_E.B.B. to R.B._
Tuesday Evening.
[Post-mark, March 25, 1846.]
Ah; if I '_do_' ... if I '_should_' ... if I _shall_ ... if I _will_
... if I _must_ ... what can all the 'ifs' prove, but a most
hypothetical state of the conscience? And in brief, I beg you to
stand convinced of one thing, that whenever the 'certain time' comes
for to 'hate writing to me' confessedly, 'avowedly,' (oh what words!)
_I shall not like it at all_--not for all the explanations ... and the
sights in gondola chairs, which the person seen is none the better
for! The [Greek: eidôlon] sits by the fire--the real Ba is cold at
heart through wanting her letter. And that's the doctrine to be
preached now, ... is it? I 'shrink,' shrink from it. That's your
word!--and mine! Dearest, I began by half a jest and end by
half-gravity, which is the fault of your doctrine and not of me I
think. Yet it is ungrateful to be grave, when practically you are good
and just about the letters, and generous too sometimes, and I could
not bear the idea of obliging you to write to me, even once ...
when.... Now do not fancy that I do not understand. I understand
perfectly, on the contrary. Only do _you_ try not to dislike writing
when you write, or not to write when you dislike it ... _that_, I ask
of you, dear dearest--and forgive me for all this over-writing and
teazing and vexing which is foolish and womanish in the bad sense. It
is a way of meeting, ... the meeting in letters, ... and next to
receiving a letter from you, I like to write one to you ... and, so,
revolt from thinking it lawful for you to dislike.... Well! the
Goddess of Dulness herself couldn't have written _this_ better,
anyway, nor more characteristically.
I will tell you how it is. You have spoilt me just as I have spoilt
Flush. Flush looks at me sometimes with reproachful eyes 'a fendre le
coeur,' because I refuse to give him my fur cuffs to tear to pieces.
And as for myself, I confess to being more than half jealous of the
[Greek: eidôlon] in the gondola chair, who isn't the real Ba after
all, and yet is set up there to do away with the necessity 'at certain
times' of writing to her. Which is worse than Flush. For Flush, though
he began by shivering with rage and barking and howling and gnashing
his teeth at the brown dog in the glass, has learnt by experience what
that image means, ... and now contemplates it, serene in natural
philosophy. Most excellent sense, all this is!--and dauntlessly
'delivered!'
Your head aches, dearest. Mr. Moxon will have done his worst, however,
presently, and then you will be a little better I do hope and
trust--and the proofs, in the meanwhile, will do somewhat less harm
than the manuscript. You will take heart again about 'Luria' ... which
I agree with you, is more diffuse ... that is, less close, than any of
your works, not diffuse in any bad sense, but round, copious, and
another proof of that wonderful variety of faculty which is so
striking in you, and which signalizes itself both in the thought and
in the medium of the thought. You will appreciate 'Luria' in time--or
others will do it for you. It is a noble work under every aspect. Dear
'Luria'! Do you remember how you told me of 'Luria' last year, in one
of your early letters? Little I thought that ever, ever, I should feel
so, while 'Luria' went to be printed! A long trail of thoughts, like
the rack in the sky, follows his going. Can it be the same 'Luria,' I
think, that 'golden-hearted Luria,' whom you talked of to me, when you
complained of keeping 'wild company,' in the old dear letter? And I
have learnt since, that '_golden-hearted_' is not a word for him only,
or for him most. May God bless you, best and dearest! I am your own to
live and to die--