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Heaven save you； Louise； from ever knowing the maddening agony of a
wound which gapes afresh with every pressure of rosy lips； and is so
hard to healthe heaviest tax perhaps imposed on beauty。 For know；
Louise； and beware！ it visits only a fair and delicate skin。
My little ape has in five months developed into the prettiest darling
that ever mother bathed in tears of joy； washed； brushed； combed； and
made smart； for God knows what unwearied care we lavish upon those
tender blossoms！ So my monkey has ceased to exist； and behold in his
stead a /baby/； as my English nurse says； a regular pink…and…white
baby。 He cries very little too now； for he is conscious of the love
bestowed on him； indeed； I hardly ever leave him； and I strive to wrap
him round in the atmosphere of my love。
Dear； I have a feeling now for Louis which is not love； but which
ought to be the crown of a woman's love where it exists。 Nay； I am not
sure whether this tender fondness； this unselfish gratitude； is not
superior to love。 From all that you have told me of it； dear pet； I
gather that love has something terribly earthly about it； whilst a
strain of holy piety purifies the affection a happy mother feels for
the author of her far…reaching and enduring joys。 A mother's happiness
is like a beacon； lighting up the future； but reflected also on the
past in the guise of fond memories。
The old l'Estorade and his son have moreover redoubled their devotion
to me； I am like a new person to them。 Every time they see me and
speak to me； it is with a fresh holiday joy； which touches me deeply。
The grandfather has； I verily believe； turned child again； he looks at
me admiringly； and the first time I came down to lunch he was moved to
tears to see me eating and suckling the child。 The moisture in these
dry old eyes； generally expressive only of avarice； was a wonderful
comfort to me。 I felt that the good soul entered into my joy。
As for Louis； he would shout aloud to the trees and stones of the
highway that he has a son； and he spends whole hours watching your
sleeping godson。 He does not know； he says； when he will grow used to
it。 These extravagant expressions of delight show me how great must
have been their fears beforehand。 Louis has confided in me that he had
believed himself condemned to be childless。 Poor fellow！ he has all at
once developed very much； and he works even harder than he did。 The
father in him has quickened his ambition。
For myself； dear soul； I grow happier and happier every moment。 Each
hour creates a fresh tie between the mother and her infant。 The very
nature of my feelings proves to me that they are normal； permanent；
and indestructible； whereas I shrewdly suspect love； for instance； of
being intermittent。 Certainly it is not the same at all moments； the
flowers which it weaves into the web of life are not all of equal
brightness； love； in short； can and must decline。 But a mother's love
has no ebb…tide to fear； rather it grows with the growth of the
child's needs； and strengthens with its strength。 Is it not at once a
passion； a natural craving； a feeling； a duty； a necessity； a joy？
Yes； darling； here is woman's true sphere。 Here the passion for self…
sacrifice can expend itself； and no jealousy intrudes。
Here； too； is perhaps the single point on which society and nature are
at one。 Society； in this matter； enforces the dictates of nature；
strengthening the maternal instinct by adding to it family spirit and
the desire of perpetuating a name； a race； an estate。 How tenderly
must not a woman cherish the child who has been the first to open up
to her these joys； the first to call forth the energies of her nature
and to instruct her in the grand art of motherhood！ The right of the
eldest； which in the earliest times formed a part of the natural order
and was lost in the origins of society； ought never； in my opinion； to
have been questioned。 Ah！ how much a mother learns from her child！ The
constant protection of a helpless being forces us to so strict an
alliance with virtue； that a woman never shows to full advantage
except as a mother。 Then alone can her character expand in the
fulfilment of all life's duties and the enjoyment of all its
pleasures。 A woman who is not a mother is maimed and incomplete。
Hasten； then； my sweetest； to fulfil your mission。 Your present
happiness will then be multiplied by the wealth of my delights。
23rd。
I had to tear myself from you because your godson was crying。 I can
hear his cry from the bottom of the garden。 But I would not let this
go without a word of farewell。 I have just been reading over what I
have said； and am horrified to see how vulgar are the feelings
expressed！ What I feel； every mother； alas！ since the beginning must
have felt； I suppose； in the same way； and put into the same words。
You will laugh at me； as we do at the naive father who dilates on the
beauty and cleverness of his （of course） quite exceptional offspring。
But the refrain of my letter； darling； is this； and I repeat it： I am
as happy now as I used to be miserable。 This grangeand is it not
going to be an estate； a family property？has become my land of
promise。 The desert is past and over。 A thousand loves； darling pet。
Write to me； for now I can read without a tear the tale of your happy
love。 Farewell。
XXXII
MME。 DE MACUMER TO MME。 DE L'ESTORADE
March 1826。
Do you know； dear； that it is more than three months since I have
written to you or heard from you？ I am the more guilty of the two； for
I did not reply to your last； but you don't stand on punctilio surely？
Macumer and I have taken your silence for consent as regards the baby…
wreathed luncheon service； and the little cherubs are starting this
morning for Marseilles。 It took six months to carry out the design。
And so when Felipe asked me to come and see the service before it was
packed； I suddenly waked up to the fact that we had not interchanged a
word since the letter of yours which gave me an insight into a
mother's heart。
My sweet； it is this terrible Paristhere's my excuse。 What； pray； is
yours？ Oh！ what a whirlpool is society！ Didn't I tell you once that in
Paris one must be as the Parisians？ Society there drives out all
sentiment； it lays en embargo on your time； and unless you are very
careful； soon eats away your heart altogether。 What an amazing
masterpiece is the character of Celimene in Moliere's /Le
Misanthrope/！ She is the society woman； not only of Louis XIV。's time；
but of our own； and of all； time。
Where should I be but for my breastplatethe love I bear Felipe？ This
very morning I told him； as the outcome of these reflections； that he
was my salvation。 If my evenings are a continuous round of parties；
balls； concerts； and theatres； at night my heart expands again； and is
healed of the wounds received in the world by the delights of the
passionate love which await my return。
I dine at home only when we have friends； so…called； with us； and
spend the afternoon there only on my day； for I have a day now
Wednesdayfor receiving。 I have entered the lists with Mmes。 d'Espard
and de Maufrigneuse； and with the old Duchesse de Lenoncou