From H. E. Darwin to George Darwin [21] May 1866

Dear George—

Though you have been rather a lazy hound only to write me those two letters still as it is a very nasty day & my Ma had 8^d worth of my precious news last time I will honour you more particlarly as you may still retrieve yr character & write me a pretty little letter to Hotel Chatham, Rue Neuve St Augustin Paris where we expect to be, Elinor's back willing, in about 10 or 12 days.

Our plans have been in a great state of waggle which will make me get very few letters now until I reach home—& I expect my poor Ma will no longer believe me when I say I'm going to reach Paris at such a time. This is such a sweet funny little place I'must tell you how we got here. You know we are at Cimiez still & so we took our Murray & read that there was a good inn at Villefranche &, at the pretty little village of St Jean accoss the bay, old Gianetia's homely but clean locanda & a new inn of g^t.er pretensions—the Victoria. Villefranche is about 6 miles from us & so after dinner off we set on Saturday with things for two days. It is a lovely drive from Nice to Villfranche looking at our dear Cannes mountains & the point of Antibes (that is to say if you are on the back seat.) When we got to Villefranche we thought the 2 or 3 café restaurants looked rather so so & saw no tidy quiet looking inn— It is such a pretty little town in its little tiny dead calm bay surrounded with mountains & so thinking we cdn't very well sleep there we set off for St Jean. It was $\frac{1}{4}$ an hours boating—but calm tho' it was I didn't seem much to like it—then 20 minutes walk accross the little tongue of land on which we are to the other side where is St Jean—there is no carriage road & no donkeys— Yes, there is 1 at Villefranche—when we got to St Jean we all on the spot gave up our whole hearts— It is a little little fishing village with olives & pines down to the waters edge & perfectly transparent water rippling over the pebbles—a most beautiful near coast view with [Esa] perched on a rock & looking just the place for a robber castle—& then the long range of coast over Ventimiglia & Bordigheria of such an exquisite colour in the distance—& beautiful latine sailed boats in the little harbour for a foregrounds—never did I see anything so perfectly bewitching as it looked that first evening—no Britons—no villas—no nothing that spoiled the perfect beauty of it all— Of course we went to see about our beds & found Murray's account to be prehistoric—Old Gianetta dead & the Victoria a battered old place full of sailors singing & looking just as if they had stepped out of an opera scene  They were quite full too, even if we cd have borne to sleep there—but somebody told us that if we were to come and ask M^me. De Negri she wd perhaps give us beds tho' not food—& so after a good deal of talkee talkee we got took in & very lucky for us it was so— She is a very nice woman has a sweet clean quiet house—the inn sends us food & we are perfectly comfortable— We have since heard that no decent person can set their foot in any Villefranche inn which is very shameful. We can testify that that is the case at Monaco—at least we got into a very horrid one & not the gaming disrepectable one wh. is avowedly vouéd au diable—so I feel truly thankful we are located here where we are highly respectable clean—& cold this morning at least. I must own I am disappointed in the heat of the Sunny South at this present moment I have all my jackets & a waterproof on & still go out into the balcony to toast my back at intervals.

All our food comes from Nice—so that an unexpected quest wd be highly unwelcome or an expected accession of hunger—what you order that you have & no more can you get for love or money— Even fish you have to get from Nice—which is hard seeing we have the ocean on 3 sides of us & can see the fish with our naked eyes playing in the water—Oh my dear Gingo the water is so lovely! & when you look down thro' sweet little pines hanging down over the water the effect is too too too lovely— The pines are such a golden sort of green & such dear little twisted crooked stems.

Tuesday Morning & nasty Cimiez comparitively speaking that is. We are rather low at having left our little earthly paradise & I shall still indulge myself by writing on about nothing else however tedious I may be— All the Sunday morning we sat under the pines & looked at the water & the mountains & all the beauty. In the afternoon as it was utterly calm I ventured my self in a boat for $\frac{1}{4}$ of an hour to get to a little promontory where there is an old tower lighthouse  Sailing over clear water is very sweet but muchly I prefer the feeling of dry land— It makes me feel giddy to look into the water & who can help it when it is so beautiful—to see the markings in the snowy white sand & the seaweed growing & glittering under water—

I found several newish flowers in my walk next morning to some rocks & pines above the town—there are such beautiful convulvuli on every bit of rock. Elinor & I wanted terribly to stay on but were afraid to venture to stay so surrounded by sea after Cannes where we certainly thought the sea disagreed with her—dearly dearly shd we have loved it— Our landlord was an old Piedmontese officer he said—but I reckon is was non commissioned. He had a long talk about Catholic religion with Miss S. & was as strong against confession & priests as any protestant— He said he had never been to confession in his life—& that once when he was in the army his officer told him to light a fire in a room & that he had ordered a priest & that the soldiers were to be invited to confess—that they were to be made to come if they wdn't come willingly—so the fire was lighted & priest had & the soldiers told they might come—the must part of the order he wdn't deliver—& when the officer asked about it, he had to inform him that not one want to confess & that he De Negri said—whats the use of them confessing they all swear like carters & they will do it just as much after confessing as before. He said the priests had got hold of his sister & sucked her dry & then entirely cast her off— I walked round the head of the bay alone back to Villefranche a very lovely walk—I shdn't have gone so comfortably if I had known what had happened to the poor little Aunt Julia in the same identical walk— She quite melted my heart by the way she told it. ""Just as I came into Ville franche a whole set of girls came out of school & I daresay I did look a very funny figure—with my short petticoat my gown looped up very high—my sketchbook ⁠⟨⁠⁠⟨⁠possibly a line missing here: bottom of page torn off⁠⟩⁠⁠⟩⁠under my arm & my great umbrella, but all the girls set to work hooting me & pursued me thro' the streets."" Wasn't it horrid for her? She was so unhappy about me walking alone—cos of navvies soldiers & girls that the boatman was sent to pick up my murdered bones & she sat in an agony till I appeared— It is an abominable nasty town & we have been profoundly grateful we didn't sleep there—picturesque tho' it is. Will you send this to my Ma  It has been so long on hand that she will begin to want a letter—& a 2^nd. edition even of dear St Jean will bore me.

Forgive me all the epithets I have applied to it & blieve me etc | H. E. D

Cold & windy & sunny today. Elinors flannel garibaldi on my back & very comfs.