From H. E. Darwin to Emma Darwin 18 [March] 1866

Dearest Mamy,

Me Voilà!! I can't hardly realise it now. It seems so odd that I should be in Paris. In the immortal words of Lizzie I'll 'gin at the 'ginning— On arriving at C. Place I found Hope at her French lesson & was very near causing an unpleasant mess by going in to speak to Mad^lle. when Hope had just been romancing about my whereabouts—but didn't—& went to Effie who screeched out ""you've come two hours before you said you wd,"" which was echoed by Hope a little later. Civil girls, ain't they? I was stunned by hearing that they really really are coming after us. Isn't that fine, tho' I don't think we shall do more than X their line of march, as this tour will be violent. We got to Dover with no adventure & I got on board . . but somehow I felt sick before I got on board— In fact when I got up & so twas hardly a fair chance of salvation. I got a berth & resigned my self to my fate only looking at my watch every 10 minutes so I was n't in the last stage of exhaustion. The passage was a very good one, but Oh! it is nasty. I was astonished to see how many more were bad besides myself. Brandy revivified me & we settled to go on straight to Paris, & I did it very well— the straws that broke our backs were an immense wait whilst our luggage was examined & then an equally immense drive all round Paris  (If you cant read this you may send a note to that effect—it is like I write to Hope and gets me over the ground nice & quick)  We first went to the Rue Jacob lumbering along in our 'bus with its fancy white horse—'twas the horses first convinced me I was in furrin parts— but Paris looked so bright [I] was almost consoled tho' tired & hungry. We went over the Seine ever so many times—i.e. twice but it seemed more—& the bridges & the lamps & their reflections all looked like a scene in a play. I felt too sick in Calais to see all the strange looks & smell the smells you talk of—& so hardly felt I was out of England until we got to Paris. The Rue Jacob Hotel was full & then we went to another place & then we lumbered all the way back accross the Seine here where we've got very comf apartments & every thing very clean & nice— & so we had dinner at 9 & then to bed well tired  M^rs Dicey & ""Dear Frank D"" are in this Hotel which is v. pleasant— & so after breakfast i.e. about 11 up she came & advised us where to go— It was a lovely day. Kind M^r D. had been already & said he wd take us to a play—which was high luck, & then we sat & dawdled till 1 when we had Sauterne & sweet French bread. (I must say for our credit we wd have written home if it had been any good.) & then Elinor & I went out with M^rs Dicey to the Bois de Boulogne & I stared with all my eyes. It all looks so unreal somehow— so unworkaday—as if you'd only got to shift a scene & it wd vanish— The children all so fairily dressed, the bright booths & whirligigs & goat carriages, & the funny little 2 horse cabs. It is more cheerful than ⁠⟨⁠    ⁠⟩⁠ dear old London. Bright sun ⁠⟨⁠⁠⟨⁠was⁠⟩⁠⁠⟩⁠ high luck too. We then got out in Rue de Rivoli & dismissed our cab, & trotted about in fact longer than we wanted, for it is remarkable fact & the only [generalisation] I have been able to make that french cabs tho' empty won't look at you tho' you wave your parasol ever so vehemently. However I went to sleep when I came in & woke up for table d'hote wh. consisted of our 3 selves & 3 thorough Yankees—I'm sure all in the petroleum line—& they each vaunted the smokiness of their respective cities— but the Pittsburgh man was so graphic in his description of the soots that the Cincinati man gave in. The play turned out to be Comic opera—such such such folly as never was seen—but very amusing to me. I wasn't tired tho' t'was 4 hours long—we live upon bread & Sauterne & after a another goose to bed. I won't venture ⁠⟨⁠⁠⟨⁠to⁠⟩⁠⁠⟩⁠ ⁠⟨⁠    ⁠⟩⁠ we got up— I got into Elinors ⁠⟨⁠    ⁠⟩⁠ & we had our breakfast ensemble—we were rather shocked at the amount of meat two delicate invalids consumed— We go to Dijon on Tuesday and on Wednesday—Thursday & Friday Marseilles so if you haven't written please write to Poste Restante Marseilles the day you get this I think—then Saturday Cannes—so we aren't overworking are we?— Miss [S.] & E. dine at [Mohlas] today so I shall be alone unless the Diceys ask me down—which perhaps they may—

Well goodbye dearest Mamy—I already feel as if weeks had elapsed since I left home— Ever yours H. E. D.

If you think it worth while you might send this to Geo. I shall write to him further