CANNES, _December 4, 1864_.
DEAR FRIEND: I have arrived here, and find no letter from you, which
grieves me very much....
I pass on to another source of grievance against you. You have given me
no end of trouble with your handkerchiefs. After many fruitless
journeys, I discovered finally a half dozen _Nipi_ handkerchiefs,
hideously ugly. I took them, although everybody said they had been out
of fashion for a long time; but I was following my orders. I hope you
have received those six handkerchiefs, or that you will receive them in
a few days. I sent them by one of my friends, whom I charged to have
them delivered at your house. You asked to have them embroidered. There
were none in Madrid except the six that were sent you. The plain ones
seemed to me even uglier; they had red stripes, like the handkerchiefs
carried by college students.
I left Madrid in deuced cold weather, and shivered the whole of the
journey. I did nothing else during the entire time of my stay there. On
this side of the Bidassoa the temperature is enchantingly mild, and I
find the atmosphere usually so in this country. We are having superb
weather, and no wind.
I think I wrote you from Madrid everything worth telling about my
acquaintances, notably the adventures of the duchess of ----, which must
have shocked you. Did I mention also the young Andalusian girl in love
with a young man who is discovered to be the grandson of the hangman of
Havana? There are threats of suicide on the part of the mother, the
daughter, and the future husband, by which I mean that all three
threaten to kill themselves unless they are allowed to have their way.
When I left Madrid, no deaths had occurred, and the respectable public
was strongly in sympathy with the lovers.
Good-bye, dear friend. Send me some word of yourself, and tell me your
plans for this winter.