Rose Without a Thorn~Letters (A short diversion *G*)
Posted on Sunday, 27 April 2003
London, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
Have you ever been sitting at your desk, knowing that you want
to write to the person you love most in this world but not being
able to form a proper sentence? Looking down at the floor I see
about fifteen disrupted pieces of paper, proof that I'm not very
proficient at letter-writing but what else is new? I can see
your brows lifting themselves at this most senseless babbling
but also your lovely smile. Am I forgiven for being too much in
love to know how to put it into words?
I marvel at your ability to write the most beautiful, most
affectionate letters for not only are they gardens of flowers,
sweet smells and gentle butterflies but also sincere, deep and
rooted in the very core of your love and desire to be loved.
Having revealed frankly once what I was feeling I may do so now,
trusting that you will not be offended by it. As my life
progressed I was the target of many passions, feelings and
desires which aroused my pity and indifference rather than love
or regard. Being brought up in a family where even the thought
of acting on feelings or making a choice for love was regarded
as a folly I developed some sort of aloofness which proved to be
a curse rather than a blessing which you, ange adorable, know
best, I dare say.
Were it not for you and your benevolence and goodwill I may as
well have ended up as a bitter old man. For seven years now
we've been living together, spending our youth in love and
friendship. Being realistic rather than romantic I know that
what we have is neither typical nor a given and I want you to
know that I thank God daily for making you a part of my life.
But, as usual, I'm straying from my original point, please
forgive me.
Of all the feelings I've stirred there was one and only one
except for you which was sincere, tender and loving but I failed
to realise it. Before I met you my family had formed my life
before I was capable of uttering a word, not to speak of
deciding how I would live my life. My excellent parents had been
married for about three years and were pleased at my birth,
especially because my poor mother had miscarried two infants
previously. As a baby I was spoiled, perhaps my fastidiousness
of later times had started right there. But after four years a
blow struck my entire family and it was I who was blamed for it
though it was none of my doing. A respectable doctor, summoned
because my mother had not conceived in years and was eager to
know why, told her that by giving birth to me something within
her was destroyed for good and that there would be no more
children. My mother, God bless her, bore the news with grace and
strength as did my father who, a firm stoic, refused to give way
to his feelings.
Ever since then he kept me at a distance, as an innocent child I
was incapable of seeing through his facade and even though I was
the sole heir my father avoided me, rarely spoke to me and never
allowed me to call him anything but Sir, the most intimate name
for him was Father, a name rarely used because he insisted on
formality rather than natural regard.
As the years progressed my father became bitter and lonely, his
dogs were the only ones whose company he enjoyed. My mother,
feeling absolutely ashamed bore a guilt which never existed for
twelve years after I was born she found herself to be pregnant
again. But as hopeful as I was there was no way of turning back
the clock. And that the child was a girl did nothing to break
the wall of ice between us. I myself was infatuated with my
little sister ever since I beheld her first. For years she was
the only person in this world whom I truly loved. Not my
betrothed, whom I rarely saw, not my friends and certainly not
my parents whose silence I had come to tolerate but fail to
understand to this day.
Yes, as revolting as this may sound to you, my beloved
Elizabeth, I've been engaged before I met you. My mother's
sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had lost her husband after
three years of marriage. She had just given birth to her
daughter Anne. Her constitution was frail and sickly, the
doctors did not think she would survive but thank heavens she
did and blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Anne and I rarely
met and even though she was wearing a ring my parents had sent
her when they decided that we should be married I never saw much
in her. Her quiet nature, her calm were nothing to a young man
who had just come back from studying abroad, I liked her but
never much thought of her as my future bride.
I grieved for her when she was suffering from pneumonia but
didn't give it much thought for I had gone through this ailment
without any serious problem. How was I to know that she would
never recover from it? Ever since then she was plagued by a
violent cough and constant fever. I spent to further thought on
her and when my father died I broke off the engagement on the
grounds of being too closely related to the woman in question.
As much as I was reproached by her mother I didn't receive one
harsh word from Anne. At that time I was merely glad of having
escaped such a match but looking back I see now what incredible
suffering I inflicted on her.
I was only to find out when I was called at her side to witness
her premature death at mere nineteen. Another bout of fever had
consumed all her resources and it was obvious that it would be
lethal this time. Lady Catherine had taken to her bed because
she was totally distraught but I stayed with her until she died
at night, only two days after I had arrived. We didn't speak
much because her lips were burning from the fever but before she
died she squeezed my hand gently and gave me a smile. A smile so
sincere and angelic that I thought it would kill me. Her burning
lips started to bleed because of the strain which the smile had
inflicted upon them but she didn't stop smiling at me until she
died with a gentle sigh. Her departure was redemption for her
but I, who was supposed to comfort her mother and the family,
felt as if I had lost a treasure I didn't even attempt to value.
Do not take this as a degradation of the love I feel for you but
as a confession of a soul deeply in need of the comfort only you
can give.
I never loved Anne and wouldn't love her today but I may have
acted otherwise if I had known. My angel, what did this cause in
your mind? I would be forever grateful to you if you could tell
me what you think. Please, do not think ill of me, though I
understand that you may feel duped by me, which was never my
intention.
I must conclude now, writing this was draining and painful but I
will never regret sharing everything with you for I know that
you'll understand me as you always do.
William
Pemberley, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
First let me thank you for this long letter, though it was hard
for me to read it all in one sitting. There is nothing to
forgive if you're too much in love, my dearest.
I was moved at your words on your childhood, reading how you
grew up in a world bare of almost any feelings was distressing
and alarming. Remembering my words and actions before our
engagement I can only offer my most sincere compassion. There
was, however, something at which I cannot put my finger on yet.
Did your mother distance herself from you as well? How terrible
it must have been to grow up with so little support and
affection from those who were bound to love you most.
Let me assure you that, though pained by it, I'm not revolted by
your previous engagement. For now it is my turn to confess
something I never told you. I know about it, I know about it
ever since our engagement. How may wonder how all this came
about and I'm willing to explain it. When our engagement was
announced I was the happiest of women until a most disturbing
visitor called on me. She introduced herself as your aunt and
demanded to speak to me without greeting my mother or paying
respect to my relations. Even though she assumed that I knew
perfectly why she had come to see me I had to admit that I had
no knowledge of it whatsoever. Ignoring my agitation she rambled
on about the most distressing misfortune which I had inflicted
on your family and, to top her arrogance, she demanded me to
renounce you forever. I refused most ardently but then she
played out her most shocking card, your engagement to her
daughter. Yet she admitted that it was dissolved before you even
set eyes on me but she insisted that if I were gone you'd take
Anne back.
Not willing to endure any more insults I asked her to leave and
was obeyed but also had some most terrible threats thrown at me.
She swore that she would make your family hate me and that she'd
do anything in her power to do our marriage harm. Now that you
know this you may understand why I never cared much for Lady
Catherine and wasn't truly mourning her when she passed away a
year ago.
As for the hell you must have gone through when you saw Anne die
please believe me that I grieve for her and that I harbor no ill
feeling or jealousy for her. My heart sank when I read about her
final moments but thinking about it lifted my spirits. Anne was
happy with you there, let her strength give you courage, be
inspired by her steady regard for you and do not let her love
weaken you for I doubt that she wished you to be unhappy but to
live a life of bliss. I see no reason for blaming you any
further, if Anne forgave you, why can't you forgive yourself?
Let her forgiveness be a light to lead you through her life, a
blessing to be worthy of and redemption of all the guilt you are
feeling because you dissolved your engagement to her.
To my eyes Anne revealed herself to be a strong and most
courageous woman, a woman who did not yield to weakness of body
but clinged to her strong character and thus managed to be a
paragon to all of us. I hope that my words could give you
comfort and that you may bear it easier now. My love, I miss you
most cruelly as do the children. Little Janet never seizes to
ask when her dearest Papa will be back and Richard can't wait to
show you the boat he built all by himself. And thus I remain
your loving wife,
Elizabeth
London, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
Mon ange, I thank you most exceedingly for your letter and the
encouragement it gave me. Once more you showed insight I can
only admire with humility for I never would have thought of it
that way. This is one of your virtues I love most, your ability
to see the positive side of everything. Where I could only see
suffering you saw strength, compassion and nobility, what does
this reveal about me? That I, with what I thought was a
privileged upbringing, must look up to you whose wisdom and love
are a shining paragon to us all.
You asked me about my mother, a person harder to describe than
my father but I shall give it a try. My mother was a warm-
hearted friendly woman who never meddled in anything except the
education of her children and her duties as mistress of
Pemberley. She married my father at seventeen, he was more than
ten years her senior. This difference of age may not have been a
problem in their life as a couple but it was a hurdle for their
life as partners in a marriage.
My father, being an ardent admirer of literature and art didn't
have much to say to my mother who preferred horses and nature
over every written word or artistry. Sometimes they'd spend
hours together without uttering a word. With time she became
content with her lot and gave up riding and breeding roses for
her family and her rank. But she wasn't happy, at thirty-two she
looked like fifty and she died more of a broken heart than of
childbirth I suppose. My father blamed the baby of course and
never cared for Georgiana, this is why she is afraid of men and
easily impressed by those who appear kind and loving.
After about eight years I didn't make any more attempts to
revive my mother's happy disposition as I had known it when I
was very little. She didn't let anyone enter the world she had
built for herself and to be completely honest, I believe she was
yearning for death. I lost her when I was twelve, she had just
given birth to Georgiana. As much as I adored my little sister,
she couldn't replace the loving mother I had known as a toddler.
My fond memories of her never faded, I cling to them to this
day.
Please embrace the children for me and tell them that I shall be
home in about a week. I miss you all and cannot wait to take you
in my arms again.
Your loving husband,
William
My beloved and my friend,
Richard urged me to write to you and tell you about his new boat which
isn't made of paper but of wood this time! As if I wouldn't write to
you on my own, he's already learning from you, my love. Of course I'm
only talking in jest but I Couldn't resist! And yes, of wood, your son
has been an eager pupil of his dear Papa and has lived up to his
expectations as a Captain, I guess. He sends you his love and a big
kiss. I can still see you two down at the lake playing with the paper-
boats. I had never seen you as happy; with your sleeves rolled up on
your arms and rid of cravat and waistcoat you looked just as
irresistible as ever.
I want to urge you to remember your mother as she was, I agree with
you here. As you know, I too have parents who have little in common
and I can truly understand how you must have felt. I admire your
strength in holding your mother dear to your heart as you do, this is
not an easy task. Always remember than our life can be compared to a
rose, planted by God, growing and blossoming, being at its peak and
dying in the frost but leaving an everlasting impression on those who
enjoyed the sweet perfume, the colour of the petals and the beauty of
the bud. And if nurtured well new buds are formed each year, being our
children, grandchildren and so forth. But there is no rose without a
thorn and they stand for life's difficulties and tragedies. If we had
no rain at all we would not esteem the sunlight as we are bound to.
I shall conclude with some happy news; my beloved, we shall have
another child in about six months. May this be a sign for us to
rejoice and be to our children what we wanted our parents to be to us.
I believe we're on the right path and as long as we walk together no
thorn can be hurtful enough to tear us apart. Just as the world needs
sunshine and rain to survive we need happiness and tragedies to remind
us that we're mortals and not above God's law. As long as we don't
despair there is nothing which we cannot go through together.
Your loving wife,
Elizabeth
A smile of radiant joy enlightened Darcy's face as he kissed his
wife's signature and breathed in the light perfume which her hand had
left on it.
~Finis~
Posted on Sunday, 27 April 2003
London, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
Have you ever been sitting at your desk, knowing that you want
to write to the person you love most in this world but not being
able to form a proper sentence? Looking down at the floor I see
about fifteen disrupted pieces of paper, proof that I'm not very
proficient at letter-writing but what else is new? I can see
your brows lifting themselves at this most senseless babbling
but also your lovely smile. Am I forgiven for being too much in
love to know how to put it into words?
I marvel at your ability to write the most beautiful, most
affectionate letters for not only are they gardens of flowers,
sweet smells and gentle butterflies but also sincere, deep and
rooted in the very core of your love and desire to be loved.
Having revealed frankly once what I was feeling I may do so now,
trusting that you will not be offended by it. As my life
progressed I was the target of many passions, feelings and
desires which aroused my pity and indifference rather than love
or regard. Being brought up in a family where even the thought
of acting on feelings or making a choice for love was regarded
as a folly I developed some sort of aloofness which proved to be
a curse rather than a blessing which you, ange adorable, know
best, I dare say.
Were it not for you and your benevolence and goodwill I may as
well have ended up as a bitter old man. For seven years now
we've been living together, spending our youth in love and
friendship. Being realistic rather than romantic I know that
what we have is neither typical nor a given and I want you to
know that I thank God daily for making you a part of my life.
But, as usual, I'm straying from my original point, please
forgive me.
Of all the feelings I've stirred there was one and only one
except for you which was sincere, tender and loving but I failed
to realise it. Before I met you my family had formed my life
before I was capable of uttering a word, not to speak of
deciding how I would live my life. My excellent parents had been
married for about three years and were pleased at my birth,
especially because my poor mother had miscarried two infants
previously. As a baby I was spoiled, perhaps my fastidiousness
of later times had started right there. But after four years a
blow struck my entire family and it was I who was blamed for it
though it was none of my doing. A respectable doctor, summoned
because my mother had not conceived in years and was eager to
know why, told her that by giving birth to me something within
her was destroyed for good and that there would be no more
children. My mother, God bless her, bore the news with grace and
strength as did my father who, a firm stoic, refused to give way
to his feelings.
Ever since then he kept me at a distance, as an innocent child I
was incapable of seeing through his facade and even though I was
the sole heir my father avoided me, rarely spoke to me and never
allowed me to call him anything but Sir, the most intimate name
for him was Father, a name rarely used because he insisted on
formality rather than natural regard.
As the years progressed my father became bitter and lonely, his
dogs were the only ones whose company he enjoyed. My mother,
feeling absolutely ashamed bore a guilt which never existed for
twelve years after I was born she found herself to be pregnant
again. But as hopeful as I was there was no way of turning back
the clock. And that the child was a girl did nothing to break
the wall of ice between us. I myself was infatuated with my
little sister ever since I beheld her first. For years she was
the only person in this world whom I truly loved. Not my
betrothed, whom I rarely saw, not my friends and certainly not
my parents whose silence I had come to tolerate but fail to
understand to this day.
Yes, as revolting as this may sound to you, my beloved
Elizabeth, I've been engaged before I met you. My mother's
sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had lost her husband after
three years of marriage. She had just given birth to her
daughter Anne. Her constitution was frail and sickly, the
doctors did not think she would survive but thank heavens she
did and blossomed into a beautiful young girl. Anne and I rarely
met and even though she was wearing a ring my parents had sent
her when they decided that we should be married I never saw much
in her. Her quiet nature, her calm were nothing to a young man
who had just come back from studying abroad, I liked her but
never much thought of her as my future bride.
I grieved for her when she was suffering from pneumonia but
didn't give it much thought for I had gone through this ailment
without any serious problem. How was I to know that she would
never recover from it? Ever since then she was plagued by a
violent cough and constant fever. I spent to further thought on
her and when my father died I broke off the engagement on the
grounds of being too closely related to the woman in question.
As much as I was reproached by her mother I didn't receive one
harsh word from Anne. At that time I was merely glad of having
escaped such a match but looking back I see now what incredible
suffering I inflicted on her.
I was only to find out when I was called at her side to witness
her premature death at mere nineteen. Another bout of fever had
consumed all her resources and it was obvious that it would be
lethal this time. Lady Catherine had taken to her bed because
she was totally distraught but I stayed with her until she died
at night, only two days after I had arrived. We didn't speak
much because her lips were burning from the fever but before she
died she squeezed my hand gently and gave me a smile. A smile so
sincere and angelic that I thought it would kill me. Her burning
lips started to bleed because of the strain which the smile had
inflicted upon them but she didn't stop smiling at me until she
died with a gentle sigh. Her departure was redemption for her
but I, who was supposed to comfort her mother and the family,
felt as if I had lost a treasure I didn't even attempt to value.
Do not take this as a degradation of the love I feel for you but
as a confession of a soul deeply in need of the comfort only you
can give.
I never loved Anne and wouldn't love her today but I may have
acted otherwise if I had known. My angel, what did this cause in
your mind? I would be forever grateful to you if you could tell
me what you think. Please, do not think ill of me, though I
understand that you may feel duped by me, which was never my
intention.
I must conclude now, writing this was draining and painful but I
will never regret sharing everything with you for I know that
you'll understand me as you always do.
William
Pemberley, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
First let me thank you for this long letter, though it was hard
for me to read it all in one sitting. There is nothing to
forgive if you're too much in love, my dearest.
I was moved at your words on your childhood, reading how you
grew up in a world bare of almost any feelings was distressing
and alarming. Remembering my words and actions before our
engagement I can only offer my most sincere compassion. There
was, however, something at which I cannot put my finger on yet.
Did your mother distance herself from you as well? How terrible
it must have been to grow up with so little support and
affection from those who were bound to love you most.
Let me assure you that, though pained by it, I'm not revolted by
your previous engagement. For now it is my turn to confess
something I never told you. I know about it, I know about it
ever since our engagement. How may wonder how all this came
about and I'm willing to explain it. When our engagement was
announced I was the happiest of women until a most disturbing
visitor called on me. She introduced herself as your aunt and
demanded to speak to me without greeting my mother or paying
respect to my relations. Even though she assumed that I knew
perfectly why she had come to see me I had to admit that I had
no knowledge of it whatsoever. Ignoring my agitation she rambled
on about the most distressing misfortune which I had inflicted
on your family and, to top her arrogance, she demanded me to
renounce you forever. I refused most ardently but then she
played out her most shocking card, your engagement to her
daughter. Yet she admitted that it was dissolved before you even
set eyes on me but she insisted that if I were gone you'd take
Anne back.
Not willing to endure any more insults I asked her to leave and
was obeyed but also had some most terrible threats thrown at me.
She swore that she would make your family hate me and that she'd
do anything in her power to do our marriage harm. Now that you
know this you may understand why I never cared much for Lady
Catherine and wasn't truly mourning her when she passed away a
year ago.
As for the hell you must have gone through when you saw Anne die
please believe me that I grieve for her and that I harbor no ill
feeling or jealousy for her. My heart sank when I read about her
final moments but thinking about it lifted my spirits. Anne was
happy with you there, let her strength give you courage, be
inspired by her steady regard for you and do not let her love
weaken you for I doubt that she wished you to be unhappy but to
live a life of bliss. I see no reason for blaming you any
further, if Anne forgave you, why can't you forgive yourself?
Let her forgiveness be a light to lead you through her life, a
blessing to be worthy of and redemption of all the guilt you are
feeling because you dissolved your engagement to her.
To my eyes Anne revealed herself to be a strong and most
courageous woman, a woman who did not yield to weakness of body
but clinged to her strong character and thus managed to be a
paragon to all of us. I hope that my words could give you
comfort and that you may bear it easier now. My love, I miss you
most cruelly as do the children. Little Janet never seizes to
ask when her dearest Papa will be back and Richard can't wait to
show you the boat he built all by himself. And thus I remain
your loving wife,
Elizabeth
London, 1821
My beloved and my friend,
Mon ange, I thank you most exceedingly for your letter and the
encouragement it gave me. Once more you showed insight I can
only admire with humility for I never would have thought of it
that way. This is one of your virtues I love most, your ability
to see the positive side of everything. Where I could only see
suffering you saw strength, compassion and nobility, what does
this reveal about me? That I, with what I thought was a
privileged upbringing, must look up to you whose wisdom and love
are a shining paragon to us all.
You asked me about my mother, a person harder to describe than
my father but I shall give it a try. My mother was a warm-
hearted friendly woman who never meddled in anything except the
education of her children and her duties as mistress of
Pemberley. She married my father at seventeen, he was more than
ten years her senior. This difference of age may not have been a
problem in their life as a couple but it was a hurdle for their
life as partners in a marriage.
My father, being an ardent admirer of literature and art didn't
have much to say to my mother who preferred horses and nature
over every written word or artistry. Sometimes they'd spend
hours together without uttering a word. With time she became
content with her lot and gave up riding and breeding roses for
her family and her rank. But she wasn't happy, at thirty-two she
looked like fifty and she died more of a broken heart than of
childbirth I suppose. My father blamed the baby of course and
never cared for Georgiana, this is why she is afraid of men and
easily impressed by those who appear kind and loving.
After about eight years I didn't make any more attempts to
revive my mother's happy disposition as I had known it when I
was very little. She didn't let anyone enter the world she had
built for herself and to be completely honest, I believe she was
yearning for death. I lost her when I was twelve, she had just
given birth to Georgiana. As much as I adored my little sister,
she couldn't replace the loving mother I had known as a toddler.
My fond memories of her never faded, I cling to them to this
day.
Please embrace the children for me and tell them that I shall be
home in about a week. I miss you all and cannot wait to take you
in my arms again.
Your loving husband,
William
My beloved and my friend,
Richard urged me to write to you and tell you about his new boat which
isn't made of paper but of wood this time! As if I wouldn't write to
you on my own, he's already learning from you, my love. Of course I'm
only talking in jest but I Couldn't resist! And yes, of wood, your son
has been an eager pupil of his dear Papa and has lived up to his
expectations as a Captain, I guess. He sends you his love and a big
kiss. I can still see you two down at the lake playing with the paper-
boats. I had never seen you as happy; with your sleeves rolled up on
your arms and rid of cravat and waistcoat you looked just as
irresistible as ever.
I want to urge you to remember your mother as she was, I agree with
you here. As you know, I too have parents who have little in common
and I can truly understand how you must have felt. I admire your
strength in holding your mother dear to your heart as you do, this is
not an easy task. Always remember than our life can be compared to a
rose, planted by God, growing and blossoming, being at its peak and
dying in the frost but leaving an everlasting impression on those who
enjoyed the sweet perfume, the colour of the petals and the beauty of
the bud. And if nurtured well new buds are formed each year, being our
children, grandchildren and so forth. But there is no rose without a
thorn and they stand for life's difficulties and tragedies. If we had
no rain at all we would not esteem the sunlight as we are bound to.
I shall conclude with some happy news; my beloved, we shall have
another child in about six months. May this be a sign for us to
rejoice and be to our children what we wanted our parents to be to us.
I believe we're on the right path and as long as we walk together no
thorn can be hurtful enough to tear us apart. Just as the world needs
sunshine and rain to survive we need happiness and tragedies to remind
us that we're mortals and not above God's law. As long as we don't
despair there is nothing which we cannot go through together.
Your loving wife,
Elizabeth
A smile of radiant joy enlightened Darcy's face as he kissed his
wife's signature and breathed in the light perfume which her hand had
left on it.
~Finis~