Such an expedition is quite an epic to a mother!One dreams of it the night before!Armand was for the first time to put on a little black velvet jacket,a new collar which I had worked,a Scotch cap with the Stuart colors and cock's feathers;Nais was to be in white and pink,with one of those delicious little baby caps;for she is a baby still,though she will lose that pretty title on the arrival of the impatient youngster,whom I call my beggar,for he will have the portion of a younger son.(You see,Louise,the child has already appeared to me in a vision,so I know it is a boy.)Well,caps,collars,jackets,socks,dainty little shoes,pink garters,the muslin frock with silk embroidery,--all was laid out on my bed.Then the little brown heads had to be brushed,twittering merrily all the time like birds,answering each other's call.Armand's hair is in curls,while Nais'is brought forward softly on the forehead as a border to the pink-and-white cap.Then the shoes are buckled;and when the little bare legs and well-shod feet have trotted off to the nursery,while two shining faces (/clean/,Mary calls them)and eyes ablaze with life petition me to start,my heart beats fast.
To look on the children whom one's own hand has arrayed,the pure skin brightly veined with blue,that one has bathed,laved,and sponged and decked with gay colors of silk or velvet--why,there is no poem comes near to it!With what eager,covetous longing one calls them back for one more kiss on those white necks,which,in their ****** collars,the loveliest woman cannot rival.Even the coarsest lithograph of such a scene makes a mother pause,and I feast my eyes daily on the living picture!
Once out of doors,triumphant in the result of my labors,while I was admiring the princely air with which little Armand helped baby to totter along the path you know,I saw a carriage coming,and tried to get them out of the way.The children tumbled into a dirty puddle,and lo!my works of art are ruined!We had to take them back and change their things.I took the little one in my arms,never thinking of my own dress,which was ruined,while Mary seized Armand,and the cavalcade re-entered.With a crying baby and a soaked child,what mind has a mother left for herself?
Dinner time arrives,and as a rule I have done nothing.Now comes the problem which faces me twice every day--how to suffice in my own person for two children,put on their bibs,turn up their sleeves,and get them to eat.In the midst of these ever-recurring cares,joys,and catastrophes,the only person neglected in the house is myself.If the children have been naughty,often I don't get rid of my curl-papers all day.Their tempers rule my toilet.As the price of a few minutes in which I write you these half-dozen pages,I have had to let them cut pictures out of my novels,build castles with books,chessmen,or mother-of-pearl counters,and give Nais my silks and wools to arrange in her own fashion,which,I assure you,is so complicated,that she is entirely absorbed in it,and has not uttered a word.
Yet I have nothing to complain of.My children are both strong and independent;they amuse themselves more easily then you would think.
They find delight in everything;a guarded liberty is worth many toys.
A few pebbles--pink,yellow,purple,and black,small shells,the mysteries of sand,are a world of pleasure to them.Their wealth consists in possessing a multitude of small things.I watch Armand and find him talking to the flowers,the flies,the chickens,and imitating them.He is on friendly terms with insects,and never wearies of admiring them.Everything which is on a minute scale interests them.Armand is beginning to ask the "why"of everything he sees.He has come to ask what I am saying to his godmother,whom he looks on as a fairy.Strange how children hit the mark!
Alas!my sweet,I would not sadden you with the tale of my joys.Let me give you some notion of your godson's character.The other day we were followed by a poor man begging--beggars soon find out that a mother with her child at her side can't resist them.Armand has no idea what hunger is,and money is a sealed book to him;but I have just bought him a trumpet which had long been the object of his desires.He held it out to the old man with a kingly air,saying:
"Here,take this!"
What joy the world can give would compare with such a moment?
"May I keep it?"said the poor man to me."I too,madame,have had children,"he added,hardly noticing the money I put into his hand.
I shudder when I think that Armand must go to school,and that I have only three years and a half more to keep him by me.The flowers that blossom in his sunny childhood will fall before the scythe of a public school system;his gracious ways and bewitching candor will lose their spontaneity.They will cut the curls that I have brushed and smoothed and kissed so often!What will they do with the thinking being that is Armand?
And what of you?You tell me nothing of your life.Are you still in love with Felipe?For,as regards the Saracen,I have no uneasiness.
Good-bye;Nais has just had a tumble,and if I run on like this,my letter will become a volume.
