Izazu, 17th October, 1864.
Although I have this morning sent you a letter by the courier, pour la rareté du fait, I must write to you from this remarkable place. We breakfasted here, three miles to the east of Biarritz, in the mountains, and are seated in charming summer weather at the edge of a rushing stream, the name of which we can not learn, as nobody speaks French—nothing but Basque. There are high narrow rocks before and behind us, with heather, ferns, and chestnuts all around. The valley is called Le Pas de Roland, and is the west end of the Pyrenees. Before we went off we took our baths—the water cold, the air like July. The courier dispatched, we had a charming drive through mountains, forests, and meadows. After eating and drinking, and climbing ourselves tired, our party of five are sitting down reading to each other, and I am writing myself on the lid of the box in which were the grapes and figs we brought with us. At five we shall return with the sunset and moonlight to Biarritz, and dine about eight. It is too pleasant a life to last. The 20th, the evening before last, we went to Pau. It was heavy and sultry there, and at night storm and rain; we were in the railway, but came from Bayonne hither by carriage; the sea magnificent. After it had been as smooth as a duck-pond for some days with the land winds, it now looks like a boiling caldron, and the wind is warm and moist with it; the sun alternates with rain—very Atlantic weather.
To-day I take my fourteenth bath; I shall hardly get more than fifteen, for it seems I must to-morrow leave this warm shore. I am still striving between duty and taste; but I fear the first will conquer. I will first take my bath, and then decide whether it shall be the penultimate one. Anyhow, the fourteen days I have spent here have done me good, and I only wish I could transport you, without travelling discomfort, hither or to Pau.
Paris, 25th October, 1864.
Before going to bed, after a tiring day, I will announce to you my fortunate arrival here. Yesterday noon I left dear Biarritz; they were making hay in the meadows when I started in the hot sun. Friends accompanied me as far as Bayonne; at about 6 A.M. I arrived here. Plenty of politics, audience at St. Cloud, a dinner at Drouyn de Lhuys’s, and now I am going to bed tired out.