Cecilia Volanges _to_ Sophia Carnay, _at the Convent of the Ursulines
of ——._
You see, my dear friend, I keep my word, and that dress does not
totally take up all my time; I shall ever have some left for you. In
this single day I have seen more finery of attire, than in the four
years we have spent together; and I believe the haughty Tanville[1]
will be more mortified at my first visit, when I shall certainly desire
to see her, than she used to be every time she came to see us _in
fiochi_. Mamma advises with me in every thing; she behaves to me no
longer as a boarder in a convent. I have a chamber-maid to myself; a
chamber and a closet of my own, and a very pretty scrutoire, of which
I keep the key, and where I can lock up every thing. My Mamma has told
me, I must be with her every morning at her levee; that it would be
sufficient to have my head dressed by dinner, because we should always
be alone, and that then she would each day tell me what time I should
come to her apartment in the evening. The remainder of my time is at
my own disposal; I have my harpsichord, my drawings, and books, just
as in the convent, only that the mother abbess is not here to scold.
And I may always be idle, if I please: but as I have not my dear Sophy
to chat and laugh with, I am as well pleased with some occupation.
It is not yet five, and I am not to go to Mamma till seven: what a
deal of time, if I had any thing to tell you! but nothing has been
yet mentioned to me of any consequence: and if it were not for the
preparation I see making, and the number of women employed for me, I
should be apt to think they have no notion of my nuptials, and that it
was one of old Josephine’s[2] tales. Yet Mamma having so often told
me, that a young lady should remain in a convent, until she was on the
point of marriage, and having now brought me home, I am apt to think
Josephine right.
A coach has just stopped at our door, and Mamma has sent for me. If it
should be my intended!—I am not dressed, and am all in agitation; my
heart flutters. I asked my maid, if she knew who was with my Mamma?
“Why,” says she, laughing, “it is Mr. C——.” I really believe it is
he. I will certainly return and write you the whole; however, that’s
his name. I must not make them wait. Adieu, for a moment!
How you will laugh at your poor Cecilia, my dear Sophy! I’m quite
ashamed! But you would have been deceived as well as I. On entering
Mamma’s room, I saw a gentleman in black, standing close by her, I
saluted him as well as I could, and remained motionless. You may guess,
I examined him from head to foot. “Madam,” said he to Mamma, “this
is a most charming young lady, and I am extremely sensible of your
goodness.” So positive a declaration made me tremble all over; and
not being able to support me, I threw myself in an armed chair, quite
red and disconcerted. In an instant he was at my knees, and then you
may judge how poor Cecilia’s head was bewildered; I instantly started
up and shrieked, just as on the day of the great thunder. Mamma burst
out laughing, saying, “Well, what’s the matter? Sit down, and give Mr.
—— your foot.” Thus, my dear friend, Mr. —— turns out to be my
shoemaker. You can’t conceive how much I was ashamed; happily, there
was no one but Mamma present. I am, however, resolved when I am married
he shall not be my shoemaker. Well! am I not now much the wiser?
Farewell! it is almost six, and my maid says it is time to dress.
Adieu! my dear Sophy; I love you as much as I did at the convent.
P. S. I don’t know whom to send with this, and shall wait till
Josephine calls.
_Paris, Aug._ 3, 17—.
[1] A boarder in the same convent.
[2] Josephine was the portress of the convent.