Before going to bed.
“I want to talk to you one moment longer about this sad day, now that it is wrapped in night’s shadows. The crime is committed, and I bury it in the bottom of my heart; the memory of it lives there for ever; but I will speak no more of it, Charlotte. All to-day I was Her’s alone; I forgot every one else, and I lived only for my old friends, just as if I were not in Russia at all. M. de Crussol came while I was at supper, and at half-past eleven he told me, without my in the least wanting to know, where he had supped....”
Morning of the 17th.
“Many things have happened to distract me since I came here, my Charlotte, as you may see from the fact of my having written to you on the tenth, 7th August, without noticing the date. I should never forgive myself for it, if I had really forgotten, if those events had not been as present to my poor heart as they always are, and always will be, I should be angry with myself; and I should tell you the truth quite frankly, even if I were to lose by doing so what I should not wish to have on false pretences—but that fault (if it was one) was not through want of heart. No! I can answer for my heart; it is good and true. Since you wished it, I wish I had written to you on St. Louis’ day; but I would swear that I never did write to you unless it was mail-day; and that that was the first time I wrote to you several days running. The sad circumstance was certainly enough for one to do something out of the way. Don’t scold me, if you can help it. You’re really too fond of scolding. To-day it’s about a watch; the next, about yourself! My dear, you are very good at curing one of little fancies; you’ve quite cured me of mine for my little watch, and I no longer think at all of the pleasure it used to give me; but only of what it gives you, since it comes from me. You must admit that that’s a very nice way of speaking about a sacrifice, for I won’t conceal from you that it was one for me. And as to your watch, Charlotte, I think the watchmaker must have sold it—I’ve been vainly asking for it, for the last six weeks. When you write several sheets do number them....”
“St. Petersburg, November 6 (1797).
“Mr. Keith has arrived, my dear Charlotte, and the morning of the very day of his arrival (Friday) he sent me your letters; and this evening he sent the case, which I think charming, especially the top. I assure you that it gave me intense pleasure; but what sacrifice have you made me—where did you get all that hair? It can’t be of recent cutting; there are so few white hairs that I should scarcely recognize them for those dear tresses. In London you showed me only a tiny bit. Where did you get these? I thank you most gratefully for such a sacrifice; I confess that it would have been beyond me, and so I feel all the more grateful. I’m so afraid of breaking either of the glasses; the case is so high. I must have seen her like that, but I do not remember it; the earliest memory I have of her is seeing her twenty-one years ago at some races; and I remember her dress better than her charming face. The copy is very well done, and I have had the pleasure of examining it twice. It was given to me by artificial light, and next day it seemed quite different, the daylight improved it ever so much; I thank you a thousand times. It is the most delightful gift I could have had. The cameo is very pretty. I imagine it would fain be your portrait, and is really the portrait of Thor’s daughter; she is rather elongated, poor little lady, but apparently the qualities of her heart atone for the defects of her face. My dear, you’re mad with your ‘fashions’! Let me tell you that, except when I go to Court, I’m just as I was in London, almost always in black-and-white linen gown. All the women, you know, dress themselves up, if you please, nearly every day. I never cared about that kind of thing—indeed, I detested it; and having to dress myself up four times a week makes me incredibly lazy on the days that, with joy untold, I can rest from all that bother. My friends are always laughing at me for my dowdiness—so you see what I’ve come to. As to having to wear warm clothing in Russia, as you think one has, you are quite mistaken. Once inside the street door, the houses are so warm that a very thin dress is by far the best to wear. So muslin is better than warm materials. One has to wear fur-cloaks, and well padded ones too, when one is going out, even from one house to another. That is necessary here; but indoors one would be suffocated in padded clothes. I used to think the same as you. I had a dress made in London, and I’ve only worn it once or twice, and then I thought I would die of heat; so you see it will hang in my wardrobe for a long time.
“Yes, I like caricatures; why not? I don’t see anything wrong about them. And I don’t care whether they’re of Bonaparte, or any other of those gentlemen. To tell you the truth, I wish they would do something worse to them than only make fun of them; but now, with the way Lord Nelson of the Nile has disposed of Bonaparte, one certainly can have a good laugh at him. He doesn’t carry the austerity of his principles as far as you do, my dear Charlotte.
“I shall have the inscription of the Queen’s portrait changed; her name is wrong. It ought to be ‘M. A. de Lorraine, Archduchess of Austria.’ The portrait is charming, but all the same it is not the Queen we knew; and I loved her so much better than when that portrait was done. Adorable lady! She was always beautiful and sweet. My dear, I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten to tell you that the portrait, though it didn’t come on our day of mourning, did arrive on November 2, her natal day. I thought of Her all day long; and when Mr. Keith came, it quite distracted me, for everything that reminds me of England puts me in such a state of mind. I talked to him about the case; and he tells me that he had given it to the captain and begged him to put it in his pocket, and that he was to see him again in the afternoon. Imagine my uneasiness and impatience! I made a lackey wait at my house all day, and about eight o’clock the precious case was brought to me. I thank you for it with all my heart. I wish I could send you something as precious, but I haven’t an idea what to send. For the rest, I haven’t got anything, not even the black glass for my friend. My dear Charlotte, you will never cure yourself of giving little coups de patte; you know that I never guess anything; but still...! That black glass must be for some one who draws, and since I take the trouble of doing your commissions, it must be for some one I like. Adieu, my dear! Forgive this small reflection. But though you’re so used to liberty, you don’t allow me many liberties, I think. Well, it’s better to give them back than to have them stolen—and so I do, you see! A thousand kisses!”
Letter from Count Henri de Frotté to Lady Atkyns.