CANNES, _February 5, 1859_.
... For two days we have had bad weather, which has made me desperately
ill. I have formed for my own case a medical theory which is as good as
any other; it is, that sunlight is a necessity to me. When the sky is
overcast, I suffer; when it rains, I am perfectly good-for-nothing;
when the sun reappears at last, I am on my feet again.
It was during the bad weather that the new imperial highness[18] crossed
the sea. With us it (the sea) was devilish boisterous, and as wild as
the ocean. I thought of the sufferings of that poor princess, married
but the night before, her first experience on the sea, and with the
expectation of an harangue by the mayor as soon as she should land. Do
you not think it preferable in Paris to belong to the bourgeois? I
should like to do so in Cannes.
My house is situated in front of the _Hôtel de la Poste_. My windows
face the sea, and from my bed I can see the islands. It is a delicious
view. I have about thirty sketches, more or less poor, but which I have
enjoyed making. You shall have several, if you make a wise choice; if
not, I shall select them for you. The almond-trees are in bloom in every
direction, but the winter has been so severe and the summer so dry that
the jessamines are almost entirely blighted. If you wish to have any
acacias, you have but to mention it.
Yesterday I corrected the proofs of the article of which I spoke to you.
As for _Demetrius_, I have abandoned all thought of it; and it needed
your letter to remind me that I had ever thought of it.
A colleague is a useful person to have near one, in that he knows, in
the first place, all the tricks of the trade, and, besides, that he can
meet all the actors and other unsavory people whom my mightiness does
not wish to see. I received a letter this morning from a M. Beyle, of
Grasse, who is an admirer of mine, who is twenty-two years old, and who
asks permission to read to me several works of his own composition. Can
you comprehend such a sudden disaster, when one thinks himself safe from
everything literary?
I have had another misfortune. My _prigadiou_ died suddenly during the
stormy weather. I am thinking of raising a monument to his memory on the
rock where I found him. I continue my investigations of the habits of
hermit-crabs. The study of instinct in dumb creatures is extremely
interesting, I assure you. I have also a dog, who belongs ostensibly to
my servant, but who has attached himself to me. He understands
everything that is said to him, even in French, and since he has seen
his master serving me he holds him in contempt.
I should be glad if you would read Caesar, by Ampère, which has just
appeared. It is possible that I may be obliged to write a critique
concerning it, and since it is written in Alexandrine metre, the
possibility terrifies me. I should like to take your opinion of it cut
and dried, for I never could criticise verse.
I am beginning to count the days. The month will not come to an end, I
hope, without seeing you. I suspect that in Paris you feel no longing
for mountain air or legs of mutton. I myself am living in the open air.
I sleep no better than ever, but I have good legs, and I can climb
without losing my breath.
Good-bye. Write once more and tell me the news and the novelties of
Paris. I am so rusty that I have taken to reading Mormon leaflets; to
reach this point one must come to Cannes.