Madrid, November 28, 1853. Your letter crossed with mine, which you must have received at the same time that yours reached me. In it I explained why I have remained here for several days longer than I intended. My friends are insisting that I shall wait until Christmas; but I shall be in France, and probably in Paris the 12th or 15th, if the weather is not too stormy. I shall write to you from Bayonne or from Tours, where I am compelled to stop.... There are a great many balls here, notwithstanding the court mourning. Out of respect, every one wears black gloves. The opening events at the Senate are causing considerable anxiety. People are wondering whether the Ministry will hold on, or whether there will be another coup d’État. The opposition is bitterly incensed, and proposes to give the comte de San-Luis a good cudgelling. The house where I am stopping is neutral ground, where the ministers It is a fact, that what is known here as society is composed of such a small number of persons that if they were divided up, they would have no means of gaining a livelihood. Whatever one does in Madrid, provided one goes to a public place, he is sure of meeting the same three hundred persons. The result is a very amusing society, infinitely less hypocritical than elsewhere. I must tell you a good story. It is the custom here to offer anything that is praised. At dinner, the other day, I was seated next to the Prime Minister’s sweetheart: she is as stupid as a cabbage, and very big. Her beautiful shoulders were bare, and around them hung a garland with tassels of metal or glass. Not knowing what to say to her, I praised both shoulders and garland, to which she replied: “Both are at your service.” Good-bye. Write me longer letters. I might, in an extreme case, hear from you again here; but I shall hope certainly to find a letter from you at Bayonne. Why is it that I am so anxious to see you again? At the same time, |