(4) correspondence.

[waywardious]

June 2nd, 1893


Dear Vincent,

Please believe me when I say that I truly didn't mean for an entire month to pass, before contacting you. I make it a principle, never to treat my lovers with disregard and with you, I should... would have very much liked to emphasise it further. As much as possible. However, the Opera has been guested by Lev Ivanov from the Imperial Russian Ballet the past couple of weeks, to decide whether he and the great Marius Petipa might want to choreograph a ballet on us. Upon observation. Our ballet master finds it a terribly treacherous rope-walk, seeing as I was the cause of the grand scandal two years ago and might offend the huffy Russians while I'm simultaneously, undoubtedly, also the one amongst the male dancers with the best Russian technique. As a result, I have been running between rehearsals for our upcoming performance and the practice rooms at the administrative end of the building constantly to play wax doll for Monsieur Ivanov and Jules - who will usher me out the door as soon as I have proven "what the French dancers are capable of" and definitely before Ivanov can ask any embarrassing questions.

My disinterest in religion is really only exceeded by my sincere dislike of politics.

Meanwhile, coming home knackered and aching in every possible (and impossible) place, there has been a wonderful freedom in going to sleep with you as a last thought. As well as a first thought. And a welcome thought midway. I touch myself, thinking of you and feel more rested in the morning for it, too. I haven't found myself with either the time or the inclination to scratch the underlying itch the usual way, but neither have I minded waiting until now. When it comes to patience, I'm as adagio as my preferred dancing.

In a couple of weeks, I have been scheduled for a few days off before opening night preparations escalate. Do you remember the place I mentioned? If a month hasn't tampered with your patience either, I would still love to take you. With me.

Kindest regards,
Claude