Letter from Charlotte Cushman to Jane Carlyle, [Nov 16, 1861]
Dublin Core
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The note which came to me on me 8th of Septr has made a part of my every day since then. You who believe in the most subtle magnetism, will credit this, for you willed it to be so when you said "I do love you, I do want to hear from you." You know you were then buckling me to with firm clasp of a strong loving nature.... possess the assurance under your hand as well as Eyes that you cared for me made & makes me very rich indeed! But now comes the difficulty. This same precious note which makes me just as proud and happy when I read it today, as I did the day I received it—said "You will WRITE to me when you are settled!" I mean when you have "leisure of mind & body!" I don't want a letter written in a "worry of things'" Alas, if I for this Utopia you never hear from me, from those who knowing from all time my almost necessitated life of unsettled unrest & "worry of things " recognize the fitness of the destiny the unworthy droppings from my pen, for just what they worth.. cannot write to you. I love you but I fear you & my sad blushes as I recognise fear within the fear that it may be more my self love which fears you than heart. You are so wonderful to me. I think of you ever—and said & did on that first & only day I saw you when a new heaven & new earth revealed to me. I remember all your looks all your tones all your unchecked flow of words—all your far seeings—all your subtle fancies—your facile dissection—your graphic description — your inimitable behariour—your perfect knowledge of & yet indifference to what you were doing—your self possession—your Evident indwelling sense of power to have and to hold. liven that whicn ridiculous through its unfitness the indomitable frankness which you held it up to view—all, all, all, are stamped upon my memory—with an electric fire which burns me yet! I find you marvellous! What have I to do Communion with such! What though I am kindly bidden can I offer in Exchange? Oh point of soul & nature should I think of barter—can I not accept the bounty & be thankful. Offer that I am without this miserable self rising up to refuse an obligation. There is one of you—none other in the world like you! I cannot hope to speak or think or write like you. Why should I not minister in my own poor way? Because want your respect—I want your care for me—your thoughts of me to be as good as my admiration of you & I fear to lose all through my desire to possess all. But cannot bear not to hear from you, . . To hear of Cheyne Row through Barnsbury Park [the Dilberoglues] is very dear to me—but I want more the crumbs fell from your table [which] will make high Carnival for me and cannot wait any longer in the hope that I shall Ever be "settled." Ever have "leisure of mind or body" Ever be less occupied With the "worry of things."... Dear Soul, will not misjudge you, I will not misdoubt you.... I will beg you to write me when you can. Let me hear from you be it Ever so little. Tell me of yourself if you are well—if you have Enjoyed your Summer—if you have thought of me and to know of me! [...] with loving sincerity to faithfully affectionately / Charlotte Cushman
