Carabanchel, Thursday, December, 1856.
(I have forgotten the date.)

It is pouring rain. Yesterday was the loveliest day imaginable, and another like it is predicted to-morrow. I took advantage of this beautiful weather to sprain my wrist, and I am able to write to you only because I have been taught the American method, in which the fingers are not moved. The accident happened through the fault of a horse, who insisted on choosing an inconvenient moment to speak to Lord A.’s mare, and then, indignant at my objections to his guilty passion, treacherously flung me over his head as I was lighting my cigar. This occurred in a pathway beside the sea, which was only a hundred feet below. Fortunately, I chose the path on which to fall. I was not hurt at all, except my hand, which to-day is very much inflamed.

I hope to go next week to Cannes, where you will kindly write to me, general delivery. To bring to a close the chapter on my health, I think I shall soon feel much better. Nevertheless, I have had another of those attacks of dizziness, which upset me a good deal, but not so much as in Paris. A physician here tells me that they are nervous convulsions, and that I must take much exercise. This I am doing, but am sleeping no better than I did in Paris, although I go to bed at eleven o’clock. I should have only to say the word to be a lion (in the English sense); every one here is bored. I have been besieged with English cards and Russian cards, and some one wished to present me to the grand duchess HÉlÈne, an honour which I promptly declined.

To furnish us gossip, we have a countess Apraxine, who smokes, wears round hats, and keeps a goat in her drawing-room, which she has had covered with grass and weeds. But the most amusing person here is Lady Shelley, who commits some new absurdity every day. Yesterday she wrote to the French consul: “Lady S. informs Mr. P. that she will give to-day a charming English dinner, and that she will be delighted to see him afterwards, at five minutes after nine.” She wrote to Madame Vigier, formerly Mademoiselle Cruvelli: “Lady Shelley would be charmed to see Madame Vigier, if she would kindly bring her music along.” To which the ex-Cruvelli replied: “Madame Vigier would be charmed to see Lady Shelley if she would kindly come to her house, and conduct herself there like a well-bred woman.”

And now, you—how are you spending your time? I am quite sure you seldom think of Versailles, because you have no souvenirs to recall it to you. I hope we shall go there in March to see the first primroses. Was it all real, that wonderful evening and morning at Versailles?

Good-bye. Write to me soon at Cannes.