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TO THE COMTESSE HIPPOLYTE DE TOCQUEVILLE. - Alexis de Tocqueville, Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville, vol. 2 [1861]

Edition used:

Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville. Translated from the French by the translator of Napoleon’s Correspondence with King Joseph. With large Additions. In Two Volumes (London: Macamillan, 1861). 2 vols.

Part of: Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville, 2 vols.

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TO THE COMTESSE HIPPOLYTE DE TOCQUEVILLE.

My dear Sister,

It is now my turn to give you news of the sick man who, for three months, has been so well nursed by your husband. If I may trust to my physician, and to my own feelings, he is again in the way of recovery. And if God will grant that no new attack may interfere with the excellent condition which I am now beginning to enjoy, I hope that the promise of my physician will be performed, and that he will send me away cured in the beginning of the summer. But in such matters no one should be confident. Towards the end of last December I felt so well that I thought myself cured; I had already recovered my strength, when those dreadful spittings of blood knocked me down, not so much by the local mischief which they did, as by their general disturbance of all the body, and especially of the nervous system. But my appetite and my strength have come back. My physician tells me that auscultation shows a great improvement in the bronchial tubes. God grant that what he says may prove true.

The object, however, of this letter was not to tell you about my health. Hippolyte keeps you au courant. I wished my dear sister to express to you how I am touched by your deep interest in me. Believe that I am most grateful; it was scarcely necessary to tell you so, yet I think that you will not be sorry to be reminded of it.

I suppose that our good Hippolyte will leave us in a few days. I never shall be able to express how thankful, to the very bottom of my heart, I am for what he has done. It is easy to feel kindly disposed; but to set off on a long journey in the depth of winter, in order to shut oneself up for three months in a hole, eight hundred miles from all one’s interests, nursing a brother, whom sickness often made very irritable, and always very tiresome, is a hard trial. Such conduct is rare, and ought to excite a gratitude equally uncommon. My excellent brother’s sacrifice will never be erased from the memory of my heart—a memory far more retentive than that of the head.

This, my dear sister, is all that the patient has to say to you to-day. Thank again all those who are kind enough to interest themselves about me, and believe in my tender and fraternal affection.