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:—­