PARIS, _July 2, 1848_.
I need very much to see you to cheer me up a little after the painful
experiences of last week, and it is with the keenest pleasure that I
learn of your intended return, sooner than I had dared to hope. Paris is
quiet, and will continue so for some time to come. I do not think the
civil war, or rather the socialist war, is over, but another battle as
horrible as the last seems to me impossible. It was brought on by an
incalculable number of circumstances, which can not occur again.
You will find, when you return, few of the hideous traces of the battle
which your imagination probably pictures to you. The larger part of
them have been effaced by the glazier and the house-painter. Still I can
readily imagine that you will find us all with long faces, and much
sadder than when you left. Well, how can we help it? It is the fashion
of the day, and we must accustom ourselves to it. We shall gradually
reach the point when we shall cease to look forward to the morrow, and
consider ourselves fortunate when we wake in the morning and find
ourselves alive.
What I really miss more than anything else in Paris is yourself, and if
you were here, I believe all the other conditions would be more
supportable. It has rained for the last three days. At present I watch
it as it falls with the utmost indifference; but I should not care to
have it continue too long.
You speak so indefinitely of your return that I have no ground on which
to build, and you are aware that I am anxious to know how long I shall
have to remain in purgatory. You mentioned six weeks when you said
good-bye, and you now say that you will return sooner than that. How
much sooner? That is what I should like to know. Let me hear, also, the
result of the disagreeable affairs which kept you from being present at
my birthday fête, celebrated by the firing of cannon and guns.
Good-bye; in order to be patient I need to hear from you very often.
Write to me at once, and send some remembrance. I am thinking of you
constantly. I thought of you even while looking at those deserted houses
in the rue Saint Antoine, and during the fight at the Bastille.