MADRID, _November 28, 1853_.
Your letter crossed with mine, which you must have received at the same
time that yours reached me. In it I explained why I have remained here
for several days longer than I intended. My friends are insisting that I
shall wait until Christmas; but I shall be in France, and probably in
Paris the 12th or 15th, if the weather is not too stormy. I shall write
to you from Bayonne or from Tours, where I am compelled to stop....
There are a great many balls here, notwithstanding the court mourning.
Out of respect, every one wears black gloves. The opening events at the
Senate are causing considerable anxiety. People are wondering whether
the Ministry will hold on, or whether there will be another _coup
d’État_. The opposition is bitterly incensed, and proposes to give the
comte de San-Luis a good cudgelling. The house where I am stopping is
neutral ground, where the ministers and leaders of the opposition meet,
which is very interesting for those who like to hear the news.
It is a fact, that what is known here as society is composed of such a
small number of persons that if they were divided up, they would have no
means of gaining a livelihood. Whatever one does in Madrid, provided one
goes to a public place, he is sure of meeting the same three hundred
persons. The result is a very amusing society, infinitely less
hypocritical than elsewhere.
I must tell you a good story. It is the custom here to offer anything
that is praised. At dinner, the other day, I was seated next to the
Prime Minister’s sweetheart: she is as stupid as a cabbage, and very
big. Her beautiful shoulders were bare, and around them hung a garland
with tassels of metal or glass. Not knowing what to say to her, I
praised both shoulders and garland, to which she replied: “Both are at
your service.”
Good-bye. Write me longer letters. I might, in an extreme case, hear
from you again here; but I shall hope certainly to find a letter from
you at Bayonne. Why is it that I am so anxious to see you again? At the
same time, it is excessively irritating to submit to your protocols,
which, for contempt of logic and reason, are worthy of those of M. de
Nesselrode.