Part 19 (1/2)

On the subject of your letter--quite irrespective of the injunction in it--I would not have dared speak; now, at least. But I may permit myself, perhaps, to say I am _most_ grateful, _most grateful_, dearest friend, for this admission to partic.i.p.ate, in my degree, in these feelings. There is a better thing than being happy in your happiness; I feel, now that you teach me, it is so. I will write no more now; though that sentence of 'what you are _expecting_,--that I shall be tired of you &c.,'--though I _could_ blot that out of your mind for ever by a very few words _now_,--for you _would believe_ me at this moment, close on the other subject:--but I will take no such advantage--I will wait.

I have many things (indifferent things, after those) to say; will you write, if but a few lines, to change the a.s.sociations for that purpose? Then I will write too.--

May G.o.d bless you,--in what is past and to come! I pray that from my heart, being yours

R.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Wednesday Morning, [Post-mark, August 27, 1845.]

But your 'Saul' is un.o.bjectionable as far as I can see, my dear friend. He was tormented by an evil spirit--but how, we are not told ... and the consolation is not obliged to be definite, ... is it? A singer was sent for as a singer--and all that you are called upon to be true to, are the general characteristics of David the chosen, standing between his sheep and his dawning hereafter, between innocence and holiness, and with what you speak of as the 'gracious gold locks' besides the chrism of the prophet, on his own head--and surely you have been happy in the tone and spirit of these lyrics ...

broken as you have left them. Where is the wrong in all this? For the right and beauty, they are more obvious--and I cannot tell you how the poem holds me and will not let me go until it blesses me ... and so, where are the 'sixty lines' thrown away? I do beseech you ... you who forget nothing, ... to remember them directly, and to go on with the rest ... _as_ directly (be it understood) as is not injurious to your health. The whole conception of the poem, I like ... and the execution is exquisite up to this point--and the sight of Saul in the tent, just struck out of the dark by that sunbeam, 'a thing to see,' ... not to say that afterwards when he is visibly 'caught in his fangs' like the king serpent, ... the sight is grander still. How could you doubt about this poem....

At the moment of writing which, I receive your note. Do _you_ receive my a.s.surances from the deepest of my heart that I never did otherwise than _'believe' you_ ... never did nor shall do ... and that you completely misinterpreted my words if you drew another meaning from them. Believe _me_ in this--will you? I could not believe _you_ any more for anything you could say, now or hereafter--and so do not avenge yourself on my unwary sentences by remembering them against me for evil. I did not mean to vex you ... still less to suspect you--indeed I did not! and moreover it was quite your fault that I did not blot it out after it was written, whatever the meaning was. So you forgive me (altogether) for your own sins: you must:--

For my part, though I have been sorry since to have written you such a gloomy letter, the sorrow unmakes itself in hearing you speak so kindly. Your sympathy is precious to me, I may say. May G.o.d bless you.

Write and tell me among the 'indifferent things' something not indifferent, how you are yourself, I mean ... for I fear you are not well and thought you were not looking so yesterday.

Dearest friend, I remain yours,

E.B.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Friday Evening.

[Post-mark, August 30, 1845].

I do not hear; and come to you to ask the alms of just one line, having taken it into my head that something is the matter. It is not so much exactingness on my part, as that you spoke of meaning to write as soon as you received a note of mine ... which went to you five minutes afterwards ... which is three days ago, or will be when you read this. Are you not well--or what? Though I have tried and _wished_ to remember having written in the last note something very or even a little offensive to you, I failed in it and go back to the worse fear.

For you could not be vexed with me for talking of what was 'your fault' ... 'your own fault,' viz. in having to read sentences which, but for your commands, would have been blotted out. You could not very well take _that_ for serious blame! from _me_ too, who have so much reason and provocation for blaming the archangel Gabriel.--No--you could not misinterpret so,--and if you could not, and if you are not displeased with me, you must be unwell, I think. I took for granted yesterday that you had gone out as before--but to-night it is different--and so I come to ask you to be kind enough to write one word for me by some post to-morrow. Now remember ... I am not asking for a letter--but for a _word_ ... or line strictly speaking.

Ever yours, dear friend,

E.B.B.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

[Post-mark, August 30, 1845.]

This sweet Autumn Evening, Friday, comes all golden into the room and makes me write to you--not think of you--yet what shall I write?

It must be for another time ... after Monday, when I am to see you, you know, and hear if the headache be gone, since your note would not round to the perfection of kindness and comfort, and tell me so.

G.o.d bless my dearest friend.