I have been writing 'autographs' (save my _mark_) for the North and
the South to-day ... the Fens, and Golden Square. Somebody asked for
a verse, ... from either 'Catarina' or 'Flush' ... 'those poems' &c.
&c.! Such a concatenation of criticisms. So I preferred Flush of
course--i.e. gave him the preferment.
_R.B. to E.B.B._
Wednesday Morning.
[Post-mark, March 4, 1846.]
Ah, sweetest, don't mind people and their lies any more than I shall;
if the toad _does_ 'take it into his toad's head to spit at you'--you
will not 'drop dead,' I warrant. All the same, if one may make a
circuit through a flower-bed and see the less of his toad-habits and
general ugliness, so much the better--no words can express my entire
indifference (far below _contempt_) for what can be said or done. But
one thing, only one, I choose to hinder being said, if I can--the
others I would not if I could--why prevent the toad's puffing himself
out thrice his black bigness if it amuses him among those wet stones?
We shall be in the sun.
I dare say I am unjust--hasty certainly, in the other matter--but all
faults are such inasmuch as they are 'mistakes of the
intellect'--toads may spit or leave it alone,--but if I ever see it
right, exercising my intellect, to treat any human beings like my
'chattels'--I shall pay for that mistake one day or another, I am
convinced--and I very much fear that you would soon discover what one
fault of mine is, if you were to hear anyone assert such a right in my
presence.
Well, I shall see you to-morrow--had I better come a little later, I
wonder?--half-past three, for instance, staying, as last time, till
... ah, it is ill policy to count my treasure aloud! Or shall I come
at the usual time to-morrow? If I do _not_ hear, at the usual
time!--because, I think you would--am sure you would have considered
and suggested it, were it necessary.
Bless you, dearest--ever your own.
I said nothing about that Mr. Russell and his proposition--by all
means, yes--let him do more good with that noble, pathetic 'lay'--and
do not mind the 'burthen,' if he is peremptory--so that he duly
specify '_by the singer_'--with _that_ precaution nothing but good can
come of his using it.
_E.B.B. to R.B._
Thursday.
[Post-mark, March 6, 1846.]
Ever dearest I lose no time in writing, you see, so as to be written
to at the soonest--and there is another reason which makes me hasten
to write ... it is not all mercantile calculation. I want you to
understand me.
Now listen! I seem to understand myself: it seems to me that every
word I ever said to you on one subject, is plainly referable to a
class of feelings of which you could not complain ... could not. But
this is _my_ impression; and yours is different:--you do not
understand, you do not see by my light, and perhaps it is natural that
you should not, as we stand on different steps of the argument. Still
I, who said what I did, _for you_, and from an absorbing consideration
of what was best _for you_, cannot consent, even out of anxiety for
your futurity, to torment you now, to vex you by a form of speech
which you persist in translating into a want of trust in you ... (_I_,
want trust in you!!) into a need of more evidence about you from
others ... (_could_ you say so?) and even into an indisposition on my
part to fulfil my engagement--no, dearest dearest, it is not right of
you. And therefore, as you have these thoughts reasonably or
unreasonably, I shall punish you for them at once, and 'chain' you ...
(as you wish to be chained), chain you, rivet you--do you feel how the
little fine chain twists round and round you? do you hear the stroke
of the riveting? and you may _feel that_ too. Now, it is done--now,
you are chained--_Bia_ has finished the work--I, _Ba_! (observe the
anagram!) and not a word do you say, of Prometheus, though you have
the conscience of it all, I dare say. Well! you must be pleased, ...
as it was 'the weight of too much liberty' which offended you: and now
you believe, perhaps, that I trust you, love you, and look to you over
the heads of the whole living world, without any one head needing to
stoop; you _must_, if you please, because you belong to me now and
shall believe as I choose. There's a ukase for you! Cry out ... repent
... and I will loose the links, and let you go again--_shall_ it be
'_My dear Miss Barrett_?'
Seriously, you shall not think of me such things as you half said, if
not whole said, to-day. If all men were to speak evil of you, my heart
would speak of you the more good--_that_ would be the one result with
_me_. Do I not know you, soul to soul? should I believe that any of
them could know you as I know you? Then for the rest, I am not afraid
of 'toads' now, not being a child any longer. I am not inclined to
mind, if _you_ do not mind, what may be said about us by the
benevolent world, nor will other reasons of a graver kind affect me
otherwise than by the necessary pain. Therefore the whole rests with
you--unless illness should intervene--and you will be kind and good
(will you not?) and not think hard thoughts of me ever again--no. It
wasn't the sense of being less than you had a right to pretend to,
which made me speak what you disliked--for it is _I_ who am
'unworthy,' and not another--not certainly that other!
I meant to write more to-night of subjects farther off us, but my
sisters have come up-stairs and I must close my letter quickly.
Beloved, take care of your head! Ah, do not write poems, nor read, nor
neglect the walking, nor take that shower-bath. _Will_ you, instead,
try the warm bathing? Surely the experiment is worth making for a
little while. Dearest beloved, do it for your own