August 15th, 1895 - by letter (all in french)

Dearest Mother,

I have thought a lot about my life situation over my summer surrounded by others who might call themselves my peers. I will admit, I am divinely happy with my lot and I thank yourself and papa for what you have given me. François is a gift, he is more than acceptable as a suitor and I look forward to being his wife. He is well born, witty, and very handsome, I am quite lucky. All in all I think I shall do well out of my life and our family shall be the better for this match.

There is one matter that I feel needs to be addressed, and it is you and I, more specifically our forward relationship. I still feel the sting on my cheek from our argument over my winter impropriety, the disappointment in your voice, the chastising like a naughty child, sending me to my room of all things. Well, it strikes me that in five months I shall be a wife, and if François makes good on his whispered intentions to me, before long I shall be a mother. I hope to be a good mother, as you have always been to me. The point is that neither of those things are childish things, and therefore I am no longer a child. I expect to be treated as an adult, as a woman and peer with all of the respect and courtesy that entails. If you cannot see yourself to treat me as an adult then perhaps this engagement should not be carried forth. If you agree mother, then please continue reading.

There are things I wish to ask from you, and I expect candour, not some sanitised answer suitable for your delicate child. I need to have these answers to help with my own mind about my feelings. This is however not a one way thing and with the candour I expect now, it is only fair I act like the adult I am and return the sentiment. The arguments we had in January after my bedsmaid brought such damning evidence to you should not have gone the way it did. For that I regret my words. You already know the truth so this is not some revelation but you deserve to hear it honestly from me and not some childish denial. Every accusation you made to the extent of my impropriety is correct, perhaps I should say I regret what I did, that it was an awful thing that I wish I could take back, but in the spirit of this letter I cannot. I knew what I did, it was my idea and I made it happen, and I enjoyed it very much mother. Now that is out of the way, and honestly it feels quite good to have put it on paper to you. You must answer my questions.

Do you love my father? I believe that you do, but did you always? And if you once did not, how long did it take before you found him in your heart? And is father the only man that you have ever been with in the fullest regards? I need to know these things because I know I do not love François, I respect him, find his company very enjoyable and I find his appearance very appealing, but he does not touch my heart in the way he who shall not be named does. And if I am to forget about him, as I do understand I need to, I need to know I have not had my only love so early.

My next question is also important, probably more important than anything else. Should the worst happen, my heart leads me astray and my world comes tumbling down in heart break and reputational catastrophe. Do you come to me as my ally, or my enemy?

I shall nervously await your response, I trust regardless of our written sentiments that we share an understanding that the contents of both of our letters shall remain utterly private.

Your loving daughter,
Violetta

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   Victor Frey

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August 20th - All in french

My Dearest Violetta,

I received your letter and have read it with the gravity it deserves. You are right, the time for childish words has passed, and I will treat your questions with the candour you seek. The sting on your cheek, I believe, was not from my hand, but from the sudden, cold splash of reality. You mistake my anger for disappointment, but the truth is, I am not angry at your feelings, but rather, that you do not see how much you might be throwing away. You believe your maturity comes from enjoying a reckless moment, but it is in understanding the weight of such actions and choosing a stable happiness that true maturity is found.

You have asked me to speak of my heart, and I will. My marriage, like yours, was arranged at an early age. I did not love your father when we were married. I respected him, yes, but my heart was not touched in the way you describe. It was not until I fell pregnant with you that I realised I loved him. The prospect of bringing a child, our child, into this world made me see the steady, unwavering devotion of the man who would be your father. Love, my dear, is not always a sudden fire, sometimes it is a quiet garden that grows more beautiful with each passing year. You also asked if your father is the only man I have ever been with. No, he is not. It is a part of my past that is not for discussion, but know that it is in the past. Your father is aware of my indiscretion, and I do not fully regret it, but I do not recommend such confessions to François at this delicate time.

You ask a question that chills a mother’s heart. Am I your ally or your enemy? Violetta, I am your mother, and a mother is never an enemy to her child. I will be your ally, always. I will stand by you should the worst happen, but you must understand that my loyalty and love do not mean I will applaud a foolish act. My love means I will do everything in my power to ensure you do not make a mistake that could cost you your happiness and reputation.

I have given you the candour you asked for, and I trust that you will keep the contents of this letter as private as I shall keep yours. You have a chance at a wonderful life, with a well-born, witty, and handsome man who loves you. Do not confuse the excitement of a fleeting passion with the deep, lasting affection that a secure future can bring.

Your loving mother,

Mariella

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Written by Chris

  

August 23rd, 1895 - by letter (all in french)

Dearest Mother,

Thank you,

Your letter was a lot to think about and it has helped my spirit that you still hold me so close when I understand the errors that I have made. Perhaps willfully dancing with the man who is in my heart was simply to provoke you, to push you into answering questions I dare not ask until my letter. Or perhaps it was simply an act of defiance by a woman who feels little self agency at times, even though she tells herself she is truly quiet content.

I cannot in good faith tell you that my affair with the other young gentleman is gone from my heart, nor do I expect you would believe me if I told you I had wiped him away so simply. But I promise that I shall remain open to François and trust that in time I shall find myself falling in love with him too. You have my word that I shall not dishonour our family, I do not seek scandal any more than you.

Perhaps François should consider himself unknowingly grateful in all of this. I have accepted the woman I wish to be. If this is she then I have deigned to offer him the same courtesy as the gentleman that came before and whilst you have found me far too upstanding a match to acquiesce to my first invitation to dine alone, I am confident that his curiosity has been piqued and that we shall soon be able to see how eagerly the kindling in our hearts seek a spark, as it were.

I shall write again very soon, Normandy is beautiful, but I do for some strange reason find myself missing London. Perhaps I truly am broken, Mother.

Your loving daughter,
Violetta

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