Chapter CCXLVII: COMPIÉGNE, November 17, 1861

DEAR FRIEND: We are to remain here until the 24th. It is the fault of his Majesty, the king of Portugal, that the fêtes, for which we have been making ready, were not given. They were postponed, and we have been kept here in consequence. We are comfortable enough, inasmuch as we are all well acquainted, and as independent of one another as it is possible to be in such a place.

For lions we have four Highlanders in kilts, the duke of Athol, lord James Murray, and the son and nephew of the duke. It is most amusing to see these eight bare-knees in a salon where all the rest of the men are in knee-breeches or tight trousers. Yesterday, his grace’s piper was brought in, and all four danced in such a way as to cause general alarm when they turned around. But there are ladies whose crinoline is still more alarming when they enter a carriage. As ladies invited as guests are not permitted to wear mourning, one sees legs of all colours. Red stockings I think very stylish.

Notwithstanding walks in damp, icy woods, and drawing-rooms heated red-hot, to the present time I have not caught cold; but I suffer from suffocation, and do not sleep. I was present at the great ministerial comedy, where one or two victims more were expected. The faces were interesting to observe, the addresses still more so; so that M. Walewski, the Excellency on trial, directed his grievances without any discrimination against friends and foes alike. There is nothing like an intense preoccupation to make people say stupid things, especially when they are accustomed to saying them. Oh, the dulness of mankind!

The woman, on the contrary, was perfectly calm and self-possessed, and the lawyers’ speeches and other proceedings excellent. The battle, it seems to me, is only postponed, and at the slightest provocation is inevitable.

What is said of the emperor’s letter? I approve of it thoroughly. He has a way of his own of saying things, and when he speaks as a sovereign, he has the art of showing that he is not made of the same common dough as others. I think this is exactly what is needed by this noble nation, which does not like the commonplace.

Yesterday the princess of ----, who was drinking tea, ordered the footman to bring her _ti sel bour le bain_.[29] After half an hour the footman returned, with twelve kilogrammes of coarse salt, supposing that she wished to take a salt bath.

Some one presented to the empress a picture by Müller representing queen Marie Antoinette in prison. The Prince Imperial inquired who this lady was, and why she was not in a palace. It was explained to him that she was a queen of France, and what a prison was. Then he ran to the emperor and asked him please to pardon the queen whom he was keeping in prison.

He is a strange, sometimes a terrible, child. He says that he bows to the people always, because they deposed Louis Philippe, whom he did not like. He is a charming child. Good-bye, dear friend.

CCXLVIII

CANNES, _January 6, 1862_. (I no longer remember dates.)

DEAR FRIEND: I shall not tell you of the sunshine of Cannes, for fear of causing you too great distress amidst the snows in which you must be at this moment. What is written to me from Paris makes me cold just to read. I suppose you must be still at R----, or on the journey therefrom; so that I shall take my chances in addressing this to your official residence, as the surest place for you to be found.

I have here, as companion and neighbour, M. Cousin, who came to be cured of laryngitis, and who talks like a one-eyed magpie, eats like an ogre, and is astonished not to recover under this beautiful sky, which he now sees for the first time. He is, moreover, very interesting, for he possesses the gift of being witty to everybody. When alone with his servant, I fancy that he talks to him as he would to the most coquettish Orleanist or Legitimist duchess. The native Cannais are fascinated by him, and you may imagine how they will stare when they are informed that this man, who talks well on any subject, has translated Plato, and is the lover of Madame de Longueville. The only inconvenience is that he does not know when to stop talking. For a philosopher of the Eclectic school, it is a pity not to have adopted the good features of the Peripatetics.

I am not doing much of anything here. I am studying botany in a book and with the plants which fall under my hand, but every instant I bewail my bad sight. It is a study which I should have begun twenty years ago, when I had my eyes. It is, however, very amusing, although supremely immoral, since for one lady there are always at least six or eight gentlemen, all eager to offer her what she accepts with much indifference from the right and the left. I regret exceedingly not to have brought my microscope; still, with my spectacles I have seen stamens making love to a pistil without showing any embarrassment at my presence.

I am sketching also, and am reading in a Russian book the history of another Cossack, a much better soldier than Stenka Razine, named, unfortunately, Bogdan Chmielnicki. With a name so difficult to pronounce, it is not astonishing that he has remained unknown to us Occidentals, who remember only names of Latin or Greek derivation.

How has the winter treated you? and how do you manage the little children who absorb so much of your time? Apparently you find the bringing up of children an amusing occupation. I have had experience only in raising cats, who have given me scant satisfaction, excepting the last one who had the honour to know you. The intolerable thing about children, it seems to me, is that you must wait so long to know what they have in their brains, and to hear them reason. It is a great pity that the trouble taken in cultivating the youngsters’ intelligence can not be undertaken by the chits themselves, and that new ideas come to them almost unconsciously. The principal question is, to know whether they should be taught silly things, as we were, or whether we should talk to them reasonably. There is something to be said for and against both systems.

Some day, when you pass Stassin’s, kindly look in his catalogue for a book by Max Müller, a professor in Oxford, on linguistics; unfortunately I do not recollect the title of the book. You must tell me if it costs very much, and if I shall be obliged to forego my fancy to possess it. I am told it is an admirable analysis of language.

I have made the acquaintance of a poor cat who lives in a hut back in the woods. I take him bread and meat, and as soon as he spies me coming he runs a quarter of a mile to meet me. I regret that I can not take him away with me, for he has marvellous powers of instinct.

Good-bye, dear friend. I hope this letter will find you in as good health and as flourishing condition as last year. I wish you a prosperous and happy New Year....