The Wings of Icarus | Page 7

"Volsunga Saga," and have begun Tolstoi's
"Cossacks." I am trying, too, to continue my mother's translation of
"Prometheus," but the difference between my work and hers is so great
that I sometimes lose heart. However, I shall try to finish it. Her
beautiful face and yours look down at me from the shelf above my
writing-table, amidst a wealth of flowers; and, as I look up, I can see
the sun setting behind the beech-trees, for I sit beside the window. The
sky is full of hope, the little clouds are glowing with colour, the trees
with fulness of life; a blackbird is singing his heart out in the willow by
the pond. I must needs believe that life is worth living....
I have watched all the pink fade from the sky; the mottled clouds are
grey and sleepy-looking. I have turned away. You are smiling very
sweetly up there; my table is strewn with things her hand has
touched,--I am not quite alone.
Well, good night. I must go down to my dear old ladies and read to
them a while before they go to bed.
Your EMILIA.

LETTER VIII.
GRAYSMILL, September 4th.
You are a sweet to write so often, and I am a wretched niggard that
deserves not one half of what you give. I began to write several
times--of course you know that. Take care of yourself; the thought of
your coughing troubles me; each time I think of you I hear you cough,
and it makes me miserable. I met a child on the Common yesterday,
with hair your colour that fell back in thick curls from a forehead
almost as white as yours. Need I say that I kissed her? Poor mite, she
had such dirty clothes! She told me where she lives; I must make
inquiries about her mother. I might be able to help. The existence of
poverty is just beginning to dawn upon me. It is strange how long one
can live with one's eyes entirely closed to certain things. In Italy I never
thought about it; I sometimes felt sorry for a beggar, but never quite
believed in poverty as an actual state; it merely seemed a rather
disreputable but picturesque profession. Here in England I have come
face to face with destitution; with hunger, labour, sweat, and barren
joylessness. My first thought was that money might set all this straight;
I made Uncle George laugh by seriously suggesting that I should give
of my superfluity to every cottage. Most people here visit the poor; I
went with Aunt Caroline at first and saw it all. I soon gave it up. I
cannot walk boldly into free human beings' homes and poke my nose
into their privacy; I cannot speak to them of the Lord's will and
persuade them that all is for the best. I can only give them money.
Little Mrs. Dobb, the rector's wife, thanked me with tears in her eyes
for a sum I placed in her hands yesterday. They say she does a great
deal of good, and if my money and her religion can work together, by
all means let it be so.
Meanwhile I ask myself every day: What is the use of Emilia Fletcher?
I really cannot see why I ever was born; my perceptions are keen, but
keener than my capabilities. I shall never be able to do anything to help
the world; yet I see so much that might be done. I shall not ever be able
to lead that life of simple truth, of absolute fidelity to high-set aims,
which I yet believe it must be in every man's power to live. Which is

the more to be despised--he who perceives a higher path and lacks the
resolution to adhere to it, or he who trots along the common road out of
sheer short-sightedness? Clearly the first. I am a worm. (You have
probably heard this before.)
Well, I am not a very gay companion; I shall leave you for to-day,
sweetest.
EMILIA.

LETTER IX.
Sunday evening.
I have made a fool of myself; and yet I am happier to-night than I have
been this many a day, for I have at least shown myself honest. I did it
foolishly, thoughtlessly, I know, and yet,--well, I don't regret it.
I went to church this morning for the last time. I went with Aunt
Caroline, as usual, but, as I knelt beside her on entering the pew, I was
seized with a great horror of myself. There was I, hypocrite, with silent
lips and silent heart, feigning to share in the simple fervour around me,
denying my own faith, insulting that of another. However, I sat and
knelt and stood and went through all the forms along with the rest. The