CHÂTEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, _June 12, 1860_.
Why have you not written to me? For many reasons you should have done
so. I have been held here all this week. I shall hope certainly to find
you in Paris on my return, for, if the weather has used you as ill as it
has us, you will have postponed, doubtless, your visit to the country.
Nevertheless, between the showers we have made several pleasant
excursions to the woods; everything is of a uniform spinach-green
colour, and when the sun does not shine, it is not bad. There are rocks
and heaths which would have some attraction for me if you and I were to
walk there together chatting of many things, as we know how to do. But
we travel in a long line of waggonettes, in which people are not always
paired off for mutual amusement.
On the other hand, in no republic on earth could one enjoy more freedom,
nor could host and hostess be more kind to their guests. At the same
time, the days have twenty-four hours, four of which at least must be
spent in tight pantaloons, which seems a little hard in such muddy,
disagreeable weather.
I had a horrible cold when I first came, but, since “God tempers the
wind to the shorn lamb,” my other pains ceased as soon as I began to
cough.
I shall not admit for an instant that you will not wait for me. It would
be absurd to go to the sea-shore before the weather becomes settled,
and, above all, warm. Advise your friends to be patient. I have to do
the same thing, and, among others, I say this a hundred times to a
person who will listen to nothing.... Good-bye....