BELLES LETTRES AND OTHERS.
Most of us have been startled to observe how very far real life falls short of the standard of books. The realisation has come home to me with great force after reading whispers of Passion, a collection of love-letters by "Amorosa," which I could not refrain from comparing with certain authentic love-letters (as I suppose I must call them) which happen to be in my possession.
What a contrast! What a melancholy contrast!
Here, for example, is the tender opening of one of "Amorosa's" efforts:
"Beloved,—This morning I saw the sun rise from behind the grey hills that rampart our secluded vale. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, as I watched, the sombre robes of the Night were irradiated and enrosed by the mysterious fires of the Dawn. And herein, my dear one, I seemed to grasp a deathless symbol of the awakening of Love between us, the first slow gilding of our grey lives by the roseate glamour of romance...."
And so on. Now read this, taken from one in my own collection treating of the same subject:—
"Dear Woqgles,—How dare you hint that I'm lazy? As a matter of fact I saw the sunrise only this morning, which reminds me of a story. I daresay you know it already. A small boy decided to keep a diary, and the first entry he made was: '1st January—Got up at 8.15.' His mater objected to this on the ground that got up was too slangy. 'Look at the sun,' she said. 'The sun doesn't get up; it rises.' The same evening, after the boy had gone to bed, she looked at the diary again. There was only one other entry: 'Set at 9.'
Not much of a yarn, is it, Woggles? But still it's good enough for you...."
Or consider this beautiful conclusion:
"... Dear, I am all thine. My soul calls to thee across the night; the beating of my heart cries through the darkness—Thine, thine, thine!
Good night, adored one, good night.
Amorosa."
And contrast it with the following:—
"... And now I must dry up or I shan't be in bed by midnight, and the old man will lose his hair and say I'm ruining my precious constitution. Ta ta. Be a good infant.
Yours, Madge."
"Amorosa's" lover appears to have sent her a bracelet, and must have felt richly repaid when he received this:—
"... As I clasped the slender circlet around my wrist I seemed to hear a voice which said, 'This is pure gold; let your love be pure. It is an emblem of infinity; let your trust be infinite. It is a pledge of fidelity; let your faithfulness be immutable...."
But this is how Madge expresses herself on a similar occasion:—
"... Thanks very much for the bracelet. It seems pretty decent...."
Let me give two other extracts which happen to treat of similar themes. Here is the first:—
"... I heard music surging in great waves of divine beauty from Belnobbio's 'cello, and, magically, wonderfully, it lured and compelled my thoughts, beloved one, to you. In all those immortal harmonies I heard your voice; the Master's rapt features faded into mist, and I saw instead your own grave, strong face. Tell me, what is this power which can so converge all beauties to one centre?..."
And here is the second:—
"... I went to hear Kranzer yesterday, and oh, Woggles, I tell you, he is the edge, the very ultimate edge! I rave over him day and night. I'm madly, head-over-heels, don't-know-how-to-express-it in love with him. I'm going to throw you over and follow him about all round the world, and whenever I get the chance just lie down and let him wipe his boots on me. So—resign yourself to it; you'll probably never see again,
Your fatally smitten Madge."
Occasionally, it is true, there occurs in these deplorable letters just a touch of sentiment, but how crudely, how prosaically expressed. Immediately after the passage quoted above, for instance, I find this:—
"P.S.—Dear old boy, you don't mind when I rag you, do you? Here's just a teeny-weeny × for you. M."
How does "Amorosa" phrase such a sentiment?
"... My lips cannot touch your lips, but my soul seeks yours, and in that spiritual embrace there is something of eternity."
* * * * *
And yet, after all——
