A lady asked me the other evening if I had ever seen the empress of Austria. I said I considered her very pretty. “Ah, she is an ideal beauty!” “No; she has irregular features, which are more pleasing, perhaps, than if they mere more regular.” “Ah, monsieur, she is beauty personified. Tears of admiration come to your eyes!” This is the society of the present day. I flee from it, therefore, as I should the plague. What has become of the French society of the past! A final vexation, but a colossal one, was _Tannhäuser_. Some say the performance was one of the secret conditions of the Treaty of Villafranca; others, that Wagner was sent to us in order to force us to admire Berlioz. The fact is that it is monstrous. It seems to me I might compose something just as good to-morrow, inspired by my cat walking over the piano board. The performance was very strange. The Princess Metternich got herself terribly worked up to make the impression that she understood it, and to create applause, which came not. Everybody yawned, but at the same time, everybody wished to appear to understand this unanswerable enigma. The people who sat beneath Madame de Metternich’s _loge_ said that the Austrians were taking their revenge for Solferino. It was said also that people were tired of the _récitatifs_, and that _on se tanne aux airs_.[26] Try to understand the joke. I fancy your Arabic music is an excellent preparation for this infernal noise. It is an immense fiasco! Auber says that it is Berlioz without melody. The weather here is frightful--wind, rain, snow, and hail, varied by flashes of sunshine which do not last ten minutes. The sea is still raging, it seems, and I am glad you are not returning immediately. Did I tell you that I had made the acquaintance of M. Blanchard, who is going to move into the rue de Grenelle? He showed me some charming water-colours, Russian and Asiatic scenes, which seemed to show a great deal of temperament, and which were done with talent and fire. I should like to send you some news, but know of nothing worth sending across the sea. I am persuaded that the pope will leave before the end of two months, or else that we shall settle him where he can come to terms with the Piedmontese; but affairs can not endure as they are. The devout are making a horrible outcry; but the French people and the bourgeois are anti-papists. I hope and believe that Isidore shares my sentiments on this point. I shall make a short journey, probably, in the south, in the company of my ex-minister, to spend the dreary Easter season. You tell me nothing about your health, about your complexion. Your health, I trust, is good; as to the other, I fear you have not sunburned at all. Good-bye, dear friend. I thank you for the _gebira_. Return well and strong; stout or slender, I promise to recognise you. I embrace you most tenderly. CCXXXV PARIS, _April 2, 1861_.