...who was called MT after his mother. When she died at only 7 years of age, he wrote this letter to her governess, Christine de Trazegnies, Marquise d'Herzelles:
Madame,
If decency permitted, it would be with you alone that I would be pouring out the sorrow which… pierces my soul. I have ceased to be a father: it is more than I can bear. Despite being resigned to it, I cannot stop myself thinking and saying every moment: ‘O my God, restore to me my daughter, restore her to me.’ I hear her voice, I see her. I was dazed when the terrible blow fell. Only after I had got back to my room did I feel the full horror of it, and I shall go on feeling it all the rest of my life, since I shall miss her in everything. But not that I have, I believe, fulfilled all the duties of a father - and a good father - one [duty] remains which I hear my daughter imposing on me: that of rendering thanks to you. Madame, where would you wish me to begin? All your trouble and care have been beyond price. But [she] would never forgive me if I did not at least try to induce you to accept the enclosed offering as a memento of all that I owe you and a pledge of all that I should like to do for you. In addition the sincere respect and true friendship that I have sworn to you can in some way discharge [my obligation], you can be sure it will be unshakable. I venture to ask only one favour from you, which is that no one shall ever know anything about it and that even between ourselves - since I am counting on our weeping and talking again together about this dear child - there will never be any mention of it, or you will at once cause me to regret fulfilling this duty. I beg you to urge the same absolute silence of Mlle Chanclos, for whom I also enclose a letter; it is for me a point of importance. As my daughter’s sole heir, I have just given orders… that I should keep only her diamonds. [You are to have everything else.] One thing that I would ask you to let me have is her white dimity dressing-gown, embroidered with flowers, and some of her writings. I have her mother’s, I shall keep them together. Have pity on a friend in despair, and be sure that I can hardly wait for the moment when I come to see you…
Your true friend and servant,
Joseph
This unhappy 23 January, which has overturned our happy and so successful household, 1770.
Addendum on Joseph and Isabella's daughter
Madame,
If decency permitted, it would be with you alone that I would be pouring out the sorrow which… pierces my soul. I have ceased to be a father: it is more than I can bear. Despite being resigned to it, I cannot stop myself thinking and saying every moment: ‘O my God, restore to me my daughter, restore her to me.’ I hear her voice, I see her. I was dazed when the terrible blow fell. Only after I had got back to my room did I feel the full horror of it, and I shall go on feeling it all the rest of my life, since I shall miss her in everything. But not that I have, I believe, fulfilled all the duties of a father - and a good father - one [duty] remains which I hear my daughter imposing on me: that of rendering thanks to you. Madame, where would you wish me to begin? All your trouble and care have been beyond price. But [she] would never forgive me if I did not at least try to induce you to accept the enclosed offering as a memento of all that I owe you and a pledge of all that I should like to do for you. In addition the sincere respect and true friendship that I have sworn to you can in some way discharge [my obligation], you can be sure it will be unshakable. I venture to ask only one favour from you, which is that no one shall ever know anything about it and that even between ourselves - since I am counting on our weeping and talking again together about this dear child - there will never be any mention of it, or you will at once cause me to regret fulfilling this duty. I beg you to urge the same absolute silence of Mlle Chanclos, for whom I also enclose a letter; it is for me a point of importance. As my daughter’s sole heir, I have just given orders… that I should keep only her diamonds. [You are to have everything else.] One thing that I would ask you to let me have is her white dimity dressing-gown, embroidered with flowers, and some of her writings. I have her mother’s, I shall keep them together. Have pity on a friend in despair, and be sure that I can hardly wait for the moment when I come to see you…
Your true friend and servant,
Joseph
This unhappy 23 January, which has overturned our happy and so successful household, 1770.