Paris, Tuesday night, July 20, 1859.

You alone give me resignation to accept peace. It may have been necessary; but we ought not to have commenced so bravely, only to end by getting things into a worse muddle than they were in the beginning. After all, why should we concern ourselves in the liberty of a pack of bricklayers and musicians?

To-night we listened to that which you will read in the Moniteur.[20] It was finely delivered, and its tenor was one of nobility, frankness, and sincerity. The address was full of good sense and truth. The returning officers say that the Italians are a set of brawlers and cowards, and that the Piedmontese alone can fight, but pretend that we interfere with them and that without us they would have been more successful.

The empress asked me, in Spanish, how I liked the address; from which I infer that she did not like it. I replied, in order to reconcile court-flattery and truth, “Muy necessario.” To tell the truth, it pleased me, for it takes a brave man to say, “Do you believe that it has not cost me?” etc.

When I make you a proposition I am always perfectly serious about it. All depends on you. I am invited to visit in Scotland and England. If you return to Paris, I shall not budge a step. I shall be under an extraordinary obligation to you, and if you had any idea of the pleasure you would give me, I can not believe that you would hesitate. I shall await your decision.

I had a horrible fright this morning. There came to see me a man, dressed in black, with an abundance of white linen and an attractive manner. He had an unusually handsome and noble face. He said he was a lawyer. After taking a seat, he told me that he was inspired by God, whose unworthy instrument he was, and whom he obeyed in all things. He had been accused of attempting to kill his porter with a dagger, but he had only shown him a crucifix. This devil of a man rolled his eyes in the most terrible way, and held me truly spellbound. While speaking, he kept his hand constantly in the pocket of his coat, and I expected to see him draw out a dagger. Unluckily, he had only to select one on my table. I had no weapon but a Turkish pipe, and I was calculating the moment when prudence would indicate that I should break it over his head. At last he drew from his terrible pocket a rosary, and fell at my knees. I preserved a glacial composure, but I was afraid, for how can one protect himself against a madman?

He then left, making many apologies, and thanking me for the interest I had manifested in him. Notwithstanding my terror, inspired by the sight of the animal’s brilliant eyes—frightful, I assure you, and penetrating—I made a curious observation. I asked him if he was quite certain that he was inspired, and if he had made any experiments which would give him assurance on this point. I reminded him that Gideon, when called of God, had taken the precaution to require a few trifling miracles as a test.

“Do you understand Russian?” I asked him.

“No.”

“Very well. I am going to write two Russian sentences on these slips of paper. One of these sentences contains an impious thought. From what you have told me, one of these papers will horrify you. Will you make the test?”

He accepted. I wrote the sentences. He kneeled down and prayed; then suddenly he exclaimed:

“My God is unwilling to accept a frivolous experiment. It would have to be something of serious importance.”

Do you not admire the prudence of this poor lunatic, who feared that, unknowingly, the experiment would not turn out favourably?

Good-bye. I await a prompt reply.