[Paris] 3: Rue du Colisee:
Monday, January 29, 1856 [postmark].

Dearest Fanny,--I can't get over it that you should fancy I meant to
'banter' you.[47] If I wrote lightly, it was partly that _you_ wrote
lightly, and partly perhaps because at bottom I wasn't light at all.
When one feels out of spirits, it's the most natural thing possible to
be extravagantly gay; now, isn't it?

And now believe me with what truth and earnestness of heart I am
interested in all that concerns you; and this is every woman's chief
concern, of course, this great fact of love and marriage. My advice is,
be sure of him _first_, and of yourself _chiefly_. For the rest I would
marry ('if I were a woman,' I was going to say), though the whole world
spouted fire in my face. Marriage is a personal matter, be sure, and the
nearest and wisest can't judge for you. If you can make up two hundred a
year between you, or less even, there is no pecuniary obstacle in my
eyes. People may live very cheaply and very happily if they are happy
otherwise.

As for me, my only way was to cut the knot--because it was an untieable
knot--and because my fingers generally are not strong at untieing. What
do you mean by Mr. Kenyon's backing me? Nobody backed me except the
north wind which blew us vehemently out of England. Mr. Kenyon knew no
more of the affair than you did, though he was very kind afterwards and
took my part. And as to money, there was (and is) little enough. It was
a case of pure madness (for people of the world), just like table-moving
and spirit-rapping and the 'hands'!

But you, my dear friend, I do earnestly entreat you to consider if you
are sure of principles, sentiment--and _of yourself_. Because, whether
you know it or not, you are happily situated _now_ as far as exterior
circumstances are concerned. They are not worth much, but they have
their worth. They give you liberty to follow your own devices, to think
the beautiful and feel the noble; to live out, in short, your individual
life, which it is so hard to do in marriage, even where you marry
worthily.

I say this probably 'as one who beateth the air;' yet you _must_
consider that I who say it, and who say it _emphatically_, consider a
happy marriage as the happiest state, and that all pecuniary reasons
against love are both ineffectual and _stupid_.

Flippancy, flippancy, of course. London would be better (for your
friends) as a residence for you, than Wittemberg can be; and for that,
and no other account, I could be sorry that you did not settle _so_.

Well, never mind! The description sounds excellently; almost
over-romantic, though. Is there steadiness, do you think, and depth, and
reliableness altogether? What impression does he make among those who
have known him longest? Dearest Fanny, do nothing in haste.

Now I am going to tell you something which has vexed me, and continues
to vex me. The clock. If you knew Robert, you never would have asked
him. He has a sort of mania about shops, and won't buy his own gloves.
He bought a pair of boots the other day (because I went down on my knees
to ask him, and the water was running in through his soles), and he will
not soon get over it. Without exaggeration, he would rather leap down
among the lions after your glove, as the knight of old, than walk into a
shop for you. If I could but go out, there would be no difficulties; but
I am shut up in my winter prison, in spite of the extraordinarily mild
weather, through having suffered so much in the beginning of the winter.
I asked Sarianna; she also shrinks from the responsibility; is afraid of
not pleasing you, &c. The end of it all is that Mrs. Haworth will think
us all very disobliging barbarians, and that really I am vexed. Why not
ask Mrs. Cochrane to get the thing for you? You can but ask, at any
rate.

I am very anxious just now about dear Mr. Kenyon, who has been
alarmingly ill, and is only better, I fear. Miss Bayley wrote to tell
me, and added that he was going to Cowes when he could move, which
pleases me; for only change of air and liberation from London air can
complete his convalescence.

For the rest, I am busy beyond description; but never too much so, mind,
dear Fanny, to be glad to get your letters. Write soon. Your ever
affectionate

E.B.B.