MARSEILLES, _September 12, 1852_.
... I went to Touraine, where I visited Chambord in a beating rain, and
Saint Aignan in showers of rain. I returned to Paris in the rain the
7th, left the same day in a storm, and came down the Rhône through a fog
which was thick enough to cut. Not until I reached Canebière did I see
the sun once more, and for the last two days it has shone in all its
glory. I found there (in Marseilles, not in the sun) my cousin and his
wife. I went yesterday to see them off on the _Leonidas_ upon a sea of
heavenly blue, and in weather neither cold nor warm. You, who live in
the dreary climate of the North, have no conception of such a
temperature as this. These are my only living relatives, and are the
owners of that salon which you condescended to honour with your
approval.
When I saw the last curl of smoke from the _Leonidas_ vanish behind the
islands which the descriptions in _Monte Cristo_ have made familiar to
you, I was seized with a feeling of desolation and dejection, and felt
as if I were an old fogy. I needed your presence, and thought how you
would delight in this country which seems to me so dull. I would have
you eat twenty different varieties of fruit that you have never tasted:
for instance, yellow peaches, white and red melons, medlars, and ripe
pistachio nuts. Moreover, you could spent an entire day in the Turkish
bazaars and other curiosity shops, where there are many useless articles
most fascinating to see and most disheartening to pay for.
I have asked myself often why you have never come to the south of
France, and I can find no good reason. I am going to make a three days’
excursion through the mountains, with no companion, and without meeting
with a French-speaking biped. I am not sure if, after all, this is not
preferable to intercourse with the provincial townspeople, who seem
every year to become more intolerable.
Here the mayor and the prefects have lost their heads over the proposed
visit of the President. The prefectures are all being scraped and
scrubbed, and eagles are set up in every spot where they can perch.
There is no absurdity of which they do not think. What amusing people
they are! In the midst of all this, I fear the proofs of _Démétrius_
will be lost: I ought to correct them while I am away, and they have not
yet arrived....