nothing, not even an air a la Osborne or Sowinski
(both of them excellent friends), the one an Irishman,
the other a compatriot of mine (I am prouder of them
than of the rejected representative Antoine de Kontski—
Frenchman of the north and animal of the south).
[Footnote: “Frenchmen of the north”
used to be a common appellation of the Poles.]
After these parentheses, I will tell you truly that I know [footnote: Here probably “not” ought to be added.] what will become of me in autumn. At any rate, if you get no news from me do not complain of me, for I think very often of writing to you. If you see Mdlle. de Rozieres or Grzymala, one or the other of them will have heard something—if not from me, from some friends. The park here is very beautiful, the lord of the manor very excellent, and I am as well as I am permitted to be. Not one proper musical idea. I am out of my groove; I am like, for instance, an ass at a masked ball, a chanterelle [first, i.e., highest string] of a violin on a double bass— astonished, amazed, lulled to sleep as if I were hearing a trait [a run or a phrase] of Bodiot [footnote: That is, Charles Nicolas Baudiot (1773-1849), the violoncellist, at one time professor at the Conservatoire. He published a school and many compositions for his instrument.] (before the 24th of February), [footnote: The revolution of February 24, 1848.] or a stroke of the bow of M. Cap [footnote: This gentleman was an amateur player of the violoncello and other stringed instruments.] (after the June days). [Footnote: The insurrection of the Red Republicans on June 23-26, 1848.] I hope they are still flourishing, for I cannot do without them in writing. But another real question is, that I hope you have no friends to deplore in all these terrible affairs. And the health of Madame Franchomme and of the little children? Write me a line, and address it to London, care of Mr. Broadwood, 33, Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square. I have here a perfect (material) tranquillity, and pretty Scotch airs. I wish I were able to compose a little, were it only to please these good ladies—Madame Erskine and Mdlle. Stirling. I have a Broadwood piano in my room, the Pleyel of Miss Stirling in my salon. I lack neither paper nor pens. I hope that you also will compose something, and may God grant that I hear it soon newly born. I have friends in London who advise me to pass there the winter.—But I shall listen only to my I do not know what [mon je ne sais quoi]; or, rather, I shall listen to the last comer—this comes often to the same thing as weighing well. Adieu dear, dear friend! My most sincere wishes to Madame Franchomme for her children. I hope that Rene amuses himself with his bass, that Cecile works well, and that their little sister always reads her books. Remember me to Madame Lasserve, I pray you, and correct my orthography as well as my French.
The following words are written along the margin:—