LONDON, _British Museum_, _July 16, 1861_.
I see by your last letter, dear friend, that you are as busy as a
commander-in-chief on the eve of a battle. I have read in _Tristram
Shandy_ that in a house where a woman is in child-birth, all the women
assume the privilege of ill-treating the men; this is the reason I have
not written to you sooner. I was afraid you would treat me in a manner
befitting your lofty grandeur. I hope, however, that your sister is
safely delivered, and that you are relieved of all anxiety. Still, I
should be glad to have your official opinion, but this does not mean
that you are to send me a bulletin of printed information.
People here are talking of nothing but the affair of M. de Vidil. I have
known him slightly in London and in France, and considered him a great
bore. Here, where they are just as gullible as in Paris, there has been
a furious outburst of resentment against him. He is known to have killed
his wife, and probably many other persons. Now that he has been
acquitted, sentiment has changed completely, and if he has a good lawyer
he will clear himself, and we shall weave crowns for him.
You may or may not know that there is a new chancellor, lord B----, who
is old, but whose morals are not. A lawyer named Stevens sends his clerk
with a card to the chancellor. The clerk inquires for him; he is
informed that my lord has no house in London, but that he comes often
from the country to a house in Oxford Terrace, where he has a lodging.
The clerk goes to the house, and asks for my lord. “He is not here.” “Do
you think he will return for dinner?” “No, but to sleep, certainly; he
comes here every Monday night to sleep.” The clerk leaves the letter,
and Mr. Stevens is now greatly astonished because the chancellor glowers
at him. The truth of the matter is, that my lord has there a clandestine
establishment.
I have been in London since Thursday, and have not yet had a moment of
rest. I am running about from morning until night. Every day I am
invited out to dinner, and in the evening there are concerts and balls.
I went to a concert yesterday at the marquis of Lansdowne’s. There was
not a pretty woman present, which is unusual here, but, on the other
hand, they were dressed, all of them, as if the chief dispenser of
styles at Brioude had made their gowns. I never saw anything to equal
their head-dress. One old woman had a crown of diamonds composed of
small stars, with a huge sun in front, precisely like the wax figures at
a fair! I think of remaining here until early in August. Good-bye, dear
friend....