PARIS, _September 14, 1860_.
I received your letter, dear friend, and confess that I think you might
have remained one day less at Lestaque and spent it in Paris....
For nearly two weeks Panizzi has been here with me. I am acting as his
guide, and showing him everything worth seeing, from the cedar unto the
hyssop. There is not a living creature in Paris, which pleases me
mightily; however, the evenings begin to lengthen.
I should like to tell you something of the huge muddle that has just
begun, but I know and understand nothing about it. My guest believes
the pope and the Austrians will be driven out. So far as the first is
concerned, the chances look very gloomy; as for the Austrians, if
Garibaldi interferes with them I fear he will repent of it. Some one in
Naples wrote me of a philosophical remark of the king, who was receiving
every five minutes the resignation of a general or an admiral: “To-day
there are too many Italians to fight against Garibaldi; in a month there
will be too many Royalists to fight against the Austrians.”
It is impossible to picture the rage of the Carlists and the Orleanists.
A very sensible Italian tells me that M. de Cavour entered the Papal
States with the Sardinian army because Mazzini was preparing to organise
a revolution there. To my mind, this has a semblance of probability.
You have seen, perhaps, the fête at Marseilles. It was, I am told,
unusually beautiful, and the enthusiasm was both circumspect and
tumultuous. I hear also that, notwithstanding an immense multitude of
people excited to the highest degree, and of hot Southern temperament,
perfect order prevailed. To find something to eat seemed to be the
greatest problem, and somewhere to sleep almost as difficult. The
spectacle of the Marseillais in their ordinary condition always amuses
me; to see them in a state of enthusiasm must be still more
entertaining. On this account, and for another reason which you may
guess, I regret not having been in Marseilles or in the neighbourhood.
Panizzi, who is an ardent traveller, is thinking of going to Turin for a
week, and urges me to accompany him. It is a great temptation, but I
dare not yield. It seems to me a delicate matter to make a visit to M.
de Cavour, and, perhaps, Garibaldi, and in the uncertainty I shall
decide wisely to decline.
I shall give you a great many commissions to do for me at Algiers, when
you have settled down there. You know the sort of things that suit me,
and whenever you come across any such things do not lose the chance of a
bargain. I suggest, especially, that you find me a characteristic
dressing-gown. I should like, also, for you to make the acquaintance of
the women of the country, and tell me frankly all you have seen and
heard.
My owlet is still very friendly, but, to my sorrow, most untidy. When
put in her cage, she becomes despondent, but she abuses her liberty. I
do not know what to do about it. She does not wish to escape and fly
away.
I am going with Panizzi to-morrow to Disdér’s to have my photograph
taken. I will send you one of my pictures. They tried it at Glenquoich,
but there is so little light in that land that the result was nothing
but a shadowy something surmounted by a well-outlined cap. I am not
specially pleased with your photograph.
Good-bye, dear friend. For a week we have had lovely weather, but
chilly. From noon, however, until four o’clock the sun shows his face,
which is such a rare spectacle this year that we consider ourselves
fortunate.
Good-bye. Keep well, take care of yourself, and think sometimes of me.