Madame Grangié née Boisson
Care of Monsieur Boisson, Cahors
Tilh, 27th May 1801
Have you no shame at allowing such an age to go by without writing, my dear Sophie? Can you really contemplate the three months I have spent without a letter and not feel a pang of regret at so cruelly abandoning me? I myself can wait no longer. How are you are getting on?—the subject uppermost in my mind, which please to address when you do write. Tell me something about what has been preventing you from doing so since your wedding. Can it be that one forgets their friends once they are married? I hear you say no. But, that one acquires a touch more laziness, well, I can certainly see that happening. Madame is willing to receive our letters and our kisses, but replying is quite another matter. Well, Madame, since that is how you carry on, so much the worse for you. You will the more often receive samples of my prattle and from such counterstrokes, hopefully, the occasional reply will come.
That is how I am hoping to ensnare my charming lazybones! Teasing
aside, tell me what the weather is like in Rampoux. Here, the last two
months have been cold and rainy. The poor flowers dared not open their
purple chalices, still under cruel winter’s grim rule. Philomel2
was silent. You could see her, all benumbed, looking for some leafy
nook to shelter from the chill. The piping of birds seemed to be
imploring beneficent spring to return. At last it has come. Now is
Philomel delighting us with her lilting song, and the harsh north wind
has given place to gentle westerly breezes.
As you take an interest in my troubles, I want to tell you, my good friend, that little Tata is no longer with us. She was forced to leave due to the poor state of her health, the air here being bad for her chest. You cannot imagine, my dear Sophie, the grief I felt at this parting. There is so much that binds me to her, gratitude, natural inclination, her devotion to me, which has proved itself many times over the past nine years. All in all, she is a friend, kind, reliable and true, from whom I am separated; I who am never spared any opportunity to be grieved. And I assure you I feel all the pain of this separation. What is there to do or say about it? It is God’s will.
I must not forget to tell you that in Grenade3, a little town I sometimes visit, a couple of leagues away, I met a gentleman of your acquaintance, Monsieur Barberel, who last saw you about two years ago. I told him of your marriage and your brothers' release; he knows them well. You can imagine that, finding myself with an acquaintance of yours, I had to talk about you. I happily made the most of the unexpected encounter.
So. You like witticisms, my dear Sophie? I make a note of them if they concern certain people. Here is one of the best. A few days ago, the Prefect was playing some game or other. The time of departure arrives, and everyone is settling their accounts. One, finding himself in debt to the Prefect for a louis, throws it to him, he catches it, turns it over and over, and after examining it carefully, declares it a fake and demands another. His debtor declines, tempers flare on both sides and in the middle of all this comes Madame Devise, wife of an emigré notable for his idiosyncratic costume and character—“What is all this fuss about?”—They tell her. Then says Madame Devise, “You are quite right to challenge him, do you not know he has always been pro-Louis?” That was enough to silence the dispute. Are you not pleased with this wit? I think it priceless. Tell me if you do not agree that it deserves to be in print. At any rate, it is the talk of Toulouse and everyone is laughing, whatever their allegiance.
It is high time to put an end to this interminable letter. But not before I have reiterated the request I made at the beginning of the year for a lock of your hair. I am amusing myself by working on some such keepsakes and, if you are willing to oblige me, intend to set yours in my glass heart. Be a little kind and do not make me wait too long. “A maiden’s longing is a consuming fire”—so says the venerable Gresset.
Farewell, my friend. I am not doing what I said. I am rambling and absolutely must put an end to this drivel. Kisses and all my love to you.
Mimi
Remember us to your husband and your family, even though we do not have the pleasure of knowing them. Mine send you their best. Love to your dear sister.
