Letter Marco to Cesar - 10th June 1860 Archive No 832
Saxon
My dear boy,
I really am terribly sorry not to have written to you before; the reason is the country in which I am living. You imagine perhaps that I just slumber here like Hannibal at Capua. Alas no! It is a terrible country; I don’t mean that it is rather lacking in civilisation; I just mean that it has not a vestige of it. The friend I am staying with is certainly the nicest person imaginable; but, after all, he can change neither nature nor mankind. As for nature, it is here: two ranges of mountains which always seem to be about to crash on top of one. A splendid green countryside, it is true, but it seems to have been deposited here for a certain time, soon to be picked up and taken elsewhere, just como uno scenario (like a stage set). The only really marvellous thing, and it reminds me of my little house in Brussels, is the nightingales, which, morning and evening, sing in an absolutely wonderful manner. I intended to write all sorts of things, poetry, music. What a hope! Here one can no more think of the arts and literature than one can on top of Mont Blanc. No, I am wrong; if I could be on top of that mountain some inspiration would no doubt come to me; whereas here there is just not an idea, not even half of one. In fact, I will say to you what I say to Georges, to whom I am writing at the same time as to you: I am an animal in excellent health, which is bored to death. When I remember that dear Coralie wrote me the most touching, I might even say the most insidious, letter to persuade me to leave my good friend in Saxon and go at once to Ostend, to think that I didn’t do it! But I felt I must keep my promise and , frankly I made a big mistake there which costs me much and produces nothing ….. not even a little enjoyment. It is true that duty is duty; so be it. But it is also true that I shall not remain long here and that I shall escape like a bird on the wing to Ostend, where my dear children await me and where I shall recover from the boredom of Saxon. Just one thing is missing; and that is yourself with your dear and excellent Julie, whom I am so anxious to see, or rather to see again; let us hope that what is postponed for the moment will not be finally abandoned. In the meantime, dear old chap, to cheer me up a bit write me a letter of vast length, the reading of which will take me right up to the moment of my longed for departure. Ask our dear Julie to do the same as soon as her duties leave her a moment to spare. I do not know what the weather is; like in Liverpool but I do know that here it is foully uncertain; which, added to the other joys of the neighbourhood, leave nothing but a generally tiresome atmosphere.
I send my love to you both and hop to hear from you,
Your very affectionate father
Marc-Aurele
PS If you write to me, add the following
At the Baths of Saxon
Switzerland
My dear boy,
I really am terribly sorry not to have written to you before; the reason is the country in which I am living. You imagine perhaps that I just slumber here like Hannibal at Capua. Alas no! It is a terrible country; I don’t mean that it is rather lacking in civilisation; I just mean that it has not a vestige of it. The friend I am staying with is certainly the nicest person imaginable; but, after all, he can change neither nature nor mankind. As for nature, it is here: two ranges of mountains which always seem to be about to crash on top of one. A splendid green countryside, it is true, but it seems to have been deposited here for a certain time, soon to be picked up and taken elsewhere, just como uno scenario (like a stage set). The only really marvellous thing, and it reminds me of my little house in Brussels, is the nightingales, which, morning and evening, sing in an absolutely wonderful manner. I intended to write all sorts of things, poetry, music. What a hope! Here one can no more think of the arts and literature than one can on top of Mont Blanc. No, I am wrong; if I could be on top of that mountain some inspiration would no doubt come to me; whereas here there is just not an idea, not even half of one. In fact, I will say to you what I say to Georges, to whom I am writing at the same time as to you: I am an animal in excellent health, which is bored to death. When I remember that dear Coralie wrote me the most touching, I might even say the most insidious, letter to persuade me to leave my good friend in Saxon and go at once to Ostend, to think that I didn’t do it! But I felt I must keep my promise and , frankly I made a big mistake there which costs me much and produces nothing ….. not even a little enjoyment. It is true that duty is duty; so be it. But it is also true that I shall not remain long here and that I shall escape like a bird on the wing to Ostend, where my dear children await me and where I shall recover from the boredom of Saxon. Just one thing is missing; and that is yourself with your dear and excellent Julie, whom I am so anxious to see, or rather to see again; let us hope that what is postponed for the moment will not be finally abandoned. In the meantime, dear old chap, to cheer me up a bit write me a letter of vast length, the reading of which will take me right up to the moment of my longed for departure. Ask our dear Julie to do the same as soon as her duties leave her a moment to spare. I do not know what the weather is; like in Liverpool but I do know that here it is foully uncertain; which, added to the other joys of the neighbourhood, leave nothing but a generally tiresome atmosphere.
I send my love to you both and hop to hear from you,
Your very affectionate father
Marc-Aurele
PS If you write to me, add the following
At the Baths of Saxon
Switzerland