Boston, July 3d, 1839
Most beloved Amelia,
I shall call you so sometimes in playfulness, and so may you; but it is not the name by which my soul recognizes you. It knows you as Sophie; but I doubt whether that is the inwardly and intensely dearest epithet1 either. I believe that "Dove" is the true word after all; and it never can be used amiss, whether in sunniest gaiety or shadiest seriousness. And yet it is a sacred word, and I should not love to have anybody hear me use it, nor know that GOD has baptised you so—the baptism being for yourself and me alone. By that name, I think, I shall greet you when we meet in Heaven. Other dear ones may call you "daughter," "sister," "Sophia," but when, at your entrance into Heaven, or after you have been a little while there, you hear a voice say "Dove!" then you will know that your kindred spirit has been admitted (perhaps for your sake) to the mansions2 of rest. 30 That word will express his yearning3 for you—then to be forever satisfied; for we will melt into one another, and be close, close together then. The name was inspired; it came without our being aware that you were thenceforth to be my Dove, now and through eternity4. I do not remember, how nor when it alighted on you; the first I knew, it was in my heart to call you so.
Good night now, my Dove. It is not yet nine o'clock; but I am somewhat aweary and prefer to muse5 about you till bedtime, rather than write.
July 5th, ? past seven P.M. I must, somehow or other, finish this letter tonight, my dearest—or else it would not be sent tomorrow; and then I fear our head would ache, naughty head that it is. My heart yearns6 to communicate to you; but if it had any other means at hand, it certainly would not choose to communicate by the scratchings of an iron pen, which I am now compelled to use. This must and will inevitably7 be a dull letter. Oh how different from yours, which I received today. You are absolutely inspired, my Dove; and it is not my poor stupid self that inspires you; for how could I give what is not in me. I wish I could write to you in the morning, before my toils9 begin; but that is impossible, unless I were to write before daylight. At eventide, 31 my mind has quite lost its elasticity—my heart, even, is weary—and all that I seem capable of doing is to rest my head on its pillow and there lay down the burthen of life. I do not mean to imply that I am unhappy or discontented; for this is not the case; my life is only a burthen, in the same way that it is so to every toilsome man, and mine is a healthy weariness, such as needs only a night's sleep to remove it. But from henceforth forever, I shall be entitled to call the sons of toil8 my brethren, and shall know how to sympathise with them, seeing that I, likewise, have risen at the dawn and borne the fervor10 of the mid-day sun, nor turned my heavy footsteps homeward till eventide. Years hence, perhaps, the experience that my heart is acquiring now will flow out in truth and wisdom.
You ask me a good many questions, my Dove, and I will answer such of them as now occur to me; and the rest you may ask me again, when we meet. First as to your letters. My beloved, you must write whenever you will—in all confidence that I can never be otherwise than joyful11 to receive your letters. Do not get into the habit of trying to find out, by any method save your own intuition, what is pleasing and what is displeasing12 to me. Whenever you need my counsel, or even 32 my reproof13, in any serious matter, you will not fail to receive it; but I wish my Dove to be as free as a Bird of Paradise. Now, as to this affair of the letters. I have sometimes been a little annoyed at the smiles of my brother measurers, who, notwithstanding the masculine fist of the direction, seem to know that such delicately sealed and folded epistles can come only from a lady's small and tender hand. But the annoyance14 is not on my own account; but because it seems as if the letters were prophaned by being smiled at—but this is, after all, a mere15 fantasy, since the smilers know nothing about my Dove, nor that I really have a Dove; nor can they be certain that the letters come from a lady, nor, especially, can they have the remotest imagination what heavenly letters they are. The sum and substance is, that they are smiling at nothing; and so it is no matter for their smiles. I would not give up one letter to avoid the "world's dread16 laugh,"—much less to shun17 the good-natured raillery of three or four people who do not dream of giving pain. Why has my Dove made me waste so much of my letter in this talk about nothing?
My dearest, did you really think that I meant to express a doubt whether we should enjoy each other's society so much, if we could be together all 33 the time. No, no; for I always feel, that our momentary18 and hurried interviews scarcely afford us time to taste the draught19 of affection that we drink from one another's hearts. There is a precious portion of our happiness wasted, because we are forced to enjoy it too greedily. But I thought, as you do, that there might be more communication of the intellect, as well as communion of heart, if we could be oftener together.
Your picture gallery of auxiliary20 verbs is an admirable fantasy. You are certainly the first mortal to whom it was given to behold21 a verb; though, it seems as if they ought to be visible, being creatures whose office it is (if I remember my grammar aright) "to be, to do, and to suffer." Therein is comprehended all that we mortals are capable of. No; for, according to the definition, verbs do not feel, and cannot enjoy—they only exist, and act, and are miserable22. My Dove and I are no verbs—or if so, we are passive verbs, and therefore happy ones.
(Rest of letter missing)
To Miss Sophia A. Peabody,
Care of Dr. N. Peabody,
Salem,
Massachusetts.
点击收听单词发音
1 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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2 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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3 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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4 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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5 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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6 yearns | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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8 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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9 toils | |
网 | |
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10 fervor | |
n.热诚;热心;炽热 | |
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11 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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12 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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13 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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14 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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17 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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18 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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19 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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20 auxiliary | |
adj.辅助的,备用的 | |
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21 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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22 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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