Chapter CCXXXIX

CHÂTEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, _Monday, June 24, 1861_.

DEAR FRIEND: I have not budged from here, and shall remain until the end of the month, thanks, no doubt, to Cæsar. I told you that I had a sunstroke, and for twenty-four hours was in a very dangerous condition. I have entirely recovered now, but am suffering from lumbago, which I caught rowing on the lake....

I am waiting impatiently for news from you, but fear that I am somewhat to blame. I promised to write to you if I left Fontainebleau, but what can I do? One does nothing here, and yet one is never free. Sometimes we are called on to walk in the woods, sometimes to make a translation. Most of the time is spent in waiting. The great accomplishment of the country is to know how to wait--a part of my education which I find it difficult to acquire.

At this moment our chief expectation is centred in the Siamese ambassadors, who will arrive Thursday. Some say that they will present themselves on all-fours, after the custom of their country, crawling on their knees and elbows; others add that they will lick the floor, sprinkled with candy in view of this performance. Our ladies imagine that they are to receive wonderful gifts. I believe they will bring nothing at all, and that they will expect to carry away many beautiful things.

I went last Wednesday to Alise with the emperor, who has become an accomplished archæologist. He spent three and a half hours on the mountain, under the most terrific sun in the world, examining the remains of the siege of Cæsar, and reading the _Commentaries_. We lost all the skin from our ears, and came back looking like chimney-sweeps. We spend our evenings upon the lake, or under the trees, looking at the moon and wishing for rain. I suppose you have the same weather at N----. Good-bye, dear friend. Take care of yourself; do not expose yourself to the sun, and let me hear from you.