“My dear Julia,—I write you a hurried note to tell you that I have left behind me, at Number Eleven, my second beaver hat. It is in the hatbox in the white cupboard on the landing outside the nursery door. Do not send anything else with it, as you were imprudent enough to do last time I asked you to despatch luggage; the Customs are very particular, and it is important for me just now, amid all these political troubles, not to have what the French call ‘histoires.’ I have really nothing to tell you more as to the condition of affairs, nor anything to add to the brief remarks in my last letter. Were I not connected by business ties with the Continent nothing should tempt me to this kind of journey again. The train service is ridiculously slow, and there is a feeling of distress and ill-ease wherever one goes. It is truly amazing to me that any people, however stunted by centuries of oppression, should tolerate the form of government which has been recently set up by brute force in this unhappy country! Meanwhile, though everyone discusses politics, nothing is done, and the practical things of life are wholly neglected. The streets still remain the narrow, ill-lit thoroughfares which would be a disgrace to a small English provincial town, and the Army, so far as any civilian can judge, is worthless. The men slouch about with their hands in their pockets; the Cavalry sit their horses very badly; and even the escort of the ‘Emperor’ would look supremely ridiculous in any other surroundings. I have little doubt that if horse racing were more thoroughly developed the Equine Race would improve. As it is, the horses here are deplorable. I hope to persuade M. Behrens, who is one of the few sensible and clear-sighted men I have met during this visit, to accept our proposals, and I will write you further on the matter.
“Your affectionate husband,
“Jo. Bilsted.
“P.S.—I somewhat regret that you have accepted the invitation to the Children’s Party. However, I never interfere with you in these matters. I must, however, positively forbid your taking little Charles, who, though he is eldest, suffers, I fear, from a weak heart, inherited from your dear mother. I hope to return this day fortnight.”
“Hôtel de Ferras, July 15, 1870.
“My dear Julia,—It was a matter of great regret to me that you should have been compelled to leave Paris a few days before myself; but I shall follow to-morrow, and hope to be at Number Eleven by Thursday at the latest. You will then have learned the terrible truth that war has been finally declared. Nothing could have more deeply impressed and oppressed me at the same time. The overwhelming military power which in better hands and under a proper guidance might have been turned to such noble uses is to be hurled against the insecure combination of German States which have recently been struggling, perfectly rightly in my opinion, to become One Great Nation; for I make no doubt that the lesser States will throw in their lot with Prussia: a menace to one is a menace to all. I write from the bottom of my heart (my dear Julia), when I say that I am convinced that after the first triumphs of this Man of Blood our own Government will speak with no uncertain voice, and will defend the new German people against the aggressor. It was sufficiently intolerable that his Italian policy should have been framed before our eyes, without intervention, and that the unity of that ancient land should be deferred through his insolence. I have not borne to visit Rome since the hateful presence of a foreign garrison was established there. I will even go so far (perhaps against your own better judgment) as to raise the matter in Parliament, but I greatly fear that the House will not be sitting when the most drastic action is needed. However, I repeat what I have said; I am confident in the ultimate Righteousness of our intervention. I am therefore confident that we shall not allow the further expansion of this Military Policy.
“As I write the garish, over-lit façades of this luxurious Babylon, its broad, straight streets, with their monotonous vulgar splendour, and the swarms of the military all round, fill me with foreboding. It would be a terrible thing if this very negation of True Civilisation and Religion were to triumph, and I am certain that unless we speak boldly we ourselves shall be the next victim. But we shall speak boldly.... My faith is firm.
“Your affectionate husband,
“Jo. Bilsted.
“P.S.—I am glad that Charles has got through his examination successfully. I hope he clearly understands that I have no intention of letting him be returned for Pensbury until a year has elapsed.”
“Hôtel de Ferras, April 1, 1886.
“My dear Charles,—It was a filial thought in you to send a letter which would reach me upon my sixtieth birthday, and believe me that, speaking as your father, I am not insensible to it.