PARIS, _August 30, 1863_.
I go to-morrow to Biarritz with Panizzi, who joined me here yesterday.
We are invited by our gracious sovereign, who will entertain us at the
sea-shore for I know not how long. I shall settle in Cannes during
October, returning to Paris for the discussion of the address, and
remaining here, probably, all the month of November. In spite of
presidents and sea-monsters, I hope to see you at that time.
I have an extremely curious book, which I will lend you if you are good
and kind to me. It is an account of a trial of the Seventeenth Century,
related by an imbecile. A nun belonging to his Majesty’s family was in
love with a Milanese gentleman, and as there were other nuns to whom
this was displeasing, they killed her, aided by her lover. It is highly
edifying, and, as an exponent of the morals of the time, very
interesting.
Read _Une Saison à Paris_, by Madame de ----. She is a person abounding
in candour, who felt a keen desire to make herself agreeable to his
majesty, and said so to him at a ball in terms so categoric and so
definite, that nobody in the world, except yourself, would have failed
to understand her. He was so astounded that he found nothing to say in
reply, and it was only after three days, so they say, that he repulsed
her. I can imagine you making the sign of the cross and that horrified
face with which I am so familiar.
Have you read Renan’s _Life of Jesus_? Probably not. It is a small book,
but full of import. ‘Tis like a great blow of an axe on the edifice of
Catholicism. The author is so terrified by his own audacity in denying
the divinity of Christ, that he loses himself in hymns of praise and
adoration, until he has no longer the philosophic understanding which
enables him to decide on questions of doctrine. It is interesting,
however, and if you have not already done so, you will read it with
pleasure.
I have my packing to do, and so I must leave you. My address until the
new order is established will be Villa Eugénie, Biarritz
(Basses-Pyrénées). Write to me quickly. Good-bye.