But my seeing, and hearing, and enjoying—Saturday is my day for all that? To-morrow—by this time!—too great happiness it is, I know.
And I, too, look long over the grave, to follow you, my own heart’s love. Let Mrs. Jameson repeal those acts,—limit the seven years to seven days or less,—what matters? If the seven days have to be endured because of a law,—then I see the weariness of course—but in our case, if a benevolent Legislature should inform me, now, that if I choose, I may decline visiting you to-morrow—
... Ah, nefandum,—kiss me, my own Ba, and let the world legislate and decree and relieve and be otherwise notable—so they let me be your own for ever
R.
E.B.B. to R.B.
Sunday.
[Post-mark, May 11, 1846.]
Dearest when you use such words as ‘eligible ...’ (investment ... was it?) and I do not protest seriously and at length, it is through the very absurdity and unnaturalness ... as if you were to say that the last comet was made of macaroni, and Arago stood by, he would not think it worth while to confute you. Talking the worldly idiom, as you will tell me you just meant to do in those words, and considering the worldly considerations, why still the advantage is with you—I can do nothing that I can see, but stand in your sunshine. I solemnly assure you that only the apparent fact of your loving me, has overcome the scruple, which, on this ground, made me recoil from.... Well! there is no use now in talking. But for you to talk of what is eligible and ineligible for me, is too absurd—indeed it is. You might be richer, to be sure—but I like it better as it is, a hundred times—I should choose it to be so, if it were left to my choice. In every other respect, using the world’s measures, ... or the measure of the angel who measured the heavenly Jerusalem, ... you are beyond me ... above me—and nothing but your love for me could have brought us to a level. My love for you could not have tried, even! Now, if I teaze you with saying such things over and over, it is the right punishment for what you said yesterday about ‘eligible marriages’—now, isn’t it?
But your conclusion then was right. For if you were twice yourself, with a duchy of the moon to boot, it would avail nothing. We should have to carry all this underground work on precisely the same. Miserable it is, nevertheless—only, I keep my eyes from that side, as far as I can. I keep my eyes on your face. Yesterday Henrietta told me that Lady Carmichael, a cousin of ours, met her at the Royal Academy and took her aside to ‘speak seriously to her’ ... to observe that she looked thin and worried, and to urge her to act for herself ... to say too, that Mrs. Bayford, an old hereditary friend of ours, respected by us all for her serene, clear-headed views of most things,—and ‘of the strictest sect,’ too, for all domestic duties,—‘did not like, as a mother, to give direct advice, but was of opinion that the case admitted certainly and plainly of the daughter’s acting for herself.’ In fact, it was a message, sent under cover of a supposed irresponsibility. Which is one of a hundred proofs to show how this case is considered exceptional among our family friends, and that no very hard judgment will be passed at the latest. Only, on other grounds, I shall be blamed ... and perhaps by another class of speakers. As for telling Mr. Kenyon, it is most unadvisable, both for his sake and ours. Did you never hear him talk of his organ of caution? We should involve him in ever so many fears for us, and force him to have his share of the odium at last. Papa would not speak to him again while he lived. And people might say, ‘Mr. Kenyon did it all.’ No—if we are to be selfwilled, let us be selfwilled ... at least, let me! for you, of course, are free to follow your judgment in respect to your own friends. And then, it is rather a matter of feeling with me after all, that as I cannot give my confidence to my father, I should refuse it to others. I feel that a little.
Henrietta will do nothing, I think, this year—there are considerations of convenience to prevent it; and it is better for us that it should be so, and will not be worse for her in the end. I wish that man were a little nobler, higher ... more of a man! He is amiable, good-natured, easy-tempered, of good intentions in the main: but he eats and drinks and sleeps, and shows it all when he talks. Very popular in his regiment, very fond of his mother—there is good in him of course—and for the rest....
Dearest ... to compare others with you, would be too hard upon them. Besides, each is after his kind. Yet ... as far as love goes ... and although this man sincerely loves my sister, I do believe, ... I admit to myself, again and again, that if you were to adopt such a bearing towards me, as he does to her, I should break with you at once. And why? Not because I am spoilt, though you knit your brows and think so ... nor because I am exacting and offensible, though you may fancy that too. Nor because I hold loosely by you ... dearest beloved ... ready at a caprice to fall away. But because then I should know you did not love me enough to let you be happy hereafter with me ... you, who must love according to what you are! greatly, as you write ‘Lurias’!