First, Fritz reports on summer with the relatives (July 1764 = engagement FWII) while Countess Camas seems to have been recovering from an illness:
My good maman, your letter and your keepsake gave me real pleasure, because they are signs that your health is improving. I am assured that there is no danger, and that you will recover completely. My sister [Charlotte] will be arriving in an hour. I admit that it gives me great pleasure. We are promised the great nephew. His love is as cold as his whole person; but what do you care? Try, my good maman, to put your nose in the air. The great outdoors is the sovereign medicine; it will put balm back in your blood, and make you whole. For me, I am sincerely interested. You know my old heart, which is still the same, and which is made to love you as long as it exists.
//
I will show your letter, my good maman, to my sister, who will be charmed by what you think of her. I regret, in truth, not to enjoy your presence here; but I find that you have great reason to spare yourself, and ultimately, I could profit very little from your amiable company, for we are, like in a general diet of the Holy Roman Empire, surrounded by thirty princes and princesses; and besides, my infirmities prevent me from attending all the banquets. I am at the great feasts, and I try to get some rest in between. The old baron [Pöllnitz] is an insult to my crippled legs; he ran with Prince Frederick and overtook him. For me, who is dragging one foot, almost like a turtle, I match the speed of their run as well as a paralytic who would attend a ballet by Denis. Good evening, my good maman; I hope to see you again when my legs come back to me, and I can climb the palace stairs that lead to your paradise.
Second, EC is seriously ill with fever (autumn 1764 or 65), Camas asks for help/Cothenius, and Fritz sends his own opinion on the matter (no medicine, lots of tea and warmth). Her response:
Your Majesty is certainly a more skilful physician than the good Lesser, although in your prescription there is not a word of Greek or Latin; but your letter caused infinite satisfaction to the Queen, in whose eyes I saw, for the first time, a little liveliness. [...] [The doctor] absolutely followed YM's ideas, gave no medicine, and made the Queen take a lot of tea, making her lie in bed in even perspiration. I asked him to put his ideas on the attached paper. I do not know the terms of the art, and I do not trust my knowledge. The worry in which I am perhaps makes me see things badly; I can only be at peace when the fever and the oppression are over. With regard to my health, which YM is kind enough to care about, I will take the liberty of telling him that, from the waist up, things are quite well, but that my legs often have difficulty to support me. I am an old house whose foundations are crumbling. I hope, however, that, before I fall, I will still have the good fortune to sometimes do a nice curtsy for YM, and to assure him of all the respect and attachment imaginable. YM will allow me, I hope, to give him news of the Queen until her recovery. S.-C. de Camas.
The final letter is a sad one, Fritz' response to a condolence letter from Countess Camas (not included, only referenced in a footnote once again) in the wake of Sophie's death, November 1765, which causes him to ruminate on all the losses in the family:
I am very much obliged to you, my good maman, for taking part in the loss we have just suffered. It is a loss for all honest people, for my sister was a truly virtuous person. I knew long ago that men are mortal; I witnessed that her health was threatening ruin: but that did not prevent me, my good maman, from feeling keenly the privation of a sister whom death tore from me like a limb. Nature, a tender friendship, a true esteem, all these feelings claim their rights, and I feel, my good maman, that I am more sensitive than reasonable. My tears, my regrets are unnecessary; however, I cannot erase them. Our family seems to me a forest in which a hurricane has knocked down the most beautiful trees, and where from distance to distance you can see some thinned out fir tree hanging on by its roots, only to contemplate the fall of his companions, and the damage and devastation the storm has wrought. I hope, my good maman, that this breath of death will turn away from you, that we will keep you for a long time, and that I can often reiterate to you the assurances of my old and faithful friendship. Federic.
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Camas Letters II - Countess Camas Part Three (1764/65)
Date: 2021-01-21 11:01 am (UTC)First, Fritz reports on summer with the relatives (July 1764 = engagement FWII) while Countess Camas seems to have been recovering from an illness:
My good maman, your letter and your keepsake gave me real pleasure, because they are signs that your health is improving. I am assured that there is no danger, and that you will recover completely. My sister [Charlotte] will be arriving in an hour. I admit that it gives me great pleasure. We are promised the great nephew. His love is as cold as his whole person; but what do you care? Try, my good maman, to put your nose in the air. The great outdoors is the sovereign medicine; it will put balm back in your blood, and make you whole. For me, I am sincerely interested. You know my old heart, which is still the same, and which is made to love you as long as it exists.
//
I will show your letter, my good maman, to my sister, who will be charmed by what you think of her. I regret, in truth, not to enjoy your presence here; but I find that you have great reason to spare yourself, and ultimately, I could profit very little from your amiable company, for we are, like in a general diet of the Holy Roman Empire, surrounded by thirty princes and princesses; and besides, my infirmities prevent me from attending all the banquets. I am at the great feasts, and I try to get some rest in between. The old baron [Pöllnitz] is an insult to my crippled legs; he ran with Prince Frederick and overtook him. For me, who is dragging one foot, almost like a turtle, I match the speed of their run as well as a paralytic who would attend a ballet by Denis.
Good evening, my good maman; I hope to see you again when my legs come back to me, and I can climb the palace stairs that lead to your paradise.
Second, EC is seriously ill with fever (autumn 1764 or 65), Camas asks for help/Cothenius, and Fritz sends his own opinion on the matter (no medicine, lots of tea and warmth). Her response:
Your Majesty is certainly a more skilful physician than the good Lesser, although in your prescription there is not a word of Greek or Latin; but your letter caused infinite satisfaction to the Queen, in whose eyes I saw, for the first time, a little liveliness. [...] [The doctor] absolutely followed YM's ideas, gave no medicine, and made the Queen take a lot of tea, making her lie in bed in even perspiration. I asked him to put his ideas on the attached paper. I do not know the terms of the art, and I do not trust my knowledge. The worry in which I am perhaps makes me see things badly; I can only be at peace when the fever and the oppression are over.
With regard to my health, which YM is kind enough to care about, I will take the liberty of telling him that, from the waist up, things are quite well, but that my legs often have difficulty to support me. I am an old house whose foundations are crumbling. I hope, however, that, before I fall, I will still have the good fortune to sometimes do a nice curtsy for YM, and to assure him of all the respect and attachment imaginable. YM will allow me, I hope, to give him news of the Queen until her recovery. S.-C. de Camas.
The final letter is a sad one, Fritz' response to a condolence letter from Countess Camas (not included, only referenced in a footnote once again) in the wake of Sophie's death, November 1765, which causes him to ruminate on all the losses in the family:
I am very much obliged to you, my good maman, for taking part in the loss we have just suffered. It is a loss for all honest people, for my sister was a truly virtuous person. I knew long ago that men are mortal; I witnessed that her health was threatening ruin: but that did not prevent me, my good maman, from feeling keenly the privation of a sister whom death tore from me like a limb. Nature, a tender friendship, a true esteem, all these feelings claim their rights, and I feel, my good maman, that I am more sensitive than reasonable. My tears, my regrets are unnecessary; however, I cannot erase them. Our family seems to me a forest in which a hurricane has knocked down the most beautiful trees, and where from distance to distance you can see some thinned out fir tree hanging on by its roots, only to contemplate the fall of his companions, and the damage and devastation the storm has wrought. I hope, my good maman, that this breath of death will turn away from you, that we will keep you for a long time, and that I can often reiterate to you the assurances of my old and faithful friendship. Federic.