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We have just completed a very long, most interesting, and
very tiring journey. After staying a little longer than we had planned at New Orleans, by which we could not have
been better pleased, we realized that we had very little time left to get to Washington. All things considered, we then
determined to abandon our plan of going to Charleston: we could have spent there only a very few days and almost
all the distinguished men we wanted to see there are now absent at Congress, where we will catch them.
We therefore left Charleston on our right and, passing
successively across the States of Mississip[p]i, Alabama, Georgia, and the two Carolinas, we finally reached
Norfolk yesterday. This morning we took a boat on the Chesapeake[e] to reach Washington, where we will arrive
tomorrow and stay three weeks. But two days are needed to reach New York from there.
The journey from New Orleans to Norfolk was, as I said
before, very interesting but very tough, several sections that we crossed being savage still.
Yet, and here's the odd thing about it, for five or six years
I have not been as well as during the two months just elapsed. I am, at the moment, the strength of the expedition;
but I am expecting Beaumont
to resume his advantage when we get back to France.
If ever I write a book of medicine, I undertake that it will
not resemble those published every day. I shall argue and prove that in order to be well one must first dine on corn
and pig, eat little, much, not at all, as opportunity offers; bed on the floor and sleep with one's clothes on; pass in a
week from ice to heat and from heat to ice; put one's shoulder to the wheel or wake up in a ditch; above all not
think, that's the main point; bury oneself in nature as much as possible; resemble, if one can, an oyster.
I think it was Rousseau who said that the man who
thought was a man depraved. In his place I should have said that the man who thinks is an animal who does not
digest. Let's not think, then, dear sister, trust me; or if we have to, let it be only about our dinner (future, of
course).
I leave you to reflect on my last phrase, which is very
profound, and I abandon you to put myself to bed. ...
(Pierson, p. 636)
* Pierson adds the following excerpt from Beaumont's letter to his father as a footnote:
"Here I am at the end of all my great American journeys
and, dieu merci, I am as well as when I set out. Our plan was to stop at Charleston, but on the way toward
that city we were held back en route by several accidents like overturned bridges, impassable roads and smashed
carriages, so that our advance was slowed down, and we calculated that if we delayed any longer in getting to
Washington we wouldn't reach it soon enough to listen to the interesting discussions just now taking place in
Congress. ... "
(Pierson, p. 637)
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