A letter to Ms Scarlet
[Warnings for Henrik working through the 'anger' stage of the grieving process--sections of this may read as character-bashing, but I want to establish from the beginning that the sentiments expressed here are in-character and are not shared by the player.]
My dear Scarlet (I will not use your surname again),
It was with great joy that I received your kind letter, and I shall try to respond with sufficient thoroughness to requite the effort of your writing it.
I am very sorry to hear about Narciso's illness, although your kindness to him and your own swift and easy recovery are in all ways heartening. Your work is, of course, importance for your maintainence in a comfortable style, and I would not for the world discourage you from it, but I do urge you to care with your person. Whether spore-fever can be communicated through proximitie, or whether it is the result of some other cause, this is nonetheless the season for it, and you will not resist it well unless you rest yourself regularly.
When you can find time, or when your efforts have been completed, you must share with me the designs and furnishings of your establishment, and which are the most charming rooms, and which are the workers you've chosen to populate it. I do not imagine that the Crimson Ring will not be quite complete by the time of my return, for I have by now only acquired about half of the secrets that I will require in order to purchase premises at the Bazaar. I shall certainly be spending at least another week at zee.
You have asked me for some account of the doings of my heart and mind, and so I will seek to oblige you in this request; however, I think, you have grown tired of my endless meditations upon the matter of Merriwether Fawkes. Thus I will observe that I have been considering what you said to me when last we spoke of her, viz. that she had hurt me as I had hurt her, as well as Savashke's blunt cautions not to revile myself for what has past between us, and I have found both to be substance for fruitful thought. Should you be disinclined to read more on the matter, though, I will enclose it in asterix astrix ast little stars so that you may skip over my rambling more efficiently.
* * *
I have, as I have said, been considering the prospect that you have articulated, which is that she has hurt me, as well; whether in the same manner, or in the same degree, it is beyond my power to say, but I think I may--indeed, I must--accept the truth of this proposition. Thus I have been attempting to identify the ways in which, I might say, she has hurt me, and each time I find that my injury has been occasioned by the same two manners of conduct, although in each case it has manifested differently. The first is, That her expectations and mine have not aligned, and that she has neglected to notify me of her own expectations, whether they exceeded or undershot my own. Thus, at times she would expect me to be affectionate and demonstrative in public, with her, in order to prove that I felt warmly toward her, and I would hear only after she accused me of coldness that she had expected such conduct; at other times, she would expect me to be the height of discretion, although she would not have me be as discrete discreet discreete with her as she would have me be with others. This leads directly to the second manner, which is, That she seemed to turn without warning between the most selfless advocacy of my relations with others and the most baseless jealousie of the time and affection that I offered them.
Indeed, I will own, when we (that is to say, you and I) first began our acquaintance, and we seemed likely to offer one another friendship and honesty, she interposed, and accused me of being more familiar with you than with her, and told me that I should not entrust you with anything which I might call a secret of my relations, particularly with Theodor. This was, she said, because such secrets were to you like the scent of blood to a predator, and, she thought, you would have used these secrets to do harm to one as innocent of social conduct as Theodor was at the time. Thus, I turned cold toward you, and expressed more my displeasure at your brazeness, for such was the character she had given me of you, that I thought you not only a bold woman, but a dangerous one. I trust I need not say that I tell you these things in complete certainty that you will keep my confidences.
As you have no doubt apprehended, the coolness (or, I might say better, the caution) between you and Merriwether has changed for the warmer, and you are the happiest pair of friends that I could wish to see; the improvement in her spirits that we all have witnessed has been in no small part--indeed, in the greater part--your doing. This is, I think, the clue that I require to explain what has hurt me most, since Merriwether and Gabriel have enjoyed a happy union:
She has forgiven him a hundred transgressions--or what in me were transgressions--with no more than a tolerant smile, that made her sad and angry and mistrustful when she saw them in me. When I offered to bring a mutual lover to our bed, she grew angry, and thought that I offered it only because I wished to have one person in our bed to whom I was attracted; the thought that I offered it for our shared enjoyment, and from a perfect trust in our union, never occurred to her. Whereas, I think you will permit me to speculate, she gladly accepts Sevashke into her bed and Gabriel's, from no more than a mutual liking into which, I think, attraction figures not at all. In this comparison, I once more may identify the unclearness of expectation and jealous sentiments that had so wounded me in the past, but to them I must superadd, that she seems more to trust Gabriel than ever she trusted me.
To witness her trust for him has been hard, not because I think he is unworthy of trust--no man more worthy!--but because I had made the comparison simply between myself and him, and concluded that since I knew he was good, and she could trust him as she could not trust me, then therefor I must likewise know that I am bad. And, moreover, if his conduct was in many appreciable ways indistinguishable from my own, and his inclinations as varied as mine (that is to say, that he has another lover of his own sex), then it was not conduct that made one of us bad and the other good, but rather, some intrinsic quality, which I might presume to call the soul.
(I will add, in the safety of parentheses, that it is an abominable breech of my own faith to suggest that men may judge the quality of one another's souls; only God has that power. Had I reflected more upon my faith before now--had I, I should say, the space and the time required to reflect upon my faith--then I should have recognized at once the foolishness of my melancholy speculations.)
To place her trust of Gabriel into the context of her trust of you, though, is to witness that the difference in Merriwether's conduct is not (or not solely) the fault of any inconmensurable difference between me and Gabriel, but rather, the fault of a change worked in her. Between our parting, and her union with you and with Gabriel, she has learnt to trust in a way that she was incapable of doing with me. I could lose many fruitless hours in contemplating what it was that has had occasioned this change, but at present, I am content to say that she has learnt not to hurt those who love her. Although I will reap no benefit from this change in her character, and although I still dream of the life that we might have had as husband and wife, I understand that she is disinterested in such a union, and that it may in some part be because she cannot imagine that we have learnt to treat our lovers well. (I will not claim that I have learnt this lesson, but only that I may accept it as a proposition and as a goal for which I might ardently strive.)
* * *
I have gone on for too long, I fear, on a subject that is disagreeable to both of us, so I will leave my conclusion on the outside, since it is the only part that I would enjoin you to read particularly:
I am now able to entertain the thought, which heretofor I had been deprived of, that I might not be a bad man in a world of good men--that I might, indeed, be a good man who responds as many good men do to hurt, by causing hurt in their turn. For this reason, because you have been the occasion of such meditations, I cannot thank you enough for your prompting.
When I reached the preceeding period, I found myself exhausted at having said so much, and in such a passion, and thus I suppose that I must leave you on that happy realisation. I have attached one serious piece for violin, and one bawdy one, in the hopes that you will not want for music in my absence.
I am, ever,
yours in gratitude,
Henrik Paulsen.
Post scriptum -- Theodor has counseled that I have been too liberal in making known the names of the parties concerned, and so I have attempted to conceal them to the best of my ability.
My dear Scarlet (I will not use your surname again),
It was with great joy that I received your kind letter, and I shall try to respond with sufficient thoroughness to requite the effort of your writing it.
I am very sorry to hear about Narciso's illness, although your kindness to him and your own swift and easy recovery are in all ways heartening. Your work is, of course, importance for your maintainence in a comfortable style, and I would not for the world discourage you from it, but I do urge you to care with your person. Whether spore-fever can be communicated through proximitie, or whether it is the result of some other cause, this is nonetheless the season for it, and you will not resist it well unless you rest yourself regularly.
When you can find time, or when your efforts have been completed, you must share with me the designs and furnishings of your establishment, and which are the most charming rooms, and which are the workers you've chosen to populate it. I do not imagine that the Crimson Ring will not be quite complete by the time of my return, for I have by now only acquired about half of the secrets that I will require in order to purchase premises at the Bazaar. I shall certainly be spending at least another week at zee.
You have asked me for some account of the doings of my heart and mind, and so I will seek to oblige you in this request; however, I think, you have grown tired of my endless meditations upon the matter of Merriwether Fawkes. Thus I will observe that I have been considering what you said to me when last we spoke of her, viz. that she had hurt me as I had hurt her, as well as Savashke's blunt cautions not to revile myself for what has past between us, and I have found both to be substance for fruitful thought. Should you be disinclined to read more on the matter, though, I will enclose it in asterix astrix ast little stars so that you may skip over my rambling more efficiently.
* * *
I have, as I have said, been considering the prospect that you have articulated, which is that she has hurt me, as well; whether in the same manner, or in the same degree, it is beyond my power to say, but I think I may--indeed, I must--accept the truth of this proposition. Thus I have been attempting to identify the ways in which, I might say, she has hurt me, and each time I find that my injury has been occasioned by the same two manners of conduct, although in each case it has manifested differently. The first is, That her expectations and mine have not aligned, and that she has neglected to notify me of her own expectations, whether they exceeded or undershot my own. Thus, at times she would expect me to be affectionate and demonstrative in public, with her, in order to prove that I felt warmly toward her, and I would hear only after she accused me of coldness that she had expected such conduct; at other times, she would expect me to be the height of discretion, although she would not have me be as discrete discreet discreete with her as she would have me be with others. This leads directly to the second manner, which is, That she seemed to turn without warning between the most selfless advocacy of my relations with others and the most baseless jealousie of the time and affection that I offered them.
Indeed, I will own, when we (that is to say, you and I) first began our acquaintance, and we seemed likely to offer one another friendship and honesty, she interposed, and accused me of being more familiar with you than with her, and told me that I should not entrust you with anything which I might call a secret of my relations, particularly with Theodor. This was, she said, because such secrets were to you like the scent of blood to a predator, and, she thought, you would have used these secrets to do harm to one as innocent of social conduct as Theodor was at the time. Thus, I turned cold toward you, and expressed more my displeasure at your brazeness, for such was the character she had given me of you, that I thought you not only a bold woman, but a dangerous one. I trust I need not say that I tell you these things in complete certainty that you will keep my confidences.
As you have no doubt apprehended, the coolness (or, I might say better, the caution) between you and Merriwether has changed for the warmer, and you are the happiest pair of friends that I could wish to see; the improvement in her spirits that we all have witnessed has been in no small part--indeed, in the greater part--your doing. This is, I think, the clue that I require to explain what has hurt me most, since Merriwether and Gabriel have enjoyed a happy union:
She has forgiven him a hundred transgressions--or what in me were transgressions--with no more than a tolerant smile, that made her sad and angry and mistrustful when she saw them in me. When I offered to bring a mutual lover to our bed, she grew angry, and thought that I offered it only because I wished to have one person in our bed to whom I was attracted; the thought that I offered it for our shared enjoyment, and from a perfect trust in our union, never occurred to her. Whereas, I think you will permit me to speculate, she gladly accepts Sevashke into her bed and Gabriel's, from no more than a mutual liking into which, I think, attraction figures not at all. In this comparison, I once more may identify the unclearness of expectation and jealous sentiments that had so wounded me in the past, but to them I must superadd, that she seems more to trust Gabriel than ever she trusted me.
To witness her trust for him has been hard, not because I think he is unworthy of trust--no man more worthy!--but because I had made the comparison simply between myself and him, and concluded that since I knew he was good, and she could trust him as she could not trust me, then therefor I must likewise know that I am bad. And, moreover, if his conduct was in many appreciable ways indistinguishable from my own, and his inclinations as varied as mine (that is to say, that he has another lover of his own sex), then it was not conduct that made one of us bad and the other good, but rather, some intrinsic quality, which I might presume to call the soul.
(I will add, in the safety of parentheses, that it is an abominable breech of my own faith to suggest that men may judge the quality of one another's souls; only God has that power. Had I reflected more upon my faith before now--had I, I should say, the space and the time required to reflect upon my faith--then I should have recognized at once the foolishness of my melancholy speculations.)
To place her trust of Gabriel into the context of her trust of you, though, is to witness that the difference in Merriwether's conduct is not (or not solely) the fault of any inconmensurable difference between me and Gabriel, but rather, the fault of a change worked in her. Between our parting, and her union with you and with Gabriel, she has learnt to trust in a way that she was incapable of doing with me. I could lose many fruitless hours in contemplating what it was that has had occasioned this change, but at present, I am content to say that she has learnt not to hurt those who love her. Although I will reap no benefit from this change in her character, and although I still dream of the life that we might have had as husband and wife, I understand that she is disinterested in such a union, and that it may in some part be because she cannot imagine that we have learnt to treat our lovers well. (I will not claim that I have learnt this lesson, but only that I may accept it as a proposition and as a goal for which I might ardently strive.)
* * *
I have gone on for too long, I fear, on a subject that is disagreeable to both of us, so I will leave my conclusion on the outside, since it is the only part that I would enjoin you to read particularly:
I am now able to entertain the thought, which heretofor I had been deprived of, that I might not be a bad man in a world of good men--that I might, indeed, be a good man who responds as many good men do to hurt, by causing hurt in their turn. For this reason, because you have been the occasion of such meditations, I cannot thank you enough for your prompting.
When I reached the preceeding period, I found myself exhausted at having said so much, and in such a passion, and thus I suppose that I must leave you on that happy realisation. I have attached one serious piece for violin, and one bawdy one, in the hopes that you will not want for music in my absence.
I am, ever,
yours in gratitude,
Henrik Paulsen.
Post scriptum -- Theodor has counseled that I have been too liberal in making known the names of the parties concerned, and so I have attempted to conceal them to the best of my ability.