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some Spanish exile happy by passing on to him my connection。
I lodge in the Rue Hillerin…Bertin with a poor widow； who takes
boarders。 My room faces south and looks out on a little garden。 It is
perfectly quiet； I have green trees to look upon； and spend the sum of
one piastre a day。 I am amazed at the amount of calm； pure pleasure
which I enjoy in this life； after the fashion of Dionysius at Corinth。
From sunrise until ten o'clock I smoke and take my chocolate； sitting
at my window and contemplating two Spanish plants； a broom which rises
out of a clump of jessaminegold on a white ground； colors which must
send a thrill through any scion of the Moors。 At ten o'clock I start
for my lessons； which last till four； when I return for dinner。
Afterwards I read and smoke till I go to bed。
I can put up for a long time with a life like this； compounded of work
and meditation； of solitude and society。 Be happy； therefore； Fernand；
my abdication has brought no afterthoughts； I have no regrets like
Charles V。； no longing to try the game again like Napoleon。 Five days
and nights have passed since I wrote my will； to my mind they might
have been five centuries。 Honor； titles； wealth； are for me as though
they had never existed。
Now that the conventional barrier of respect which hedged me round has
fallen； I can open my heart to you； dear boy。 Though cased in the
armor of gravity； this heart is full of tenderness and devotion； which
have found no object； and which no woman has divined； not even she
who； from her cradle； has been my destined bride。 In this lies the
secret of my political enthusiasm。 Spain has taken the place of a
mistress and received the homage of my heart。 And now Spain； too； is
gone！ Beggared of all； I can gaze upon the ruin of what once was me
and speculate over the mysteries of my being。
Why did life animate this carcass； and when will it depart？ Why has
that race； pre…eminent in chivalry； breathed all its primitive virtues
its tropical love； its fiery poetryinto this its last offshoot； if
the seed was never to burst its rugged shell； if no stem was to spring
forth； no radiant flower scatter aloft its Eastern perfumes？ Of what
crime have I been guilty before my birth that I can inspire no love？
Did fate from my very infancy decree that I should be stranded； a
useless hulk； on some barren shore！ I find in my soul the image of the
deserts where my fathers ranged； illumined by a scorching sun which
shrivels up all life。 Proud remnant of a fallen race； vain force； love
run to waste； an old man in the prime of youth； here better than
elsewhere shall I await the last grace of death。 Alas！ under this
murky sky no spark will kindle these ashes again to flame。 Thus my
last words may be those of Christ； /My God； Thou hast forsaken me！/
Cry of agony and terror； to the core of which no mortal has ventured
yet to penetrate！
You can realize now； Fernand； what a joy it is to me to live afresh in
you and Marie。 I shall watch you henceforth with the pride of a
creator satisfied in his work。 Love each other well and go on loving
if you would not give me pain； any discord between you would hurt me
more than it would yourselves。
Our mother had a presentiment that events would one day serve her
wishes。 It may be that the longing of a mother constitutes a pact
between herself and God。 Was she not； moreover； one of those
mysterious beings who can hold converse with Heaven and bring back
thence a vision of the future？ How often have I not read in the lines
of her forehead that she was coveting for Fernand the honors and the
wealth of Felipe！ When I said so to her； she would reply with tears；
laying bare the wounds of a heart； which of right was the undivided
property of both her sons； but which an irresistible passion gave to
you alone。
Her spirit； therefore； will hover joyfully above your heads as you bow
them at the altar。 My mother； have you not a caress for your Felipe
now that he has yielded to your favorite even the girl whom you
regretfully thrust into his arms？ What I have done is pleasing to our
womankind； to the dead； and to the King； it is the will of God。 Make
no difficulty then； Fernand； obey； and be silent。
/P。 S。/ Tell Urraca to be sure and call me nothing but M。 Henarez。
Don't say a word about me to Marie。 You must be the one living soul to
know the secrets of the last Christianized Moor； in whose veins runs
the blood of a great family； which took its rise in the desert and is
now about to die out in the person of a solitary exile。
Farewell。
VII
LOUISE DE CHAULIEU TO RENEE DE MAUCOMBE
WHAT！ To be married so soon。 But this is unheard of。 At the end of a
month you become engaged to a man who is a stranger to you； and about
whom you know nothing。 The man may be deafthere are so many kinds of
deafness！he may be sickly； tiresome； insufferable！
Don't you see； Renee； what they want with you？ You are needful for
carrying on the glorious stock of the l'Estorades； that is all。 You
will be buried in the provinces。 Are these the promises we made each
other？ Were I you； I would sooner set off to the Hyeres islands in a
caique； on the chance of being captured by an Algerian corsair and
sold to the Grand Turk。 Then I should be a Sultana some day； and
wouldn't I make a stir in the harem while I was youngyes； and
afterwards too！
You are leaving one convent to enter another。 I know you； you are a
coward； and you will submit to the yoke of family life with a lamblike
docility。 But I am here to direct you； you must come to Paris。 There
we shall drive the men wild and hold a court like queens。 Your
husband； sweetheart； in three years from now may become a member of
the Chamber。 I know all about members now； and I will explain it to
you。 You will work that machine very well； you can live in Paris； and
become there what my mother calls a woman of fashion。 Oh！ you needn't
suppose I will leave you in your grange！
Monday。
For a whole fortnight now； my dear； I have been living the life of
society； one evening at the Italiens； another at the Grand Opera； and
always a ball afterwards。 Ah！ society is a witching world。 The music
of the Opera enchants me； and whilst my soul is plunged in divine
pleasure； I am the centre of admiration and the focus of all the
opera…glasses。 But a single glance will make the boldest youth drop
his eyes。
I have seen some charming young men there； all the same； I don't care
for any of them； not one has roused in me the emotion which I feel
when I listen to Garcia in his splendid duet with Pellegrini in
/Otello/。 Heavens！ how jealous Rossini must have been to express
jealousy so well！ What a cry in 〃Il mio cor si divide！〃 I'm speaking
Greek to you； for you never heard Garcia； but then you know how
jealous I am！
What a wretched dramatist Shakespeare is！ Othello is in love with
glory； he wins battles； he gives orders； he struts about and is all
over the place while Desdemona sits at home； and Desdemona； who sees
herself neglected for the silly fuss of public life； is quite meek all
the time。 Such a sheep deserves to be slaughtered。 Let the man whom I
deign to love beware how he thinks