Paris: November, 1858.
Preparing my lectures is a troublesome business. My first one would not do; it was so much more adapted to an American than an English audience. I wanted also quantities of facts that I did not know how to get. But I have now re-written twenty-one pages. I have written it with pleasure, though very slowly, and I am really surprised to find how very slowly I write. I can only write when I feel fresh in the morning; sometimes only a page, sometimes none. I will not force it when I don’t feel fresh, but I shall take whatever time is necessary to do the work well, for it is really important.
It was during this visit that I had the privilege of becoming personally acquainted with Dr. Trélat, the head of La Salpêtrière, and his admirable wife, who remained steadfast friends through life. I visited them at La Salpêtrière—that large asylum for infirm women, over which Dr. Trélat presided with truly paternal care. La Salpêtrière was not then a great school of experimentation, but a benevolent refuge, where the well-being and kindly protection of its inmates formed the primary object of the director.
The following letters are descriptive of this time.
To Lady Byron
Paris: December 30, 1858.
160 Rue St. Dominique.
My dear and venerated Friend,—I received your letter yesterday. The mere chance of being in any way useful to the valuable friend you refer to is reason sufficient for a short return at once to England, so I have made my arrangements to reach London on Monday evening, January 3.
I have heard with great pleasure of an invitation to lecture in London, which I will acknowledge when I receive it. I shall be glad of an opportunity of laying very important considerations before my fellow countrywomen, but I cannot lecture just at present. I find that I must first go to Italy, for reasons which I will explain when we meet; therefore it is too soon to engage rooms at present, for which kind offer I sincerely thank you.
My chief object in making this hurried visit of a few days is to see Miss Nightingale and a few valued friends, amongst whom I hope I may reckon yourself. I shall therefore remain quietly at my cousin’s, No. 73 Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park, not attempting to enter into society.