PARIS, _July 29, 1854_.
I arrived here day before yesterday, and have not written before because
I have been too sad. One of my boyhood friends has taken the cholera.
To-day he is considered out of danger. In crossing the Channel, there
was an icy wind, which gave me a cold, or something like rheumatism. My
chest feels as if it were clasped in an iron band, and every movement is
accompanied by severe pain. I am obliged, however, to leave to-night for
Normandy, where I am to make a speech to the idlers of Cayenne. This
troublesome business finished, I shall hasten home as quickly as
possible, and I expect to reach Paris on the evening of August 2d. After
that, I have no settled plans. At one time I had formed some idea of
spending a month in Venice, but the quarantine regulations, and other
annoyances rendered necessary by the cholera, make a journey in that
direction almost impossible.
My minister has offered to send me to Munich, as Commissioner of I know
not what, in regard to a Bavarian exposition. I have given no definite
answer, and shall wait until after my return to Paris to decide. You
will probably spend several days in London, and a visit to the Crystal
Palace is worth the voyage. With respect to artistic ideals, it is
perfectly ridiculous, but in the design of the building and its
execution there is something so great, and at the same time so simple,
that to form any conception of it, one must go to England and see it for
himself. ‘Tis a plaything costing twenty-five millions, a cage in which
several large churches could waltz comfortably.
My last days in London were amusing and interesting. I met and
associated with all the politicians. I was present at the debate on the
subsidies in the House of Lords, and in the Commons, where all the
famous orators spoke--very spitefully, it seemed to me. Finally, I had
an excellent dinner. They serve such at the Crystal Palace, and I
recommend them to you, who are an epicure.
I have brought back from London a pair of garters, which were made, so I
am assured, at Borrin’s. I do not know what English women wear around
their stockings, nor how they procure this indispensable article; but it
must be, I fancy, a very difficult thing to get, and one that is
singularly trying to their virtue. The clerk who sold me those garters
blushed to his ears.
You write me words of tenderness, which would rejoice my heart if
experience had not made me incredulous. I dare not hope for that which I
desire most ardently. You are perfectly aware that you have but to move
a finger to bring me to you. I wish that in this period of great
uncertainty, you would act as if we were in danger of meeting no more.
Good-bye. I love you dearly, whatever you may do. Write to me at
Cayenne, care of M. Mark, the captain of the steamer. I shall be
overjoyed to hear from you.