PARIS, _May 4, 1843_.
I am unable to sleep, and am as cross as a bear. There are several
things I should like to say about your letter, but I shall say none of
them, on account of my bad humour, or rather, I shall try to restrain it
a little. Your distinction between the two _egos_ is very pretty, and is
a proof of your profound selfishness. You love only yourself, and that
is why you feel a sort of affection for the _ego_ which resembles yours.
Several times, day before yesterday, I was shocked to see this. I was
thinking of it sadly enough, while you were completely absorbed in
admiring the trees.
You are right to enjoy travelling on the railroad. In a few days it will
be possible to go to Rouen and to Orléans in three hours. Why should we
not go to see Saint Ouen? Yet what could be more beautiful than the
woods where we were the other day? Only, I think you should have
remained there longer. When one has sufficient imagination to give a
plausible explanation for that branch of ivy, one should not be at a
loss for occupation to last some time. I wonder if you have that ivy in
your hair this evening? If you have, I am sure that it will add to your
coquettishness.
I am so vexed with you that you will think, it may be, that the _I_
which you admire is too much in evidence. In fact, I am thinking
seriously of putting into execution the threat I made you one day.
How did you enjoy the fireworks? I was at the house of an “Excellency”
who has a lovely garden, from where we had a good view of them. The
crowning piece was fine. They are really far more wonderful than a
volcano, for art is always more beautiful than nature. Good-bye. Try to
think of me occasionally.
Our walks have now become a part of my life, and I can hardly realise
how I lived without them. It seems to me you take them very
philosophically. But how will it be when we see each other no longer?
Six months ago we resumed our conversation at the very same point where
it had been interrupted. Shall we do the same again? I have an
indefinable fear that I shall find you changed. Every time we meet you
are enveloped in an armour of ice, which melts only after a quarter of
an hour. By the time I return you will have amassed a veritable iceberg.
Well, it is better not to cross the bridge until you come to it. Let us
continue our dreams.
Should you suppose a Roman capable of saying pretty things, and of
showing affection? I will show you Monday some Latin verses, which you
shall translate for yourself, and which fit our habitual disputes like a
glove. You shall see that the ancients are a great deal better than your
Wilhelm Meister.