CANNES, _January 12, 1864_.
DEAR FRIEND: I was seriously ill on my arrival here. I brought from
Paris an abominable cold, and it is only during the last two days that I
have begun to feel like myself. I do not know what would have become of
me if I had remained in Paris, for I see by the papers that you are
having snow. The weather here is admirable, with seldom a cloud, and a
temperature which is usually at least 14 degrees. Occasionally, the east
wind brings us a touch of snow caught from the Alps, but we are in a
favoured oasis. They tell us that all the surrounding country is under
snow. At Marseilles, at Toulon, and even at Hyères, it is said the
ground is covered. I imagine a citizen of Marseilles in the snow as
something like a cat walking on ice with nut-shells on his paws. It is a
long time, even at Cannes, since such a lovely, mild winter has been
known.
I am charmed that Aristophanes had the honour of pleasing you. You ask
me if the Athenian ladies were present at the theatrical
representations? There are men of learning who say Yes, and others who
say No. If you had gone to see Karagueuz when you visited the Orient,
you would have found, no doubt, many women there. In Eastern countries
to-day, and formerly in antiquity, there is not and there never has been
any of the false modesty which you have. One saw at every glance men in
bathing costumes, and on every public square were statues of gods which
gave ladies an exaggerated idea of the human form.
What is the name of that comedy in which Euripides is dressed as a
woman? Do you understand the stage setting, and the part of the Scythian
gendarme? What is more extraordinary than anything else is the
unceremonious fashion in which Aristophanes speaks of the gods, even on
their festival days, for it was at the Dionysia that the play of _The
Frogs_ was given, wherein Bacchus takes a singular rôle.
The same thing occurred during the early period of Christianity. Comedy
was played in the churches. There was a Mass of the Fools and a Mass of
the Ass, the text of which is still extant in a very curious manuscript.
The wicked have spoiled everything by doubting. When faith was
universal, all was permissible.
Besides the absurdities which Aristophanes throws, like lumps of salt,
into his plays, there are choruses of the most exquisite poetry. My
revered teacher, M. Boissonade, used to say that no other Greek writer
had written better poetry. If you have not read it already, I recommend
to you _The Clouds_. It is, to my mind, the best of his plays that have
been preserved. In it there occurs a dialogue between the Just and the
Unjust, which is in the most elevated style. I think there is some truth
in the reproaches which he addresses to Socrates. Even after having
heard him in _Plato_, one is tempted to forgive him the hemlock. A man
who proves to every one, as Socrates did, that he is a fool, is a
plague.
I have just read that the conspiracies are beginning again. I have no
doubt that those Italian devils, and those no less Polish devils, would
like to set the world on fire; and the world, unhappily, is so stupid
that it will allow it to be done. I have had letters from Italy which
cause me to fear that Garibaldi and his volunteers will in the spring
undertake some movement against Venice. It needs but some calamity of
that sort to finish us up entirely.
Good-bye, dear friend. I try to think as little as possible of the
future. Keep well, and think of me now and then. Have you any
suggestion for the 14th of February, Sainte-Eulalie’s fête-day? Again
good-bye.