Mt. Holyoke.
Feb. 24. [1893] Friday Eve.One moment to look at you, to tell you I am yours, Sweet. Then I must work.
Dearest, I am all yours now. I am so glad, so glad, I have no thought which I would not give you, tho' before I told you that, dear, I was not conscious of any secret between us. I didn't care & didn't think of that thing, save for an instant rarely, when I said "oh if there's any need to annoy him with it I'll tell him by & bye, tho' I would rather wait till I have settled it all myself." & all the time I really wanted you to know it.
Darling, please, you may ask me any questions about it which you will, I'll tell you all I can. but I've done that already. I fear I cant help you understand. I don't myself, & dear, unless it is very hard for you, wait till you can put your arms around your child, & so, holding her close, ask her tenderly all you would know. I know I ought to bear it, dear. I have been so wrong, but oh it does hurt me so for you to have to write about it.
But it doesn't hurt me to write anything I possibly can about Prof. Jannaris. George, when we are together again, I want you to talk to me of him, & ask me everything, anything. I should love to tell you. I have told you, dear, that he fascinated me, at times, that I always liked him immensely, - he had rather a peculiar influence over me. he made me gay, talkative, impulsive - the things that are brightest & happiest in me bloomed immediately under his genial companionship. So, from the standpoint of personal vanity, I enjoyed being with him. He roused in me something deeper & better than this - not because his own nature was deep & good - I believe it is neither, believed it then, but because I could see that what little we had of depth & goodness was keenly alive in my presence, could see that he was nearer being true, with me, than with most others. He was twice as old as I, brilliant & charming & a magnificent linguist, a man of some repute, & I could not help being proud of his very evident liking & admiration, as well as of my influence over him. So far as I was concerned I trusted & respected him, but not where others were concerned. There was between us a very cordial friendship, I certainly was very fond of my new friend, might have been very charmed into something more, temporarily, possibly, but I think not. I know that nothing permanent could ever have come of it, for I didn't trust him nor respect him. There was often something very like affection in the tone of his voice & the look in his eyes, really he was so open in his attention to me - while never, of course, taking me out, nor anything like that - that everybody noticed it. A few times I think it was a little hard, even, for him to keep back some tender word or gesture.
Darling I was always comparing him with you, & saying in my heart "He is the true one, that sweet boy-friend[.]" The thought of you was always sweet. I used to dream of you, to wonder what you were doing, & what your life would be in the years to come, & what your boy's life had been. I always fancied it much like my own girl's life - happy & blithe & well & pure. I never dreamed, darling, until you told me one day, that your boyhood years had meant so much of struggle and bitterness - & oh how my heart melted with love when you told me a little about it, infinitely greater than before was my love, my longing to have all your life & give you mine. So, my precious pure lover, you have not been hurt by this that I just told you? That I knew nothing of the hardness you had had to bear. Fight again? No, Sweet, I love you so for it - ever & evermore -
Thy Lisa.
Sunday.
All the story of your boy-life, makes me, you see, love you so passionately, makes me clasp you in my arms as one who might have been lost to me. Oh darling, do not let that trouble you, that the past which you have to give me is not what you would wish it. Darling, I want you, just as you are, want you for my own. My boy, God heard when I prayed for you - do you not believe it? Sweet boy -II.
There, out of note-paper again! only scraps left. My letters to you always seem short, for there is always so much I would say - so much I could not say too, but somehow the note-paper disappears.Here is an old letter of Anastasia's, dear. 'Twill amuse you. I want to tell you, too, about the dress she speaks of. I tho't at first I'd not tell you, would surprise you, by & bye, but I think would make you happy perhaps, it does me. You know, darling, that by & bye, for that twilight hour which is to be for us too, I want to wear a Greek dress, almost like the one I wear now. You would rather it were that than anything else, dear? I know you would. But you [know] those soft Greek silks are not imported, & there's no way of getting them so safe & sure as to have a friend bring them. Visits from Greek friends are arare, so I thought it would be only provident to have the dress woven in time for Anastasia to bring it with her next summer. They have to be woven to order. That is not foolish is it, dear? only for the fact that I may be able to afford the money a little better three or four years hence. But then I may not have any convenient way of getting the dress here. Anastasia will, probably, not have to pay any duty on it, because her belongings will be so few that I don't think there's any probability that she could be charged for it. My conscience will be clear if she doesn't - I'm not going to sell it - & I cant possibly get it in America, & if there is no duty the expense will be less than $20.00 - the drachma varies, according to gold - is never 20 cts, & ninety peaks is more than enough for the dress. Yes I shall order more than enough, for I want a little to use on the dress I wear now, when it needs rearranging & freshening. Its not an expensive dress, you see, & it never crumples, & its said to wash perfectly, so I'm going to try to keep a dress like that always, a house dress, for you. You will like it as well when I'm fifty & have gray hair? I hope my hair will be very gray - my mother had beautiful iron-gray hair. I think my hair is dark enough to "take a good color."
George, dearest, you see there is not a thought, a hope, a dream, a longing, for my future, of which you are not the center. I often wonder what would become of me if anything should take you from me. My life-current would be frozen. The whole universe would be a blank. There would seem to me to be nothing anywhere. I think God could be in my heart, & would help me wait to the end. Tho' - yes.
Darling, that "Blood that cleanseth from all sin" is the life - Christ's life in us, for us, it must be so. The blood is the life. Those Hebrew children had to have something tangible, visible, & that which stood for the life was given there. I was wondering what, from that way of looking at the Atonement this means - "Without shedding of blood there is no remission of sins" & [...] like it - the blood, the shedding of it, & all that means the life. the giving & the taking of it. That answers to something in my spiritual consciousness. So that's the way I'm going to interpret it. I have only to take in as I believe its meant - isn't not right, dear? There are so many things we cant demonstrate, & write Q. E. D. after. that's a part of the purpose & plan in this life here. I suppose it almost seems to me I can see why its better so, can't you? This arrangement of things which makes us trust, believe in the invisible, hope for what we do not yet see?
George, I long for another picture of you. Oh will you not have one soon? I am sorry indeed to keep you waiting so long for the one I promised you. All the Senior pictures are very slow in arriving, & mine have not been heard of yet. Darling, will you have your picture taken for your Sweetheart? She wants it, she will make it a little shrine, oh you should [see] how lovely the one in the little carved frame is!
Mary Montague has been here today. She & Grace staid in my room while I was at church. Grace is much better. I wish you knew Edith! She is fine, a child still in many respects, but I trust her more than most of my dear friends even - trust her to understand all that I feel most deeply about - her soul responds at once to everything that is good & beautiful & true - she is waking - & a wonderfully true sweet woman she will be - she has great strength too. I talk to her often & much of you, of our love. She listens awed & tender, & how she admires you, & wants to know you, how she loves to think you are her friend. I tell her you are just as much as I am. I am anxious for you to know her. How you will enjoy her! She is a handsome girl, & delightful in manner & dress too! a girl who has come from a lovely refined home.
I am tired now, darling. Good bye.
Your Lisa.
Darling, the first thing Monday morning I have been naughty. I am so sorry, dear. I think I'll tell you, if you'll let me.
Miss Clapp came over to our table, while we were lingering over our last cup of coffee, carrying in her hand a tiny little glass in which was an anemone, one that had bloomed in the aquarium. Exquisite & dainty I gave a little scream of delight, which I think Mrs. Mead tho't rather undignified & didn't approve of, for she had a slightly peculiar expression as she looked at me. I was conscious at once of having been childish, & so, uncomfortable. The little flower was passed around for everyone to look - coming to me last - Miss Clapp said "Now you may take it." & sent away. When we left the table & started to go up stairs I took the flower & Mrs. Mead smiled & said "What are you doing to do with it?" I answered "Go up to Miss Clapp's room & ask her if I may keep it while she is at the laboratory this morning." Thereupon Mrs. Mead said "Why she meant to give it to Prof. Young. It should go to his room if anywhere" Then I was angry. That made it appear as tho' Miss Clapp had bro't a delicate little thing to Prof. Young, & I had immediately appropriated it. No such thing had been suggested by Miss Clapp, & Prof. Young had just passed it on to his neighbor. I wasn't vexed at Mrs. Mead for understanding that it had been meant for Prof. Y. Tho' I was sure it hadn't been meant for anyone - but I was vexed at the way she spoke. & hurt, George, & a good deal else, the more because 'twas such a tiny thing. I tried hard to pretend not to care, & said I should go right up to Miss Clapp & find out what was to be done with that flower. Then Mrs. Mead said half-jokingly, "I'm sure you'd like to leave it on Prof. Young's table anyhow, as a compliment to him." but I insisted that I must find out first what was intended & so carried it off - angrier than ever I must say, for I didn't like Mrs. Mead to keep suggesting that I'd better give that to Prof. Young. I couldnt do it & wouldn't, for he was already in his room & what a goose I should have been to walk down there & knock & say the flower was to be left on his table. No one but Mrs. Mead dreamed of its having been meant for him.
Miss Clapp, on being interviewed, said 'twas for no. 4 to look at & enjoy for one or two meals, then 'twas be passed on to some one else.
When I came to my room just now I was ready to cry, chiefly from vexation, partly from super-sensitiveness, & partly because I was hurt a little. George dear, little things like that hurt me fearfully, & make a perfect child of me. You see, this is a fair example of those occurrences, which, now & then, make me perfectly wretched. & it made me feel so ugly toward Mrs. Mead for a few minutes. I'm getting over it now as I write you. Darling, please never try to cure me of such childishness by being careless yourself, or forgetting, that would make my life wretched. Remember how uncontrolled I am, & help me be better.
[A second letter, packaged with this one, follows.]
Athens 16/28 October 1892.
My dear Elizabeth
It is a long time since I received your letter in Andros where I spent about seven wees with my uncle at our friend Mr. Zaraphonithes' house we had a lovely time there with the family of the American Consol. Prof. Manath since his family consists of five girls and one boy, we had our sea-baths every day and also we used often to go in a boat for a row, we enjoyed it very much when by the moon-light. But when September came I was very glad to come back to Athens to continue my studies. I am glad that you have a new position in Massachussets [sic] so I shall be nearer you when I come to America. Oh Elizabeth how I wish to see you and congratulate you on your good fortune, and I am very glad that the Lord has provided you with such a good young man.I went about the silk dress check you wrote about and they told me that they can make the same as your sample for 3 1/2 drachmas the peak.
I shall dear probably leave Athens in July next. I shall so much love to see Gerald please give him many kisses from me. Last month we had a Greek wedding in our house, Eudoxia the girl who is living with us married a young man from Patras, and they both now live in our house.
Yesterday, the Athenian public celebrated the twenty fifth anniversary of the wedding of the king and Queen of Greece[.] The streets were decorated with flags and there were many royal Princes present at the ceremony in the cathedral. In the evening the streets were lit up with various lights including electric lights lanterns candles gas & etc. I went out to see them but the wind was very strong and so I did not stay long, it was though very pretty.
I go to school every day, and this my last year I shall finish my Greek studies and also I continue my English with an American lady Miss Hill from Buffalo I like her very much.
My uncle sends you his very kind regards and congratulations and with much love from myself
I remain your loving friend
Anastasia Zeesi