I beg of you, for God’s sake, do not say to any Poles that I am coming so soon, nor to any Jewess either, as I should like to reserve myself during the first few days only for you, Grzymala, and Johnnie.  Give them my love; to the latter I shall write once more.

I expect that the rooms will be ready.  Write constantly to me, three times a day if you like, whether you have anything to say or not.  Before leaving here I shall once more write to you.

  Monday.

You are inappreciable!  Take Rue Pigal [Pigalle], both houses, without asking anybody.  Make haste.  If by taking both houses you can diminish a little the price, well; if not, take them for 2,500 francs.  Do not let them slip out of your hands, for we think them the best and most excellent.  She regards you as my most logical and best—­and I would add:  the most splenetic, Anglo-Polish, from my soul beloved—­friend.

  [6.]

The day after to-morrow, Thursday, at five o’clock in the morning, we start, and on Friday at three, four, certainly at five o’clock, I shall be in Rue Tronchet, No. 5.  I beg of you to inform the people there of this, I wrote to Johnnie to-day to retain for me that valet, and order him to wait for me at Rue Tronchet on Friday from noon.  Should you have time to call upon me at that time, we would most heartily embrace each other.  Once more my and my companion’s most sincere thanks for Rue Pigalle.

Now, keep a sharp look-out on the tailor, he must have the clothes ready by Friday morning, so that I can change my clothes as soon as I come.  Order him to take them to Rue Tronchet, and deliver them there to the valet Tineau—­if I mistake not, that is his name.  Likewise the hat from Dupont, [footnote:  In the preceding letter it was Duport] and for that I shall alter for you the second part of the Polonaise till the last moment of my life.  Yesterday’s version also may not please you, although I racked my brains with it for at least eighty seconds.

I have written out my manuscripts in good order.  There are six with your Polonaises, not counting the seventh, an impromptu, which may perhaps be worthless—­I do not know myself, it is too new.  But it would be well if it be not too much in the style of Orlowski, Zimmermann, or Karsko-Konski, [footnote:  Chopin’s countryman, the pianist and composer Antoine Kontski] or Sowinski, or other similar animals.  For, according to my reckoning, it might fetch me about 800 francs.  That will be seen afterwards.

As you are such a clever man, you might also arrange that no black thoughts and suffocating coughs shall annoy me in the new rooms.  Try to make me good.  Change, if you can, many episodes of my past.  It would also not be a bad thing if I should find a few years of great work accomplished.  By this you will greatly oblige me, also if you would make yourself younger or bring about that we had never been born.—­Your old

  Frederick.