c.2004.0.5 17 March 
I am much better, and can thank you more vigorously for sending the money. You know, I wonder at your goodwill; but I am a grateful man at heart, though I do not show it on the outside. You are so kind as to accept my furniture; please pay for the moving. I only venture to ask this as I know it will not be a large sum. As for what is happening to my income, the Lord defend me! That idiot [Camille] Pleyel has made Bigos [a Polish national dish, roughly translated in context to mean “mincemeat”] of my affairs; but it’s difficult; you can’t knock a wall down with your head.
We shall meet in summer, and I will be very glad. My lady [George Sand] has just finished a magnificent article on Goethe, Byron and Mickiewicz. Everyone must read it; it gladdens the heart. You will be very pleased. It is all so true, so large in perception, on so huge a scale, of necessity, without manipulation or panegyrics. Let me know who translates it. If Mickiewicz himself should care to put his hand to it, she would gladly revise it; and what she has written could be printed as a discours preliminaire, together with the translation. Everyone would read it, and one could sell many copies. She will write about it to you or to Mickiewicz.
And what have you been doing? May God give you good humor, health and strength; those are such necessary things. What do you say about [Adolphe] Nourrit? It astonished us very much. We like to go for walks with you; you wouldn’t believe how happy we are in your company. Marseilles is ugly; and old, but not an ancient place; it bores us rather. Next month we shall probably go to Avignon, and from there to Nohant. There, no doubt, we shall embrace you, not by letter, but whiskers and all, if your whiskers have not gone the way of my favoris.
Kiss – not your – hands and feet. To you I sign myself, with underlying highest sentiments,
A real Camaldolite, Ch. [Frédéric Chopin]