PARIS, _October 24, 1860_.
DEAR FRIEND: I received your letter of the 15th. I have delayed a reply
because I have been in the country, at my cousin’s, where I walked
during the day and played backgammon at night. In fact, I have been very
lazy. I thank you for the descriptions you gave me, but they need a
running commentary and illustrations, especially what you say concerning
the native dances; from what you tell me, they must resemble somewhat
the dances of the gitanas of Grenada. The idea is probably the same as
that represented by the Moors. I have no doubt that if an Arab of the
Sahara should see a waltz in Paris, he would conclude, very reasonably,
that the French also use pantomime. When one goes to the bottom of
things one discovers always the same original ideas. You have observed
this when you studied mythology with me.
I do not at all acknowledge the timidity of your explanations. You have
at your disposal euphemisms enough to tell me everything, and you act
as you do only that I may plead and insist. Come, be more communicative
in your next letter.
I am becoming worse and worse every day. I begin to be resigned to my
fate, but it is a lamentable thing to see one’s self growing old and
dying by inches.
You ask me to explain the present disorders. Are you not sick of it?
Unfortunately, no one understands anything of it. Read the
_Constitutionnel_ of to-day. There is an interesting and inspired
article by Guéronnière. He says, in substance: “I can not approve the
attack made on innocent people; yet, on the other hand, I have no
interest in those who are being skinned, and do not desire to see them
aided in any way save in advice.”
I went yesterday to Saint Cloud, where I had lunch most informally with
the emperor, the empress, and “_Monsieur fils_,” as they say in Lyons.
Everybody was in good health and high spirits. I had a long conversation
with the emperor, particularly on ancient history and Cæsar. The
facility with which he grasps the meaning of erudite subjects, for which
he has found a taste only recently, is most astonishing.
The empress related several curious incidents connected with her trip
to Corsica. The bishop had told her of a bandit named Bosio, whose
history might have been copied from _Colomba_. He is a worthy fellow,
who has been persuaded by the advice of a woman to commit two or three
trifling crimes. For several months they have been trying to capture
him, but in vain; women and children suspected of furnishing him food
have been imprisoned, but it is impossible to lay hands on him. No one
knows where he is. Her Majesty, who has read the novel that you know,
had become interested in this man, and said she would be delighted if
some one should give him the wherewithal to leave the island and go to
Africa or elsewhere, where he might become a good soldier and an honest
man. “Ah! Madame,” said the bishop, “will you permit me to send this
message to him?”
“Then, monseigneur, you know where he is?” As a general rule, the very
worst scamps in Corsica are always connected in some way with the most
respectable men. They were greatly surprised to find that, while they
were besought to grant a prodigious number of favours, no one asked for
a sou. The empress has returned full of enthusiasm.
The meeting at Warsaw is a fiasco. The Austrian emperor went uninvited,
and discovered an example of the kind of courtesy shown presumptuous
persons. He pretended to demonstrate that if Austria was in danger from
Hungary, Russia also had an enemy in Poland; to which Gortchakoff
replied: “You have eleven millions of Hungarians, and you are three
million Germans. We are forty million Russians, and need no help to
bring to reason six millions of Poles. Consequently there is no mutual
confidence.”
It seems to me that, so far as Germany is concerned, things look
peaceable, and it is possible, nay, even probable, that she might make
us overtures to pursue the same course in respect to Italy. If this
should occur, war, I think, would be impossible, unless, however,
Garibaldi should make an attack upon Venice; yet the Italians are more
prudent than is supposed.
I hear from Naples that the turmoil there is at its climax, and that the
Piedmontese are expected with the same impatience that we experienced in
1848, when we were looking for the arrival of the regular troops in
Paris. It is for order that they sigh, and which they will not realise
except under Victor Emmanuel. Garibaldi and Alexander Dumas have
prepared the way for it, just as a journey in the cold and rain prepares
one to enjoy a warm dinner.
Good-bye, dear friend. I am thinking of starting soon to Cannes. Upon
reaching Marseilles, about the middle of November, I shall intrust your
package to the office of the steamship company. Give me details of the
customs, and have no fear of shocking me. Take good care of yourself,
and do not forget me.