Posted on Saturday, 20 September 2003, at 8
"To love one maiden only, to cleave to her,
And worship her by years of noble deeds,
Until they won her, for indeed I knew,
Of no more subtle master under heaven
Than is the maiden passion for a maid,
Not only to keep down the base in man,
But teach high thought, and amiable words
And courtliness, and the desire of fame,
And love of truth, and all that makes a man."
(Tennyson)
Sitting at her desk in the music room Elizabeth listened to Georgiana's playing the pianoforte while composing a letter to her husband who had left for London a few days ago. Ever since they had gotten married they were spending every free minute together and never seized to take delight in each other's riveting company. A little smile curved her lovely lips as she gave in to her memories of the first time they had been all by themselves as a married couple. A splendid winter's day had been their wedding day, a good omen and a promise for more blessings to come. Elizabeth's hand carefully stroked her abdomen. Her head tilted back in delight as she remembered his tenderness, how he had been touched by her innocence and, contrary to what her mother had told her, he had never used it against her. She was still too much of a maiden bride for thoughts like this without feeling flustered and hot cheeks but what warmth it was! Engulfing in his love, wrapping her in an embrace of a man whose heartbeat she could feel at her breast, whose breath was her elixir of life and whose smile was all her joy. For years she had lived with the fear of becoming an old maid or, even worse, being forced to marry a man she couldn't love. In him she had not only found the peak of her desire and most precious happiness but also a gentle teacher in things as yet unknown to her. Not a day went by without a gesture of love by him and even when he was away he had asked the gardener who lived at Lambton to deliver the most beautiful flowers to her alone. Each day a new bouquet came, holding a letter for her to read on this day. So far she had received three letters, each leading her to a spot that had been important in their ever-growing love. Today she would read the fourth and last letter... Laying down the feather she felt her resolve weaken, she had wanted to save the letter as a reward for finishing her own. But, as she had to admit, writing letters was not her strength, especially if her mind was elsewhere. Where would he lead her this time, she wondered.
Breaking the seal she started to read and once more the sight of this beloved hand, writing such letters to her entered her imagination.
My dearest, most adorable Elizabeth,
I can see your smile, the adorable ways you lift those lovely eyebrows of your and your fine eyes as I imagine you reading this note. This time I want you to go to a place we have been at only once but the memory of it still makes my heart sing.
Elizabeth followed his instruction and, with a knowing smile, went down towards the shady trees where he had asked if he might be allowed to introduce her to his sister. She had not been there since, so the changes were even more astonishing. Not diminishing the nature of the trees the place had been turned into a blooming rose garden. It must have taken weeks of great care to create this incredible beauty, Elizabeth was awed by her husband's gesture of love.
I am not a gardener but in my experience roses always grow with thorns. In my life there is but one whose beautiful petals are soft and of never fading beauty, whose scent is sweet and stirring and whose form isn't diminished by a single thorn... Elizabeth gulped, tears of delight were welling in her eyes.
"And that rose is here, crowning this garden with her beauty. A beauty greater than any portrait could do justice to for it's visible to the heart only. As your beauty pleases the eye, your serenity pleases my heart and gives it tranquillity, peace and love." She heard him finish the letter as if he had read her thoughts.
Her eyes lightened up as she beheld her husband standing in the shade of a tree, very close to the gate that led into the garden. Letting forth a sob of delight she ran right into his arms, feeling at home at last. Feeling him kiss her forehead, hair, nose and lips her tears ceased.
"I don't know how I can thank you... What have I ever done to deserve such ethereal bliss?" she murmured between kisses.
"You're you, Elizabeth."
"May I refer to poetry now, Sir?" Her eyes were shining.
"Please do!" he encouraged her.
"Love, if you knew the light
That your soul casts in my sight,
How I look to you
For the pure and true
And the beauteous and the right."* she cited.
"William, will it always be like that for us?" she asked, snuggling closer.
"Always, my love. Our love gives and takes, it grows with each day. When you're away I can't bear the loneliness, if you're quiet, I want to hear your voice and when we're only inches apart I want to hold you close. And when you're near to me as you're now I want to love you. You and I are two pieces of a whole, meant to be together always." He felt her trembling in his arms. "Are you cold?"
Elizabeth wiped away a tear from her cheek. "No, I'm happy. Because for you and me the rose of our love will bloom as long as we're together. I want to feel your heartbeat, to engulf in your caressing voice, to have you holding me like this for ever."
"Mistress of my heart, it'll be my utmost delight to obey..." His words got lost in another kiss. As they were standing there together, surrounded by roses in full bloom their love took wings in its celebration. A love that was to conquer all obstacles and hurdles in the years to come. A love, greater than a mere sentiment, not fading with each day but growing even in the times of unhappiness. A love being the incarnation of Elizabeth's favourite poem:
"Were I as based as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble as low
As the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you."
*Robert Browning