B & C — A Love Letter
My Dearest Reader,
It is yet another Sunday and I must share with you my progress on the restructuring of this newsletter. Last week I promised to you (and to myself) that I would take some time and think about how to make these stories more relatable. Yesterday, after spending hours engulfed in TurboTax trying to figure out what “Underpayment of Taxes” meant, I realized I hadn’t spent any time thinking about the format of these stories. So, I decided to blame the IRS and wing it one more time.
As I am writing this, I am pretending I’m Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail romanticizing a hastily written email to a stranger I met on AOL. If you’re not familiar with the tone of voice I am referring to, I highly recommend you either watch the movie or at a minimum watch this clip. I have always romanticized writing and receiving letters and have attempted to convert at least four people close to me into penpals. Unfortunately for you, I failed and am now considering the possibility of making every newsletter a letter addressed to you.
What makes letters special to me is that each one is an entirely timeless story on its own. Take the love story of Nikita and Ulyanitsa that reads: From Nikita to Ulyanitsa. Marry me. I want you and you want me. Our witness will be Ignato.
Or the story of Nastasya losing her husband that reads: A bow from Nastasya to my brothers. I have Boris [no longer] alive. How gentlemen, will you take care of me and my children?
Or the story of Alejandro, written by yours truly (shameless plug), while on a trip to Cuba that reads: Alex, the tour guide, introduced us to Alejandro the owner of the coffee farm. He is 85 and has 7 children — 6 of them live on the farm. He has been a coffee farmer for many years, and loves when tours stop by. He especially loves Alex because he makes sure to stop by to ask how he and his family are doing. Alex jokingly refers to Alejandro as Casanova. He is a very sweet old man.
Each one of these letters tells us a story. The story of a young couple in love deciding to spend the rest of their lives together in BC 1280. The story of a young woman’s loss and of her concern for her children’s future in BC 1410. The story of an attempt by a future-newsletter-writer to turn a now-ex into a penpal in 2018. Letters bring with them a sense of familiarity as well as wonder. What was the wedding Ignato witnessed like? How did Boris pass away? Did the ex ever write back¹?
But what woman are we talking about today? Get to it already. Fine. After all, this is a newsletter about the stories of women. So, today I present to you the story of B and C — two 12th century nuns who were in love: taken from an article by Jacqueline Murray, compiled by Peter Dronke in 1968 , and told by B herself².
To C–, sweeter than honey or honeycomb, B — sends all the love there is to her love. You who are unique and special, why do you make delay so long, so far away? Why do you want your only one to die, who as you know, loves you with soul and body, who sighs for you at every hour, at every moment, like a hungry little bird.
Since I’ve had to be without your sweetest presence, I have not wished to hear or see any other human being, but as the turtle-dove, having lost its mate, perches forever on its little dried up branch, so I lament endlessly till I shall enjoy your trust again. I look about and do not find my lover — she does not comfort me even with a single word. Indeed when I reflect on the loveliness of your most joyful speech and aspect, I am utterly depressed, for I find nothing now that I could compare with your love, sweet beyond honey and honeycomb, compared with which the brightness of gold and silver is tarnished. What more?
In you is all gentleness, all perfection, so my spirit languishes perpetually by your absence. You are devoid of the gall of any faithlessness, you are sweeter than milk and honey, you are peerless among thousands, I love you more than any. You alone are my love and longing, you the sweet cooling of my mind, no joy for me anywhere without you. All that was delightful with you is wearisome and heavy without you.
So I truly do want to tell you, if I could buy your life for the price of mine, [I’d do it] instantly, for you are the only woman I have chosen according to my heart. Therefore I beseech God that bitter death may not come to me before I enjoy the dearly desired sight of you again.
Farewell. Have of me all the faith and love there is. Accept the writing I send, and with it my constant mind.
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- He did not.
- Original Script (not verified — do your own research, I’m winging this)
