Volume II Part 3 (2/2)
Miss Sophia A. Peabody, Boston, Ma.s.s.
TO MISS PEABODY
_Brook Farm_, Septr. 25th, 1841-- past 7 A.M.
Ownest Dove, it was but just now that I thought of sending thee a few lines by Mr. Ripley; for this penning of epistles is but a wretched resource. What shall I do? What shall I do? To talk to thee in this way does not bring thee nearer; it only compels me to separate myself from thee, and put thee at a distance. Of all humbugs, pretending to alleviate mortal woes, writing is the greatest.
Yet, thy two letters were a great comfort to me--so great, that they could not possibly have been dispensed with. Dearest, I did not write thee what Mr. and Mrs. Ripley said to me, because they have said nothing which I did not know before. The ground, upon which I must judge of the expediency of our abiding here, is not what they may say, but what actually is, or is likely to be; and of this I doubt whether either of them is capable of forming a correct opinion. Would that thou couldst he here--or could have been here all summer--in order to help me think what is to be done. But one thing is certain--I cannot and will not spend the winter here. The time would be absolutely thrown away, so far as regards any literary labor to be performed,--and then to suffer this famished yearning for thee, all winter long! It is impossible.
Dearest, do not thou wear thyself out with working upon that bust. If it cause thee so much as a single head-ache, I shall wish that Laura Bridgman were at Jericho. Even if thou shouldst not feel thyself wearied at the time, I fear that the whole burthen of toil will fall upon thee when all is accomplished. It is no matter if Laura should go home without being sculptured--no matter if she goes to her grave without it. I dread to have thee feel an outward necessity for such a task; for this intrusion of an outward necessity into labors of the imagination and intellect is, to me, very painful.
Oh, what weather! It seems to me as if every place were sunny, save Brook Farm. Nevertheless, I had rather a pleasant walk to a distant meadow, a day or two ago; and we found white and purple grapes, in great abundance, ripe, and gus.h.i.+ng with rich juice when the hand pressed their cl.u.s.ters. Didst thou know what treasures of wild grapes there are in this land. If we dwell here, we will make our own wine--of which, I know, my Dove will want a great quant.i.ty.
Good bye, sweetest. If thou canst contrive to send me a glimpse of suns.h.i.+ne, I will be the gratefullest husband on earth. I love thee inextinguishably. Thou hast no place to put all the love which I feel for thee.
THINE OWNEST HUSBAND.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody, Boston, Ma.s.s.
TO MISS PEABODY
_Brook Farm_, Septr. 27th, 1841. 7 A.M.
_Dearest love,_
Thy two letters of business came both together, Sat.u.r.day evening! What an acute and energetic personage is my little Dove! I say it not in jest (though with a smile) but in good earnest, and with a comfortable purpose to commit all my business transactions to thee, when we dwell together. And why dost thou seem to apprehend that thou mayst possibly offend me. Thou canst do so never, but only make me love thee more and more.
Now as to this affair with Munroe. I fully confide in thy opinion that he intends to make an unequal bargain with thy poor simple and innocent husband--never having doubted this, myself. But how is he to accomplish it? I am not, nor shall be, in the least degree in his power; whereas, he is, to a certain extent, in mine. He might announce his projected library, with me for the editor, in all the newspapers in the universe; but still I could not be bound to become the editor, unless by my own act; nor should I have the slightest scruple in refusing to be so, at the last moment, if he persisted in treating me with injustice. Then, as for his printing Grandfather's Chair, I have the copy-right in my own hands, and could and would prevent the sale, or make him account to me for the profits, in case of need.
Meantime, he is making arrangements for publis.h.i.+ng this library, contracting with other booksellers, and with printers and engravers, and, with every step, making it more difficult for himself to draw back. I, on the other hand, do nothing which I should not do, if the affair with Munroe were at an end; for if I write a book, it will be just as available for some other publisher as for him. My dearest, instead of getting me within his power by this delay, he has trusted to my ignorance and simplicity, and has put _himself_ in _my_ power.
Show the contrary, if thou canst.
He is not insensible of this. At our last interview, he himself introduced the subject of our bargain, and appeared desirous to close it. But thy husband was not prepared, among other reasons, because I do not yet see what materials I shall have for the republications in the library; the works that he has shown me being all ill-adapted for that purpose; and I wish first to see some French and German books, which he has sent for to New York. And, belovedest, before concluding the bargain, I have promised George Hillard to consult him and let him do the business. Is not this consummate discretion? And is not thy husband perfectly safe? Then why does my Dove put herself into a fever? Rather, let her look at the matter with the same perfect composure that I do, who see all around my own position, and know that it is impregnable.
Most sweet wife, I cannot write thee any more at present, as Mr.
Ripley is going away instantaneously; but we will talk at length on Sat.u.r.day, when G.o.d means to send me to thee. I love thee infinitely, and admire thee beyond measure, and trust thee in all things, and will never transact any business without consulting thee--though on some rare occasions, it may happen that I will have my own way, after all.
I feel inclined to break off this engagement with Munroe; as thou advisest, though not for precisely the reasons thou urgest; but of this hereafter.
THY MOST OWN HUSBAND.
Miss Sophia A. Peabody, Care of Dr. N. Peabody, Boston, Ma.s.s.
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