r a compatriot of mine (I am prouder of them
than of the rejected representative Antoine de Kontski--
Frenchman of the north and animal of the south). [FOOTNOTE:
"Frenchmen of the north" used to be a common appellation of
the Poles.]

After these parentheses, I will tell you truly that I know
[FOOTNOTE: Here probably "not" ought to be added.] what will
become of me in autumn. At any rate, if you get no news from
me do not complain of me, for I think very often of writing to
you. If you see Mdlle. de Rozieres or Grzymala, one or the
other of them will have heard something--if not from me, from
some friends. The park here is very beautiful, the lord of the
manor very excellent, and I am as well as I am permitted to
be. Not one proper musical idea. I am out of my groove; I am
like, for instance, an ass at a masked ball, a chanterelle
[first, i.e., highest string] of a violin on a double bass--
astonished, amazed, lulled to sleep as if I were hearing a
trait [a run or a phrase] of Bodiot [FOOTNOTE: That is,
Charles Nicolas Baudiot (1773-1849), the violoncellist, at one
time professor at the Conservatoire. He published a school and
many compositions for his instrument.] (before the 24th of
February), [FOOTNOTE: The revolution of February 24, 1848.] or
a stroke of the bow of M. Cap [FOOTNOTE: This gentleman was an
amateur player of the violoncello and other stringed
instruments.] (after the June days). [FOOTNOTE: The
insurrection of the Red Republicans on June 23-26, 1848.] I
hope they are still flourishing, for I cannot do without them
in writing. But another real question is, that I hope you have
no friends to deplore in all these terrible affairs. And the
health of Madame Franchomme and of the little children? Write
me a line, and address it to London, care of Mr. Broadwood,
33, Great Pulteney Street, Golden Square. I have here a
perfect (material) tranquillity, and pretty Scotch airs. I
wish I were able to compose a little, were it only to please
these good ladies--Madame Erskine and Mdlle. Stirling. I have
a Broadwood piano in my room, the Pleyel of Miss Stirling in
my salon. I lack neither paper nor pens. I hope that you also
will compose something, and may God grant that I hear it soon
newly born. I have friends in London who advise me to pass
there the winter.--But I shall listen only to my I do not know
what [mon je ne sais quoi]; or,