Saturday Scribes, September 6

Theme: Music

Words: Elbow, crows, merchant



Dear Sir Frederick,

I am writing to you now to implore you. Stop. Stop immediately. Your letters arrive daily and I can give you nothing but polite refusals. Your many schemes have put me in an embarrassed position. Have you given this any thought?

I do not wish you to play Romeo outside my house, or play Polonius, warning me in your letters about moral conduct. I assure you that I am the best conductress of my own affairs. You assume these roles unbidden, and purely against my wishes.

Your letters are an assault upon me. Yes, I love the merchant Antonio. I love him sincerely and there is nothing in your power to alter this. As you would do. I realize that you have powers. You can send Antonio across the seas, tear him from me, as you wish. But your power is worldly. You cannot touch my heart. You can take Antonio from me, but you can never divide us.

Have you no inkling that Antonio and I have a harmony of minds, a linking of spirits, a conjoining of minds. Our love rivals the music of the spheres. Intricate yet united. Balanced. Pure and holy. Of such beautiful joining you can little comprehend.

I can see you now, standing before me, posturing, hand on waist, elbow akimbo, smirk on your face. You are a skeptic. You cannot comprehend the musical blending of souls. You see my figure, my countenance, and you love in your way.

Your way. Yes. I know what your way of loving means. Ravishing. Taking. Forcing. Looting. Your eye, surveying me, dividing me into my various parts. To you, I am the lady of the sonnets. You eulogize on my parts, not understanding the meaning of the whole, uninterested in my soul.

You love is disharmonious. Unpleasant to listen to. Clashing rather than blending. The cawing of black crows as they descend on an untilled field.

Again, I plead with you. Desist. Leave me. If you love me in any way acceptable, then grant Antonio safe harbour and protect us.


In gratitude and hope,

Amelia