Geneva, January, 1834.
Madame—I do not know if I had the honour to tell you yesterday that I might, perhaps, not have the pleasure of dining with you to-day. I should be in despair if you could think I did not attach an extreme value to that favour by making you wait for me in vain. Your cousin has engaged me for Thursday next; I have accepted so as not to seem absurd in my seclusion. I hope you will see nothing "French" in this sentiment.
I hope this continual rain has not made you sad, and I beg you to present my most distinguished sentiments to M. Hanski, and accept my most affectionate homage and obedience.
De Balzac.
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.
Honoré
I considered the cotignac so precious I would not delay your gastronomic joys.
Geneva, January, 1834.
Madame—Will you exchange colonial products? Here is a little of my coffee. My sister writes that I shall have more to-morrow; therefore, take this. You shall have your coffee-pot to-morrow. Will you give me a little tea for my breakfast? I want strictly a little.
Have you passed a good night? Are you well? Have you had good dreams? I hope your health is good, so that we can go and take a walk [nous promener, bromener]. The treasury? … Furth!
To Her Majesty Rzewuskienne, Mme. Hanska.
Geneva, January, 1834.
Very dear sovereign, sacred Majesty, sublime queen of Paulowska and circumjacent regions, autocrat of hearts, rose of Occident, star of the North, etc., etc., etc., fairy of tiyeuilles.[1]
Your Grace wished for my coffee-pot, and I entreat your Serene Highness to do me the honour to accept one that is prettier and more complete; and then to tell me, to fling me from your eminent throne a word full of happiness, amber, and flowers, to let me know if I am to be at Your sublime door in an hour, with a carriage, to go to Coppet.
I lay my homage at the feet of your Majesty, and entreat you to believe in the honesty of your humble moujik, Honoreski.
[1] Bromener and tiyeuilles (tilleuls lindens), make fun of her pronunciation.—TR.
Geneva, January, 1834.
Never did an invalid less merit that name. He is ready to go to walk, to fetch his proofs, and when his business is finished, which will be in about a quarter of an hour, he will go and propose to Madame la doctrice to profit by this beautiful day to take an air-bath on the Crêt of Geneva, along the iron railings; unless the laziness of the Hanski household concurs with that of the poor literary moujik who lays at your feet, madame, his strings of imaginary pearls, the treasure of his heroes, his fanciful Alhambra, where he has carved, everywhere, not the sacred name of God, but a human name that is sacred in other ways. But all this immense property may not be worth, in reality, the four games won yesterday.
Geneva, January, 1834.
I have slept like a dormouse, I feel like a charm, I love you like a madcap, I hope that you are well, and I send you a thousand tendernesses.
Geneva, January, 1834.
If I must come this evening, and dress myself because you have your charaders, permit me to come a little earlier. There is a dinner here; they are singing and making such a noise while I write that it is enough to drive the devil away. Ecco. I can calculate. Wednesday I shall be encandollé [dinner with M. de Candolle]. Thursday is taken. To-morrow I work without intermission, for I shall have proofs. So, out of five days, when one has but one in prospect, it is no flattery to add a few hours. Yes? Very good.
Allow me to return your "Marquis" by a good "Maréchale."
Geneva, January, 1834.
Willingly, but you will bring me back to your house, will you not?—for I can't get accustomed to be two steps away from you, doing nothing, without better employing my time.
If you go into the town I will ask you to be so kind—No, I will go myself.
Geneva, January, 1834.
Madame—To a man who considers happy moments as the most profitable moments of existence, it is permitted to wish not to lose any part of the sums he amasses. It is only in the matter of joy that I wish to be Grandet.
If I take this morning the time that you would give me, from three to ten o'clock, would you refuse me? No? Good. If you love me?—yes—you will be visible at twelve or one o'clock.
Forgive my avarice; I possess as yet nothing but the happiness which heaven bestows. Of that I may be avaricious, since I have nothing else. To you, a thousand affectionate respects, and my obeisances to the honourable Maréchal of the Ukraine and noble circumjacent regions.
Geneva, January, 1834.
I cannot come because I am more unwell than I expected to be, and going out might do me harm. If you would have the kindness to send me back a little orgeat you would do me a real service, for I don't know what to drink, and I have a consuming thirst.
I have spent my day very sadly, trying to work, and finding myself incapable of it. So, I think I shall go to bed in a few hours.
A thousand thanks, and present my respects to the Grand Maréchal.
Geneva, January, 1834.
Madame—If it were not that I get impatient and suffer at losing so much time, both for that which gives me pleasure and also for my work, I should be this morning well, and like a man who has had a fever. I don't know whether I had better go out or keep my room; but I frankly own that here, alone, I worry horribly.
A thousand thanks for your good care, and forgive me that, yesterday, I was more surprised than grateful at your visit, which touched me deeply after you had left. I don't know if you know that there are things that get stronger as they get older.
A thousand thanks and grateful regards to M. Hanski. How stupid I am to have made you anxious for so slight a matter; but how happy I am to know that you have as much friendship for me as I for you.
Geneva, January, 1834.
My love, this morning I am perfectly well. I was embarrassed yesterday because there were for you, under the things you moved about, two letters I send with this.
Mon Dieu! my love, I am afraid that step of yours (your visit to my room) may be ill taken, and that you exposed the two letters. For other reasons, Mon Dieu! certainly, I wanted to see you here! I have such need to cure my cold that if I go out it cannot be till this evening.
I am up; I could not stay in bed longer, I am too uncomfortable. I must talk or have something to do. Inaction kills me. Yesterday, I spent a horrible evening thinking of what I had to do. I am this morning like a man who has had a fever.
A thousand tender caresses. Mon Dieu! how I suffer when I don't see you. I have a thousand things to tell you.
Geneva, January,