PARIS, _September 12, 1865_, _at night_.
DEAR FRIEND: I have been here for several days. I came by way of
Boulogne, and while our boat was being moored at the quay there was such
a crowd that I asked myself what could be so interesting in the arrival
of a steam-boat. The English ladies will have to be warned that in
walking at low tide along the edge of the wharf they make a great
exhibition of legs, and even more. My modesty received a shock.
Paris this year is more empty than ever, but I enjoy it in that state. I
rise and go to bed late. I read a great deal, and scarcely ever get out
of my dressing-gown. I have a Japanese one, with flowers on a
jonquil-yellow background, more brilliant than the electric light.
My stay in England was not, after all, very tiresome. Besides a number
of pleasant excursions which I made, I wrote for the _Journal des
Savants_ that article on the _Life of Julius Caesar_, of which I have
already made mention to you. As it was the editors in person who imposed
this task on me, I was obliged to acquiesce. You know how much I value
the author and his book; but you may understand the difficulties of my
position, not wishing to be considered as a flatterer, nor to say
unbecoming things. I think I managed to get out of the difficulty fairly
well.
I took for a text the fact that the Republic had reached its limit, and
that the Roman people were going to the devil, if Caesar had not
delivered them. As the thesis is true and easily supported, I wrote
variations on this air. I will save one of the proofs for you.
Manners are still progressing. A son of prince de C. has just died in
Rome. He left a brother and sisters in straitened circumstances. He was
an ecclesiastic, a monseigneur, and had an income of two hundred
thousand pounds, and every penny of it he has left to a little abbé of a
secretary that he had. It is precisely as if Nicomedes had bequeathed
his kingdom to Caesar. I wager that you do not see the point at all.
I, too, was anxious to go to Germany, and might have surprised you,
perhaps, in Munich, but my plan came to naught. I was going to see my
friend, Kaullo, that excellent Jew whom I have mentioned to you more
than once. But he himself is coming to France, therefore I have given up
my idea of Germany. One of my friends returning from Switzerland is not
enthusiastic over the weather there; which softens my disappointment.
It seems to me that Boulogne is becoming more beautiful in its buildings
no less than in its citizens. I saw fish-women stylishly dressed, and
very pretty modern dwellings; but what English women there were, and
what pork-pie hats!
Yesterday I called to see the princess Murat, who has almost recovered
from her terrible fall. The only signs still remaining are a bruised eye
and a cheek slightly discoloured. She gave a vivid account of the
accident. She has lost entire consciousness of her fall, and of the
following three or four hours. She remembers seeing her coachman, who
was a Swiss colonel, thrown up in the air, high above her head; then,
four hours later, she found herself in her own bed, with her head big as
a gourd. In the interval she walked and talked, but has no recollection
of anything. I hope, and think it probable, that during the last moments
before death comes, there is also a loss of consciousness.
I found the countess de Montijo entirely recovered from her two
operations. She is enthusiastic in praise of her oculist, Liebreich, who
seems to be a wonderful man. Try never to require his services.
Good-bye, dear friend. I am going early next week, for three days, to
Trouville. I shall then remain here until winter drives me away. Keep me
informed of all you do, and of your intentions.