CANNES, _December 16, 1867_.
DEAR FRIEND: I was very anxious about you, when I was relieved by the
arrival of your letter. You have guessed that these many changes of
weather through which we have passed, have done me no good. In the last
twenty-four hours we have even had snow, to the enormous astonishment of
the urchins and curs of the place. Such a thing is unprecedented in
twenty years. Nothing could be more amusing than the amazement depicted
on the faces which had never seen this phenomenon from a nearer range
than the Alps. Everybody expected to see the flowers, orange-trees, and
even the olive-trees, destroyed; but they all stood it remarkably well,
and only the flies have been killed.
For several days we have had a return of fine weather, and my breathing
begins to be somewhat less difficult. I am always at the mercy of every
change of temperature, and there is no barometer to which I am not
superior in the accuracy of my predictions.
I am greatly alarmed by the political situation; in the general tone of
the journals and of the orators, I find something suggestive of 1848.
There are strange freaks of anger, without any apparent causes. All
nerves are tense. After spending his whole life amid political
struggles, M. Thiers is seized with nervous excitement because a lawyer
of Marseilles repeats platitudes deserving of nothing more than a smile.
The most unfortunate feature has been the attitude of M. Rouher, who
wishes to out-Herod Herod, and who has given utterance to sentiments
obnoxious to politics--a thing from which all ministers ought to
abstain.
I am discontented with everybody, beginning with Garibaldi, who does not
understand his trade. To go to Caprera, after having murdered several
hundred simpletons, seems to me the very limit of mortification for the
advocates of revolution, and the English noblemen who took this creature
for something more than a mountebank.
What shall I say to you of the politics of M. Ollivier and _tutti
quanti_? It is useless for them to express themselves in elegantly
turned phraseology, and to assert that they are profoundly convinced;
they impress me as second-rate actors who imitate the rôles of their
betters, in such a fashion as to deceive no one. We become smaller day
by day. It is only M. de Bismarck who is a really great man.
By the way, could it be true that he has spent his private fortune? I
consider the purchase of the journals as highly probable. But, as M. de
Bismarck will not send his receipts to M. de Kerveguen, I fancy these
gentlemen will come out of the affair honourably.
I see nothing worth reading but the _Histoire de Pierre le Grand_, by M.
Oustisalef. I have just sent to the _Journal des Savants_ a long
article, full of tormenting details, etc. It is on the destruction of
the Muscovite guards. Good-bye....