CHÂTEAU DE FONTAINEBLEAU, _Monday, June 24, 1861_.
DEAR FRIEND: I have not budged from here, and shall remain until the end
of the month, thanks, no doubt, to Cæsar. I told you that I had a
sunstroke, and for twenty-four hours was in a very dangerous condition.
I have entirely recovered now, but am suffering from lumbago, which I
caught rowing on the lake....
I am waiting impatiently for news from you, but fear that I am somewhat
to blame. I promised to write to you if I left Fontainebleau, but what
can I do? One does nothing here, and yet one is never free. Sometimes we
are called on to walk in the woods, sometimes to make a translation.
Most of the time is spent in waiting. The great accomplishment of the
country is to know how to wait--a part of my education which I find it
difficult to acquire.
At this moment our chief expectation is centred in the Siamese
ambassadors, who will arrive Thursday. Some say that they will present
themselves on all-fours, after the custom of their country, crawling on
their knees and elbows; others add that they will lick the floor,
sprinkled with candy in view of this performance. Our ladies imagine
that they are to receive wonderful gifts. I believe they will bring
nothing at all, and that they will expect to carry away many beautiful
things.
I went last Wednesday to Alise with the emperor, who has become an
accomplished archæologist. He spent three and a half hours on the
mountain, under the most terrific sun in the world, examining the
remains of the siege of Cæsar, and reading the _Commentaries_. We lost
all the skin from our ears, and came back looking like chimney-sweeps.
We spend our evenings upon the lake, or under the trees, looking at the
moon and wishing for rain. I suppose you have the same weather at N----.
Good-bye, dear friend. Take care of yourself; do not expose yourself to
the sun, and let me hear from you.