[Paris,] 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysees:
November 12, 1851.

I see your house, my beloved friend, and clap my hands for pleasure. It
will suit you admirably, I see, plainly from Paris, and how right you
are about the pretty garden, not to make it fine and modern; you have
the right instincts about such things, and are too strong for Mrs.
Loudon and the landscape gardeners. The only defect apparent to me at
this distance is the size of the sitting room.... If you were to see
what we call 'an apartment' in Paris! We have just a slip of a kitchen,
and no passage, no staircase to take up the space, which is altogether
_spent_ upon sitting and sleeping rooms. Talk of English comforts! It's
a national delusion. The comfort of the Continental way of life has only
to be tested to be recognised (with the exception of the locks of doors
and windows, which are _barbaric_ here, there's no other word for it).
The economy of a habitation is understood in Paris. You have the
advantages of a large house without the disadvantages, without the
coldness, without the dearness. And the beds, chairs, and sofas are
perfect things.

But the climate is not perfect, it seems, for we have had very cold
weather the last ten days, and I am a prisoner as usual. Our friends
swear to us that it is exceptional weather and that it will be warmer
presently, and I listen with a sort of 'doubtful doubt' worthy of a
metaphysician. It is some comfort to hear that it's below zero in London
meanwhile, and that Scotland stands eight feet deep in snow.

We have a letter for George Sand (directed _a Madame George Sand_) from
Mazzini, and we hear that she is to be in Paris within twelve days. Then
we must make a rush and present it, for her stay here is not likely to
be long, and I would not miss seeing her for a great deal, though I have
not read one of her late dramas, and only by faith understand that her
wonderful genius has conquered new kingdoms. Her last romance, 'Le
Chateau des Deserts,' is treated disdainfully in the 'Athenaeum.' I have
not read _that_ even, but Mr. Chorley is apt to be cold towards French
writers and I don't expect his judgment as final therefore. Have you
seen M. de la Mare's correspondence with Mirabeau? And do you ever catch
sight of the 'Revue des Deux Mondes'? In the August number is an
excellent and most pleasant article on my husband, elaborately written
and so highly appreciatory as well nigh to satisfy _me_.[5] 'Set you
down this' that there has sprung up in France lately an ardent
admiration of the present English schools of poetry, or rather of the
poetry produced by the present English schools, which they consider _an
advance upon the poetry of the ages_. Think of _this_, you English
readers who are still wearing broad hems and bombazeens for the Byron
and Scott glorious days!

Let me think what I can tell you of the President. I have never seen his
face, though he has driven past me in the boulevards, and past these
windows constantly, but it is said that he is very like his
portraits--and, yes, rumour and the gazettes speak of his riding well.
Wilson and Wiedeman had an excellent view of him the other day as he
turned into a courtyard to pay some visit, and she tells me that his
carriage was half full of petitions and nosegays thrown through the
windows. What a fourth act of a play we are in just now! It is difficult
to guess at the catastrophe. Certainly he must be very sure of his hold
on the people to propose repealing the May edict,[6] and yet there are
persons who persist in declaring that nobody cares for him and that even
a revision of the constitution will not bring about his re-election. _I_
am of an opposite mind; though there is not much overt enthusiasm of the
population in behalf of his person. Still, this may arise from a quiet
resolve to keep him where he is, and an assurance that he can't be
ousted in spite of the people and army. It is significant, I think, that
Emile de Girardin should stretch out a hand (a little dirty, be it
observed in passing), and that Lamartine, after fasting nineteen days
and nights (a miraculous fast, without fear of the 'prefect'), should
murmur a 'credo' in favour of his honesty. As to honesty, 'I do believe
he's honest;' that is to say, he has acted out no dishonesty _as yet_,
and we have no right to interpret doubtful texts into dishonorable
allegations. But for ambition--for ambition! Answer from the depth of
your conscience, 'de profundis.' Is he or is he not an ambitious man?
Does he or does he not mean in his soul to be Napoleon the Second? Yes,
yes--I think, you think, we all think.

Robert's father and sister have been paying us a visit during the last
three weeks. They are very affectionate to me, and I love them for his
sake and their own, and am very sorry at the thought of losing them,
which we are on the point of doing. We hope, however, to establish them
in Paris if we can stay, and if no other obstacle should arise before
the spring, when they must leave Hatcham. Little Wiedeman _draws_; as
you may suppose, he is adored by his grandpapa; and then, Robert! they
are an affectionate family and not easy when removed one from another.
Sarianna is full of accomplishment and admirable sense, even-tempered
and excellent in all ways--devoted to her father as she was to her
mother: indeed, the relations of life seem reversed in their case, and
the father appears the child of the child....

Perhaps you have not seen Eugene Sue's 'Mysteres de Paris'--and I am not
deep in the first volume yet. Fancy the wickedness and stupidity of
trying to revive the distinctions and hatreds of race between the Gauls
and Franks. The Gauls, please to understand, are the 'proletaires,' and
the capitalists are the Frank invaders (call them Cosaques, says Sue)
out of the forests of Germany!...

I saw no Mr. Harness; and no Talfourd of any kind. The latter was a kind
of misadventure, as Lady Talfourd was on the point of calling on me when
Robert would not let her. We were going away just then. Mr. Horne I had
the satisfaction of seeing several times--you know how much regard I
feel for him. One evening he had the kindness to bring his wife miles
upon miles just to drink tea with us, and we were to have spent a day
with them somehow, half among the fields, but engagements came betwixt
us adversely. She is less pretty and more interesting than I
expected--looking very young, her black glossy hair hanging down her
back in ringlets; with deep earnest eyes, and a silent listening manner.
He was full of the 'Household Words,' and seems to write articles
together with Dickens--which must be highly unsatisfactory, as Dickens's
name and fame swallow up every sort of minor reputation in the shadow of
his path. I shouldn't like, for my part (and if I were a fish), to herd
with crocodiles. But I suppose the 'Household Words' _pay_--and that's a
consideration. 'Claudie' I have not read. We have only just subscribed
to a library, and we have been absorbed a good deal by our visitors....

Write and don't leave off loving me. I will tell you of everybody
noticeable whom I happen to see, and of George Sand among the first.

Love your ever affectionate
BA.