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Majorie Daw
by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
I。
DR。 DILLON TO EDWARD DELANEY； ESQ。； AT THE PINES。
NEAR RYE； N。H。
August 8； 1872。
My Dear Sir： I am happy to assure you that your anxiety is without
reason。 Flemming will be confined to the sofa for three or four
weeks； and will have to be careful at first how he uses his leg。 A
fracture of this kind is always a tedious affair。 Fortunately the
bone was very skilfully set by the surgeon who chanced to be in the
drugstore where Flemming was brought after his fall； and I
apprehend no permanent inconvenience from the accident。 Flemming is
doing perfectly well physically； but I must confess that the
irritable and morbid state of mind into which he has fallen causes
me a great deal of uneasiness。 He is the last man in the world who
ought to break his leg。 You know how impetuous our friend is
ordinarily； what a soul of restlessness and energy； never content
unless he is rushing at some object； like a sportive bull at a red
shawl； but amiable withal。 He is no longer amiable。 His temper has
become something frightful。 Miss Fanny Flemming came up from
Newport； where the family are staying for the summer； to nurse him；
but he packed her off the next morning in tears。 He has a complete
set of Balzac's works； twenty…seven volumes； piled up near his
sofa； to throw at Watkins whenever that exemplary serving…man
appears with his meals。 Yesterday I very innocently brought
Flemming a small basket of lemons。 You know it was a strip of
lemonpeel on the curbstone that caused our friend's mischance。
Well； he no sooner set is eyes upon those lemons than he fell into
such a rage as I cannot adequately describe。 This is only one of
moods； and the least distressing。 At other times he sits with bowed
head regarding his splintered limb； silent； sullen； despairing。
When this fit is on himand it sometimes lasts all daynothing
can distract his melancholy。 He refuses to eat； does not even read
the newspapers； books； except as projectiles for Watkins； have no
charms for him。 His state is truly pitiable。
Now； if he were a poor man； with a family depending on his daily
labor； this irritability and despondency would be natural enough。
But in a young fellow of twenty…four； with plenty of money and
seemingly not a care in the world； the thing is monstrous。 If he
continues to give way to his vagaries in this manner； he will end
by bringing on an inflammation of the fibula。 It was the fibula he
broke。 I am at my wits' end to know what to prescribe for him。 I
have anaesthetics and lotions； to make people sleep and to soothe
pain； but I've no medicine that will make a man have a little
common…sense。 That is beyond my skill； but maybe it is not beyond
yours。 You are Flemming's intimate friend； his fidus Achates。 Write
to him； write to him frequently； distract his mind； cheer him up；
and prevent him from becoming a confirmed case of melancholia。
Perhaps he has some important plans disarranged by his present
confinement。 If he has you will know； and will know how to advise
him judiciously。 I trust your father finds the change beneficial？
I am； my dear sir； with great respect； etc。
II。
EDWARD DELANEY TO JOHN FLEMMING； WEST 38TH STREET；
NEW YORK。
August 9； 1872。
My Dear Jack： I had a line from Dillon this morning； and was
rejoiced to learn that your hurt is not so bad as reported。 Like a
certain personage； you are not so black and blue as you are
painted。 Dillon will put you on your pins again in two to three
weeks； if you will only have patience and follow his counsels。 Did
you get my note of last Wednesday？ I was greatly troubled when I
heard of the accident。
I can imagine how tranquil and saintly you are with your leg in a
trough！ It is deuced awkward； to be sure； just as we had promised
ourselves a glorious month together at the sea…side； but we must
make the best of it。 It is unfortunate； too； that my father's
health renders it impossible for me to leave him。 I think he has
much improved； the sea air is his native element； but he still
needs my arm to lean upon in his walks； and requires some one more
careful that a servant to look after him。 I cannot come to you；
dear Jack； but I have hours of unemployed time on hand； and I will
write you a whole post…office full of letters； if that will divert
you。 Heaven knows； I haven't anything to write about。 It isn't as
if we were living at one of the beach houses； then I could do you
some character studies； and fill your imagination with groups of
sea…goddesses； with their （or somebody else's） raven and blonde
manes hanging down their shoulders。 You should have Aphrodite in
morning wrapper； in evening costume； and in her prettiest bathing
suit。 But we are far from all that here。 We have rooms in a
farm…house； on a cross…road； two miles from the hotels； and lead
the quietest of lives。
I wish I were a novelist。 This old house； with its sanded floors
and high wainscots； and its narrow windows looking out upon a
cluster of pines that turn themselves into aeolian harps every time
the wind blows； would be the place in which to write a summer
romance。 It should be a story with the odors of the forest and the
breath of the sea in it。 It should be a novel like one of that
Russian fellow'swhat's his name？Tourguenieff； Turguenef；
Turgenif； Toorguniff； Turgenjewnobody knows how to spell him。 Yet
I wonder if even a Liza or an Alexandra Paulovna could stir the
heart of a man who has constant twinges in his leg。 I wonder if one
of our own Yankee girls of the best type； haughty and spirituelle；
would be of any comfort to you in your present deplorable
condition。 If I thought so； I would hasten down to the Surf House
and catch one for you； or； better still； I would find you one over
the way。
Picture to yourself a large white house just across the road；
nearly opposite our cottage。 It is not a house； but a mansion；
built； perhaps； in the colonial period； with rambling extensions；
and gambrel roof； and a wide piazza on three sidesa self…
possessed； high…bred piece of architecture； with its nose in the
air。 It stands back from the road； and has an obsequious retinue of
fringed elms and oaks and weeping willows。 Sometimes in the
morning； and oftener in the afternoon； when the sun has withdrawn
from that part of the mansions； a young woman appears on the piazza
with some mysterious Penelope web of embroidery in her hand； or a
book。 There is a hammock over thereof pineapple fibre； it looks
from here。 A hammock is very becoming when one is eighteen； and has
golden hair； and dark eyes； and an emerald…colored illusion dress
looped up after the fashion of a Dresden china shepherdess； and is
chaussee like a belle of the time of Louis Quatorze。 All this
splendor goes into that hammock； and sways there like a pond…lily
in the golden afternoon。 The window of my bedroom looks down on
that piazzaand so do I。
But enough of the nonsense； which ill becomes a sedate young
attorney taking his vacation with an invalid father。 Drop me a
line； dear Jack； and tell me how you really are。 State your case。
Write me a long； quite letter。 If you are violent or abusive； I'll
take the law to you。
III。
JOHN FLEMMING TO EDWARD DELANEY。
August 11； 1872。
Your letter； dear Ned； was a godsend。 Fancy what a fix I am inI；
who never had a day's sickness since I was born。 My left leg weighs
three tons。 It is embalmed in spices and smothered in layers of
fine linen； like a mummy。 I can't move。 I haven't moved for five
thousand years。 I'm of the time of Pharaoh。
I lie from morning till night on a lounge； staring into the hot
street。 Everybody is out of town enjoying himself。 The brown…stone…
front houses across the street resemble a row of particularly ugly
coffins set up on end。 A green mould is settling on the names of
the deceased； carved on the silver door…plates。 Sardonic spiders
have sewed up the key…holes。 All is silence and dust and
desolation。 I interrupt this a moment； to take a shy at Watkins
with the second volume of Cesar Birotteau。 Missed him！ I think I
could bring him down with a copy of Sainte…Beuve or the
Dictionnaire Universel； if I had it。 These small Balzac books
somehow do not quite fit my hand； but I shall fetch him yet。 I've
an idea that Watkins is tapping the old gentleman's Chateau Yquem。
Duplicate key of the wine…cellar。 Hibernian swarries in the front
basement。 Young Cheops up stairs； snug in his cerements。 Watkins
glides into my chamber； with that colorless； hypocritical face of
his drawn out long like an accordion； but I know he grins all the
way down stairs； and is glad I have broken my leg。 Was not my evil
star in the very zenith when I ran up to town to attend that dinner
at Delmonico's？ I didn't come up altogether for that。 It was partly
to buy Frank Livingstone's roan mare Margot。 And now I shall not be
able to sit in the saddle these two months。 I'll send the mare down
to you at The Pinesis that the name of the place？
Old Dillon fancies that I have something on my mind。 He drives me
wild with lemons。 Lemons for a mind diseased！ Nonsense。 I am only
as restless as the devil under this confinementa thing I'm not
used to。 Tak