ch lie at my
back and are never by any accident approached by me....

I have gone into the baths merely by way of what the French call
_proprete_, being too lazy to go and fetch a wash under the arcade, in
_de l'eau naturelle_. The water which supplies the baths in the Quatre
Saisons is not by any means as strong as the _Kochbrunnen_, yet I
fancied that it affected me unpleasantly, causing me a sensation of
fullness in the head, and nausea, which was very disagreeable, as well
as making me stupidly sleepy through the day....

Last Thursday I went to Frankfort to hear Adelaide sing; she was to
perform, _en costume_, an act from three different operas, a sort of
hotchpotch which, as she cares for her profession, I am surprised at her
condescending to. We were not in time for the first, which was the last
scene of the "Lucia di Lammermoor," but heard her in the last scene of
"Beatrice di Tenda," and in the first scene of the "Norma." ... What she
does is very perfect, but I think she occasionally falls short of the
amount of power that I expected.... And all the time, I cannot help
wishing that she would leave the singing part of the business, and take
to acting not set to music. I think the singing cramps her acting, and I
cannot help having some misgiving as to the effect she will produce in
so large a theatre as Covent Garden; although, as she has sung
successfully in the two largest theatres in Europe, the Scala at Milan
and the San Carlo at Naples, I suppose my nervousness about Covent
Garden is unnecessary.... Her movements and gesture are all remarkably
graceful and easy; she is perfectly self-possessed, and impresses me
even more as an artist than a genius, which I did not expect.

I believe she will not sing to-morrow night, and, in that case, they
will all come over and spend the day here, when Henry, Mary Anne
Thackeray, and I purpose ascending Wiesbaden horses and riding to the
duke's hunting-seat, which perhaps you drove to when you were here....

I confess to you, I cannot help sometimes feeling a little anxious about
my sister's success in England, especially when I remember how
formidable a predecessor she is to succeed--that wonderful Malibran, who
added to such original genius and great dramatic power a voice of such
uncommon force and brilliancy.

Good-bye. This is the third long letter I have written to you since we
came abroad.

Ever yours,