GENEVA, January, 1834.
MADAME,--Here is the first part of your _cotignacian_ poems. But you
will presently see a man in despair. I do not like to bring you the
Chénier, and yet I hesitate to send it back. Of all that I ordered,
nothing has been done. Binding execrably ugly, covering silly. One
should be there one's self to have things done. If you accept it you
must remember only the good intentions with which I took charge of your
book; that is the only way to give it value.
I have been into town; I made myself joyous; I thought I had found
something that would give you pleasure. I have _deranged_ myself. If
you permit it, I will compensate my annoyance by coming to see you
earlier.
A thousand graceful homages.