_August 6th, 1859, 10 o’clock_.
I tried last night, my angel, to write you a half sheet, but it was as
much as I could do to read your letter a second time, and it was only by
making a great effort that I was able to write a few lines. However,
this morning I will try and continue, in order to reward you, not for
that one which you have deprived me of from pique, but for those
bewitching ones which I have lately received.
I have just received your letter 17, begun August 3rd, 11 o’clock at
night, and bless you for the idea of addressing it to Pal. B., it is
infinitely preferable, and there is no fear of any risk (“indiscretion”
in original) either now or later.
I am delighted when I think of the pleasure you derived from what I sent
you the other day. I only decided upon it in fear and trembling. I do
not understand what you mean by letter direct to Albert. If you do not
send it per Embassy bag I should not have it here till Monday; you would
have done much better to have put it in the parcel. All last night I
slept very badly, no doubt in consequence of a presentiment I had that I
should not receive a half sheet, and that you were annoyed at my going
to Albano, and I thought of a mass of things as disagreeable as they are
painful. Of your birthday, for instance, the 1st of October, which will
be an opportunity for II * [* II stands for her husband] to make you a
present in return for the set of studs which you gave him on his
birthday, when you, no doubt, will give him something.
As to your brown cloak which II gave you, &c. &c., I request that on
your birthday when he makes you his usual present, whatever it may be,
you accept it and say, “I thank you,” and, without even looking at it,
put it upon the table, immediately speak of something else, and when he
has left the room, put it away out of sight without ever speaking of it
again, or appearing to know what has become of it.
I have just been interrupted for an hour and a half by M. de
Fiennes—very agreeable is it not? You must forgive me if I am unable to
write to you at length; what I have said to you above is for the future,
but the past is over since he has those studs. I forbid you to give him
something in future, unless you cannot possibly do otherwise; and, in
that case, you must give cigarettes or anything which does not last. I
will see what is to be done about your shawl, was it not II who gave it
to you? Thanks, my treasure, to walk so far from II; it is so good of
you to give up to me that walk, which I hate when you take it with him.
Ah! new projects again, but let us hope these will be the last, how I
pity you. You were so well you told me two days ago, and now you are
already obligated to take some powders—it is II system. Nice health you
seem to have; you have good reason for believing that the regimen you
have hitherto followed is a good one, it succeeds so well! Poor darling
I can comprehend how uncomfortable these frequent agitations must make
you. I suffer from them so often myself.
I will make you some drawings later. I have not the time today. Those
uncertainties of your mother are terrible. Oh, yes, I am in despair at
that departure, particularly before my lot is decided, and knowing, as I
do, that you are unhappy. But, my child, do not fear to let it be known
in every direction that you cannot endure II, and that you have taken a
disgust to him. Do not hesitate to give the true reasons when you refuse
to do anything, simply, “Yes, or No, the hand, but with ……… it is not
necessary. I can dispense with it, nothing of that sort is necessary.”
And then, when that has produced the desired effect, add, “We can only
live under the same roof upon those conditions, for sooner would I go
away altogether than that it should be otherwise.” Speak in this manner;
it won’t answer very well at first perhaps; but he will soon get
accustomed to it, “How do you do?” in the morning, and “Good night,” at
night. Then gradually get into the way of saying “Mr. C.” when talking
of, or speaking to him. You may be told it is not the custom. Answer you
don’t care, it is not the custom to be such an idiot as he is. Ah, you
are too sad, poor child, all that is charming, and all our
superstitions. Moreover, one must think of what has been, not of what
will be, and compare it with what is. The progress is very delightful
and consoling.
Do not be unhappy about my horse, he did not go very well, and then I do
not care about driving in a carriage when you are on foot.
I have made two drawings, one prettier than the other, and I have had a
copious emission.
Mrs. S. has made no tentative overtures towards me. She is often that
way inclined, and with everybody. Be calm then; but, after all, you are
perfectly so, only you pretend to be otherwise. God bless you for
speaking so often of your pretty rose-coloured silk stockings. I like
them so much, and adore you for wearing _them_, although it is not the
custom, above all in the day time. Doubtless it is very coquettish,
pretty, and wondrously exciting. Even only to think of them gives me an
erection. And that rice powder! how divine you must look. It is to be
hoped that the powder in your hair will not give ideas to II and
embolden him—take care. Thanks for thinking so often of me, my idolized
angel. Adieu, my good, my best treasure, I love and embrace you
tenderly. I will have my revenge, for I, too, had prepared a half sheet,
but will not send it till tomorrow.