Letter Marco to Cesar - 22 July 1860 Archive No 833
17 (?) rue de la Chapelle
Ostend.
Dearest old chap,
I have delayed tremendously in writing to you and blame myself much more than you blame me: but what can one do? I intended to leave Saxon on 1st July and instead I did not leave until the 12th; then I had to stay several days in Paris to carry out various commissions there, either for my friend or for myself; and finally here I am in Ostend. I do not lose an instant and am writing to you more to have a reply giving me all your news than to give you mine which is pretty uninspiring: pleasant trips, good health, excellent appetite. You see it is hardly very poetic; but I console myself by thinking that poetry is but a luxury after all and I finish by realising that only rich people can allow themselves to enjoy it. After having myself consumed a vast amount of it, it is permissible I think, for me to know a little what it is and what it is worth. It is a great pity that one only learns the real truth when this knowledge is more or less useless to one, indeed one could say completely so. If at least we, who have been through storms, could be believed by those who are the navigators! But it seems that the great Disposer has willed otherwise. In fact the world would be too happy if the young profited by the experience of the old: whereas the world is still this same lunatic asylum, where perhaps the only wise men are those who can no longer commit follies. There it is, lots of verbiage about poetry, verbiage all the more absurd since the weather here is absolutely atrocious: wind, rain, rain and wind. I swear to you that if I wasn’t staying with dear old Georges, who really has put himself out to save me as far as possible from the appalling climatic conditions, I should be dead on my feet. But with a good home I should live quite happily even in the middle of Siberia. If only we could all be together again in a country providing good livings for you and Georges! It seems to me that we should indemnify ourselves very well from the dispersion of Israel (sic) ¹ Quel che Dio vuole (whatever God wishes). It is at least a beginning, the end will follow no doubt. The end of my letter arrives also and I hasten to send you these few words so that I may receive a nice answer. Much love to your dear Julie and for you un abbraccio cordiale (a loving embrace). Believe me always
Your affectionate father
Marc-Aurele
Georges is going to write you: He would have done so already but Coralie has not been very well
¹. A note from the translator
It would make perhaps better sense if the write had used the words “nous nous debrouillerions” (we could manage) here instead of “nous nous dedommagerions” It seems he may have made a mistake
Ostend.
Dearest old chap,
I have delayed tremendously in writing to you and blame myself much more than you blame me: but what can one do? I intended to leave Saxon on 1st July and instead I did not leave until the 12th; then I had to stay several days in Paris to carry out various commissions there, either for my friend or for myself; and finally here I am in Ostend. I do not lose an instant and am writing to you more to have a reply giving me all your news than to give you mine which is pretty uninspiring: pleasant trips, good health, excellent appetite. You see it is hardly very poetic; but I console myself by thinking that poetry is but a luxury after all and I finish by realising that only rich people can allow themselves to enjoy it. After having myself consumed a vast amount of it, it is permissible I think, for me to know a little what it is and what it is worth. It is a great pity that one only learns the real truth when this knowledge is more or less useless to one, indeed one could say completely so. If at least we, who have been through storms, could be believed by those who are the navigators! But it seems that the great Disposer has willed otherwise. In fact the world would be too happy if the young profited by the experience of the old: whereas the world is still this same lunatic asylum, where perhaps the only wise men are those who can no longer commit follies. There it is, lots of verbiage about poetry, verbiage all the more absurd since the weather here is absolutely atrocious: wind, rain, rain and wind. I swear to you that if I wasn’t staying with dear old Georges, who really has put himself out to save me as far as possible from the appalling climatic conditions, I should be dead on my feet. But with a good home I should live quite happily even in the middle of Siberia. If only we could all be together again in a country providing good livings for you and Georges! It seems to me that we should indemnify ourselves very well from the dispersion of Israel (sic) ¹ Quel che Dio vuole (whatever God wishes). It is at least a beginning, the end will follow no doubt. The end of my letter arrives also and I hasten to send you these few words so that I may receive a nice answer. Much love to your dear Julie and for you un abbraccio cordiale (a loving embrace). Believe me always
Your affectionate father
Marc-Aurele
Georges is going to write you: He would have done so already but Coralie has not been very well
¹. A note from the translator
It would make perhaps better sense if the write had used the words “nous nous debrouillerions” (we could manage) here instead of “nous nous dedommagerions” It seems he may have made a mistake