_Paris, Jan_. 18, 1847.--I can hardly tell you what a fever consumes
me, from sense of the brevity of my time and opportunity. Here I
cannot sleep at night, because I have been able to do so little in
the day. Constantly I try to calm my mind into content with small
achievements, but it is difficult. You will say, it is not so mightily
worth knowing, after all, this picture and natural history of Europe.
Very true; but I am so constituted that it pains me to come away,
having touched only the glass over the picture.
I am assiduous daily at the Academy lectures, picture galleries,
Chamber of Deputies,--last week, at the court and court ball. So far
as my previous preparation enabled me, I get something from all these
brilliant shows,--thoughts, images, fresh impulse. But I need,
to initiate me into various little secrets of the place and
time,--necessary for me to look at things to my satisfaction,--some
friend, such as I do not find here. My steps have not been fortunate
in Paris, as they were in England. No doubt, the person exists here,
whose aid I want; indeed, I feel that it is so; but we do not meet,
and the time draws near for me to depart.
French people I find slippery, as they do not know exactly what to
make of me, the rather as I have not the command of their language.
_I_ see _them_, their brilliancy, grace, and variety, the thousand
slight refinements of their speech and manner, but cannot meet them
in their way. My French teacher says, I speak and act like an Italian,
and I hope, in Italy, I shall find myself more at home.
I had, the other day, the luck to be introduced to Béranger, who is
the only person beside George Sand I cared very particularly to see
here. I went to call on La Mennais, to whom I had a letter. I found
him in a little study; his secretary was writing in a large room
through which I passed. With him was a somewhat citizen-looking, but
vivacious elderly man, whom I was, at first, sorry to see, having
wished for half an hour's undisturbed visit to the Apostle of
Democracy. But those feelings were quickly displaced by joy, when he
named to me the great national lyrist of France, the great Béranger.
I had not expected to see him at all, for he is not to be seen in any
show place; he lives in the hearts of the people, and needs no homage
from their eyes. I was very happy, in that little study, in the
presence of these two men, whose influence has been so real and
so great. Béranger has been much to me,--his wit, his pathos, and
exquisite lyric grace. I have not received influence from La Mennais,
but I see well what he has been, and is, to Europe.