BIARRITZ, _September 20, 1861_.
DEAR FRIEND: I am still here, like the bird on the branch. It is not the
custom to form plans in advance; on the contrary, never until the last
moment does one make a resolution. Nothing has been said as to the time
of our departure, yet the days are growing shorter. The most tedious
time of the day is the evening; it is cold after dinner, and with the
arrangement of doors and windows invented here it is impossible to keep
warm. All this makes me think that we shall not stay here much longer.
I am thinking of making a visit to M. Fould, at Tarbes, so that I may
profit by these last beautiful days; after that I shall return to Paris,
where I shall hope to find you settled. The sea air is doing me good. My
breathing is better, but I sleep badly. ‘Tis true, I am immediately on
the sea-shore, where the slightest wind makes a terrible uproar.
As in all imperial residences, the time is spent here in doing nothing,
while waiting for something to happen. I work a little; I sketch from my
window, and walk a great deal. There are few people stopping at the
Eugénie Villa, and they are people whom I like well enough. While the
days here have twenty-four hours, as they have in Paris, I find that the
time passes without much difficulty....
We took a charming walk yesterday along the Pyrenees, near enough to see
the mountains in all their glory, yet not near enough to suffer from the
incessant inconvenience of climbing and descending them. We lost our
way, and met no one who understood our beautiful French language. This
always happens as soon as one passes beyond the outskirts of Bayonne.
The Prince Imperial yesterday gave a dinner to a flock of children. The
emperor himself made champagne for them out of seltzer-water, which had
the same effect as if they had drunk real wine. In a quarter of an hour
they were all tipsy, and my ears still ache from the racket they made.
Good-bye, dear friend. I have had the temerity to promise to translate
for his Majesty a Spanish memoir on the site of Munda, and I have just
made the discovery that it is terribly difficult to translate.
You may write here until the 23d or 24th. Send your letters after that
to M. Fould, at Tarbes. Good-bye.