By the date of this letter you will perceive it to be the anniversary of my wedding-day with Madame Lavoisier to-day four years. I own I make choice of this day to write to you, in reality to testify joy, but joy that I am away from her, as has been the case for the last six months. It would be difficult to describe what I suffered there for the last year. I often wished for you, but am now exceedingly glad you did not come, as it would have made you unhappy and perhaps have done me no good. I was made quite ill at last, but now, thank Heaven, I am recovering my health and spirits fast. I am like one risen from the dead. Adieu, my dear child. You will hear from me soon again, and I hope to see you soon. I have some pretty rooms prepared for you. I had one of the Aichners to come and wait upon you, but she did not exactly please me, and I sent her back again. My old servants, her father and mother, are nicely established, owing to mine and the Elector’s kindness, at Munich, and are very happy. Auteuil, November 12, 1809. MY DEAR DAUGHTER,--Here is another month past, and you do not come. I know all the difficulties of travelling either by sea or by land, so do not blame you; am only sorry. Sorry on several accounts--on one account that I want to see you. For do you recollect, my dear, that it is many years since we saw each other? We will not say how many, lest the time should seem longer. And little did I think, when you quitted me at Brompton, it would have been for such a length of time, nor would it have been but for this unfortunate marriage. Never were there two more distinct beings than this woman (for I cannot call her a lady) before and after marriage. But undoubtedly she was pushed on by those looking forward to her fortune, fearing some of it would light on me. She is the most avaricious woman I ever saw, and the most cunning--things which I could not possibly know before marriage. I suffered more for the last fourteen months--indeed, the whole three years and a half that I lived with her--than I had an idea I could have gone through. Luckily I have money enough of my own, but war and these terrible times prevent me from receiving money from Bavaria, or my half-pay from England. Yet I am obliged to keep up a certain consequence, besides being disgusted with everything. I am afraid you will have to quit the world if you stay with me. Auteuil, January 10, 1810. Here month after month arrives, but you do not come. I am very impatient to see you, but I am more anxious lest something should happen to you on the way, for discord reigns everywhere. Later he said: