To Citizen Sophie Boisson, Cahors

Toulouse, 19 Germinal (9 April 1800)²

What must you think of my silence? You must surely blame it on laziness, my dear Sophie, and I completely agree. I would, however, like to point out that there is consideration mixed in with this bit of laziness because, frankly, whenever I think of writing to you, I feel mortified. My letters are so long and boring I am often more inclined to throw them into the fire than to post them. I do not do the former because, just as I am about to, I see you scolding me for not giving you any news and so decide to send you my screeds.

You must see, my dear friend, from my last how little there is to amuse in the country. Despite that, I am never bored: reading, painting, music, and the day’s household duties take up all my time, and the hope that accompanies these occupations, of soon leaving that dreadful place, means I think of my isolation as little as possible.

You would no longer recognise me, my dear friend. Living with misfortune has made me serious, melancholy, often preferring solitude to any kind of society. Without the frequent little censures I receive on the subject, I confess I could devote the better part of my heart to misanthropy. But such a ceaseless campaign is waged against me that, under the best terms available, I surrender. Misanthropy—let it rest in peace with its partisans and let us talk of something more cheerful.

Tell me, my dear, do you know Monsieur Demoustier’s Letters on Mythology? I think you do. If not you should get them. I guarantee you will enjoy the read. If any venerable old bigots heard him, I imagine they would take a trip to Paris expressly to convert this amiable author, but I doubt he would forget his enchanting Emily for the sake of their credulous piety. I was afraid I might discover it was only to amplify his own brilliance that Monsieur Demoustier depicted such an exquisitely loving heart, but was completely reassured by someone acquainted with this friendship. She is a living person and truly  close to the author of the Letters on Mythology. She is not especially pretty, but has great intelligence. You will love the ingenious way in which he comes back to Emily. The place which seems the furthest away from her turns out to be the one which brings him closest to her.

How delightful to be lauded and loved by someone of such refined taste! Read these letters, my dear. If you do not yet know them you will find yourself charmed, like him. I find it charming to come back to you, my lovely Sophie. I do not effect the turn so nicely as Monsieur Demoustier but then, to comfort myself, I consider how those sentiments of love so frequently uttered might soon be bestowed on persons other than Emily, while nobody will receive from me a truer and more sincere assurance of my tender affection.

Mimi

Let me go on with my letter!

I am here to complete some portraits I am doing in oils. I should finish them soon and intend to leave once they are done, so, my dear friend, make haste to reply before my departure and be sure to do so on receipt of my letter. Do you still draw? It is a very rewarding skill which I urge you not to neglect, being a great weapon against boredom.

I do not know, my dear friend, if you are aware of the death of poor Madame [...]. She was delivered, thankfully, of a bonny boy, but two days later her whole body became gangrenous. She died in frightful agony. The baby is thriving but the family are quite desolate. Farewell my dear friend. A kiss to your sister from me and my respects to those family members who are with you.

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