_E.B.B. to R.B._
Monday.
[Post-mark, June 24, 1845.]
I had begun to be afraid that I did not deserve to have my questions
answered; and I was afraid of asking them over again. But it is worse
to be afraid that you are not better at all in any essential manner
(after all your assurances) and that the medical means have failed so
far. Did you go to somebody who knows anything?--because there is no
excuse, you see, in common sense, for not having the best and most
experienced opinion when there is a choice of advice--and I am
confident that that pain should not be suffered to go on without
something being done. What I said about _nerves_, related to what you
had told me of your mother's suffering and what you had fancied of the
relation of it to your own, and not that I could be thinking about
imaginary complaints--I wish I could. Not (either) that I believe in
the relation ... because such things are not hereditary, are they? and
the bare coincidence is improbable. Well, but, I wanted particularly
to say this--_Don't bring the 'Duchess' with you on Wednesday._ I
shall not expect anything, I write distinctly to tell you--and I would
far far rather that you did not bring it. You see it is just as I
thought--for that whether too much thought or study did or did not
bring on the illness, ... yet you admit that reading and writing
increase it ... as they would naturally do any sort of pain in the
head--therefore if you will but be in earnest and try to get well
_first_, we will do the 'Bells' afterwards, and there will be time for
a whole peal of them, I hope and trust, before the winter. Now do
admit that this is reasonable, and agree reasonably to it. And if it
does you good to go out and take exercise, why not go out and take it?
nay, why not go _away_ and take it? Why not try the effect of a little
change of air--or even of a great change of air--if it should be
necessary, or even expedient? Anything is better, you know ... or if
you don't know, _I_ know--than to be ill, really, seriously--I mean
for _you_ to be ill, who have so much to do and to enjoy in the world
yet ... and all those bells waiting to be hung! So that if you will
agree to be well first, I will promise to be ready afterwards to help
you in any thing I can do ... transcribing or anything ... to get the
books through the press in the shortest of times--and I am capable of
a great deal of that sort of work without being tired, having the
habit of writing in any sort of position, and the long habit, ...
since, before I was ill even, I never used to write at a table (or
scarcely ever) but on the arm of a chair, or on the seat of one,
sitting myself on the floor, and calling myself a Lollard for dignity.
So you will put by your 'Duchess' ... will you not? or let me see just
that one sheet--if one should be written--which is finished? ... up to
this moment, you understand? finished _now_.
And if I have tired and teazed you with all these words it is a bad
opportunity to take--and yet I will persist in saying through good and
bad opportunities that I never did 'give cause' as you say, to your
being 'suspicious of my suspiciousness' as I believe I said before. I
deny my 'suspiciousness' altogether--it is not one of my faults. Nor
is it quite my fault that you and I should always be quarrelling about
over-appreciations and under-appreciations--and after all I have no
interest nor wish, I do assure you, to depreciate myself--and you are
not to think that I have the remotest claim to the Monthyon prize for
good deeds in the way of modesty of self-estimation. Only when I know
you better, as you talk of ... and when _you_ know _me_ too well, ...
the right and the wrong of these conclusions will appear in a fuller
light than ever so much arguing can produce now. Is it unkindly
written of me? _no_--I _feel_ it is not!--and that 'now and ever we
are friends,' (just as you think) _I_ think besides and am happy in
thinking so, and could not be distrustful of you if I tried. So may
God bless you, my ever dear friend--and mind to forget the 'Duchess'
and to remember every good counsel!--Not that I do particularly
confide in the medical oracles. They never did much more for _me_
than, when my pulse was above a hundred and forty with fever, to give
me digitalis to make me weak--and, when I could not move without
fainting (with weakness), to give me quinine to make me feverish
again. Yes--and they could tell from the stethoscope, how very little
was really wrong in me ... if it were not on a vital organ--and how I
should certainly live ... if I didn't die sooner. But then, nothing
_has_ power over affections of the chest, except God and his
winds--and I do hope that an obvious quick remedy may be found for
your head. But _do_ give up the writing and all that does harm!--
Ever yours, my dear friend,