Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v7

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"If I might call you my Beloved! and so chain myself to you, I think I
should have all your firmness and double my strength. I will not; for I
will not have what I do not deserve. I think of you reading this, till I
try to get to you; my heart is like a bird caught in the hands of a cruel
boy. By what I have done I know I do not love you. Must we half-despise
a man to love him? May no dear woman that I know ever marry the man she
first loves! My misery now is gladness, is like rain-drops on rising
wings, if I say to myself 'Free! free, Emilia!' I am bound for three
years, but I smile at such a bondage to my body. Evviva! my soul is
free! Three years of freedom, and no sounding of myself--three years of
growing, and studying; three years of idle heart!--Merthyr! I throb to
think that those three years--true man! my hero, I may call you!--those
three years may make me worthy of you. And if you have given all to
Italy, that a daughter of Italy should help to return it, seems, my
friend, so tenderly sweet--here is the first drop from my eyes!

"I would break what you call a Sentiment: I broke my word to Wilfrid.
But this sight of money has a meaning that I cannot conquer. I know you
would not wish me to for your own pleasure; and therefore I go. I hope
to be growing; I fly like a seed to Italy. Let me drill, and take sharp
words, and fret at trifles! I lift my face to that prospect as if I
smelt new air. I am changeing--I have no dreams of Italy, no longings,
but go to see her like a machine ready to do my work. Whoever speaks to
me, I feel that I look at them and know them. I see the faults of my
country--Oh, beloved Breseians! not yours, Florentines! nor yours, dear
Venice! We will be silent when they speak of the Milanese, till Italy
can say to them, 'That conduct is not Italian, my children.' I see the
faults. Nothing vexes me.

"Addio! My friend, we will speak English in dear England! Tell all that
I shall never forget England! My English Merthyr! the blood you have
shed is not for a woman. The blood that you have shed, laurels spring
from it! For a woman, the blood spilt is sickly and poor, and nourishes
nothing. I shudder at the thought of one we knew. He makes Love seem
like a yellow light over a plague-spotted city, like a painting I have
seen. Goodbye to the name of Love for three years! My engagement to Mr.
Pericles is that I am not to write, not to receive letters. To you I say
now, trust me for three years! Merthyr's answer is already in my bosom.
Beloved!--let me say it once--when the answer to any noble thing I might
ask of you is in my bosom instantly, is not that as much as marriage?
But be under no deception. See me as I am. Oh, good-bye! good-bye!
Good-bye to you! Good-bye to England!

"I am,

"Most humbly and affectionately,
"Your friend,
"And her daughter by the mother's side,

"Emilia Alessandra Belloni."

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A plunge into the deep is of little moment
And he passed along the road, adds the Philosopher
It was as if she had been eyeing a golden door shut fast
My engagement to Mr. Pericles is that I am not to write
Man who beats his wife my first question is, 'Do he take his tea?'
Oh! beastly bathos
On a wild April morning
Once my love? said he. Not now?--does it mean, not now?
So it is when you play at Life! When you will not go straight
To know that you are in England, breathing the same air with me
We are, in short, a civilized people
We have now looked into the hazy interior of their systems
What was this tale of Emilia, that grew more and more perplexing

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