PARIS, _June 14, 1858--At Night_.
I have just found your letter here on my return from the country, where
I visited my cousin in order to tell him good-bye. I am more desolate
to know that you are so far away than I was to leave you. The sight of
the trees and the fields have recalled our walks. I felt sure, moreover,
and had a presentiment that you would not go so soon, and that I should
see you once more, so that the post-mark on your letter vexed me
extremely.
I am irritated even more by your prudish ridicule, and by all you say
concerning that book. It has the misfortune to be badly written--that
is, in an emphatic style which Sainte-Beuve praises by calling poetic.
So diverse are tastes! It contains sensible statements, and it is not
flippant. When one has as much good taste as you, you should not exclaim
that it is frightful, that it is immoral; you should realise that what
is good in the book is very good. Never judge of things with your
prejudices. Every day you become more prudish and more conformed to
conventionality. I can forgive you for wearing crinoline, but I can not
forgive you for prudishness. You must learn how to recognise the good
where it exists.
Another cause of chagrin against you is that I do not possess your last
portrait. It is your fault, for I have frequently asked you for it. You
pretend that it does not resemble you, while I insist that it has that
expression of countenance which I have seen on no woman but you, and
which I have often recalled in my mind’s eye. The day of my departure is
not certain, but I shall endeavour to be in Lucerne about the 20th, in
which event I shall leave the 19th. ‘Tis needless to say that I shall
expect to hear from you before that date. It is frightfully warm here,
on account of which I am unable to eat or to sleep.
Good-bye. Before leaving, I shall inform you where you must write to me.
I am in no mood to say pleasant things. I am very displeased with you,
but, as usual, I must forgive you in the end. Try to keep well and do
not catch cold in the cool of the evening.
Good-bye again, dear friend; it is a word which always saddens me.