PARIS, _Saturday, November, 1842_.
_Das Lied des Claerchens gefällt mir zu gar; aber warum haben Sie nicht
das Ende geschrieben?_
The interest which you manifest in that Etruscan stone is truly
delightful to see! How many cakes do you think it is worth? You have
never even asked about the inscription it bears. It is a man turning a
ewer. I should say an amphora, which is a Greek word and more
high-sounding. In former times, perhaps, the seal belonged to a potter;
there is, indeed, a mythological allusion which I might explain to you
if I would. As for the other seal, it has a strange history. I found it
in the chimney-place, as I was poking the fire, in the rue d’Alger; it
is a very large, heavy bronze ring, and the characters on it are
mystical. It is supposed to have been used by a magician, or even by the
gnostics. You have noticed on it a small man, a sun, a moon, etc. Is it
not a curious thing to find in the ashes in the rue d’Alger? Who knows
if it is not to the mysterious power of this ring that I owe your song
of _Claire_?
I am really ill, but that is no reason why I should not go out. If, for
instance, you wished to receive the Etruscan ring from my own hand, I
would give it to you with the greatest pleasure; while it would be
conspicuous and cause gossip if I should send it in a letter by your
bearer. But I do not want to ask anything more from you, for you become
more despotic every day, and you have acquired the most odious
subtleties of coquetry. It appears that you do not appreciate eyes
without any white, and that you admire blue-white eyes. You take good
care, also, to remind me of your own eyes, which I remember quite well,
although I have seen them so seldom.
Who has taught you this peculiarity, which you dare to tell me you did
not know? Was it your Greek teacher, or your German teacher? Or am I to
believe that you learned by yourself to write German script, as you did
the Greek? Another article of faith to add to your aversion to mirrors!
You ought to cultivate a German flower called _die Aufrichtigkeit_.
I have just written the word _End_ at the close of a piece of very
learned writing, which I composed in the worst possible humour; it
remains to be seen whether this word does not signify dulness and
prolixity. However, now that it is finished, I feel relieved of a
burden and much happier, which explains my blandness and amiability
towards you; otherwise I should have told you some sharp truths about
yourself.
You should see me, if it were only to escape from the atmosphere of
flattery in which you live. We must go some day to the Museum to see the
Italian paintings. It would be a compensation for the journey you failed
to take, and to have me for a guide is an inestimable privilege. This is
not a condition on which I shall give you my Etruscan stone. Say how,
and you shall have it.