In Paris I have already fired my gun.  The “National” has announced my candidacy in the warmest terms; and it seems that this evening, in the house of the Minister of the Interior, where Monsieur de l’Estorade was dining, I was discussed at some length.  I ought to add that, according to Monsieur de l’Estorade, the general impression is that I shall certainly fail of election.  The ministry might possibly fear a candidate from the Left centre; but as for the democratic party to which I am supposed to belong, they do not even allow that it exists.  The Left centre candidate has, however, been disposed of by a ministerial envoy of the ablest and most active description, and at this moment, when I set off my small balloon, the election of the Conservative candidate is pretty well assured.

Among the elements of my inevitable defeat, Monsieur de l’Estorade condescended to mention a matter about which, dear friend, I am rather surprised that you have not already lectured me.  It is one of those agreeable calumnies put in circulation in the salon Montcornet by the honored and honorable Monsieur Bixiou.  The scandal concerns a handsome Italian woman whom I brought back from Italy and with whom I am said to be living in a manner not canonical.  Come, tell me, what hindered you from asking me to explain this important matter?  Did you think the charge so shameful that you feared to offend me by alluding to it?  Or have you such confidence in my morality that you felt no need of being strengthened therein?  I did not have time to enter upon the necessary explanations to Monsieur de l’Estorade, neither have I the leisure to write them to you now.  If I speak of the incident it is for the purpose of telling you of an observation I think I have made, into the truth of which I want you to examine after you get here.  It is this:—­

I have an idea that it would not be agreeable to Monsieur de l’Estorade to see me successful in my electoral campaign.  He never gave much approbation to the plan; in fact he tried to dissuade me, but always from the point of view of my own interests.  But to-day, when he finds that the plan has taken shape, and is actually discussed in the ministerial salon, my gentleman turns bitter, and he seems to feel a malignant pleasure in prophesying my defeat and in producing this charming little infamy under which he expects to bury our friendship.

Why so!  I will tell you:  while feeling some gratitude for the service I did him, the worthy man also felt from the height of his social position a superiority over me of which my entrance to the Chamber will now dispossess him; and it is not agreeable to him to renounce that sense of superiority.  After all, what is an artist, even though he may be a man of genius, compared to a peer of France, a personage who puts his hand to the tiller and steers the great political and social system; a man who has access to kings and ministers, and who would have the right if, by impossibility, such audacity should seize upon his mind, of depositing a black ball against the budget.  Well, this privileged being does not like that I, and others like me, should assume the importance and authority of that insolent elective Chamber.