I have found people here so cordial, so friendly, so engrossingly interested in me that it is evident they are extremely tired of one another.
Yesterday I met again two of my old sweethearts: one has become a victim of asthma, and the other is a Methodist. I have also made the acquaintance of eight or ten poets, who impressed me as even more ridiculous than our own. It was a pleasure to visit once more the Sydenham Palace, although it has been entirely spoiled by a number of huge monuments erected in memory of the heroes of the Crimea. The heroes in question are to be seen on the street drunk every day.
London is still full of people, but everybody is preparing for flight. I am to go Monday for a visit to the Duke of Hamilton, where I shall stay until Wednesday, on which day I make my entry into Edinburgh. In two weeks probably I shall return to London, where I shall see you again. Try to be here by that time; you can not give me a greater proof of affection, and you know the happiness that I shall experience in seeing you.
Good-bye. You may write to me at the Douglas Hotel, Edinburgh, where I shall remain several days before venturing into the North.
CLXIV
Edinburgh, Douglas Hotel, July 26, 1856.
I hoped to have a letter from you either here or in Edinburgh, but none has come. To make it worse, I am to be buried in the North, and I know not where to tell you to address your letters. I am going with a Scotchman to see his castle far beyond the lakes, but am unable to tell you where we shall stop on the way. He promises to show me no end of castles, ruins, fine views, and so forth. As soon as I have made a halt I shall write again.
I spent three days with the Duke of Hamilton in an immense castle, situated in a very beautiful country. Near the castle, less than an hour’s journey, in fact, there is a herd of wild bulls, the last that exists in Europe. They seemed to me as tame as the deer of Paris. In every part of this castle there are paintings by the great masters, Grecian and Chinese vases that are magnificent, and books with bindings by the most noted amateurs of the last century. No taste is shown in the arrangement of all these things, and it is evident that the owner derives but little enjoyment from them.
I understand now why a Frenchman is a welcome guest in foreign lands. It is because he takes the trouble to entertain himself, and in so doing he entertains others. I felt quite sure of being the most entertaining of any of the numerous guests of the house, and realised at the same time that it was an honour which I scarcely deserved.
I have found Edinburgh entirely to my taste, with the exception of the execrable architecture of the public monuments, which pretend to be Grecian, justifying their pretence just as an Englishwoman does her claim to appear Parisian, that is, by having her gowns made by Madame Vignon. The accent of the natives is odious. I ran away from the antiquaries after seeing their exposition, which is really beautiful.