Cannes, February 5, 1859.

... For two days we have had bad weather, which has made me desperately ill. I have formed for my own case a medical theory which is as good as any other; it is, that sunlight is a necessity to me. When the sky is overcast, I suffer; when it rains, I am perfectly good-for-nothing; when the sun reappears at last, I am on my feet again.

It was during the bad weather that the new imperial highness[18] crossed the sea. With us it (the sea) was devilish boisterous, and as wild as the ocean. I thought of the sufferings of that poor princess, married but the night before, her first experience on the sea, and with the expectation of an harangue by the mayor as soon as she should land. Do you not think it preferable in Paris to belong to the bourgeois? I should like to do so in Cannes.

My house is situated in front of the HÔtel de la Poste. My windows face the sea, and from my bed I can see the islands. It is a delicious view. I have about thirty sketches, more or less poor, but which I have enjoyed making. You shall have several, if you make a wise choice; if not, I shall select them for you. The almond-trees are in bloom in every direction, but the winter has been so severe and the summer so dry that the jessamines are almost entirely blighted. If you wish to have any acacias, you have but to mention it.

Yesterday I corrected the proofs of the article of which I spoke to you. As for Demetrius, I have abandoned all thought of it; and it needed your letter to remind me that I had ever thought of it.

A colleague is a useful person to have near one, in that he knows, in the first place, all the tricks of the trade, and, besides, that he can meet all the actors and other unsavory people whom my mightiness does not wish to see. I received a letter this morning from a M. Beyle, of Grasse, who is an admirer of mine, who is twenty-two years old, and who asks permission to read to me several works of his own composition. Can you comprehend such a sudden disaster, when one thinks himself safe from everything literary?

I have had another misfortune. My prigadiou died suddenly during the stormy weather. I am thinking of raising a monument to his memory on the rock where I found him. I continue my investigations of the habits of hermit-crabs. The study of instinct in dumb creatures is extremely interesting, I assure you. I have also a dog, who belongs ostensibly to my servant, but who has attached himself to me. He understands everything that is said to him, even in French, and since he has seen his master serving me he holds him in contempt.

I should be glad if you would read Caesar, by AmpÈre, which has just appeared. It is possible that I may be obliged to write a critique concerning it, and since it is written in Alexandrine metre, the possibility terrifies me. I should like to take your opinion of it cut and dried, for I never could criticise verse.

I am beginning to count the days. The month will not come to an end, I hope, without seeing you. I suspect that in Paris you feel no longing for mountain air or legs of mutton. I myself am living in the open air. I sleep no better than ever, but I have good legs, and I can climb without losing my breath.

Good-bye. Write once more and tell me the news and the novelties of Paris. I am so rusty that I have taken to reading Mormon leaflets; to reach this point one must come to Cannes.