiness and life are in you, – I am your very own

BA.

Your mother – how is she ? Mind you get an amusing book . . something to amuse only, and not use you. Do you know the ‘ Mathilde ‘ of Sue ? I shall write again to-night.

[Postmark: September 7, 1846]

Sunday Afternoon.

No, dearest, I am not to see you to-morrow for all the happiness of the permission ! It seems absurd, but perhaps the greater absurdity would be a refusal to submit, under circumstances. You shall hear – I got up with the old vertiginousness, or a little worse – and so, as I had in that case determined, went to consult my doctor. He thinks he finds the root of the evil and can remove it, ‘ if I have patience enough ‘ – so I promised . . expecting something worthy that preamble – whereas I am bidden go to bed and keep there for a day or two – from this Sunday till Wednesday morning – taking nothing but a sip of medicine I can’t distinguish from water, thrice a day – and milk at discretion – no other food ! The mild queerness of it is amusing, is it not ? ‘ And for this fine piece of self-denial,’ says he, ‘ you shall be quite well by the week’s end.’ – ‘ But may I go to town on Wednesday ? ‘ – ‘ Yes.’ –

Now, Ba, my own Ba, you know how often I have to sorrowfully disclaim all the praises your dearest kindness would attach to me ; this time, if you will praise me a little for obeying you, I will take the praise – for the truth of truths is, that I said at once to myself ‘ – have I a right to avoid anything which promises to relieve Her from this eternal account of aches and pains ?”‘ So here am I writing, leaning on my elbow, in bed, – as I never wrote before I think – and perhaps my head is a little better, or I fancy so. Mind, I may read, or write, – only in bed I must lie, because there is some temperature to be kept up in the skin, or some other cause as good – ‘ for reasons, for reasons.’

‘The milk,’ answers Ba, is exactly to correct the superabundant gall of bitterness which overflowed lately about Flush. So it is, my own Ba – and for Flush, the victim of a principle, he is just saved from a sickness by cakes I meditated as a joy-offering on his safe return. Will you, among the other kisses, give him one for me? And save yet another for your own R.

How I shall need your letters, dearest !

[Postmark: September 7, 1846]

Sunday.

Not well – not well ! But I shall see you with my own eyes soon after you read what I write to-day ; so I shall not write much. Only a few words to tell you that Flush is found, and lying on the sofa, with one paw and both ears hanging over the edge of it. Still my visit to Taylor was not the successful one. My hero was not at home.

I went, you know, . . did I tell you ? . . with Wilson in the cab. We got into obscure streets ; and our cabman stopped at a public house to ask his way. Out came two or three men, . . ‘ Oh, you want to find Mr. Taylor, I dare say ! ‘ (mark that no name had been mentioned !) and instantly an unsolicited philanthropist ran before us to the house, and out again to tell me that the great man ‘ wasn’t at home ! but wouldn’t I get out ? ‘ Wilson, in an aside of terror, entreated me not to think of such a thing – she believed devoutly in the robbing and murdering, and was not reassured by the gang of benevolent men and boys who ‘ lived but to oblige us ‘ all round the cab. ‘ Then wouldn’t I see Mrs. Taylor,’ suggested the philanthropist, – and, notwithstanding my negatives, he had run back again and brought an immense feminine bandit, . . fat enough to have had an easy conscience all her life, . . who informed me that ‘ her husband might be in in a few minutes, or in so many hours – wouldn’t I like to get out and wait ‘ (Wilson pulling at my gown, the philanthropist echoing the invitation of the feminine Taylor.) – ‘ No, I thanked them all – it was not necessary that I should get out, but it was, that Mr. Taylor should keep his promise about the restoration of a dog which he had agreed to restore – and I begged her to induce him to go to Wimpole Street in the course of the day, and not defer it any longer.’ To which, replied the lady, with the most gracious of smiles – ‘ Oh yes certainly ‘ – and indeed she did believe that Taylor had left home precisely on that business – poising her head to the right and left with the most easy grace – ‘ She was sure that Taylor would give his very best attention.’ . . .

So, in the midst of the politeness, we drove away, and Wilson seemed to be of opinion that we had escaped with our lives barely. Plain enough it was, that the gang was strong there. The society . . the ‘Fancy’ . . had their roots in the ground. The faces of those men ! –

I had not been at home long, when Mr. Taylor did actually come – desiring to have six guineas confided to his honour ! ! . . and promising to bring back the dog. I sent down the money, and told them to trust the gentleman’s honour, as there seemed no other way for it – and while the business was being concluded, in came Alfred, and straightway called our ‘ honourable friend ‘ (meeting him in the passage) a swindler and a liar and a thief. Which no gentleman could bear, of course. Therefore with reiterated oaths he swore, ‘as he hoped to be saved, we should never see our dog again’ – and rushed out of the house. Followed a great storm. I was very angry with Alfred, who had no business to risk Flush’s life for the sake of the satisfaction of trying on names which fitted. Angry I was with Alfred, and terrified for Flush, – seeing at a glance the probability of his head being cut off as the proper vengeance ! and down-stairs I went with the resolution of going again myself to Mr. Taylor’s in Manning Street, or Shoreditch wherever it was, and saving the victim at any price. It was the evening, getting dusk – and everybody was crying out against me for being ‘ quite mad ‘ and obstinate, and wilful – I was called as many names as Mr. Taylor. At last, Sette said that he would do it, promised to be as civil as I could wish, and got me to be ‘ in a good humour and go up to my room again.’ And he went instead of me, and took the money and fair words, and induced the ‘ man of honour ‘ to forfeit his vengeance and go and fetch the dog. Flush arrived here at eight o’clock (at the very moment with your letter, dearest !), and the first thing he did was to dash up to this door, and then to drink his purple cup full of water, filled three times over. He was not so enthusiastic about seeing me, as I expected – he seemed bewildered and frightened – and whenever anyone said to him ‘ Poor Flush, did the naughty men take you away ? ‘ he put up his head and moaned and yelled. He has been very unhappy certainly. Dirty he is, and much thinner, and continually he is drinking. Six guineas, was his ransom – and now I have paid twenty for him to the dog-stealers.

Arabel says that I wanted you yesterday, she thought, to manage me a little. She thought I was suddenly seized with madness, to prepare to walk out of the house in that state of excitement and that hour of the evening. But now – was I to let them cut off Flush’s head ? –

There ! I have told you the whole history of yesterday’s adventures – and to-morrow I shall see you, my own dear, dear ! – Only remember for my sake, not to come if you are not fit to come. Dearest, remember not to run any hazards ! – That dinner ! which I will blame, because it deserves it ! Mind not to make me be as bad as that dinner, in being the means of working you harm ! So I expect you to-morrow conditionally . . if you are well enough ! – and I thank you for the kind dear letter, welcome next to you, . . being ever and ever your own

BA.

I have been to the vestry again to-day.