Five days I have been ill and confined to my room, if not my bed. The doctor was called, but pronounced it a passing fever and nothing more serious. I was not bled, but given emetics instead to rid myself of the illness. Finally, today I felt well enough to read some, play cards with Marianne, and attend to my letters, but I still have not left my room.
My steward informs me that the reacquisition looks increasingly ill-advised, as the King will not ignore the wishes of the Queen and her friends, in appropriating it for their use. I believe I still must try. T- also seems to believe that I cannot achieve this, which troubles me more than it should, but he is at least content to express his opinion and leave me to follow my own course.
A letter from Christine came today at last. She is well and busily enjoying the intellectual pursuits of Rome. I understand it is very hot in the summer, and she complains about that a little. Her sister’s wedding in October is also much on her mind, but before that she will come to Paris where it will be wonderful to see her again.
Another letter from my mother was surprisingly sweet, and she fondly recalls my early harp lessons, prompting me to practice once more. Without my harp here that will be hard to do, and I hardly think it practical to take it with me to Paris.
A warm bath this morning was a most welcome comfort, and so I believe I will ask Marianne to prepare another before I sleep. I look forward to perhaps rejoining the other guests tomorrow, or at least leaving my room for the gardens.
Olympe, Comtesse
No comments:
Post a Comment