Again:

Auteuil, October 24, 1809.

Dear Sally,—The ‘Mentor’ arrived some weeks since, when I was expecting you. Without doubt the reason you did not come was owing to your not finding proper protection, and in these terrible times of war you cannot be too particular. This unfortunate war chains me to the spot, for I am so situated between three governments that I am obliged almost to turn into a cypher. It is to England I want to go, but dare not risk it. And it is there I should much prefer receiving you than here.

By the date of this letter you will perceive it to be the anniversary of my wedding-day with Madame Lavoisier to-day four years. I own I make choice of this day to write to you, in reality to testify joy, but joy that I am away from her, as has been the case for the last six months. It would be difficult to describe what I suffered there for the last year. I often wished for you, but am now exceedingly glad you did not come, as it would have made you unhappy and perhaps have done me no good. I was made quite ill at last, but now, thank Heaven, I am recovering my health and spirits fast. I am like one risen from the dead. Adieu, my dear child. You will hear from me soon again, and I hope to see you soon. I have some pretty rooms prepared for you. I had one of the Aichners to come and wait upon you, but she did not exactly please me, and I sent her back again. My old servants, her father and mother, are nicely established, owing to mine and the Elector’s kindness, at Munich, and are very happy.

Auteuil, November 12, 1809.

My dear Daughter,—Here is another month past, and you do not come. I know all the difficulties of travelling either by sea or by land, so do not blame you; am only sorry. Sorry on several accounts—on one account that I want to see you. For do you recollect, my dear, that it is many years since we saw each other? We will not say how many, lest the time should seem longer. And little did I think, when you quitted me at Brompton, it would have been for such a length of time, nor would it have been but for this unfortunate marriage. Never were there two more distinct beings than this woman (for I cannot call her a lady) before and after marriage. But undoubtedly she was pushed on by those looking forward to her fortune, fearing some of it would light on me. She is the most avaricious woman I ever saw, and the most cunning—things which I could not possibly know before marriage.

I suffered more for the last fourteen months—indeed, the whole three years and a half that I lived with her—than I had an idea I could have gone through. Luckily I have money enough of my own, but war and these terrible times prevent me from receiving money from Bavaria, or my half-pay from England. Yet I am obliged to keep up a certain consequence, besides being disgusted with everything. I am afraid you will have to quit the world if you stay with me.

Auteuil, January 10, 1810.

Here month after month arrives, but you do not come. I am very impatient to see you, but I am more anxious lest something should happen to you on the way, for discord reigns everywhere.

Later he said:

I am absolutely obliged to set out for Munich, so if you come in the time you must make yourself comfortable. If I find you here on my return, it will give me much pleasure.

The King has been in Paris, and invited me so kindly I thought it my duty to go; but he assures me I shall not be detained there on any business of importance.

On his arrival in Munich he wrote:

My reception here has been most kind and flattering. The whole town is in expectation of seeing me again fixed here and employed in the public affairs of the country. But I know positively, and it is my greatest consolation, that I shall be permitted to return quietly to my retreat at Auteuil.

Adieu, my dear Sally. I shall write to you again, I think, before leaving Munich; but you had better not write me, lest I should be already set out on my return.

My health is perfectly good, and I am very happy. All my late sufferings are forgotten. I feel as if just relieved from an insupportable weight. God be thanked for my delivery! All your friends here have desired to be remembered to you. Adieu, my dear Sally; make yourself as comfortable and happy as you can, and be assured that I have at length quite recovered my reason, and that I am now persuaded that all that has happened to me has been most fortunate for me. I am now a free man.

Munich, October 24, 1810.

You will perceive that this is the anniversary of my marriage. I am happy to call it to mind, that I may compare my present situation with the three and a half horrible years I was living with that tyrannical, avaricious, unfeeling woman. You can have no idea, my dear Sally, what I had to suffer during the last fourteen months—indeed, during the whole three years and a half I lived in that house—but the closing six months was a purgatory sufficiently painful to do away the sins of a thousand years.

The Prince Royal was married on the 12th, and we have had continued fêtes and rejoicings. The English Garden is in high beauty; no expense is spared upon it. I am allowed to dine with the King pretty much as often as I wish, but to-morrow I take leave of him, of Munich, and the rest of my friends; so you will soon, my dear Sally, see me at Auteuil.

In December 1811 his daughter arrived at Auteuil, and found him in excellent health. She writes: