WINGS OF ICARUS
BEING
THE LIFE OF ONE EMILIA FLETCHER
AS REVEALED BY HERSELF IN
I. THIRTY-FIVE LETTERS
WRITTEN TO CONSTANCE NORRIS BETWEEN JULY 18TH, 188-,
AND MARCH 26TH OF THE FOLLOWING YEAR
II. A FRAGMENTARY JOURNAL
III. A POSTSCRIPT
BY
LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA
New York
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY
AND LONDON
1894
THE WINGS OF ICARUS.
THE LETTERS.
LETTER I.
FLETCHER'S HALL, GRAYSMILL,
July 18th.
_Dear and Beloved Constance_,--What shall I say to you? Here I sit,
in a strange room, in a strange land,--and my life lies behind me.
It is close upon midnight, and very dark. I can see nothing out of
window. The air is hot and heavy, the moths flutter round my candle;
I cannot save them all. I am trying to write you a letter--do you
understand? Oh, but I have no thoughts, only visions! Three there
are that rise before me, sometimes separately, sometimes all
together.
I see you, Mrs. Norris. We are standing on the platform, side by
side; people leaning out of window in my night-gown, watching the
mists rise in the valley. The air is very sweet here in England; I
see oceans of trees, great stretches of heath and meadow. Surely,
surely one ought to be happy in this beautiful world! I shall dress
quickly and go out. This letter, such as it is, shall go to you by
the first post, and to-night I shall write again, when I myself know
something of my surroundings. Good-bye then for the present, my best
and dearest.
EMILIA.
LETTER II.
July 19.
It is just half-past ten, my Constance; the two old ladies have gone
to bed. I am getting on very well, on the whole, although I had the
misfortune to keep them waiting three-quarters of an hour for
breakfast this morning. It was so beautiful out of doors, and I was
so happy roaming in field and wood,--happy with the happiness
sunshine can lay atop of the greatest sorrow,--that I stayed out
till nearly ten o'clock. I had taken some milk and bread in the
kitchen before starting, not realising that breakfast here is a
solemn meal. Poor old souls! they were too polite to begin without
me, and I found them positively drooping with hunger.
All the rancour that I had harboured in my heart this many a year
against my father's stepmother has vanished into thin air. One
glance at the old lady's delicate weak face, at her diffident eyes
and nervous fingers, dispelled once and forever any preconceived
idea that she might have helped him in his ardent difficult boyhood,
stood between him and his father in his day of disgrace. Had she
been a woman of mettle, I could never have forgiven her the neutral
part she played; but she stands there cleared by her very impotence.
I think she was nervous of meeting me, last night; she said
something confused about my poor papa, about her husband's severity,
adding that she was sorry not to have known my mamma, but supposed I
must be like her, as I looked quite the foreigner with my black
eyes. Her whole manner towards me is almost painful in its humility;
this morning she begged me to let her live with me, and die in this
house, saying she did not care to go and live with her son; upon
which I of course assured her
