Letters of Two Brides

She is never, except on some great emergency, called before nine

o'clock. In summer there are morning rides, and at two o'clock she

receives a young man whom I have never yet contrived to see.

Behold our family life! We meet at lunch and dinner, though often I am

alone with my mother at this latter meal, and I foresee that still

oftener I shall take it in my own rooms (following the example of my

grandmother) with only Miss Griffith for company, for my mother

frequently dines out. I have ceased to wonder at the indifference my

family have shown to me. In Paris, my dear, it is a miracle of virtue

to love the people who live with you, for you see little enough of

them; as for the absent--they do not exist!

Knowing as this may sound, I have not yet set foot in the streets, and

am deplorably ignorant. I must wait till I am less of the country

cousin and have brought my dress and deportment into keeping with the

society I am about to enter, the whirl of which amazes me even here,

where only distant murmurs reach my ear. So far I have not gone beyond

the garden; but the Italian opera opens in a few days, and my mother

has a box there. I am crazy with delight at the thought of hearing

Italian music and seeing French acting.

Already I begin to drop convent habits for those of society. I spend

the evening writing to you till the moment for going to bed arrives.

This has been postponed to ten o'clock, the hour at which my mother

goes out, if she is not at the theatre. There are twelve theatres in

Paris. I am grossly ignorant and I read a lot, but quite indiscriminately,

one book leading to another. I find the names of fresh books on the

cover of the one I am reading; but as I have no one to direct me, I

light on some which are fearfully dull. What modern literature I have

read all turns upon love, the subject which used to bulk so largely in

our thoughts, because it seemed that our fate was determined by man

and for man. But how inferior are these authors to two little girls,

known as Sweetheart and Darling--otherwise Renee and Louise. Ah! my

love, what wretched plots, what ridiculous situations, and what

poverty of sentiment! Two books, however, have given me wonderful

pleasure--Corinne and Adolphe. Apropos of this, I asked my father

one day whether it would be possible for me to see Mme. de Stael. My

father, mother, and Alphonse all burst out laughing, and Alphonse

said: "Where in the world has she sprung from?"