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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5115.txt b/5115.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c41a05c --- /dev/null +++ b/5115.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15146 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters +Translated by A.L. McKensie + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters + +Author: George Sand, Gustave Flaubert + Translated by A.L. McKensie + +Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5115] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on May 1, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAND-FLAUBERT LETTERS *** + + + + +Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert Letters + +Translated by A.L. McKenzie (1921) + +Introduction by Stuart Sherman + + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + +This translation of the correspondence between George Sand and +Gustave Flaubert was undertaken in consequence of a suggestion by +Professor Stuart P. Sherman. The translator desires to acknowledge +valuable criticism given by Professor Sherman, Ruth M. Sherman, and +Professor Kenneth McKenzie, all of whom have generously assisted in +revising the manuscript. + +A. L. McKenzie + + + +INTRODUCTION + +The correspondence of George Sand and Gustave Flaubert, if +approached merely as a chapter in the biographies of these heroes of +nineteenth century letters, is sufficiently rewarding. In a +relationship extending over twelve years, including the trying +period of the Franco-Prussian War and the Commune, these +extraordinary personalities disclose the aspects of their diverse +natures which are best worth the remembrance of posterity. However +her passionate and erratic youth may have captivated our +grandfathers, George Sand in the mellow autumn of her life is for us +at her most attractive phase. The storms and anguish and hazardous +adventures that attended the defiant unfolding of her spirit are +over. In her final retreat at Nohant, surrounded by her affectionate +children and grandchildren, diligently writing, botanizing, bathing +in her little river, visited by her friends and undistracted by the +fiery lovers of the old time, she shows an unguessed wealth of +maternal virtue, swift, comprehending sympathy, fortitude, sunny +resignation, and a goodness of heart that has ripened into wisdom. +For Flaubert, too, though he was seventeen years her junior, the +flamboyance of youth was long since past; in 1862, when the +correspondence begins, he was firmly settled, a shy, proud, grumpy +toiling hermit of forty, in his family seat at Croisset, beginning +his seven years' labor at L'Education Sentimentale, master of his +art, hardening in his convictions, and conscious of increasing +estrangement from the spirit of his age. He, with his craving for +sympathy, and she, with her inexhaustible supply of it, meet; he +pours out his bitterness, she her consolation; and so with equal +candor of self-revelation they beautifully draw out and strengthen +each the other's characteristics, and help one another grow old. + +But there is more in these letters than a satisfaction for the +biographical appetite, which, indeed, finds ITS account rather in +the earlier chapters of the correspondents' history. What impresses +us here is the banquet spread for the reflective and critical +faculties in this intercourse of natural antagonists. As M. Faguet +observes in a striking paragraph of his study of Flaubert: + +"It is a curious thing, which does honor to them both, that Flaubert +and George Sand should have become loving friends towards the end of +their lives. At the beginning, Flaubert might have been looked upon +by George Sand as a furious enemy. Emma [Madame Bovary] is George +Sand's heroine with all the poetry turned into ridicule. Flaubert +seems to say in every page of his work: 'Do you want to know what is +the real Valentine, the real Indiana, the real Lelia? Here she is, +it is Emma Roualt.' 'And do you want to know what becomes of a woman +whose education has consisted in George Sand's books? Here she is, +Emma Roualt.' So that the terrible mocker of the bourgeois has +written a book which is directly inspired by the spirit of the 1840 +bourgeois. Their recriminations against romanticism 'which +rehabilitates and poetises the courtesan,' against George Sand, the +Muse of Adultery, are to be found in acts and facts in Madame +Bovary." + +Now, the largest interest of this correspondence depends precisely +upon the continuance, beneath an affectionate personal relationship, +of a fundamental antagonism of interests and beliefs, resolutely +maintained on both sides. George Sand, with her lifelong passion for +propaganda and reformation, labors earnestly to bring Flaubert to +her point of view, to remould him nearer to her heart's desire. He, +with a playful deference to the sex and years of his friend, +addresses her in his letters as "Dear Master." Yet in the essentials +of the conflict, though she never gives over her effort, he never +budges a jot; he has taken his ground, and in his last unfinished +work, Bouvard and Pecuchet, he dies stubbornly fortifying his +position. To the last she speaks from a temperament lyrical, +sanguine, imaginative, optimistic and sympathetic; he from a +temperament dramatic, melancholy, observing, cynical, and satirical. +She insists upon natural goodness; he, upon innate depravity. She +urges her faith in social regeneration; he vents his splenetic +contempt for the mob. Through all the successive shocks of +disillusioning experience, she expects the renovation of humanity by +some religious, some semi-mystical, amelioration of its heart; he +grimly concedes the greater part of humanity to the devil, and can +see no escape for the remnant save in science and aristocratic +organization. For her, finally, the literary art is an instrument of +social salvation--it is her means of touching the world with her +ideals, her love, her aspiration; for him the literary art is the +avenue of escape from the meaningless chaos of existence--it is his +subtly critical condemnation of the world. + +The origins of these unreconciled antipathies lie deep beneath the +personal relationship of George Sand and Gustave Flaubert; lie deep +beneath their successors, who with more or less of amenity in their +manners are still debating the same questions today. The main +currents of the nineteenth century, with fluent and refluent tides, +clash beneath the controversy; and as soon as one hears its "long +withdrawing roar," and thinks it is dying away, and is become a part +of ancient history, it begins again, and will be heard, no doubt, by +the last man as a solemn accompaniment to his final contention with +his last adversary. + +George Sand was, on the whole, a natural and filial daughter of the +French Revolution. The royal blood which she received from her +father's line mingled in her veins with that of the Parisian +milliner, her mother, and predestined her for a leveller by +preparing in her an instinctive ground of revolt against all those +inherited prejudices which divided the families of her parents. As a +young girl wildly romping with the peasant children at Nohant she +discovered a joy in untrammeled rural life which was only to +increase with years. At the proper age for beginning to fashion a +conventional young lady, the hoyden was put in a convent, where she +underwent some exalting religious experiences; and in 1822 she was +assigned to her place in the "established social order" by her +marriage at seventeen to M. Dudevant. After a few years of rather +humdrum domestic life in the country, she became aware that this +gentleman, her husband, was behaving as we used to be taught that +all French husbands ultimately behave; he was, in fact, turning from +her to her maids. The young couple had never been strongly united-- +the impetuous dreamy girl and her coarse hunting mate; and they had +grown wide apart. She should, of course, have adjusted herself +quietly to the altered situation and have kept up appearances. But +this young wife had gradually become an "intellectual"; she had been +reading philosophy and poetry; she was saturated with the writings +of Rousseau, of Chateaubriand, of Byron. None of the spiritual +masters of her generation counselled acquiescence in servitude or +silence in misery. Every eloquent tongue of the time-spirit urged +self-expression and revolt. And she, obedient to the deepest +impulses of her blood and her time, revolted. + +At the period when Madame Dudevant withdrew her neck from the +conjugal yoke and plunged into her literary career in Paris, the +doctrine that men are created for freedom, equality and fraternity +was already somewhat hackneyed. She, with an impetus from her own +private fortunes, was to give the doctrine a recrudescence of +interest by resolutely applying it to the status of women. We cannot +follow her in detail from the point where she abandons the domestic +sewing-basket to reappear smoking black cigars in the Latin Quarter. +We find her, at about 1831, entering into competition with the +brilliant literary generation of Balzac, Hugo, Alfred de Musset, +Merimee, Stendhal, and Sainte-Beuve. To signalize her equality with +her brothers in talent, she adopts male attire: "I had a sentry-box +coat made, of rough grey cloth, with trousers and waist-coat to +match. With a grey hat and a huge cravat of woolen material, I +looked exactly like a first-year student." In the freedom of this +rather unalluring garb she entered into relations Platonic, +fraternal, or tempestuously passionate with perhaps the most +distinguished series of friends and lovers that ever fluttered about +one flame. There was Aurelien de Seze; Jules Sandeau, her first +collaborator, who "reconciled her to life" and gave her a nom de +guerre; the inscrutable Merimee, who made no one happy; Musset--an +encounter from which both tiger-moths escaped with singed wings; the +odd transitional figure of Pagello; Michel Euraed; Liszt; Chopin, +whom she loved and nursed for eight years; her master Lamennais; her +master Pierre Leroux; her father-confessor Sainte-Beuve; and Gustave +Flaubert, the querulous friend of her last decade. + +As we have compressed the long and complex story of her personal +relationships, so we must compress the intimately related history of +her works and her ideas. When under the inspiration of Rousseau, the +emancipated George Sand began to write, her purposes were but +vaguely defined. She conceived of life as primarily an opportunity +for unlimited self-expansion, and of literature as an opportunity +for unrestricted self-expression. "Nevertheless," she declares, "my +instincts have formed, without my privity, the theory I am about to +set down,--a theory which I have generally followed unconsciously. +... According to this theory, the novel is as much a work of poetry +as of analysis. It demands true situations, and characters not only +true but real, grouped about a type intended to epitomize the +sentiment or the main conceptions of the book. This type generally +represents the passion of love, since almost all novels are love- +stories. According to this theory (and it is here that it begins) +the writer must idealize this love, and consequently this type,--and +must not fear to attribute to it all the powers to which he inwardly +aspires, or all the sorrows whose pangs he has observed or felt. +This type must in no wise, however, become degraded by the +vicissitude of events; it must either die or triumph." + +In 1831, when her pen began its fluent course through the lyrical +works of her first period--Indiana, Valentine, Lelia, Jacques, and +the rest--we conceive George Sand's culture, temper, and point of +view to have been fairly comparable with those of the young Shelley +when, fifteen years earlier, he with Mary Godwin joined Byron and +Jane Clairmont in Switzerland--young revoltes, all of them, +nourished on eighteenth century revolutionary philosophy and Gothic +novels. Both these eighteenth century currents meet in the work of +the new romantic group in England and in France. The innermost +origin of the early long poems of Shelley and the early works of +George Sand is in personal passion, in the commotion of a romantic +spirit beating its wings against the cage of custom and circumstance +and institutions. The external form of the plot, whatever is +fantastic and wilful in its setting and its adventures, is due to +the school of Ann Radcliffe. But the quality in Shelley and in +George Sand which bewitched even the austere Matthew Arnold in his +green and salad days is the poetising of that liberative eighteenth +century philosophy into "beautiful idealisms" of a love emancipated +from human limitations, a love exalted to the height of its gamut by +the influences of nature, triumphantly seeking its own or shattered +in magnificent despair. In her novels of the first period, George +Sand takes her Byronic revenge upon M. Dudevant. In Indiana and its +immediate successors, consciously or unconsciously, she declares to +the world what a beautiful soul M. Dudevant condemned to sewing on +buttons; in Jacques she paints the man who might fitly have matched +her spirit; and by the entire series, which now impresses us as +fantastic in sentiment no less than in plot, she won her early +reputation as the apologist for free love, the adversary of +marriage. + +In her middle period--say from 1838 to 1848--of which The Miller of +Aginbault, Consuelo, and The Countess of Rudolstadt are +representative works, there is a marked subsidence of her personal +emotion, and, in compensation, a rising tide of humanitarian +enthusiasm. Gradually satiated with erotic passion, gradually +convinced that it is rather a mischief-maker than a reconstructive +force in a decrepit society, she is groping, indeed, between her +successive liaisons for an elusive felicity, for a larger mission +than inspiring Musset's Alexandrines or Chopin's nocturnes. It is +somewhat amusing, and at the same time indicative of her vague but +deep-seated moral yearnings, to find her writing rebukingly to +Sainte-Beuve, as early as 1834, apropos of his epicurean Volupte: +"Let the rest do as they like; but you, dear friend, you must +produce a book which will change and better mankind, do you see? You +can, and therefore should. Oh, if poor I could do it! I should lift +my head again and my heart would no longer be broken; but in vain I +seek a religion: Shall it be God, shall it be love, friendship, the +public welfare? Alas, it seems to me that my soul is framed to +receive all these impressions, without one effacing another ... Who +shall paint justice as it should, as it may, be in our modern +society?" + +To Sainte-Beuve, himself an unscathed intellectual Odysseus, she +declares herself greatly indebted intellectually; but on the whole +his influence seems to have been tranquillizing. The material for +the radical program, economic, political, and religious, which, like +a spiritual ancestor of H. G. Wells, she eagerly sought to +popularize by the novels of her middle years, was supplied mainly by +Saint-Simon, Lamennais, and Leroux. Her new "religion of humanity," +a kind of theosophical socialism, is too fantastically garbed to +charm the sober spirits of our age. And yet from the ruins of that +time and from the emotional extravagance of books grown tedious, +which she has left behind her, George Sand emerges for us with one +radiant perception which must be included in whatever religion +animates a democratic society: "Everyone must be happy, so that the +happiness of a few may not be criminal and cursed by God." + +One of George Sand's French critics, M. Caro, a member of the +Academy, who deals somewhat austerely with her religiose enthusiasms +and with her Utopian projects for social reformation, remarks +gravely and not without tenderness: + +"The one thing needful to this soul, so strong, so rich in +enthusiasm, is a humble moral quality that she disdains, and when +she has occasion to speak of it, even slanders,--namely resignation. +This is not, as she seems to think, the sluggish virtue of base +souls, who, in their superstitious servitude to force, hasten to +crouch beneath every yoke. That is a false and degrading +resignation; genuine resignation grows out of the conception of the +universal order, weighed against which individual sufferings, +without ceasing to be a ground of merit, cease to constitute a right +of revolt. ... Resignation, in the true, the philosophical, the +Christian sense, is a manly acceptance of moral law and also of the +laws essential to the social order; it is a free adherence to order, +a sacrifice approved by reason of a part of one's private good and +of one's personal freedom, not to might nor to the tyranny of a +human caprice, but to the exigencies of the common weal, which +subsists only by the concord of individual liberty with obedient +passions." + +Well, resigned in the sense of defeated, George Sand never became; +nor did she, perhaps, ever wholly acquiesce in that scheme of things +which M. Caro impressively designates as "the universal order." Yet +with age, the abandonment of many distractions, the retreat to +Nohant, the consolations of nature, and her occupation with tales of +pastoral life, beginning with La Mare au Diable, there develops +within her, there diffuses itself around her, there appears in her +work a charm like that which falls upon green fields from the level +rays of the evening sun after a day of storms. It is not the charm, +precisely, of resignation; it is the charm of serenity--the serenity +of an old revolutionist who no longer expects victory in the morning +yet is secure in her confidence of a final triumph, and still more +secure in the goodness of her cause. "A hundred times in life," she +declares, "the good that one does seems to serve no immediate +purpose; yet it maintains in one way and another the tradition of +well wishing and well doing, without which all would perish." At the +outset of her career we compared her with Shelley. In her last +phase, she reminds us rather of the authors of Far from the Madding +Crowd and The Mill on the Floss, and of Wordsworth, once, too, a +torch of revolution, turning to his Michaels and his leech-gatherers +and his Peter Bells. Her exquisite pictures of pastoral life are +idealizations of it; her representations of the peasant are not +corroborated by Zola's; to the last she approaches the shield of +human nature from the golden side. But for herself at least she has +found a real secret of happiness in country life, tranquil work, and +a right direction given to her own heart and conscience. + +It is at about this point in her spiritual development that she +turns towards Gustave Flaubert--perhaps a little suspiciously at +first, yet resolved from the first, according to her natural +instinct and her now fixed principles, to stimulate by believing in +his admirable qualities. Writing from Nohant in 1866 to him at +Croisset, she epitomises her distinction as a woman and as an author +in this playful sally: "Sainte-Beuve, who loves you nevertheless, +pretends that you are dreadfully vicious. But perhaps he sees with +eyes a bit dirty, like that learned botanist who pretends that the +germander is of a DIRTY yellow. The observation was so false that I +could not help writing on the margin of his book: 'IT IS YOU, WHOSE +EYES ARE DIRTY.'" + +We have spoken of George Sand as a faithful daughter of the French +Revolution; and by way of contrast we may speak of Flaubert as a +disgruntled son of the Second Empire. Between his literary advent +and hers there is an interval of a generation, during which the +proud expansive spirit and the grandiose aspirations imparted to the +nation by the first Napoleon dwindled to a spirit of mediocrity and +bourgeois smugness under a Napoleon who had inherited nothing great +of his predecessor but his name. This change in the time-spirit may +help to explain the most significant difference between Flaubert and +George Sand. He inherited the tastes and imagination of the great +romantic generation; but he inherited none of its social and +political enthusiasm. He was disciplined by the romantic writers; +yet his reaction to the literary culture of his youth is not ethical +but aesthetic; he finds his inspiration less in Rousseau than in +Chateaubriand. He is bred to an admiration of eloquence, the poetic +phrase, the splendid picture, life in the grand style; with +increasing disgust he finds himself entering a society which, he +feels, neither understands nor values any of these things, and which +threatens their destruction. Consequently, we find him actuated as a +writer by two complementary passions--the love of splendor and the +hatred of mediocrity--two passions, of which the second sometimes +alternates with the first, sometimes inseparably fuses with it, and +ultimately almost extinguishes it. + +The son of an eminent surgeon of Rouen, Gustave Flaubert may have +acquired from his father something of that scientific precision of +observation and that cutting accuracy of expression, by which he +gained his place at the head of modern French realism and won the +discipleship of the Goncourts, Daudet, Zola, and Maupassant and the +applause of such connoisseurs of technique as Walter Pater and Henry +James. From his mother's Norman ancestry he inherited the physique +of a giant, tainted with epilepsy; a Viking countenance, strong- +featured with leonine moustaches; and a barbaric temper, habitually +somewhat lethargic but irritable, and, when roused, violent and +intolerant of opposition. He had a private education at Rouen, with +wide desultory reading; went to Paris, which he hated, to study law, +which he also hated; frequented the theatres and studios; travelled +in Corsica, the Pyrenees, and the East, which he adored, seeing +Egypt, Palestine, Constantinople, and Greece; and he had one, and +only one, important love-affair, extending from 1846 to 1854--that +with Mme. Louise Colet, a woman of letters, whose difficult +relations with Flaubert are sympathetically touched upon in Pater's +celebrated essay on "Style." When by the death of his father, in +1845, he succeeded to the family-seat at Croisset, near Rouen, he +settled himself in a studious solitude to the pursuit of letters, +which he followed for thirty-four years with anguish of spirit and +dogged persistence. + +Flaubert probably loved glory as much as any man; but he desired to +receive it only on his own terms. He profoundly appeals to writers +endowed with "the artistic conscience" as "the martyr of literary +style." In morals something of a libertine, in matters of art he +exhibited the intolerance of weakness in others and the remorseless +self-examination and self-torment commonly attributed to the +Puritan. His friend Maxime Du Camp, who tried to bring him out and +teach him the arts of popularity, he rebuffed with deliberate +insult. He developed an aversion to any interruption of his work, +and such tension and excitability of nerves that he shunned a day's +outing or a chat with an old companion, lest it distract him for a +month afterward. His mistress he seems to have estranged by an ill- +concealed preference to her of his exacting Muse. To illustrate his +"monkish" consecration to his craft we cannot do better than +reproduce a passage, quoted by Pater, from his letters to Madame +Colet: + +"I must scold you for one thing, which shocks, scandalises me, the +small concern, namely, you show for art just now. As regards glory +be it so--there I approve. But for art!--the one thing in life that +is good and real--can you compare with it an earthly love?--prefer +the adoration of a relative beauty to the cultus of the true beauty? +Well! I tell you the truth. That is the one thing good in me: the +one thing I have, to me estimable. For yourself, you blend with the +beautiful a heap of alien things, the useful, the agreeable, what +not? + +"The only way not to be unhappy is to shut yourself up in art, and +count everything else as nothing. Pride takes the place of all +beside when it is established on a large basis. Work! God wills it. +That, it seems to me, is clear. + +"I am reading over again the Aeneid, certain verses of which I +repeat to myself to satiety. There are phrases there which stay in +one's head, by which I find myself beset, as with those musical airs +which are forever returning, and cause you pain, you love them so +much. I observe that I no longer laugh much, and am no longer +depressed. I am ripe, you talk of my serenity, and envy me. It may +well surprise you. Sick, irritated, the prey a thousand times a day +of cruel pain, I continue my labour like a true working-man, who, +with sleeves turned up, in the sweat of his brow, beats away at his +anvil, never troubling himself whether it rains or blows, for hail +or thunder. I was not like that formerly." + +The half-dozen works which Flaubert beat out on his "anvil," with an +average expenditure of half-a-dozen years to each, were composed on +a theory of which the prime distinguishing feature was the great +doctrine of "impersonality." George Sand's fluent improvisations +ordinarily originated, as we have noted, in an impulse of her +lyrical idealism; she began with an aspiration of her heart, to +execute which she invented characters and plot so that she is always +on the inside of her story. According to Flaubert's theory, the +novel should originate in a desire to present a certain segment of +observed life. The author is to take and rigorously maintain a +position outside his work. The organ with which he collects his +materials is not his heart but his eyes, supplemented by the other +senses. Life, so far as the scientific observer can be sure of it, +and so far as the artist can control it for representation, is a +picture or series of pictures, a dramatic scene or a concatenation +of dramatic scenes. Let the novelist first, therefore, with +scrupulous fidelity and with minute regard for the possible +significance of every observable detail, fill his notebooks, amass +his materials, master his subject. After Flaubert, a first-rate +sociological investigator is three-fourths of a novelist. The rest +of the task is to arrange and set forth these facts so that they +shall tell the truth about life impressively, in scene and dramatic +spectacle, the meaning of which shall be implicit in the plot and +shall reach the reader's consciousness through his senses. + +Critics have spent much time in discussing the conflict of +"romantic" and "realistic" tendencies in Flaubert's works. And it is +obviously easy, so far as subject-matter is concerned, to group his +books in two divisions: on the one hand, The Temptation of St. +Anthony, Salammbo, and two of the Trois Contes; on the other hand, +Madame Bovary, L'Education Sentimentale, and the incomplete Bouvard +and Pecuchet. We may call the tales in the first group romantic, +because the subject-matter is remote in time and place, and because +in them Flaubert indulges his passion for splendor--for oriental +scenery, for barbaric characters, the pomp of savage war and more +savage religion, events strange, terrible, atrocious. We may call +the stories in the other group realistic, because the subject-matter +is contemporary life in Paris and the provinces, and because in them +Flaubert indulges his hatred for mediocrity--for the humdrum +existence of the country doctor, the apothecary, the insipid clerk, +the vapid sentimental woman, and the charlatans of science. But as a +matter of fact, ALL his books are essentially constructed on the +same theory: all are just as "realistic" as Flaubert could make +them. + +Henry James called Madame Bovary a brilliantly successful +application of Flaubert's theory; he pronounced L'Education +Sentimentale "elaborately and massively dreary"; and he briefly +dismissed Salammbo as an accomplished work of erudition. Salammbo is +indeed a work of erudition; years were spent in getting up its +archaeological details. But Madame Bovary is also a work of +erudition, and Bouvard and Pecuchet is a work of enormous erudition; +a thousand volumes were read for the notes of the first volume and +Flaubert is said to have killed himself by the labor of his +unfinished investigations. There is no important distinction to be +made between the method or the thoroughness with which he collected +his facts in the one case or the other; and the story of the war of +the mercenaries against the Carthaginians is evolved with the same +alternation of picture and dramatic spectacle and the same hard +merciless externality that distinguish the evolution of Emma +Bovary's history. + +We may go still farther than that towards wiping out the distinction +between Flaubert's "romantic" and his "realistic" works; and by the +same stroke what is illusory in the pretensions of the realists, +namely, their aspiration to an "impersonal art." + +If we were seeking to prove that an author can put NOTHING BUT +HIMSELF into his art, we should ask for no more impressive +illustions than precisely, Madame Bovary and Salammbo. These two +masterpieces disclose to reflection, no less patently than the works +of George Sand, their purpose and their meaning. And that purpose +and meaning are not a whit less personal to Flaubert than the +purpose and meaning of Indiana, let us say, are personal to George +Sand. The "meaning" of Madame Bovary and Salammbo is, broadly +speaking, Flaubert's sense of the significance--or, rather, of the +insignificance--of human life; and the "purpose" of the books is to +express it. The most lyrical of idealists can do no more to reveal +herself. + +The demonstration afforded by a comparison of Salammbo and Madame +Bovary is particularly striking because the subject-matters are +superficially so unlike. But take any characteristic series of +pictures or incidents from Salammbo: take the passing of the +children through the fire to Moloch, or the description of the +leprous Hanno, or the physical surrender of the priestess to her +country's enemy, or the following picture of the crucified lion: + +"They were marching through a wide defile, hedged in by two chains +of reddish hillocks, when a nauseous odor struck their nostrils, and +they believed that they saw something extraordinary at the top of a +carob tree; a lion's head stood up above the foliage. + +"Running towards it, they found a lion attached to a cross by its +four limbs, like a criminal; his enormous muzzle hung to his breast, +and his forepaws, half concealed beneath the abundance of his mane, +were widely spread apart, like a bird's wings in flight; under the +tightly drawn skin, his ribs severally protruded and his hind legs +were nailed together, but were slightly drawn up; black blood had +trickled through the hairs, and collected in stalactites at the end +of his tail, which hung straight down the length of the cross. The +soldiers crowded around the beast, diverting themselves by calling +him 'Consul!' and 'Citizen of Rome!' and threw pebbles into his eyes +to scatter the swarming gnats." + +And now take any characteristic series of pictures or incidents from +Madame Bovary: take Bovary's bungling and gruesome operations on the +club-footed ostler's leg, with the entire village clustering agape; +take the picture of the eyeless, idiotic beggar on the road to +Rouen; or the scene in which Emma offers herself for three thousand +francs to Rodolphe; or the following bit, only a bit, from the +detailed account of the heroine's last hours, after the arsenical +poisoning: + +"Emma's head was turned towards her right shoulder, the corner of +her mouth, which was open, seemed like a black hole at the lower +part of her face; her two thumbs were bent into the palms of her +hands; a kind of white dust besprinkled her lashes, and her eyes +were beginning to disappear in that viscous pallor that looks like a +thin web, as if spiders had spun it over. The sheet sunk in from her +breast to her knees, and then rose at the tips of her toes, and it +seemed to Charles that infinite masses, an enormous load, were +weighing upon her. + +"The church clock struck two. They could hear the loud murmur of the +river flowing in the darkness at the foot of the terrace. Monsieur +Bournisien from time to time blew his nose noisily and Homais' pen +was scratching over the paper." + +In these two detached pictures--the one from a so-called "romantic," +the other from a so-called "realistic" book--one readily observes +the likeness in the subjects, which are of a ghastly repulsiveness; +the same minuteness of observation--e.g., the lion's hind legs +"slightly drawn up," the woman's thumbs "bent into the palms of her +hands"; the same careful notation of effect on the several senses; +the same rhetorical heightening--e.g., the "stalactites at the end +of his tail," the web in the woman's eyes "as if spiders had spun it +over"; and finally, that celebrated detachment, that air as of a +medical examiner, recording the results of an autopsy. What can we +know of such an author? All, or nearly all, that he knew of himself, +provided we will searchingly ask ourselves what sort of mind is +steadily attracted to the painting of such pictures, to the +representation of such incidents, and what sort of mind expresses a +lifetime of brooding on the significance of life in two such books +as Madame Bovary and Salammbo. + +At its first appearance, Madame Bovary was prosecuted, though +unsuccessfully, as offensive to public morals. In derision of this +famous prosecution, Henry James with studious jauntiness, asserts +that in the heat of his first admiration he thought what an +excellent moral tract it would make. "It may be very seriously +maintained," he continues, "that M. Flaubert's masterpiece is the +pearl of 'Sunday reading.'" As a work of fiction and recreation the +book lacks, in his opinion, one quite indispensable quality: it +lacks charm. Well, there are momentary flashes of beauty and grace, +dazzling bits of color, haunting melancholy cadences in every +chapter of Flaubert; but a charming book he never wrote. A total +impression of charm he never gave--he never could give; because his +total impression of life was not charming but atrocious. It is +perhaps an accident, as has been suggested, that one can so readily +employ Madame Bovary to illustrate that text on the "wages of sin." +Emma, to be sure, goes down the easy and alluring path to disgrace +and ruin. But that is only an incident in the wider meaning of +Flaubert's fiction, a meaning more amply expressed in Salammbo, +where not one foolish woman alone but thousands on thousands of men, +women, and children, mingled with charging elephants and vipers, +flounder and fight in indescribable welters of blood and filth, and +go down to rot in a common pit. If I read Flaubert's meaning right, +all human history is there; you may show it by painting on broad +canvas a Carthaginian battle-scene or by photographing the details +of a modern bedroom: a brief brightness, night and the odor of +carrion, a crucified lion, a dying woman, the jeering of ribald +mercenaries, the cackle of M. Homais. It is all one. If Flaubert +deserved prosecution, it was not for making vice attractive, but for +expressing with invasive energy that personal and desperately +pessimistic conception of life by which he was almost overwhelmed. + +That a bad physical regimen, bad habits of work in excessive +quantities, and the solitude of his existence were contributory to +Flaubert's melancholy, his exacerbated egotism, and his pessimism is +sufficiently obvious in the letters. This Norman giant with his +aching head buried all day long in his arms, groping in anguish for +a phrase, has naturally a kindly disposition towards various +individuals of his species--is even capable of great generosity; but +as he admits with a truth and pathos, deeply appealing to the +maternal sympathies of his correspondent, he has no talent for +living. He has never been able, like richer and more resourceful +souls, to reconcile being a man with being an author. He has made +his choice; he has renounced the cheerful sanities of the world: + +"I pass entire weeks without exchanging a word with a human being; +and at the end of the week it is not possible for me to recall a +single day nor any event whatsoever. I see my mother and my niece on +Sundays, and that is all. My only company consists of a band of rats +in the garret, which make an infernal racket above my head, when the +water does not roar or the wind blow. The nights are black as ink, +and a silence surrounds me comparable to that of the desert. +Sensitiveness is increased immeasurably in such a setting. I have +palpitations of the heart for nothing. + +"All that results from our charming profession. That is what it +means to torment the soul and the body. But perhaps this torment is +our proper lot here below." + +To George Sand, who wrote as naturally as she breathed and almost as +easily, seclusion and torment were by no means the necessary +conditions of literary activity. Enormously productive, with a +hundred books to his half-a-dozen, she has never dedicated and +consecrated herself to her profession but has lived heartily and a +bit recklessly from day to day, spending herself in many directions +freely, gaily, extravagantly. Now that she has definitely said +farewell to her youth, she finds that she is twenty years younger; +and now that she is, in a sense, dissipating her personality and +living in the lives of others, she finds that she is happier than +ever before. "It can't be imperative to work so painfully"--such is +the burden of her earlier counsels to Flaubert; "spare yourself a +little, take some exercise, relax the tendons of your mind, indulge +a little the physical man. Live a little as I do; and you will take +your fatigues and illnesses and occasional dolours and dumps as +incidents of the day's work and not magnify them into the +mountainous overshadowing calamities from which you deduce your +philosophy of universal misery." No advice could have been more +wholesome or more timely. And with what pictures of her own busy +felicity she reenforces her advice! I shall produce three of them +here in order to emphasize that precious thing which George Sand +loved to impart, and which she had the gift of imparting, namely, +joy, the spontaneous joyousness of her own nature. The first passage +is from a letter of June 14, 1867: + +"I am a little remorseful to take whole days from your work, I who +am never bored with loafing, and whom you could leave for whole +hours under a tree, or before two lighted logs, with the assurance +that I should find there something interesting. I know so well how +to live OUTSIDE OF MYSELF. It hasn't always been like that. I also +was young and subject to indignations. It is over! Since I have +dipped into real nature, I have found there an order, a system, a +calmness of cycles which is lacking in mankind, but which man can, +up to a certain point, assimilate when he is not too directly at +odds with the difficulties of his own life. When these difficulties +return, he must endeavor to avoid them; but if he has drunk the cup +of the eternally true, he does not get too excited for or against +the ephemeral and relative truth." + +The second passage is of June 21: + +"I love everything that makes up a milieu, the rolling of the +carriages and the noise of the workmen in Paris, the cries of a +thousand birds in the country, the movement of the ships on the +waters. I love also absolute, profound silence, and, in short, I +love everything that is around me, no matter where I am." + +The last passage gives a glimpse of the seventeenth of January, +1869, a typical day in Nohant: + +"The individual named George Sand is well: he is enjoying the +marvellous winter which reigns in Berry, gathering flowers, noting +interesting botanical anomalies, making dresses and mantles for his +daughter-in-law, costumes for the marionettes, cutting out scenery, +dressing dolls, reading music, but above all spending hours with the +little Aurore, who is a marvellous child. There is not a more +tranquil or a happier individual in his domestic life than this old +troubadour retired from business, who sings from time to time his +little song to the moon, without caring much whether he sings well +or ill, provided he sings the motif that runs in his head, and who, +the rest of the time, idles deliciously.... This pale character has +the great pleasure of loving you with all his heart, and of not +passing a day without thinking of the other old troubadour, confined +in his solitude of a frenzied artist, disdainful of all the +pleasures of the world." + +Flaubert did "exercise" a little--once or twice--in compliance with +the injunctions of his "dear master"; but he rather resented the +implication that his pessimism was personal, that it had any +particular connection with his peculiar temperament or habits. He +wished to think of himself as a stoic, quite indifferent about his +"carcase." His briefer black moods he might acknowledge had +transitory causes. But his general and abiding conceptions of +humanity were the result of dispassionate reflections. "You think," +he cries in half-sportive pique, "that because I pass my life trying +to make harmonious phrases, in avoiding assonances, that I too have +not my little judgments on the things of this world? Alas! Yes! and +moreover I shall burst, enraged at not expressing them." And later: +"Yes, I am susceptible to disinterested angers, and I love you all +the more for loving me for that. Stupidity and injustice make me +roar,--and I howl in my corner against a lot of things 'that do not +concern me.'" "On the day that I am no longer in a rage, I shall +fall flat as the marionette from which one withdraws the support of +the stick." + +So far as Flaubert's pessimism has an intellectual basis, it rests +upon his researches in human history. For Salammbo and The +Temptation of St. Anthony he ransacked ancient literature, devoured +religions and mythologies, and saturated himself in the works of the +Church Fathers. In order to get up the background of his Education +Sentimentale he studied the Revolution of 1848 and its roots in the +Revolution of 1789. He found, shall we say? what he was looking for- +-inexhaustible proofs of the cruelty and stupidity of men. After +"gulping" down the six volumes of Buchez and Roux, he declares: "The +clearest thing I got out of them is an immense disgust for the +French.... Not a liberal idea which has not been unpopular, not a +just thing that has not caused scandal, not a great man who has not +been mobbed or knifed. 'The history of the human mind is the history +of human folly,' as says M. Voltaire. ... Neo-Catholicism on the one +hand, and Socialism on the other, have stultified France." In +another letter of the same Period and similar provocation: "However +much you fatten human cattle, giving them straw as high as their +bellies, and even gilding their stable, they will remain brutes, no +matter what one says. All the advance that one can hope for, is to +make the brute a little less wicked. But as for elevating the ideas +of the mass, giving it a larger and therefore a less human +conception of God, I have my doubts." + +In addition to the charges of violence and cruelty, which he brought +against all antiquity as well as against modern times, much in the +fashion of Swift or the older Mark Twain, Flaubert nursed four grave +causes of indignation, made four major charges of folly against +modern "Christian" civilization. In religion, we have substituted +for Justice the doctrine of Grace. In our sociological +considerations we act no longer with discrimination but upon a +principle of universal sympathy. In the field of art and literature +we have abandoned criticism and research for the Beautiful in favor +of universal puffery. In politics we have nullified intelligence and +renounced leadership to embrace universal suffrage, which is the +last disgrace of the human spirit. + +It must be acknowledged that Flaubert's arraignment of modern +society possesses the characteristics commended by the late Barett +Wendell: it is marked in a high degree by "unity, mass, and +coherence." It must be admitted also that George Sand possessed in a +high degree the Pauline virtue of being "not easily provoked," or +she never could have endured so patiently, so sweetly, Flaubert's +reiterated and increasingly ferocious assaults upon her own master +passion, her ruling principle. George Sand was one whose entire life +signally attested the power of a "saving grace," resident in the +creative and recuperative energies of nature, resident in the +magical, the miracle-working, powers of the human heart, the powers +of love and sympathy. She was a modern spiritual adventurer who had +escaped unscathed from all the anathemas of the old theology; and +she abounded, like St. Francis, in her sense of the new dispensation +and in her benedictive exuberance towards all the creatures of God, +including not merely sun, moon, and stars and her sister the lamb +but also her brother the wolf. On this principle she loves +Flaubert!--and archly asserts her arch-heresy in his teeth. He +complains that her fundamental defect is that she doesn't know how +to "hate." She replies, with a point that seems never really to have +pierced his thick casing of masculine egotism: + +"Artists are spoiled children and the best are great egotists. You +say that I love them too well; I like them as I like the woods and +the fields, everything, everyone that I know a little and that I +study continually. I make my life in the midst of all that, and as I +like my life, I like all that nourishes it and renews it. They do me +a lot of ill turns which I see, but which I no longer feel. I know +that there are thorns in the hedges, but that does not prevent me +from putting out my hands and finding flowers there. If all are not +beautiful, all are interesting. The day you took me to the Abbey of +Saint-Georges I found the scrofularia borealis, a very rare plant in +France. I was enchanted; there was much----in the neighborhood where +I gathered it. Such is life! + +"And if one does not take life like that, one cannot take it in any +way, and then how can one endure it? I find it amusing and +interesting, and since I accept EVERYTHING, I am so much happier and +more enthusiastic when I meet the beautiful and the good. If I did +not have a great knowledge of the species, I should not have quickly +understood you, or known you or loved you." + +Two years later the principles and tempers of both these +philosophers were put to their severest trial. In 1870, George Sand +had opportunity to apply her doctrine of universal acceptance to the +Prussians in Paris. Flaubert had opportunity to welcome scientific +organization in the Prussian occupation of his own home at Croisset. +The first reaction of both was a quite simple consternation and +rage, in which Flaubert cries, "The hopeless barbarism of humanity +fills me with a black melancholy," and George Sand, for the moment +assenting, rejoins: "Men are ferocious and conceited brutes." As the +war thickens around him and the wakened militancy of his compatriots +presses him hard, Flaubert becomes more and more depressed; he +forebodes a general collapse of civilization--before the century +passes, a conflict of races, "in which several millions of men kill +one another in one engagement." With the curiously vengeful +satisfaction which mortals take in their own misery when it offers +occasion to cry "I told you so," he exclaims: "Behold then, the +NATURAL MAN. Make theories now! Boast the progress, the +enlightenment and the good sense of the masses, and the gentleness +of the French people! I assure you that anyone here who ventured to +preach peace would get himself murdered." + +George Sand in her fields at Nohant--not "above" but a little aside +from the conflict--turns instinctively to her peasant doggedly, +placidly, sticking at his plow; turns to her peasant with a kind of +intuition that he is a symbol of faith, that he holds the keys to a +consolation, which the rest of us blindly grope for: "He is +imbecile, people say; no, he is a child in prosperity, a man in +disaster, more of a man than we who complain; he says nothing, and +while people are killing, he is sowing, repairing continually on one +side what they are destroying on the other." Flaubert, who thinks +that he has no "illusions" about peasants or the "average man," +brings forward his own specific of a quite different nature: "Do you +think that if France, instead of being governed on the whole by the +crowd, were in the power of the mandarins, we should be where we are +now? If, instead of having wished to enlighten the lower classes, we +had busied ourselves with instructing the higher, we should not have +seen M. de Keratry proposing the pillage of the duchy of Baden." + +In the great war of our own time with the same foes, our +professional advocates of "preparedness," our cheerful chemists, our +scientific "intellectuals"--all our materialistic thinkers hard- +shell and soft-shell,--took the position of Flaubert, just +presented; reproached us bitterly for our slack, sentimental +pacificism; and urged us with all speed to emulate the scientific +spirit of our enemy. There is nothing more instructive in this +correspondence than to observe how this last fond illusion falls +away from Flaubert under the impact of an experience which +demonstrated to his tortured senses the truth of the old Rabelaisian +utterance, that "science without conscience is the ruin of the +soul." + +"What use, pray," he cries in the last disillusion, "is science, +since this people abounding in scholars commits abominations worthy +of the Huns and worse than theirs, because they are systematic, +cold-blooded, voluntary, and have for an excuse, neither passion nor +hunger?" And a few months later, he is still in mad anguish of +desolation: + +"I had some illusions! What barbarity! What a slump! I am wrathful +at my contemporaries for having given me the feelings of a brute of +the twelfth century! I'm stifling in gall! These officers who break +mirrors with white gloves on, who know Sanskrit, and who fling +themselves on the champagne; who steal your watch and then send you +their visiting card, this war for money, these civilized savages +give me more horror than cannibals. And all the world is going to +imitate them, is going to be a soldier! Russia has now four millions +of them. All Europe will wear a uniform. If we take our revenge, it +will be ferocious in the last degree; and, mark my word, we are +going to think only of that, of avenging ourselves on Germany." + +Under the imminence of the siege of Paris, Flaubert had drilled men, +with an out-flashing of the savage fighting spirit of his ancestors, +of which he was more than half ashamed. But at heart he is more +dismayed, more demoralized, more thoroughly prostrated than George +Sand. He has not fortitude actually to face the degree of depravity +which he has always imputed to the human race, the baseness with +which his imagination has long been easily and cynically familiar. +As if his pessimism had been only a literary pigment, a resource of +the studio, he shudders to find Paris painted in his own ebony +colors, and his own purely "artistic" hatred of the bourgeois, +translated into a principle of action, expressing itself in the +horrors of the Commune, with half the population trying to strangle +the other half. Hatred, after all, contempt and hatred, are not +quite the most felicitous watchwords for the use of human society. +Like one whose cruel jest has been taken more seriously than he had +intended and has been turned upon his own head, Flaubert considers +flight: "I cherish the following dream: of going to live in the sun +in a tranquil country." As a substitute for a physical retreat, he +buries himself in a study of Buddhism, and so gradually returns to +the pride of his intellectual isolation. As the tumult in his senses +subsides, he even ventures to offer to George Sand the anodyne of +his old philosophical despair: "Why are you so sad? Humanity offers +nothing new. Its irremediable misery has filled me with sadness ever +since my youth. And in addition I now have no disillusions. I +believe that the crowd, the common herd will always be hateful. The +only important thing is a little group of minds always the same-- +which passes the torch from one to another." + +There we must leave Flaubert, the thinker. He never passes beyond +that point in his vision of reconstruction: a "legitimate +aristocracy" established in contempt of the average man--with the +Academy of Sciences displacing the Pope. + +George Sand, amid these devastating external events, is beginning to +feel the insidious siege of years. She can no longer rally her +spiritual forces with the "bright speed" that she had in the old +days. The fountain of her faith, which has never yet failed of +renewal, fills more slowly. For weeks she broods in silence, fearing +to augment her friend's dismay with more of her own, fearing to +resume a debate in which her cause may be better than her arguments +and in which depression of her physical energy may diminish her +power to put up a spirited defence before the really indomitable +"last ditch" of her position. When Flaubert himself makes a +momentary gesture towards the white flag, and talks of retreat, she +seizes the opportunity for a short scornful sally. "Go to live in +the sun in a tranquil country! Where? What country is going to be +tranquil in this struggle of barbarity against civilization, a +struggle which is going to be universal?" A month later she gives +him fair warning that she has no intention of acknowledging final +defeat: "For me, the ignoble experiment that Paris is attempting or +is undergoing, proves nothing against the laws of the eternal +progression of men and things, and, if I have gained any principles +in my mind, good or bad, they are neither shattered nor changed by +it. For a long time I have accepted patience as one accepts the sort +of weather there is, the length of winter, old age, lack of success +in all its forms." But Flaubert, thinking that he has detected in +her public utterances a decisive change of front, privately urges +her in a finely figurative passage of a letter which denounces +modern republicanism, universal suffrage, compulsory education, and +the press--Flaubert urges her to come out openly in renunciation of +her faith in humanity and her popular progressivistic doctrines. I +must quote a few lines of his attempt at seduction: + +"Ah, dear good master, if you could only hate! That is what you +lack, hate. In spite of your great Sphinx eyes, you have seen the +world through a golden colour. That comes from the sun in your +heart; but so many shadows have risen that now you are not +recognizing things any more. Come now! Cry out! Thunder! Take your +great lyre and touch the brazen string: the monsters will flee. +Bedew us with drops of the blood of wounded Themis." + +That summons roused the citadel, but not to surrender, not to +betrayal. The eloquent daughter of the people caught up her great +lyre--in the public Reponse a un ami of October 3, 1871. But her +fingers passed lightly over the "brazen string" to pluck again with +old power the resonant golden notes. Her reply, with its direct +retorts to Flaubert, is not perhaps a very closely reasoned +argument. In making the extract I have altered somewhat the order of +the sentences: + +"And what, you want me to stop loving? You want me to say that I +have been mistaken all my life, that humanity is contemptible, +hateful, that it always has been and always will be so? ... What, +then, do you want me to do, so as to isolate myself from my kind, +from my compatriots, from the great family in whose bosom my own +family is only one ear of corn in the terrestrial field? ... But it +is impossible, and your steady reason puts up with the most +unreasonable of Utopias. In what Eden, in what fantastic Eldorado +will you hide your family, your little group of friends, your +intimate happiness, so that the lacerations of the social state and +the disasters of the country shall not reach them? ... In vain you +are prudent and withdraw, your refuge will be invaded in its turn, +and in perishing with human civilization you will be no greater a +philosopher for not having loved, than those who threw themselves +into the flood to save some debris of humanity. ... The people, you +say! The people is yourself and myself. It would be useless to deny +it. There are not two races. ... No, no, people do not isolate +themselves, the ties of blood are not broken, people do not curse or +scorn their kind. Humanity is not a vain word. Our life is composed +of love, and not to love is to cease to live." + +This is, if you please, an effusion of sentiment, a chant of faith. +In a world more and more given to judging trees by their fruits, we +should err if we dismissed this sentiment, this faith, too lightly. +Flaubert may have been a better disputant; he had a talent for +writing. George Sand may have chosen her side with a truer instinct; +she had a genius for living. This faith of hers sustained well the +shocks of many long years, and this sentiment made life sweet. + +STUART P. SHERMAN + + + + +I. TO GEORGE SAND +1863 + +Dear Madam, + +I am not grateful to you for having performed what you call a duty. +The goodness of your heart has touched me and your sympathy has made +me proud. That is the whole of it. + +Your letter which I have just received gives added value to your +article [Footnote: Letter about Salammbo, January, 1863, Questions +d'art et de litterature.] and goes on still further, and I do not +know what to say to you unless it be that _I_ QUITE FRANKLY LIKE +YOU. + +It was certainly not I who sent you in September, a little flower in +an envelope. But, strange to say, at the same time, I received in +the same manner, a leaf of a tree. + +As for your very cordial invitation, I am not answering yes or no, +in true Norman fashion. Perhaps some day this summer I shall +surprise you. For I have a great desire to see you and to talk with +you. + +It would be very delightful to have your portrait to hang on the +wall in my study in the country where I often spend long months +entirely alone. Is the request indiscreet? If not, a thousand thanks +in advance. Take them with the others which I reiterate. + + + + +II. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 15 March, 1864 + +Dear Flaubert, + +I don't know whether you lent me or gave me M. Taine's beautiful +book. In the uncertainty I am returning it to you. Here I have had +only the time to read a part of it, and at Nohant, I shall have only +the time to scribble for Buloz; but when I return, in two months, I +shall ask you again for this admirable work of which the scope is so +lofty, so noble. + +I am sorry not to have said adieu to you; but as I return soon, I +hope that you will not have forgotten me and that you will let me +read something of your own also. + +You were so good and so sympathetic to me at the first performance +of Villemer that I no longer admire only your admirable talent, I +love you with all my heart. + +George Sand + + + +III. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, 1866 + +Why of course I am counting on your visit at my own house. As for +the hindrances which the fair sex can oppose to it, you will not +notice them (be sure of it) any more than did the others. My little +stories of the heart or of the senses are not displayed on the +counter. But as it is far from my quarter to yours and as you might +make a useless trip, when you arrive in Paris, give me a rendezvous. +And at that we shall make another to dine informally tete-a-tete. + +I sent your affectionate little greeting to Bouilhet. + +At the present time I am disheartened by the populace which rushes +by under my windows in pursuit of the fatted calf. And they say that +intelligence is to be found in the street! + + + +IV. To M. Flobert (Justave) M. +of Letters Boulevard du Temple, 42, Paris Paris, 10 May, 1866 + +[The postage stamp bears the mark Palaiseau 9 May, '66.] + +M. Flobaire, You must be a truly dirty oaf to have taken my name and +written a letter with it to a lady who had some favors for me which +you doubtless received in my place and inherited my hat in place of +which I have received yours which you left there. It is the lowness +of that lady's conduct and of yours that make me think that she +lacks education entirely and all those sentiments which she ought to +understand. If you are content to have written Fanie and Salkenpeau +I am content not to have read them. You mustn't get excited about +that, I saw in the papers that there were outrages against the +Religion in whose bosom I have entered again after the troubles I +had with that lady when she made me come to my senses and repent of +my sins with her and, in consequence if I meet you with her whom I +care for no longer you shall have my sword at your throat. That will +be the Reparation of my sins and the punishment of your infamy at +the same time. That is what I tell you and I salute you. + +Coulard + +At Palaiseau with the Monks + +They told me that I was well punished for associating with the girls +from the theatre and with aristocrats. + + + +V. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +1866 + +Sir, + +After the most scrupulous combined searches I found at last the body +of my beloved brother. You are in belles-lettres and you would have +been struck by the splendor of that scene. The corpse which was a +Brother extended nonchalantly on the edge of a foul ditch. I forgot +my sorrow a moment to contemplate he was good this young man whom +the matches killed, but the real guilty one was that woman whom +passions have separated in this disordered current in which our +unhappy country is at the moment when it is more to be pitied than +blamed for there are still men who have a heart. You who express +yourself so well tell that siren that she has destroyed a great +citizen. I don't need to tell you that we count on you to dig his +noble tomb. Tell Silvanit also that she can come notwithstanding for +education obliges me to offer her a glass of wine. I have the honor +to salute you. + +I also have the honor to salute Silvanit for whom I am a brother +much to be pitied. + +Goulard the elder + +Have the goodness to transmit to Silvanit the last wishes of my poor +Theodore. [Footnote: Letter written by Eugene Lambert.] + + + +VI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Palaiseau 14 May, 1866 + +This is not a letter from Goulard. He is dead! The false Goulard +killed him by surpassing him in the real and the comic. But this +false Goulard also does not deny himself anything, the rascal! + +Dear friend, I must tell you that I want to dedicate to you my novel +which is just coming out. But as every one has his own ideas on the +subject--as Goulard would say--I would like to know if you permit me +to put at the head of my title page simply: to my friend Gustave +Flaubert. I have formed the habit of putting my novels under the +patronage of a beloved name. I dedicated the last to Fromentin. + +I am waiting until it is good weather to ask you to come to dine at +Palaiseau with Goulard's Sirenne, and some other Goulards of your +kind and of mine. Up to now it has been frightfully cold and it is +not worth the trouble to come to the country to catch a cold. + +I have finished my novel, and you? + +I kiss the two great diamonds which adorn your face. + +Jorje Sens + +The elder Goulard is my little Lambert, it seems to me that he is +quite literary in that way. + + + +VII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Palaiseau, Wednesday, 16 May, 1866 + +Well, my dear friend, since you are going away, and as in a +fortnight, I am going to Berry for two or three months, do try to +find time to come tomorrow Thursday. You will dine with dear and +interesting Marguerite Thuillier who is also going away. + +Do come to see my hermitage and Sylvester's. By leaving Paris, gare +de Sceaux, at I o'clock, you will be at my house at 2 o'clock, or by +leaving at 5, you will be there at 6, and in the evening you could +leave with my strolling players at 9 or 10. Bring the copy. +[Footnote: This refers to Monsieur Sylveitre, which had just +appeared.] Put in it all the criticisms which occur to you. That +will be very good for me. People ought to do that for each other as +Balzac and I used to do. That doesn't make one person alter the +other; quite the contrary, for in general, one gets more determined +in one's moi, one completes it, explains it better, entirely +develops it, and that is why friendship is good, even in literature, +where the first condition of any worth is to be one's self. + +If you can not come--I shall have a thousand regrets, but then I am +depending upon you Monday before dinner. Au revoir and thank you for +the fraternal permission of dedication. + +G. Sand + + + +VIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, 17 or 18 May, 1866 + +Don't expect me at your house on Monday. I am obliged to go to +Versailles on that day. But I shall be at Magny's. + +A thousand fond greetings from your + +G. Flaubert + + + +IX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 31 July, 1866 + +My good dear comrade, + +Will you really be in Paris these next few days as you led me to +hope? I leave here the 2nd. What good luck if I found you at dinner +on the following Monday. And besides, they are putting on a play +[Footnote: Les Don Juan de village.] by my son and me, on the 10th. +Could I possibly get along without you on that day? I shall feel +some EMOTION this time because of my dear collaborator. Be a good +friend and try to come! I embrace you with all my heart in that +hope. + +The late Goulard, +G. Sand. + + + +X. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 4 Aug., 1866 + +Dear friend, as I'm always out, I don't want you to come and find +the door shut and me far away. Come at six o'clock and dine with me +and my children whom I expect tomorrow. We dine at Magny's always at +6 o'clock promptly. You will give us 'a sensible pleasure' as used +to say, as would have said, alas, the unhappy Goulard. You are an +exceedingly kind brother to promise to be at Don Juan. For that I +kiss you twice more. + +G. Sand + +Saturday evening. + + + +XI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +It is next THURSDAY, + +I wrote you last night, and our letters must have crossed. + +Yours from the heart, + +G. Sand + +Sunday, 5 August, 1866. + + + +XII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, Wednesday evening, 22 August, 1866 + +My good comrade and friend, I am going to see Alexandre at Saint- +Valery Saturday evening. I shall stay there Sunday and Monday, I +shall return Tuesday to Rouen and go to see you. Tell me how that +strikes you. I shall spend the day with you if you like, returning +to spend the night in Rouen, if I inconvenience you as you are +situated, and I shall leave Wednesday morning or evening for Paris. +A word in response at once, by telegraph if you think that your +answer would not reach me by post before Saturday at 4 o'clock. + +I think that I shall be all right but I have a horrid cold. If it +grows too bad, I shall telegraph that I can not stir; but I have +hopes, I am already better. + +I embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +XIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Saint-Valery, 26 August, 1866 Monday, 1 A.M. + +Dear friend, I shall be in Rouen on Tuesday at 1 o'clock, I shall +plan accordingly. Let me explore Rouen which I don't know, or show +it to me if you have the time. I embrace you. Tell your mother how +much I appreciate and am touched, by the kind little line which she +wrote to me. + +G. Sand + + + +XIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Paris, 31 August, 1866 + +First of all, embrace your good mother and your charming niece for +me. I am really touched by the kind welcome I received in your +clerical setting, where a stray animal of my species is an anomaly +that one might find constraining. Instead of that, they received me +as if I were one of the family and I saw that all that great +politeness came from the heart. Remember me to all the very kind +friends. I was truly exceedingly happy with you. And then, you, you +are a dear kind boy, big man that you are, and I love you with all +my heart. My head is full of Rouen, of monuments and queer houses. +All of that seen with you strikes me doubly. But your house, your +garden, your CITADEL, it is like a dream and it seems to me that I +am still there. + +I found Paris very small yesterday, when crossing the bridges. + +I want to start back again. I did not see you enough, you and your +surroundings; but I must rush off to the children, who are calling +and threatening me. I embrace you and I bless you all. + +G. Sand + +Paris, Friday. + +On going home yesterday, I found Couture to whom I said on your +behalf that HIS portrait of me was, according to you, the best that +anyone had made. He was not a little flattered. I am going to hunt +up an especially good copy to send you. + +I forgot to get three leaves from the tulip tree, you must send them +to me in a letter, it is for something cabalistic. + + + +XV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 2 September, 1866 + +Send me back the lace shawl. My faithful porter will forward it to +me wherever I am. I don't know yet. If my children want to go with +me into Brittany, I shall go to fetch them, if not I shall go on +alone wherever chance leads me. In travelling, I fear only +distractions. But I take a good deal on myself and I shall end by +improving myself. You write me a good dear letter which I kiss. +Don't forget the three leaves from the tulip tree. They are asking +me at the Odeon to let them perform a fairy play: la Nuit de Noel +from the Theatre de Nohant, I don't want to, it's too small a thing. +But since they have that idea, why wouldn't they try your fairy +play? Do you want me to ask them? I have a notion that this would be +the right theatre for a thing of that type. The management, Chilly +and Duquesnel, wants to have scenery and MACHINERY and yet keep it +literary. Let us discuss this when I return here. + +You still have the time to write to me. I shall not leave for three +days yet. Love to your family. + +G. S. + +Sunday evening + +I forgot! Levy promises to send you my complete works, they are +endless. You must stick them on a shelf in a corner and dig into +them when your heart prompts you. + + + +XVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 21 September, 1866 + +I have just returned from a twelve days trip with my children, and +on getting home I find your two letters. That fact, added to the joy +of seeing Mademoiselle Aurore again, fresh and pretty, makes me +quite happy. And you my Benedictine, you are quite alone in your +ravishing monastery, working and never going out? That is what it +means TO HAVE ALREADY gone out too much. Monsieur craves Syrias, +deserts, dead seas, dangers and fatigues! But nevertheless he can +make Bovarys in which every little cranny of life is studied and +painted with mastery. What an odd person who can also compose the +fight between the Sphinx and the Chimaera! You are a being quite +apart, very mysterious, gentle as a lamb with it all. I have had a +great desire to question you, but a too great respect for you has +prevented me; for I know how to make light only of my own +calamities, while those which a great mind has had to undergo so as +to be in a condition to produce, seem to me like sacred things which +should not be touched roughly nor thoughtlessly. + +Sainte-Beuve, who loves you all the same, claims that you are +horribly vicious. But perhaps he may see with somewhat unclean eyes, +like this learned botanist who asserts that the germander is of +DIRTY yellow color. The observation was so false, that I could not +refrain from writing on the margin of his book: IT IS BECAUSE YOU +HAVE DIRTY EYES. + +I suppose that a man of intelligence may have great curiosity. I +have not had it, lacking the courage. I have preferred to leave my +mind incomplete, that is my affair, and every one is free to embark +either on a great ship in full sail, or on a fisherman's vessel. The +artist is an explorer whom nothing ought to stop, and who does +neither good nor ill when turning to the right or to the left. His +end justifies all. + +It is for him to know after a little experience, what are the +conditions of his soul's health. As for me, I think that yours is in +a good condition of grace, since you love to work and to be alone in +spite of the rain. + +Do you know that, while there has been a deluge everywhere, we have +had, except a few downpours, fine sunshine in Brittany? A horrible +wind on the shore, but how beautiful the high surf! and since the +botany of the coast carried me away, and Maurice and his wife have a +passion for shellfish, we endured it all gaily. But on the whole, +Brittany is a famous see-saw. + +However, we are a little fed up with dolmens and menhirs and we have +fallen on fetes and have seen costumes which they said had been +suppressed but which the old people still wear. Well! These men of +the past are ugly with their home-spun trousers, their long hair, +their jackets with pockets under the arms, their sottish air, half +drunkard, half saint. And the Celtic relics, uncontestably curious +for the archaeologist, have naught for the artist, they are badly +set, badly composed, Carnac and Erdeven have no physiognomy. In +short, Brittany shall not have my bones! I prefer a thousand times +your rich Normandy, or, in the days when one has dramas in his HEAD, +a real country of horror and despair. There is nothing in a country +where priests rule and where Catholic vandalism has passed, razing +monuments of the ancient world and sowing the plagues of the future. + +You say US a propos of the fairy play. I don't know with whom you +have written it, but I still fancy that it ought to succeed at the +Odeon under its present management. If I was acquainted with it, I +should know how to accomplish for you what one never knows how to do +for one's self, namely, to interest the directors. Anything of yours +is bound to be too original to be understood by that coarse Dumaine. +Do have a copy at your house, and next month I shall spend a day +with you in order to have you read it to me. Le Croisset is so near +to Palaiseau!--and I am in a phase of tranquil activity, in which I +should love to see your great river flow, and to keep dreaming in +your orchard, tranquil itself, quite on top of the cliff. But I am +joking, and you are working. You must forgive the abnormal +intemperance of one who has just been seeing only stones and has not +perceived even a pen for twelve days. + +You are my first visit to the living on coming out from the complete +entombment of my poor Moi. Live! There is my oremus and my +benediction and I embrace you with all my heart. + +G. Sand + + + +XVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, 1866 + +I a mysterious being, dear master, nonsense! I think that I am +sickeningly platitudinous, and I am sometimes exceedingly bored with +the bourgeois which I have under my skin. Sainte-Beuve, between +ourselves, does not know me at all, no matter what he says. I even +swear to you (by the smile of your grandchild) that I know few men +less vicious than I am. I have dreamed much and have done very +little. What deceives the superficial observer is the lack of +harmony between my sentiments and my ideas. If you want my +confession, I shall make it freely to you. The sense of the +grotesque has restrained me from an inclination towards a disorderly +life. I maintain that cynicism borders on chastity. We shall have +much to say about it to each other (if your heart prompts you) the +first time we see each other. + +Here is the program that I propose to you. My house will be full and +uncomfortable for a month. But towards the end of October or the +beginning of November (after Bouilhet's play) nothing will prevent +you, I hope, from returning here with me, not for a day, as you say, +but for a week at least. You shall have "your little table and +everything necessary for writing." Is it agreed? + +As for the fairy play, thanks for your kind offers of service. I +shall get hold of the thing for you (it was done in collaboration +with Bouilhet). But I think it is a trifle weak and I am torn +between the desire of gaining a few piasters and the shame of +showing such a piece of folly. + +I think that you are a little severe towards Brittany, not towards +the Bretons who seem to me repulsive animals. A propos of Celtic +archaeology, I published in L'Artiste in 1858, a rather good hoax on +the shaking stones, but I have not the number here and I don't +remember the month. + +I read, straight through, the 10 volumes of Histoire de ma vie, of +which I knew about two thirds but only fragmentarily. What struck me +most was the life in the convent. I have a quantity of observations +to make to you which occurred to me. + + + +XVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 28 September, 1866 + +It is agreed, dear comrade and good friend. I shall do my best to be +in Paris for the performance of your friend's play, and I shall do +my fraternal duty there as usual; after which we shall go to your +house and I shall stay there a week, but on condition that you will +not put yourself out of your room. To be an inconvenience distresses +me and I don't need so much bother in order to sleep. I sleep +everywhere, in the ashes, or under a kitchen bench, like a stable +dog. Everything shines with spotlessness at your house, so one is +comfortable everywhere. I shall pick a quarrel with your mother and +we shall laugh and joke, you and I, much and more yet. If it's good +weather, I shall make you go out walking, if it rains continually, +we shall roast our bones before the fire while telling our heart +pangs. The great river will run black or grey under the window +saying always, QUICK! QUICK! and carrying away our thoughts, and our +days, and our nights, without stopping to notice such small things. + +I have packed and sent by EXPRESS a good proof of Couture's picture, +signed by the engraver, my poor friend, Manceau. It is the best that +I have and I have only just found it. I have sent with it a +photograph of a drawing by Marchal which was also like me; but one +changes from year to year. Age gives unceasingly another character +to the face of people who think and study, that is why their +portraits do not look like one another nor like them for long. I +dream so much and I live so little, that sometimes I am only three +years old. But, the next day I am three hundred, if the dream has +been sombre. Isn't it the same with you? Doesn't it seem at moments, +that you are beginning life without even knowing what it is, and at +other times don't you feel over you the weight of several thousand +centuries, of which you have a vague remembrance and a sorrowful +impression? Whence do we come and whither do we go? All is possible +since all is unknown. + +Embrace your beautiful, good mother for me. I shall give myself a +treat, being with you two. Now try to find that hoax on the Celtic +stones; that would interest me very much. When you saw them, had +they opened the galgal of Lockmariaker and cleared away the ground +near Plouharnel? + +Those people used to write, because there are stones covered with +hieroglyphics, and they used to work in gold very well, because very +beautifully made torques [Footnote: Gallic necklaces.] have been +found. + +My children, who are, like myself, great admirers of you, send you +their compliments, and I kiss your forehead, since Sainte-Beuve +lied. + +G. Sand + +Have you any sun today? Here it is stifling. The country is lovely. +When will you come here? + + + +XIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Saturday evening, ... 1866 + +Good, I have it, that beautiful, dear and famous face! I am going to +have a large frame made and hang it on my wall, being able to say, +as did M. de Talleyrand to Louis Philippe: "It is the greatest honor +that my house has received"; a poor phrase, for we two are worth +more than those two amiable men. + +Of the two portraits, I like that of Couture's the better. As for +Marchal's he saw in you only "the good woman," but I who am an old +Romantic, find in the other, "the head of the author" who made me +dream so much in my youth. + + + +XX. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Saturday evening, 1866 + +Your sending the package of the two portraits made me think that you +were in Paris, dear master, and I wrote you a letter which is +waiting for you at rue des Feuillantines. + +I have not found my article on the dolmens. But I have my manuscript +(entire) of my trip in Brittany among my "unpublished works." We +shall have to gabble when you are here. Have courage. + +I don't experience, as you do, this feeling of a life which is +beginning, the stupefaction of a newly commenced existence. It seems +to me, on the contrary, that I have always lived! And I possess +memories which go back to the Pharaohs. I see myself very clearly at +different ages of history, practising different professions and in +many sorts of fortune. My present personality is the result of my +lost personalities. I have been a boatman on the Nile, a leno in +Rome at the time of the Punic wars, then a Greek rhetorician in +Subura where I was devoured by insects. I died during the Crusade +from having eaten too many grapes on the Syrian shores, I have been +a pirate, monk, mountebank and coachman. Perhaps also even emperor +of the East? + +Many things would be explained if we could know our real genealogy. +For, since the elements which make a man are limited, should not the +same combinations reproduce themselves? Thus heredity is a just +principle which has been badly applied. + +There is something in that word as in many others. Each one takes it +by one end and no one understands the other. The science of +psychology will remain where it lies, that is to say in shadows and +folly, as long as it has no exact nomenclature, so long as it is +allowed to use the same expression to signify the most diverse +ideas. When they confuse categories, adieu, morale! + +Don't you really think that since '89 they wander from the point? +Instead of continuing along the highroad which was broad and +beautiful, like a triumphal way, they stray off by little sidepaths +and flounder in mud holes. Perhaps it would be wise for a little +while to return to Holbach. Before admiring Proudhon, supposing one +knew Turgot? But le Chic, that modern religion, what would become of +it! + +Opinions chic (or chiques): namely being pro-Catholicism (without +believing a word of it) being pro-Slavery, being pro-the House of +Austria, wearing mourning for Queen Amelie, admiring Orphee aux +Enfers, being occupied with Agricultural Fairs, talking Sport, +acting indifferent, being a fool up to the point of regretting the +treaties of 1815. That is all that is the very newest. + +Oh! You think that because I pass my life trying to make harmonious +phrases, in avoiding assonances, that I too have not my little +judgments on the things of this world? Alas! Yes! and moreover I +shall burst, enraged at not expressing them. + +But a truce to joking, I should finally bore you. + +The Bouilhet play will open the first part of November. Then in a +month we shall see each other. + +I embrace you very warmly, dear master. + + + +XXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, Monday evening, 1 October, 1866 + +Dear friend, + +Your letter was forwarded to me from Paris. It isn't lost. I think +too much of them to let any be lost. You don't speak to me of the +floods, therefore I think that the Seine did not commit any follies +at your place and that the tulip tree did not get its roots wet. I +feared lest you were anxious and wondered if your bank was high +enough to protect you. Here we have nothing of that sort to be +afraid of; our streams are very wicked, but we are far from them. + +You are happy in having such clear memories of other existences. +Much imagination and learning--those are your memories; but if one +does not recall anything distinct, one has a very lively feeling of +one's own renewal in eternity. I have a very amusing brother who +often used to say "at the time when I was a dog. ..." He thought +that he had become man very recently. I think that I was vegetable +or mineral. I am not always very sure of completely existing, and +sometimes I think I feel a great fatigue accumulated from having +lived too much. Anyhow, I do not know, and I could not, like you, +say, "I possess the past." + +But then you believe that one does not really die, since one LIVES +AGAIN? If you dare to say that to the Smart Set, you have courage +and that is good. I have the courage which makes me pass for an +imbecile, but I don't risk anything; I am imbecile under so many +other counts. + +I shall be enchanted to have your written impression of Brittany, I +did not see enough to talk about. But I sought a general impression +and that has served me for reconstructing one or two pictures which +I need. I shall read you that also, but it is still an unformed +mass. + +Why did your trip remain unpublished? You are very coy. You don't +find what you do worth being described. That is a mistake. All that +issues from a master is instructive, and one should not fear to show +one's sketches and drawings. They are still far above the reader, +and so many things are brought down to his level that the poor devil +remains common. One ought to love common people more than oneself, +are they not the real unfortunates of the world? Isn't it the people +without taste and without ideals who get bored, don't enjoy anything +and are useless? One has to allow oneself to be abused, laughed at, +and misunderstood by them, that is inevitable. But don't abandon +them, and always throw them good bread, whether or not they prefer +filth; when they are sated with dirt they will eat the bread; but if +there is none, they will eat filth in secula seculorum. + +I have heard you say, "I write for ten or twelve people only." One +says in conversation, many things which are the result of the +impression of the moment; but you are not alone in saying that. It +was the opinion of the Lundi or the thesis of that day. I protested +inwardly. The twelve persons for whom you write, who appreciate you, +are as good as you are or surpass you. You never had any need of +reading the eleven others to be yourself. But, one writes for all +the world, for all who need to be initiated; when one is not +understood, one is resigned and recommences. When one is understood, +one rejoices and continues. There lies the whole secret of our +persevering labors and of our love of art. What is art without the +hearts and minds on which one pours it? A sun which would not +project rays and would give life to no one. + +After reflecting on it, isn't that your opinion? If you are +convinced of that, you will never know disgust and lassitude, and if +the present is sterile and ungrateful, if one loses all influence, +all hold on the public, even in serving it to the best of one's +ability, there yet remains recourse to the future, which supports +courage and effaces all the wounds of pride. A hundred times in +life, the good that one does seems not to serve any immediate use; +but it keeps up just the same the tradition of wishing well and +doing well, without which all would perish. + +Is it only since '89 that people have been floundering? Didn't they +have to flounder in order to arrive at '48 when they floundered much +more, but so as to arrive at what should be? You must tell me how +you mean that and I will read Turgot to please you. I don't promise +to go as far as Holbach, ALTHOUGH HE HAS SOME GOOD POINTS, THE +RUFFIAN! + +Summon me at the time of Bouilhet's play. I shall be here, working +hard, but ready to run, and loving you with all my heart. Now that I +am no longer a woman, if the good God was just, I should become a +man; I should have the physical strength and would say to you: "Come +let's go to Carthage or elsewhere." But there, one who has neither +sex nor strength, progresses towards childhood, and it is quite +otherwhere that one is renewed; WHERE? I shall know that before you +do, and, if I can, I shall come back in a dream to tell you. + + + +XXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 19 October + +Dear friend, they write me from the Odeon that Bouilhet's play is on +the 27th. I must be in Paris the 26th. Business calls me in any +event. I shall dine at Magny's on that day, and the next, and the +day after that. Now you know where to find me, for I think that you +will come for the first performance. Yours always, with a full +heart, + +G. Sand + + + +XXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 23 October, 1866 + +Dear friend, since the play is on the 29th I shall give two more +days to my children and I leave here the 28th. You have not told me +if you will dine with me and your friend on the 29th informally, at +Magny's at whatever hour you wish. Let me find a line at 97 rue des +Feuillantines, on the 28th. + +Then we shall go to your house, the day you wish. My chief talk with +you will be to listen to you and to love you with all my heart. I +shall bring what I have "ON THE STOCKS." That will GIVE ME COURAGE, +as they say here, to read to you my EMBRYO. If I could only carry +the sun from Nohant. It is glorious. + +I embrace and bless you. + +G. Sand + + + +XXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 10 November, 1866 + +On reaching Paris I learn sad news. Last evening, while we were +talking--and I think that we spoke of him day before yesterday--my +friend Charles Duveyrier died, a most tender heart and a most naive +spirit. He is to be buried tomorrow. He was one year older than I +am. My generation is passing bit by bit. Shall I survive it? I don't +ardently desire to, above all on these days of mourning and +farewell. It is as God wills, provided He lets me always love in +this world and in the next. + +I keep a lively affection for the dead. But one loves the living +differently. I give you the part of my heart that he had. That +joined to what you have already, makes a large share. It seems to me +that it consoles me to make that gift to you. From a literary point +of view he was not a man of the first rank, one loved him for his +goodness and spontaneity. Less occupied with affairs and philosophy, +he would have had a charming talent. He left a pretty play, Michel +Perrin. + +I travelled half the way alone, thinking of you and your mother at +Croisset and looking at the Seine, which thanks to you has become a +friendly GODDESS. After that I had the society of an individual with +two women, as ordinary, all of them, as the music at the pantomime +the other day. Example: "I looked, the sun left an impression like +two points in my eyes." HUSBAND: "That is called luminous points," +and so on for an hour without stopping. + +I shall do all sorts of errands for the house, for I belong to it, +do I not? I am going to sleep, quite worn out; I wept unrestrainedly +all the evening, and I embrace you so much the more, dear friend. +Love me MORE than before, because I am sad. + +G. Sand + +Have you a friend among the Rouen magistrates? If you have, write +him a line to watch for the NAME Amedee Despruneaux. It is a civil +case which will come up at Rouen in a few days. Tell him that this +Despruneaux is the most honest man in the world; you can answer for +him as for me. In doing this, if the thing is feasible, you will do +me a personal favor. I will do the same for any friend of yours. + + + +XXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +11 November, 1866 + +I send you my friend Despruneaux in person. If you know a judge or +two,--or if your brother could give him a word of support, do +arrange it, I kiss you three times on each eye. + +G. Sand + +Five minutes' interview and that's all the inconvenience. Paris, +Sunday + + + +XXVI. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday night + +You are sad, poor friend and dear master; it was you of whom I +thought on learning of Duveyrier's death. Since you loved him, I am +sorry for you. That loss is added to others. How we keep these dead +souls in our hearts. Each one of us carries within himself his +necropolis. + +I am entirely UNDONE since your departure; it seems to me as if I +had not seen you for ten years. My one subject of conversation with +my mother is you, everyone here loves you. Under what star were you +born, pray, to unite in your person such diverse qualities, so +numerous and so rare? + +I don't know what sort of feeling I have for you, but I have a +particular tenderness for you, and one I have never felt for anyone, +up to now. We understood each other, didn't we, that was good. + +I especially missed you last evening at ten o'clock. There was a +fire at my wood-seller's. The sky was rose color and the Seine the +color of gooseberry sirup. I worked at the engine for three hours +and I came home as worn out as the Turk with the giraffe. + +A newspaper in Rouen, le Nouvelliste, told of your visit to Rouen, +so that Saturday after leaving you I met several bourgeois indignant +at me for not exhibiting you. The best thing was said to me by a +former sub-prefect: "Ah! if we had known that she was here ... we +would have ... we would have ..." he hunted five minutes for the +word; "we would have smiled for her." That would have been very +little, would it not? + +To "love you more" is hard for me--but I embrace you tenderly. Your +letter of this morning, so melancholy, reached the BOTTOM of my +heart. We separated at the moment when many things were on the point +of coming to our lips. All the doors between us two are not yet +open. You inspire me with a great respect and I do not dare to +question you. + + + +XXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Paris, 13 November, 1866 Night from Tuesday to Wednesday + +I have not yet read my play. I have still something to do over. +Nothing pressing. Bouilhet's play goes admirably well, and they told +me that my little friend Cadol's [Footnote: Edward Cadol, a dramatic +author and a friend of Maurice Sand.] play would come next. And, for +nothing in the world, do I want to step on the body of that child. +That puts me quite a distance off and does not annoy me--NOR INJURE +ME AT ALL. What style! Luckily I am not writing for Buloz. + +I saw your friend last evening in the foyer at the Odeon. I shook +hands with him. He had a happy look. And then I talked with +Duquesnel about the fairy play. He wants very much to know it. You +have only to present yourself when ever you wish to busy yourself +with it. You will be received with open arms. + +Mario Proth will give me tomorrow or next day the exact date on the +transformation of the journal. Tomorrow I shall go out and buy your +dear mother's shoes. Next week I am going to Palaiseau and I shall +hunt up my book on faience. If I forget anything, remind me of it. + +I have been ill for two days. I am cured. Your letter does my heart +good. I shall answer all the questions quite nicely, as you have +answered mine. One is happy, don't you think so, to be able to +relate one's whole life? It is much less complicated than the +bourgeois think, and the mysteries that one can reveal to a friend +are always the contrary of what indifferent ones suppose. + +I was very happy that week with you: no care, a good nesting-place a +lovely country, affectionate hearts and your beautiful and frank +face which has a somewhat paternal air. Age has nothing to do with +it. One feels in you the protection of infinite goodness, and one +evening when you called your mother "MY DAUGHTER," two tears came in +my eyes. It was hard to go away, but I hindered your work, and +then,--and then,--a malady of my old age is, not being able to keep +still. I am afraid of getting too attached and of wearying others. +The old ought to be extremely discreet. From a distance I can tell +you how much I love you without the fear of repetition. You are one +of the RARE BEINGS remaining impressionable, sincere, loving art, +not corrupted by ambition, not drunk with success. In short you will +always be twenty-five years of age because of all sorts of ideas +which have become old-fashioned according to the senile young men of +today. With them, I think it is decidedly a pose, but it is so +stupid! If it is a weakness, it is still worse. They are MEN OF +LETTERS and not MEN. Good luck to the novel! It is exquisite; but +oddly enough there is one entire side of you which does not betray +itself in what you do, something that you probably are ignorant of. +That will come later, I am sure of it. + +I embrace you tenderly, and your mother too, and the charming niece! +[Footnote: Madame Caroline Commanville.] Ah! I forgot, I saw Couture +this evening; he told me that in order to be nice to you, he would +make your portrait in crayon like mine for whatever price you wish +to arrange. You see I am a good commissioner, use me. + + + +XXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +16 November, 1866 + +Thanks, dear friend of my heart, for all the trouble that I gave you +with my Berrichon Despruneaux. They are friends from the old +country, a whole adorable family of fine people, fathers, children, +wives, nephews, all in the close circle at Nohant. He must have been +MOVED at seeing you. He looked forward to it, all personal interest +aside. And I who am not practical, forgot to tell you that the +judgment would not be given for a fortnight. That in consequence any +preceding within the next two weeks would be extremely useful. If he +gains his suit relative to the constructions at Yport, he will +settle there and I shall realize the plan formed long since of going +every year to his house; he has a delicious wife and they have loved +me a long time. You then are threatened with seeing me often +scratching at your gate in passing, giving you a kiss on the +forehead, crying courage for your labor and running on. I am still +awaiting our information on the journal. It seems that it is a +little difficult to be exact for '42. I have asked for the most +scrupulous exactitude. + +For two days I have been taking out to walk my Cascaret, [Footnote: +Francis Laur.] the little engineer of whom I told you. He has become +very good looking, the ladies lift their lorgnons at him, and it +depends only on him to attain the dignity of a negro "giraffier," +but he loves, he is engaged, he has four years to wait, to work to +make himself a position, and he has made a vow. You would tell him +that he is stupid, I preach to him, on the contrary, my old +troubadour doctrine. + +Morality aside, I don't think that the children of this day have +sufficient force to manage at the same time, science and +dissipation, cocottes and engagements. The proof is that nothing +comes from young Bohemia any longer. Good night, friend, work well, +sleep well. Walk a little for the love of God and of me. Tell your +judges who promised me a smile, to smile on my Berrichon. + + + +XXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +16 November, 1866 + +Don't take any further steps. Contrary to all anticipations, +Despruneaux has gained his suit during the session. + +Whether you have done it or not, he is none the less grateful about +it and charges me to thank you with all his good and honest heart. + +Bouilhet goes from better to better. I have just seen the directors +who are delighted. + +I love you and embrace you. + +Think sometimes of your old troubadour. Friday + +G. Sand + + + +XXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +18 November (?), 1866 + +I think that I shall give you pleasure and joy when I tell you that +La Conjuration d'Ambroise, thus says my porter, is announced as a +real money-maker. There was a line this evening as at Villemer, and +Magny which is also a barometer, shows fair weather. + +So be content, if that keeps up, Bouilhet is a success. Sunday + +G. S. + + + +XXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Palaiseau, 22 November, 1866 + +I think that it will bring me luck to say good evening to my dear +comrade before starting to work. + +I am QUITE ALONE in my little house. The gardener and his family +live in the pavilion in the garden and we are the last house at the +end of the village, quite isolated in the country, which is a +ravishing oasis. Fields, woods, appletrees as in Normandy; not a +great river with its steam whistles and infernal chain; a little +stream which runs silently under the willows; a silence ... ah! it +seems to me that I am in the depths of the virgin forest: nothing +speaks except the little jet of the spring which ceaselessly piles +up diamonds in the moonlight. The flies sleeping in the corners of +my room, awaken at the warmth of my fire. They had installed +themselves there to die, they come near the lamp, they are seized +with a mad gaiety, they buzz, they jump, they laugh, they even have +faint inclinations towards love, but it is the hour of death and +paf! in the midst of the dance, they fall stiff. It is over, +farewell to dancing! + +I am sad here just the same. This absolute solitude, which has +always been vacation and recreation for me, is shared now by a dead +soul [Footnote: Alexandre Manceau, the engraver, a friend of +Maurice Sand.] who has ended here, like a lamp which is going out, +yet which is here still. I do not consider him unhappy in the region +where he is dwelling; but the image that he has left near me, which +is nothing more than a reflection, seems to complain because of +being unable to speak to me any more. + +Never mind! Sadness is not unhealthy. It prevents us from drying up. +And you dear friend, what are you doing at this hour? Grubbing also, +alone also; for your mother must be in Rouen. Tonight must be +beautiful down there too. Do you sometimes think of the "old +troubadour of the Inn clock, who still sings and will continue to +sing perfect love?" Well! yes, to be sure! You do not believe in +chastity, sir, that's your affair. But as for me, I say that SHE HAS +SOME GOOD POINTS, THE JADE! + +And with this, I embrace you with all my heart, and I am going to, +if I can, make people talk who love each other in the old way. + +You don't have to write to me when you don't feel like it. No real +friendship without ABSOLUTE liberty. + +In Paris next week, and then again to Palaiseau, and after that to +Nohant. I saw Bouilhet at the Monday performance. I am CRAZY about +it. But some of us will applaud at Magny's. I had a cold sweat +there, I who am so steady, and I saw everything quite blue. + + + +XXXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Tuesday + +You are alone and sad down there, I am the same here. + +Whence come these attacks of melancholy that overwhelm one at times? +They rise like a tide, one feels drowned, one has to flee. I lie +prostrate. I do nothing and the tide passes. + +My novel is going very badly for the moment. That fact added to the +deaths of which I have heard; of Cormenin (a friend of twenty-five +years' standing), of Gavarni, and then all the rest, but that will +pass. You don't know what it is to stay a whole day with your head +in your hands trying to squeeze your unfortunate brain so as to find +a word. Ideas come very easily with you, incessantly, like a stream. +With me it is a tiny thread of water. Hard labor at art is necessary +for me before obtaining a waterfall. Ah! I certainly know THE +AGONIES OF STYLE. + +In short I pass my life in wearing away my heart and brain, that is +the real TRUTH about your friend. + +You ask him if he sometimes thinks of his "old troubadour of the +clock," most certainly! and he mourns for him. Our nocturnal talks +were very precious (there were moments when I restrained myself in +order not to KISS you like a big child). + +Your ears ought to have burned last night. I dined at my brother's +with all his family. There was hardly any conversation except about +you, and every one sang your praises, unless perhaps myself, I +slandered you as much as possible, dearly beloved master. + +I have reread, a propos of your last letter (and by a very natural +connection of ideas), that chapter of father Montaigne's entitled +"some lines from Virgil." What he said of chastity is precisely what +I believe. It is the effort that is fine and not the abstinence in +itself. Otherwise shouldn't one curse the flesh like the Catholics? +God knows whither that would lead. Now at the risk of repetition and +of being a Prudhomme, I insist that your young man is wrong. +[Footnote: Refers to Francis Laur.] If he is temperate at twenty +years old, he will be a cowardly roue at fifty. Everything has its +compensations. The great natures which are good, are above +everything generous and don't begrudge the giving of themselves. One +must laugh and weep, love, work, enjoy and suffer, in short vibrate +as much as possible in all his being. + +That is, I think, the real human existence. + + + +XXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Palaiseau, 29 November, 1866 + +One need not be spiritualist nor materialist, you say, but one +should be a naturalist. That is a great question. + +My Cascaret, that is what I call the little engineer, will decide it +as he thinks best. He is not stupid and he will have many ideas, +deductions and emotions before realizing the prophecy that you make. +I do not catechise him without reserve, for he is stronger than I am +on many points, and it is not Catholic spiritualism that stifles +him. But the question by itself is very serious, and hovers above +our art, above us troubadours, more or less clock-bearing or +clockshaped. + +Treat it in an entirely impersonal way; for what is good for one +might be quite the reverse for another. Let us ask ourselves in +making an abstract of our tendencies or of our experiences, if the +human being can receive and seek its own full physical development +without intellectual suffering. Yes, in an ideal and rational +society that would be so. But, in that in which we live and with +which we must be content, do not enjoyment and excess go hand in +hand, and can one separate them or limit them, unless one is a sage +of the first class? And if one is a sage, farewell temptation which +is the father of real joys. + +The question for us artists, is to know if abstinence strengthens us +or if it exalts us too much, which state would degenerate into +weakness,--You will say, "There is time for everything and power +enough for every dissipation of strength." Then you make a +distinction and you place limits, there is no way of doing +otherwise. Nature, you think, places them herself and prevents us +from abusing her. Ah! but no, she is not wiser than we who are also +nature. + +Our excesses of work, as our excesses of pleasure, kill us +certainly, and the more we are great natures, the more we pass +beyond bounds and extend the limits of our powers. + +No, I have no theories. I spend my life in asking questions and in +hearing them answered in one way or another without any victoriously +conclusive reply ever being given me. I await the brilliance of a +new state of my intellect and of my organs in a new life; for, in +this one, whosoever reflects, embraces up to their last +consequences, the limits of pro and con. It is Monsieur Plato, I +think, who asked for and thought he held the bond. He had it no more +than we. However, this bond exists, since the universe subsists +without the pro and con, which constitute it, reciprocally +destroying each other. What shall one call it in material nature? +EQUILIBRIUM, that will do, and for spiritual nature? MODERATION, +relative chastity, abstinence from excess, whatever you want, but +that is translated by EQUILIBRIUM; am I wrong, my master? + +Consider it, for in our novels, what our characters do or do not do, +rests only on that. Will they or will they not possess the object of +their ardent desires? Whether it is love or glory, fortune or +pleasure, ever since they existed, they have aspired to one end. If +we have a philosophy in us, they walk right according to us; if we +have not, they walk by chance, and are too much dominated by the +events which we put in the way of their legs. Imbued by our own +ideas and ruled by fatality, they do not always appear logical. +Should we put much or little of ourselves in them? Shouldn't we put +what society puts in each one of us? + +For my part, I follow my old inclination, I put myself in the skin +of my good people. People scold me for it, that makes no difference. +You, I don't really know if by method or by instinct, take another +course. What you do, you succeed in; that is why I ask you if we +differ on the question of internal struggles, if the hero ought to +have any or if he ought not to know them. + +You always astonish me with your painstaking work; is it a coquetry? +It does not seem labored. What I find difficult is to choose out of +the thousand combinations of scenic action which can vary +infinitely, the clear and striking situation which is not brutal nor +forced. As for style, I attach less importance to it than you do. + +The wind plays my old harp as it lists. It has its HIGH NOTES, its +LOW NOTES, its heavy notes--and its faltering notes, in the end it +is all the same to me provided the emotion comes, but I can find +nothing in myself. It is THE OTHER who sings as he likes, well or +ill, and when I try to think about it, I am afraid and tell myself +that I am nothing, nothing at all. But a great wisdom saves us; we +know how to say to ourselves, "Well, even if we are absolutely +nothing but instruments, it is still a charming state and like no +other, this feeling oneself vibrate." + +Now, let the wind blow a little over your strings. I think that you +take more trouble than you need, and that you ought to let THE OTHER +do it oftener. That would go just as well and with less fatigue. + +The instrument might sound weak at certain moments, but the breeze +in continuing would increase its strength. You would do afterwards +what I don't do, what I should do. You would raise the tone of the +whole picture and would cut out what is too uniformly in the light. + +Vale et me ama. + + + +XXXIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday morning + +Don't bother yourself about the information relative to the +journals. That will occupy little space in my book and I have time +to wait. But when you have nothing else to do, jot down on paper +whatever you can recall of '48. Then you can develop it in talking. +I don't ask you for copy of course, but to collect a little of your +personal memories. + +Do you know an actress at the Odeon who plays Macduff in Macbeth? +Dugueret? She would like to have the role of Nathalie in Mont- +reveche. She will be recommended to you by Girardin, Dumas and me. I +saw her yesterday in Faustine, in which she showed talent. My +opinion is that she has intelligence and that one could profit by +her. + +If your little engineer has made a VOW, and if that vow does not +cost him anything, he is right to keep it; if not, it is pure folly, +between you and me. Where should liberty exist if not in passion? + +Well! no, IN MY DAY we didn't take such vows and we loved! and +swaggeringly. But all participated in a great eclecticism and when +one strayed FROM LADIES it was from pride, in defiance of one's +self, and for effect. In short, we were Red Romantics, perfectly +ridiculous to be sure, but in full bloom. The little good which +remains to me comes from that epoch. + + + +XXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Palaiseau, 30 November, 1866 + +There would be a good deal to say on all that, my comrade. My +Cascaret, that is to say, the fiance in question, keeps himself for +his fiancee. She said to him, "Let us wait till you have +accomplished certain definite work," and he works. She said to him, +"Let us keep ourselves pure for each other," and he keeps himself +pure. It is not that he is choked by Catholic spiritualism; but he +has a high ideal of love, and why counsel him to go and lose it when +his conscience and his honor depend on keeping it? + +There is an equilibrium which Nature, our ruler, herself puts in our +instincts, and she sets the limit to our appetites. Great natures +are not the most robust. We are not developed in all our senses by a +very logical education. We are compressed in every way, and we +thrust out our roots and branches when and how we can. Great artists +are often weak also, and many are impotent. Some too strong in +desire are quickly exhausted. In general I think that we have too +intense joys and sorrows, we who work with our brains. The laborer +who works his land and his wife hard by day and night is not a +forceful nature. His brain is very feeble. You say to develop one's +self in every direction? Come, not all at the same time, not without +rest. + +Those who brag of that, are bluffing a bit, or IF THEY DO +everything, do everything ill. If love for them is a little bread- +and-butter and art a little pot-boiler, all right; but if their +pleasure is great, verging on the infinite, and their work eager, +verging on enthusiasm, they do not alternate these as in sleeping +and waking. + +As for me, I don't believe in these Don Juans who are Byrons at the +same time. Don Juan did not make poems and Byron made, so they say, +very poor love. He must have had sometimes--one can count such +emotions in one's life--a complete ecstasy of heart, mind and +senses. He knew enough about them to be one of the poets of love. +Nothing else is necessary for the instrument of our vibration. The +continual wind of little appetites breaks them. + +Try some day to write a novel in which the artist (the real artist) +is the hero, you will see what great, but delicate and restrained, +vigor is in it, how he will see everything with an attentive eye, +curious and tranquil, and how his infatuations with the things he +examines and delves into, will be rare and serious. You will see +also how he fears himself, how he knows that he can not surrender +himself without exhaustion, and how a profound modesty in regard to +the treasures of his soul prevents him from scattering and wasting +them. + +The artist is such a fine type to do, that I have never dared really +to do him. I do not consider myself worthy to touch that beautiful +and very complicated figure; that is aiming too high for a mere +woman. But if it could certainly tempt you some day, it would be +worth while. + +Where is the model? I don't know, I have never REALLY known any one +who did not show some spot in the sunlight, I mean some side where +the artist verged on the Philistine. Perhaps you have not that spot; +you ought to paint yourself. As for me I have it. I love +classifications, I verge on the pedagogue. I love to sew and to care +for children, I verge on the servant. I am easily distracted and +verge on the idiot. And then I should not like perfection; I feel it +but I shouldn't know how to show it. + +But one could give him some faults in his nature. What ones? We +shall hunt for them some day. That is not really what you are +working on now and I ought not to distract you from it. + +Be less cruel to yourself. Go ahead and when the afflatus shall have +produced everything you must elevate the general tone and cut out +what ought not to come down front stage. Can't that be done? It +seems to me that it can. What you do appears so easy, so abundant! +It is a perpetual overflow, I do not understand your anguish. Good +night, dear brother, my love to all yours. I have returned to my +solitude at Palaiseau, I love it. I leave it for Paris, Monday. I +embrace you warmly. Good luck to your work. + +G. Sand + + + +XXXVI. Monsieur Gustave Flobert at Croisset, +Rouen [The postage stamp bears the mark, Paris, 4, December, 1866] + +Sir the noise that you make in literature by your distinguished +talent I also made in my day in the manner that my means permitted +me I began in 1804 under the auspices of the celebrated Madame Saqui +and bore off palms and left memories in the annals of the tight-rope +and coregrafie balancer in all countries where I have been there +appreciated by generals and other officers of the Empire by whom I +have been solicited up to an advanced age so that wives of prefects +and ministers could not have been complimented about it I have read +your distinguished works notably Madame Bovarie of which I think I +am capable of being a model to you when she breaks the chains of her +feet to go where her heart calls her. I am well preserved for my +advanced age and if you have a repugnance for an artist in +misfortune, I should be content with your ideal sentiments. You can +then count on my heart not being able to dispose of my person being +married to a man of light character who squandered my wax cabinet +wherein were all figures of celebrities, kings, emperors, ancient +and modern and celebrated crimes, which if I had had your permission +about it you would have been placed in the number I had then a place +in the railroad substation to have charge of the cabinets which the +jealousy of my rival made me lose, it is in these sentiments that I +write you if you deign to write the history of my unhappy life you +alone would be worthy of it and would see in it things of which you +would be worthy of appreciating I shall present myself at your house +in Rouen whose address I had from M. Bouilhet who knows me well +having come to see me in his youth he will tell you that I have the +phthisic still agreeably and always faithful to all who knew me +whether in the civil or in the military and in these sentiments for +life your affectionate + +Victoire Potelet + +called Marengo Lirondelle widow Dodin +Rue Lanion, 47, Belleville. + + + +XXXVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday night, 5th December, 1866 + +Oh! how lovely the letter of Marengo the Swallow is! Seriously, I +think it a masterpiece, not a word which is not a word of genius. I +have laughed aloud many times. I thank you very dear master, you are +as good as can be. + +You never tell me what you are doing. How far has the play gone? + +I am not at all surprised that you don't understand my literary +agonies. I don't understand them myself. But they exist +nevertheless, and violent ones. + +I don't in the least know how to set to work to write, and I begin +by expressing only the hundredth part of my ideas after infinite +gropings. Not one who seizes the first impulse, your friend, no! not +at all! Thus for entire days I have polished and re-polished a +paragraph without accomplishing anything. I feel like weeping at +times. You ought to pity me! + +As for our subject under discussion (a propos of your young man), +what you write me in your last letter is so my way of thinking, that +I have not only practised it but preached it. Ask Theo. However, let +us understand one another. Artists (who are priests) risk nothing in +being chaste; on the contrary. But the bourgeois, what is the use in +it for them? Of course there must be certain ones among humanity who +stick to chastity. Happy indeed those who don't depart from it. + +I don't agree with you that there is anything worth while to be done +with the character of the IDEAL ARTIST; he would be a monster. Art +is not made to paint the exceptions, and I feel an unconquerable +repugnance to putting on paper something from out of my heart. I +even think that a novelist HASN'T THE RIGHT TO EXPRESS HIS OPINION +on any subject whatsoever. Has the good God ever uttered it, his +opinion? That is why there are not a few things that choke me which +I should like to spit out, but which I swallow. Why say them, in +fact! The first comer is more interesting than Monsieur Gustave +Flaubert, because he is more GENERAL and therefore more typical. + +Nevertheless, there are days when I consider myself below +imbecility. I have still a globe of goldfish and that amuses me. +They keep me company while I dine. Is it stupid to be interested in +such simple things? Adieu, it is late, I have an aching head. + +I embrace you. + + + +XXXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, +at Paris December, 1866 + +"Not put one's heart into what one writes?" I don't understand at +all, oh! not at all! As for me, I think that one can not put +anything else into it. Can one separate one's mind from one's heart? +Is it something different? Can sensation itself limit itself? Can +existence divide itself? In short, not to give oneself entirely to +one's work, seems to me as impossible as to weep with something else +than one's eyes, and to think with something else than one's brain. + +What was it you meant? You must tell me when you have the time. + + + +XXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 8 December, 1866 + +You ask me what I am doing? Your old troubadour is content this +evening. He has passed the night in re-doing a second act which did +not go properly and which has turned out well, so well that my +directors are delighted, and I have good hopes of making the end +effective--it does not please me yet, but one must pull it through. +In short, I have nothing to tell you about myself which is very +interesting. When one has the patience of an ox and the wrist broken +from crushing stones well or badly, one has scarcely any unexpected +events or emotions to recount. My poor Manceau called me the ROAD- +MENDER, and there is nothing less poetic than those beings. + +And you, dear friend, are you experiencing the anguish and labors of +childbirth? That is splendid and youthful. Those who want them don't +always get them! + +When my daughter-in-law brings into the world dear little children, +I abandon myself to such labor in holding her in my arms that it +reacts on me, and when the infant arrives, I am sicker than she is, +and even seriously so. I think that your pains now react on me, and +I have a headache on account of them. But alas! I cannot assist at +any birth and I almost regret the time when one believed it hastened +deliverances to burn candles before an image. + +I see that that rascal Bouilhet has betrayed me; he promised me to +copy the Marengo letter in a feigned hand to see if you would be +taken in by it. People have written to me seriously things like +that. How good and kind your great friend is. He is adored at the +Odeon, and this evening they told me that his play was going better +and better. I went to hear it again two or three days ago and I was +even more delighted with it than the first time. + +Well, well, let's keep up our heart, whatever happens, and when you +go to rest remember that someone loves you. Affectionate regards to +your mother, brother and niece. + +G. Sand + + + +XL. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Saturday night + +I have seen Citizen Bouilhet, who had a real ovation in his own +country. His compatriots who had absolutely ignored him up to then, +from the moment that Paris applauded him, screamed with enthusiasm.- +-He will return here Saturday next, for a banquet that they are +giving him,--80 covers, at least. + +As for Marengo the Swallow, he kept your secret so well, that he +read the letter in question with an astonishment which duped me. + +Poor Marengo! she is a figure! and one that you ought to put in a +book. I wonder what her memoirs would be, written in that style?-- +Mine (my style) continues to give me no small annoyance. I hope, +however, in a month, to have crossed the most barren tract. But at +the moment I am lost in a desert; well, by the grace of God, so much +the worse for me! How gladly I shall abandon this sort of thing, +never to return to it to my dying day! Depicting the modern French +bourgeois is a stench in my nostrils! And then won't it be time +perhaps to enjoy oneself a bit in life, and to choose subjects +pleasant to the author? + +I expressed myself badly when I said to you that "one should not +write from the heart." I meant to say: not put one's personality +into the picture. I think that great art is scientific and +impersonal. One should, by an effort of mind, put oneself into one's +characters and not create them after oneself. That is the method at +least; a method which amounts to this: try to have a great deal of +talent and even of genius if you can. How vain are all the poetic +theories and criticisms!--and the nerve of the gentlemen who compose +them sickens me. Oh! nothing restrains them, those boneheads! + +Have you noticed that there is sometimes in the air a current of +common ideas? For instance, I have just read my friend Du Camp's new +novel: Forces Perdues. It is very like what I am doing, in many +ways. His book is very naive and gives an accurate idea of the men +of our generation having become real fossils to the young men of +today. The reaction of '48 opened a deep chasm between the two +Frances. + +Bouilhet told me that you had been seriously ill at one of the +recent Magny's, although you do pretend to be a "woman of wood." Oh! +no you are not of wood, dear good great heart! "Beloved old +troubadour," would it not perhaps be opportune to rehabilitate him +at the Theatre Almanzor? I can see him with his toque and his guitar +and his apricot tunic howling at the black-gowned students from the +top of a rock. The talk would be fine. Now, good night; I kiss you +on both cheeks tenderly. + + + +XLI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 7 December, 1866 + +Something like a week ago someone came to my house in the morning to +ask me the address of the bootmaker, my maid did not want to awaken +me, and it was not until noon that I read the letter; the bearer +said he came from the Hotel Helder on the rue Helder. I answered at +once that Simonin lived at 15 rue Richelieu, I wrote to your mother +thinking that it was she who wrote to me. I see that she did not +receive my note and I don't understand about it, but it is not my +fault. + +Your old Troubadour is sick as a dog again today, but it will not +prevent him from going to Magny's this evening. He could not die in +better company; although he would prefer the edge of a ditch in the +spring. + +Everything else goes well and I leave for Nohant on Saturday. I am +trying hard to push the entomological work which Maurice is +publishing. It is very fine. + +I am doing for him what I have never done for myself. I am writing +to the newspaper men. + +I shall recommend Mademoiselle Bosquet to whom I can, but that +appeals to another public, and I don't stand in as well with the +literary men as I do with the scholars. But certainly Marengo the +Swallow MUST BE DONE and the apricot troubadour also. All that was +of the Cadios of the revolution who began to be or who wanted to be +something, no matter what. I am of the last comers and you others +born of us, you are between the illusions of my time and the crude +deception of the new times. It is quite natural that Du Camp should +go parallel with you in a series of observations and ideas, that +does not mean anything. There will be no resemblance. + +Oh no! I have not found a title for you, it is too serious, and then +I should need to know everything. In any case I am no good today to +do anything except to draw up my epitaph. Et in Arcadia ego, you +know, I love you, dear friend brother, and bless you with all my +heart. + +G. Sand +Monday. + + + +XLII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Paris, 9 January, 1867 + +Dear comrade, + +Your old troubadour has been tempted to bite the dust. He is still +in Paris. He should have left the 25th of December; his trunk was +strapped; your first letter was awaiting him every day at Nohant. At +last he is all ready to leave and he goes tomorrow with his son +Alexandre [Footnote: Alexandre Dumas fils.] who is anxious to +accompany him. + +It is stupid to be laid on one's back and to lose consciousness for +three days and to get up as enfeebled as if one had done something +painful and useful. It was nothing after all, except temporary +impossibility of digesting anything whatever. Cold, or weakness, or +work, I don't know. I don't think of it any longer. Sainte-Beuve is +much more disquieting, somebody have written you about it. He is +better also, but there will be serious trouble, and on account of +that, accidents to look out for. I am very saddened and anxious +about it. + +I have not worked for two weeks; so my task has not progressed very +much, and as I don't know if I am going to be in shape very soon, I +have given the Odeon A VACATION. They will take me when I am ready. +I think of going a little to the south when I have seen my children. +The plants of the coast are running through my head. I am +prodigiously uninterested in anything which is not my little ideal +of peaceful work, country life, and of tender and pure friendship. I +really think that I am not going to live a long time, although I am +quite cured and well. I get this warning from the great calm, +CONTINUALLY CALMER, which exists in my formerly agitated soul. My +brain only works from synthesis to analysis, and formerly it was the +contrary. Now, what presents itself to my eyes when I awaken is the +planet; I have considerable trouble in finding again there the MOI +which interested me formerly, and which I begin to' call YOU in the +plural. It is charming, the planet, very interesting, very curious +but rather backward, and as yet somewhat unpractical; I hope to pass +into an oasis with better highways and possible to all. One needs so +much money and resources in order to travel here! and the time lost +in order to procure. these necessaries is lost to study and to +contemplation. It seems to me that there is due me something less +complicated, less civilized, more naturally luxurious, and more +easily good than this feverish halting-place. Will you come into the +land, of my dreams, if I succeed in finding the road? Ah! who can +know? + +And the novel, is it getting on? Your courage has not declined? +Solitude does not weigh on you? I really think that it is not +absolute, and that somewhere there is a sweetheart who comes and +goes, or who lives near there. But there is something of the +anchorite in your life just the same, and if envy your situation. As +for me, I am too alone at Palaiseau, with a dead soul; not alone +enough at Nohant, with the children whom I love too much to belong +to myself,--and at Paris, one does not know what one is, one forgets +oneself entirely for a thousand things which are not worth any more +than oneself. I embrace you with all my heart, dear friend; remember +me to your mother, to your dear family, and write me at Nohant, that +will do me good. + +The cheeses? I don't know at all, it seems to me that they spoke to +me of them, but I don't remember at all. I will tell you that from +down there. + + + +XLIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Saturday night + +No, dear master, you are not near your end. So much the worse for +you perhaps. But you will live to be old, very old, as giants live, +since you are of that race: only you MUST rest. One thing astonishes +me and that is that you have not died twenty times over, having +thought so much, written so much and suffered so much. Do go then, +since you have the desire, to the Mediterranean. Its azure sky +quiets and invigorates. There are the Countries of Youth, such as +the Bay of Naples. Do they make one sadder sometimes? I do not know. + +Life is not easy! What a complicated and extravagant affair! I know +something about that. One must have money for everything! So that +with a modest revenue and an unproductive profession one has to make +up one's mind to have but little. So I do! The habit is formed, but +the days that work does not go well are not amusing. Yes indeed! I +would love to follow you into another planet. And a propos of money, +it is that which will make our planet uninhabitable in the near +future, for it will be impossible to live here, even for the rich, +without looking after one's property; one will have to spend several +hours a day fussing over one's INCOME. Charming! I continue to fuss +over my novel, and I shall go to Paris when I reach the end of my +chapter, towards the middle of next month. + +And whatever you suspect, no "lovely lady" comes to see me. Lovely +ladies have occupied my mind a good deal, but have taken up very +little of my time. Applying the term anchorite to me is perhaps a +juster comparison than you think. + +I pass entire weeks without exchanging a word with a human being, +and at the end of the week it is not possible for me to recall a +single day nor any event whatsoever. I see my mother and my niece on +Sundays, and that is all. My only company consists of a band of rats +in the garret, which make an infernal racket above my head, when the +water does not roar or the wind blow. The nights are black as ink, +and a silence surrounds me comparable to that of the desert. +Sensitiveness is increased immeasurably in such a setting. I have +palpitations of the heart for nothing. + +All that results from our charming profession. That is what it means +to torment the soul and the body. But perhaps this torment is our +proper lot here below? + +I told you, didn't I, that I had reread Consuelo and the Comtesse de +Rudolstadt; it took me four days. We must discuss them at length, +when you are willing. Why am I in love with Siverain? Perhaps +because I am of both sexes. + + + +XLIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT at Croissset +Nohant, 15 January, 1867 + +Here I am at home, fairly strong except for several hours during the +evening. Yet, THAT WILL PASS. THE EVIL OR HE WHO ENDURES IT, my old +cure used to say, CAN NOT LAST. I received your letter this morning, +dear friend of my heart. Why do I love you more than most of the +others, even more than old and well-tried friends? I am asking, for +my condition at this hour, is that of being + +THOU WHO GOEST SEEKING, +AT SUNSET, +FORTUNE! ... + +Yes, intellectual fortune, LIGHT! Oh well, here it is: one gets, +being old, at the sunset of life,--which is the most beautiful hour +of tones and reflections,--a new idea of everything and of affection +above all. + +In the age of power and of personality, one tests one's friends as +one tests the earth, from the point of view of reciprocity. One +feels oneself solid, one wants to find that which bears one or leads +one, solid. But, when one feels the intensity of the moi fleeing, +one loves persons and things for what they are in themselves, for +what they represent in the eyes of one's soul, and not at all for +what they add further to one's destiny. It is like the picture or +the statue which one would like to own, when one dreams at the same +time of a beautiful house of one's own in which to put it. + +But one has passed through green Bohemia without gathering anything +there; one has remained poor, sentimental and troubadourish. One +knows very well that it will always be the same, and that one will +die without a hearth or a home. Then one thinks of the statue, of +the picture which one would not know what to do with and which one +would not know where to place with due honor, if one owned it. One +is content to know that they are in some temple not profaned by cold +analysis, a little far from the eye, and one loves them so much the +more. One says: I will go again to the country where they are. I +shall see again and I shall love always that which has made me love +and understand them. The contact of my personality will not have +changed them, it will not be myself that I shall love in them. + +And it is thus, truly, that the ideal which one does not dream of +grasping, fixes itself in one because it remains ITSELF. That is all +the secret of the beautiful, of the only truth, of love, friendship, +of art, of enthusiasm, and of faith. Consider it, you will see. + +That solitude in which you live would be delicious to me in fine +weather. In winter I find it stoical, and am forced to recall to +myself that you have not the moral need of locomotion AS A HABIT. I +used to think that was another expenditure of strength during this +season of being shut in;--well, it is very fine, but it must not +continue indefinitely; if the novel has to last longer, you must +interrupt it, or vary it with distractions. Really, my dear friend, +think of the life of the body, which gets upset and nervous when you +subdue it too much. When I was ill in Paris, I saw a physician, very +mad, but very intelligent, who said very true things on that +subject. He said that I SPIRITUALIZED myself in a disquieting +manner, and when I told him, exactly, a propos of you, that one +could abstract oneself from everything except work, and have more +rather than less strength, he answered that the danger was as great +in accumulating as in losing, and a propos of this, many excellent +things which I wish I could repeat to you. + +Besides, you know them, but you never pay any attention to them. +Then this work which you abuse so in words, is a passion, and a +great one! Now, I shall tell you what you tell me. For our sake and +for the sake of your old troubadour, do SPARE yourself a little. + +Consuelo, La Comtesse de Rudolstadt, what are they? Are they mine? I +don't recall a single word in them. You are reading that, you? Are +you really amused? Then I shall read them one of these days and I +shall love myself if you love me. + +What is being hysterical? I have perhaps been that also, I am +perhaps; but I don't know anything about it, never having profoundly +studied the thing, and having heard of it without having studied it. +Isn't it an uneasiness, an anguish caused by the desire of an +impossible SOMETHING OR OTHER? In that case, we are all attacked by +it, by this strange illness, when we have imagination; and why +should such a malady have a sex? + +And still further, there is this for those strong in anatomy: THERE +IS ONLY ONE SEX. A man and a woman are so entirely the same thing, +that one hardly understands the mass of distinctions and of subtle +reasons with which society is nourished concerning this subject. I +have observed the infancy and the development of my son and my +daughter. My son was myself, therefore much more woman, than my +daughter, who was an imperfect man. + +I embrace you. Maurice and Lina who have tasted your cheese, send +you their regards, and Mademoiselle Aurore cries to you, WAIT, WAIT, +WAIT! That is all that she knows how to say while laughing like a +crazy person; for, at heart she is serious, attentive, clever with +her hands as a monkey and amusing herself better with games she +invents, than with those one suggests to her. I think that she will +have a mind of her own. + +If I do not get cured here, I shall go to Cannes, where some friends +are urging me to come. But I can not yet mention it to my children. +When I am with them it is not easy to move. There is passion and +jealousy. And all my life has been like that, never my own! Pity +yourself then, you who belong to yourself! + + + +XLV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday evening + +I have followed your counsel, dear master, I have EXERCISED!!! Am I +not splendid; eh? + +Sunday night, at eleven o'clock, there was such lovely moonlight +along the river and on the snow that I was taken with an itch for +movement, and I walked for two hours and a half imagining all sorts +of things, pretending that I was travelling in Russia or in Norway. +When the tide came in and cracked the cakes of ice in the Seine and +the thin ice which covered the stream, it was, without any +exaggeration, superb. Then I thought of you and I missed you. + +I don't like to eat alone. I have to associate the idea with someone +with the things that please me. But this someone is rare. I too +wonder why I love you. Is it because you are a great man or a +charming being? I don't know. What is certain is that I experience a +PARTICULAR sentiment for you and I cannot define it. + +And a propos of this, do you think (you who are a master of +psychology), that one can love two people in the same way and that +one can experience two identical sensations about them? I don't +think so, since our individuality changes at every moment of its +existence. + +You write me lovely things about "disinterested affection." That is +true, so is the opposite! We make God always in our own image. At +the bottom of all our loves and all our admirations we find +ourselves again: ourselves or something approaching us. What is the +difference if the OURSELVES is good! + +My moi bores me for the moment. How this fool weighs on my shoulders +at times! He writes too slowly and is not bluffing at all when he +complains of his work. What a task! and what a devil of an idea to +have sought such a subject! You should give me a recipe for going +faster: and you complain of seeking a fortune! You! I have received +a little note from Saint-Beuve which reassures about his health, but +it is sad. He seemed to me depressed at not being able to haunt the +dells of Cyprus. He is within the truth, or at least within his own +truth, which amounts to the same thing. I shall be like him perhaps, +when I am his age. However, I think not. Not having had the same +youth, my old age will be different. + +That reminds me that I once dreamed a book on Saint Perrine. +Champfleury treated that subject badly. For I don't see that he is +comic: I should have made him atrocious and lamentable. I think that +the heart does not grow old; there are even people whose hearts grow +bigger with age. I was much drier and more bitter twenty years ago +than now. I am feminized and softened by wear, as others get harder, +and that makes me INDIGNANT. I feel that I am becoming a COW, it +takes nothing to move me; everything troubles and agitates me, +everything is to me as the north wind is to the reed. + +A word from you, which I remembered, has made me reread now the Fair +Maid of Perth. It is a good story, whatever one says about it. That +fellow decidedly had an imagination. + +Well, adieu. Think of me. I send you my best love. + + + +XLVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 1867 + +Bah! zut! troulala! Well! well! I am not sick any more, or at least +I am only half sick. The air of the country restores me, or +patience, or THE OTHER person, the one who wants to work again and +to produce. What is my illness? Nothing. Everything is all right, +but I have something that they call anemia, an effect without a +tangible cause, a breakdown which has been threatening for several +years, and which became noticeable at Palaiseau, after my return +from Croisset. An emaciation that is too rapid to be within reason, +a pulse too slow, too feeble, an indolent or capricious stomach, +with a sensation of stifling and a fondness for inertia. I was not +able to keep a glass of water on my poor stomach for several days, +and that brought me so low that I thought I was hardly curable; but, +all is getting on, and I have even been working since yesterday. + +You, dear, you go walking in the night, in the snow. That is +something which for an exceptional excursion, is rather foolish and +might indeed make you ill also. Good Heavens! It is not the moon, it +is the sun that I advise; we are not owls, OBVIOUSLY! We have just +had three spring days. I wager that you have not climbed up to my +dear orchard which is so pretty and which I love so much. If it was +only in remembrance of me, you ought to climb up every fine day at +noon. Your work would flow more abundantly afterward and you would +regain the time you lost and more too. + +Then you are worrying about money? I don't know what that is, since +I have not a sou in the world. I live by my day, work as does the +proletarian; when I can no longer do my day's work, I shall be +packed up for the other world, and then I shall have no more need of +anything. But you must live. How can you live by your pen if you +always let yourself be duped and shorn? It is not I who can teach +you how to protect yourself But haven't you a friend who knows how +to act for you? Alas, yes, the world is going to the devil in that +respect; and I was talking of you, the other day, to a very dear +friend, while I was showing him the artist, a personage become so +rare, and cursing the necessity of thinking of the material side of +life. I send you the last page of his letter; you will see that you +have in him a friend whom you did not suspect, and whose name will +surprise you. + +No, I shall not go to Cannes, in spite of a strong temptation! +Imagine, I received a little box filled with flowers gathered out- +doors, five or six days ago; for the package followed me to Paris +and to Palaiseau. Those flowers are adorably fresh, they smell +sweetly, they are as pretty as anything.--Ah! to go, go at once to +the country of the sun. But I have no money, and besides I have no +time. My illness has delayed me and put me off. Let us stay here. Am +I not well? If I can't go to Paris next month, won't you come to see +me here? Certainly, it is an eight hours' journey. You can not see +this ancient nook. You owe me a week, or I shall believe that I love +a big ingrate who does not pay me back. + +Poor Sainte-Beuve! More unhappy than we, he who has never had any +great disappointments and who has no longer any material worries. He +bewails what is the least regrettable and the least serious in life +understood as he understood it! And then very proud, having been a +Jansenist, his heart has cooled in that direction. Perhaps the +intelligence was developed, but that does not suffice to make us +live, and does not teach us how to die. Barbes, who has expected for +a long time that a stroke would carry him off, is gentle and +smiling. It does not seem to him, and it does not seem to his +friends, that death will separate him from us. He who quite goes +away, is he who believes he ends and does not extend a hand so that +anyone can follow him or rejoin him. + +And good-night, dear friend of my heart. They are ringing for the +performance. Maurice regales us this evening with marionettes. They +are very amusing, and the theatre is so pretty! A real artist's +jewel. Why aren't you here? It is horrid not to live next door to +those one loves. + + + +XLVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday + +I received yesterday your son's book. I shall start it when I have +gotten rid of less amusing readings, probably. Meanwhile, don't +thank him any the less, dear master. + +First, let's talk of you; "arsenic." I am sure of it! You must drink +iron, walk, and sleep, and go to the south, no matter what it costs, +there! Otherwise the WOODEN WOMAN will break down. As for money, we +shall find it; and as for the time, take it. You won't do anything +that I advise, of course. Oh! well, you are wrong, and you hurt me. + +No, I have not what you call worries about money; my revenues are +very small, but they are sure. Only, as it is your friend's habit to +anticipate them he finds himself short at times, and he grumbles "in +the silence of his closet," but not elsewhere. Unless I have +extraordinary reverses, I shall have enough to feed me and warm me +until the end of my days. My heirs are or will be rich (for it is I +who am the poor one of the family). Then, zut! + +As for gaining money by my pen, that is an aspiration that I have +never had, recognizing that I was radically incapable of it. + +I have to live as a small retired countryman, which is not very +amusing. But so many others who are worth more than I am not having +the land, it would be unfair for me to complain. Accusing Providence +is, moreover a mania so common, that one ought to refrain from it +through simple good taste. + +Another word about money and one that shall be quite between +ourselves. I can, without being inconvenienced at all, as soon as I +am in Paris, that is to say from the 20th to the 23rd of the present +month, lend you a thousand francs, if you need them in order to go +to Cannes. I make you this proposition bluntly, as I would to +Bouilhet, or any other intimate friend. Come, don't stand on +ceremony! + +Between people in society, that would not be correct, I know that, +but between troubadours many things are allowable. + +You are very kind with your invitation to go to Nohant. I shall go, +for I want very much to see your house. I am annoyed not to know it +when I think of you. But I shall have to put off that pleasure till +next summer. Now I have to stay some time in Paris. Three months are +not too long for all I want to do there. + +I send you back the page from the letter of your friend Barbes, +whose real biography I know very imperfectly. All I know of him is +that he is honest and heroic. Give him a hand-shake for me, to thank +him for his sympathy. Is he, BETWEEN OURSELVES, as intelligent as he +is good? + +I feel the importance now, of getting men of that class to be rather +frank with me. For I am going to start studying the Revolution of +'48. You have promised me to hunt in your library at Nohant for (1) +an article of yours on faience; (2) a novel by father X---, a +Jesuit, on the Holy Virgin. + +But what sternness for the father Beuve who is neither Jesuit nor +virgin! He regrets, you say, "what is the least regrettable, +understood as he understood it." Why so? Everything depends upon the +intensity that one puts on the thing. + +Men always find that the most serious thing of their existence is +enjoyment. + +Woman for us all is the highest point of the infinite. That is not +noble, but that is the real depth of the male. They exaggerate that +unmercifully, God be thanked, for literature and for individual +happiness also. + +Oh! I have missed you so much. The tides are superb, the wind +groans, the river foams and overflows. It blows from the ocean, +which benefits one. + + + +XLVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 8 February, 1867 + +No, I am not Catholic, but I reject monstrosities. I say that the +hideous old man who buys young girls does not make love and that +there is in it neither death nor birth, nor infinity, nor male nor +female. It is a thing against nature; for it is not desire that +drives the young girl into the arms of the ugly old man, and where +there is not liberty nor reciprocity there is an attack against holy +nature. Therefore that which he regrets is not regrettable, unless +he thinks that his little cocottes will regret his person, and I ask +you if they will regret anything else than their dirty wages? That +was the gangrene in this great and admirable mind, so lucid and so +wise on all other subjects. One pardons everything in those one +loves, when one is obliged to defend them from their enemies. But +what we say between ourselves is buried, and I can tell you that +vice has quite spoiled my old friend. + +We must believe that we love one another a great deal, dear comrade, +for we both had the same thought at the same time. You offer me a +thousand francs with which to go to Cannes; you who are as hard up +as I am, and, when you wrote to me that you WERE BOTHERED about +money matters, I opened my letter again, to offer you half of what I +have, which still amounts to about two thousand francs; it is my +reserve. And then I did not dare. Why? It is quite stupid; you were +better than I, you came straight to the point. Well, I thank you for +that kind thought and I do not accept. But I would accept, be sure +of it, if I did not have other resources. Only I tell you that if +anyone ought to lend to me, it is Buloz who has bought chateaux and +lands with my novels. He would not refuse me, I know. He even offers +it to me. I shall take from him then, if I have to. But I am not in +a condition to leave, I have had a relapse these last few days. I +slept thirty-six hours together, exhausted. Now I am on my feet +again, but weak. I confess to you that I have not the energy TO WISH +TO LIVE. I don't care about it; moving from where I am comfortable, +to seek new fatigues, working like a dog to renew a dog's life, it +is a little stupid, I think, when it would be so sweet to pass away +like that, still loving, still loved, at strife with no one, not +discontent with oneself and dreaming of the wonders of other worlds- +-this assumes that the imagination is still fresh. But I don't know +why I talk to you of things considered sad, I have too much the +habit of looking at them pleasantly. I forget that they appear +afflicting to those who seem in the fulness of life. Don't let's +talk about them any longer and let spring do the work, spring which +perhaps will breathe into me the desire to take up my work again. I +shall be as docile to the interior voice that tells me to walk as to +that telling me to sit down. + +It is not I who promised you a novel on the Holy Virgin. At least I +don't think so. I can not find my article on faience. Do look and +see if it was printed at the end of one of my volumes to complete +the last sheet. It was entitled Giovanni Freppa ou les Maioliques. + +Oh! what luck! While writing to you it has come back to me that +there is a corner where I have not looked. I hasten there, I find +it! I find something better than my article, and I send you three +works which will make you as learned as I am. That of Passeri is +charming. + +Barbes has intelligence, certainly! but he is a sugar loaf. Brain on +a lofty scale, head of an Indian, with gentle instincts, almost +impossible to find; all for metaphysical thought which becomes an +instinct and a passion that dominates everything. Add to that a +character that one can only compare to Garibaldi. A creature of +incredible sanctity and perfection. Immense worth without immediate +application in France. The setting of another age or another country +is what this hero needs. And now good-night,--O God, what a CALF I +am! I leave you the title of COW, which you give yourself in your +days of weariness. Never mind, tell me when you are to be in Paris. +It is probable that I shall have to go there for a few days for one +thing or another. We must embrace each other and then you shall come +to Nohant this summer. It is agreed, it must be! + +My affectionate regards to your mother and to your lovely niece. + +Please acknowledge the receipt of the three pamphlets; they would be +a loss. + + + +XLIX. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +You really ought to go to see the sun somewhere; it is foolish to be +always suffering; do travel; rest; resignation is the worst of the +virtues. + +I have need of it in order to endure all the stupidities that I +hear! You can not imagine to what a degree they have reached. France +which has been sometimes taken with St. Vitus dance (as under +Charles VI), seems to me now to have a paralysis of the brain. They +are mad with fear. Fear of the Prussians, fear of the strikes, fear +of the Exposition which does not go well, fear of everything. We +have to go back to 1849 to find such a degree of imbecility. + +There was at the last Magny such inane conversation that I swore to +myself never to put foot inside the place again. The only subjects +under discussion all the time were Bismarck and the Luxembourg. I +was stuffed with it! For the rest I don't find it easy to live. Far +from becoming blunted my sensibilities are sharper; a lot of +insignificant things make me suffer. Pardon this weakness, you who +are so strong and tolerant. + +The novel does not go at all well. I am deep in reading the +newspapers of '48. I have had to make several (and have not yet +finished) journeys to Sevres, to Creil, etc. + +Father Sainte-Beuve is preparing a discourse on free thought which +he will read at the Senate a propos of the press law. He has been +very shrewd, you know. + +You tell your son Maurice that I love him very much, first because +he is your son and secundo because he is he. I find him good, +clever, cultivated, not a poseur, in short charming, and "with +talent." + + + +L. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 4 March, 1867 + +Dear good friend, the friend of my heart, the old troubadour is as +well as ten thousand men--who are well, and he is gay as a finch, +because the sun shines again and copy is progressing. + +He will probably go to Paris soon for the play by his son Dumas, let +us try to be there together. + +Maurice is very proud to be declared COCK by an eagle. At this +moment he is having a spree with veal and wine in honor of his +firemen. + +The AMERICAN [Footnote: Henry Harrisse.] in question is charming. He +has, literally speaking, a passion for you, and he writes me that +after seeing you he loves you more, that does not surprise me. + +Poor Bouilhet! Give him this little note enclosed here. I share his +sorrow, I knew her. + +Are you amused in Paris? Are you as sedentary there as at Croisset? + +In that case I shall hardly see you unless I go to see you. + +Tell me the hours when you do not receive the fair sex, and when +sexagenarian troubadours do not incommode you. + +Cadio is entirely redone and rewritten up to the part I read to you, +it is less offensive. + +I am not doing Montreveche. I will tell you about that. It is quite +a story. I love you and I embrace you with all my heart. + +Your old George Sand + +Did you receive my pamphlets on the faience? You have not +acknowledged them. They were sent to Croisset the day after I got +your last letter. + + + +LI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +14 March, 1867 + +Your old troubadour is again prostrate. Every moment his guitar +threatens to be broken. And then he sleeps forty-eight hours and is +cured--but feeble, and he can not be in Paris on the 16th as he had +intended. Maurice went alone a little while ago, I shall go to join +him in five or six days. + +Little Aurore consoles me for this mischance. She twitters like a +bird along with the birds who are twittering already as in full +spring time. + +The anemone Sylvia which I brought from the woods into the garden +and which I had a great deal of trouble in acclimating is finally +growing thousands of white and pink stars among the blue periwinkle. +It is warm and damp. One can not break one's guitar in weather like +this. Good-bye, dear good friend. + +G. Sand + + + +LII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Friday, 22 March, 1867 + +Your old troubadour is here, not so badly off. He will go to dine on +Monday at Magny's, we shall agree on a day for both of us to dine +with Maurice. He is at home at five o'clock but not before Monday. + +He is running around! + +He embraces you. + + + +LIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +1867 (?) + +Then Wednesday, if you wish, my dear old fellow. Whom do you want to +have with us? Certainly, the dear Beuve if that is possible, and no +one if you like. + +We embrace you. + +G. S. Maurice Saturday evening. + + + +LIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 11 April, 1867 + +Here I am back again in my nest, and almost cured from a bad fever +which attacked me in Paris, the day before my departure. + +Really your old troubadour has had ridiculous health for six months. +March and April have been such stupid months for him. It makes no +difference, however, for he is recovering again, and is seeing once +more the trees and the grass grow, it is always the same thing and +that is why it is beautiful and good. Maurice has been touched by +the friendship that you have shown him; you have seduced and +ravished him, and he is not demonstrative. + +He and his wife,--who is not at all an ordinary woman,--desire +absolutely that you come to our house this year, I am charged to +tell you so very seriously and persistently if need be And is that +hateful grip gone? Maurice wanted to go to get news of you; but on +seeing me so prostrated by the fever, he thought of nothing except +packing me up and bringing me here like a parcel. I did nothing +except sleep from Paris to Nohant and I was revived on receiving the +kisses of Aurore who knows now how to give great kisses, laughing +wildly all the while; she finds that very funny. + +And the novel? Does it go on its way the same in Paris as in +Croisset? It seems to me that everywhere you lead the same +hermitlike existence. When you have the time to think of friends, +remember your old comrade and send him two lines to tell him that +you are well and that you don't forget him. + + + +LV. TO GEORGE SAND + +I am worried at not having news from you, dear master. What has +become of you? When shall I see you? + +My trip to Nohant has fallen through. The reason is this: my mother +had a little stroke a week ago. There is nothing left of it, but it +might come on again. She is anxious for me, and I am going to hurry +back to Croisset. If she is doing well towards the month of August, +and I am not worried, it is not necessary to tell you that I shall +rush headlong towards your home. + +As regards news, Sainte-Beuve seems to me very ill, and Bouilhet has +just been appointed librarian at Rouen. + +Since the rumours of war have quieted down, people seem to me a +little less foolish. My nausea caused by the public cowardice is +decreasing. + +I went twice to the Exposition; it is amazing. There are splendid +and extraordinary things there. But man is made to swallow the +infinite. One would have to know all sciences and all arts in order +to be interested in everything that one sees on the Champ de Mars. +Never mind; someone who had three entire months to himself, and went +every morning to take notes, would save himself in consequence much +reading and many journeys. + +One feels oneself there very far from Paris, in a new and ugly +world, an enormous world which is perhaps the world of the future. +The first time that I lunched there, I thought all the time of +America, and I wanted to speak like a negro. + + + +LVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 9 May, 1867 + +Dear friend of my heart, + +I am well, I am at work, I am finishing Cadio. It is warm, I am +alive, I am calm and sad, I hardly know why. In this existence so +even, so tranquil, and so gentle as I have here, I am in an element +that weakens me morally while strengthening me physically; and I +fall into melancholies of honey and roses which are none the less +melancholy. It seems to me that all those I love forget me, and that +it is justice, because I live a selfish life having nothing to do +for any one of them. + +I have lived with tremendous attachments which overwhelmed me, which +exceeded my strength and which I often used to curse. And it happens +that having nothing more to carry them on with, I am bored by being +well. If the human race went on very well or very ill, one would +reattach oneself to a general interest, would live with an idea, +wise or foolish. But you see where we are now, you who storm so +fiercely against cowards. That disappears, you say? But only to +recommence! What kind of a society is it that becomes paralyzed in +the midst of its expansions, because tomorrow can bring a storm? The +thought of danger has never produced such demoralizations. Have we +declined to such an extent that it is necessary to beg us to eat, +telling us at the same time that nothing will happen to disturb our +digestion? Yes, it is silly, it is shameful. Is it the result of +prosperity, and does civilization involve this sickly and cowardly +selfishness? + +My optimism has had a rude jolt of late. I worked up a joy, a +courage at the idea of seeing you here. It was like a cure that I +carefully contrived, but you are worried about your dear, old +mother, and certainly I can not protest. + +Well, if, before your departure from Paris, I can finish Cadio, to +which I am bound under pain of having nothing wherewith to pay for +my tobacco and my shoes, I shall go with Maurice to embrace you. If +not, I shall hope for you about the middle of the summer. My +children, quite unhappy by this delay, beg to hope for you also, and +we hope it so much the more because it would be a good sign for the +dear mother. + +Maurice has plunged again into Natural History; he wants to perfect +himself in the MICROS; I learn on the rebound. When I shall have +fixed in my head the name and the appearance of two or three +thousand imperceptible varieties, I shall be well advanced, don't +you think so? Well, these studies are veritable OCTOPUSES, which +entwine about you and which open to you I don't know what infinity. +You ask if it is the destiny of man to DRINK THE INFINITE; my +heavens, yes, don't doubt it, it is his destiny, since it is his +dream and his passion. + +Inventing is absorbing also; but what fatigue afterwards! How empty +and worn out intellectually one feels, when one has scribbled for +weeks and months about that animal with two legs which has the only +right to be represented in novels! I see Maurice quite refreshed and +rejuvenated when he returns from his beasts and his pebbles, and if +I aspire to come out from my misery, it is to bury myself also in +studies, which in the speech of the Philistines, are not of any use. +Still it is worth more than to say mass and to ring the bell for the +adoration of the Creator. + +Is it true what you tell me of G----? Is it possible? I can not +believe it. Is there in the atmosphere which the earth engenders +nowadays, a gas, laughing or otherwise, which suddenly seizes the +brain, and carries it on to commit extravagances, as there was under +the first revolution a maddening fluid which inspired one to commit +cruelties? We have fallen from the Hell of Dante into that of +Scarron. + +Of what are you thinking, good head and good heart, in the midst of +this bacchanal? You are wrathful, oh very well, I like that better +than if you were laughing at it; but when you are calmer and when +you reflect? + +Must one find some fashion of accepting the honor, the duty, and the +fatigue of living? As for me, I revert to the idea of an everlasting +journey through worlds more amusing, but it would be necessary to go +there quickly and change continually. The life that one fears so +much to lose is always too long for those who understand quickly +what they see. Everything repeats itself and goes over and over +again in it. + +I assure you that there is only one pleasure: learning what one does +not know, and one happiness: loving the exceptions. Therefore I love +you and I embrace you tenderly. + +Your old troubadour G. Sand + +I am anxious about Sainte-Beuve. What a loss that would be! I am +content if Bouilhet is content. Is it really a good position? + + + +LVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, Friday morning + +I am returning to my mother next Monday, dear master. I have little +hope of seeing you before then! + +But when you are in Paris, what is to prevent you from pushing on to +Croisset where everyone, including myself, adores you? Sainte-Beuve +has finally consented to see a specialist and to be seriously +treated. And he is better anyway. His morale is improving. + +Bouilhet's position gives him four thousand francs a year and +lodging. He now need not think of earning his living, which is a +real luxury. + +No one talks of the war any more, they don't talk of anything. + +The Exposition alone is what "everybody is thinking about," and the +cabmen exasperate the bourgeois. + +They were beautiful (the bourgeois) during the strike of the +tailors. One would have said that SOCIETY was going to pieces. + +Axiom: Hatred of the bourgeois is the beginning of virtue. But I +include in the word bourgeois, the bourgeois in blouses as well the +bourgeois in coats. + +It is we and we alone, that is to say the literary men, who are the +people, or to say it better: the tradition of humanity. + +Yes, I am susceptible to disinterested angers and I love you all the +more for loving me for that. Stupidity and injustice make me roar,-- +and I HOWL in my corner against a lot of things "that do not concern +me." + +How sad it is not to live together, dear master, I admired you +before I knew you. From the day I saw your lovely and kind face, I +loved you. There you are.--And I embrace you warmly. + +Your old + +Gustave Flaubert + +I shall have the package of pamphlets about faience sent to the rue +des Feuillantines. A good handshake to Maurice. A kiss on the four +cheeks of Mademoiselle Aurore. + + + +LVIII. TO GEORGE SAND + +I stayed thirty-six hours in Paris at the beginning of this week, in +order to be present at the Tuileries ball. Without any exaggeration, +it was splendid. Paris on the whole turns to the colossal. It is +becoming foolish and unrestrained. Perhaps we are returning to the +ancient Orient. It seems to me that idols will come out of the +earth. We are menaced with a Babylon. + +Why not? The INDIVIDUAL has been so denied by democracy that he will +abase himself to a complete effacement, as under the great +theocratic despotisms. + +The Tsar of Russia displeased me profoundly; I found him a rustic. +On a parallel with Monsieur Floquet who cries without any danger: +"Long live Poland!" We have chic people who have had themselves +registered at the Elysee. Oh! what a fine epoch! + +My novel goes piano. The further I get on the more difficulties +arise. What a heavy cart of sandstone to drag along! And you pity +yourself for a labor that lasts six months! + +I have enough more for two years, at least (OF MINE). How the devil +do you find the connection between your ideas? It is that that +delays me. Moreover this book demands tiresome researches. For +instance on Monday; I was at the Jockey Club, at the Cafe Anglais, +and at a lawyer's in turn. Do you like Victor Hugo's preface to the +Paris-Guide? Not very much, do you? Hugo's philosophy seems to me +always vague. + +I was carried away with delight, a week ago, at an encampment of +Gypsies who had established at Rouen. This is the third time that I +have seen them and always with a new pleasure. The great thing is +that they excite the hatred of the bourgeois, although they are as +inoffensive as sheep. + +I appeared very badly before the crowd because I gave them a few +sous, and I heard some fine words a la Prudhomme. That hatred +springs from something very profound and complex. One finds it +among all orderly people. + +It is the hatred that one feels for the bedouin, for the heretic, +the philosopher, the solitary, the poet; and there is a fear in that +hate. I, who am always for the minority, am exasperated by it. It is +true that many things exasperate me. On the day that I am no longer +outraged, I shall fall flat as the marionette from which one +withdraws the support of the stick. + +Thus, THE STAKE that has supported me this winter, is the +indignation that I had against our great national historian, M. +Thiers, who had reached the condition of a demi-god, and the +pamphlet Trochu, and the everlasting Changarnier coming back over +the water. God be thanked that the Exposition has delivered us +momentarily from these GREAT MEN. + + + +LIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 30 May, 1867 + +Here you are at home, old friend of my heart, and I and Maurice must +go to embrace you. If you are still buried in work, we shall only +come and go. It is so near to Paris, that you must not hesitate to +tell us. I have finished Cadio, hurray! I have only to POLISH it a +little. It is like an illness, carrying this great affair for so +long in one's HEAD. I have been so interrupted by real illnesses +that I have had great trouble in setting to work again at it. But I +am wonderfully well since the fine weather and I am going to take a +bath of botany. + +Maurice will take one of entomology. He walks three leagues with a +friend of like energy in order to hunt in a great plain for an +animal which has to be looked at with a magnifying glass. That is +happiness! That is being really infatuated. My gloom has disappeared +in making Cadio; at present I am only fifteen years old, and +everything to me appears for the best in the best possible of +worlds. That will last as long as it can. These are the intervals of +innocence in which forgetfulness of evil compensates for the +inexperience of the golden age. + +How is your dear mother? She is fortunate to have you again near +her! And the novel? Good heavens! it must get on! Are you walking a +little? Are you more reasonable? + +The other day, some people not at all stupid were here who spoke +highly of Madame Bovary, but with less zest of Salammbo. Lina got +into a white heat, not being willing that those wretches should make +the slightest objection to it; Maurice had to calm her, and moreover +he criticised the work very well, as an artist and as a scholar; so +well that the recalcitrants laid down their arms. I should like to +have written what he said. He speaks little and often badly; but +that time he succeeded extraordinarily well. + +I shall then not say adieu, but au revoir, as soon as possible. I +love you much, much, my dear old fellow, you know it. My ideal would +be to live a long life with a good and great heart like yours. But +then, one would want never to die, and when one is really OLD, like +me, one must hold oneself ready for anything. + +I embrace you tenderly, so does Maurice. Aurore is the sweetest and +the most ridiculous person. Her father makes her drink while he +says: Dominus vobiscum! then she drinks and answers: Amen! How she +is getting on! What a marvel is the development of a little child! +No one has ever written about that. Followed day by day, it would be +precious in every respect. It is one of those things that we all see +without noticing. + +Adieu again; think of your old troubadour who thinks unceasingly of +you. + +G. Sand + + + +LX. TO Gustave Flaubert +Nohant, 14 June, 1867 + +Dear friend of my heart, I leave with my son and his wife the 20th +of the month to stay two weeks in Paris, perhaps more if the revival +of Villemer delays me longer. Therefore your dear good mother, whom +I do not want to miss, has all the time she needs to go to see her +daughters. I shall wait in Paris until you tell me if she has +returned, or rather, if I make you a real visit, you shall tell me +the time that suits you best. + +My intention, for the moment, was quite simply to go to pass an hour +with you, and Lina was tempted to accompany me; I should have shown +her Rouen, and then we should have embraced you in time to return in +the evening to Paris; for the dear little one has always her ear and +her heart listening when she is away from Aurore, and her holidays +are marked by a continual uneasiness which I quite understand. +Aurore is a treasure of gentleness which absorbs us all. If it can +be arranged, we shall then go on the run to grasp your hands. If it +can not, I shall go alone later when your heart says so, and, if you +are going south, I shall put it off until everything can be arranged +without disturbing whatever may be the plans of your mother or +yourself. I am very free. So, don't disturb yourself, and arrange +your summer without bothering about me. + +I have thirty-six plans also, but I don't incline to any one; what +amuses me is what seizes me and takes me off suddenly. It is with a +journey as with a novel: those who travel are those who command. +Only when one is in Paris, Rouen is not a journey, and I shall +always be ready when I am there, to respond to your call. I am a +little remorseful to take whole days from your work, I who am never +bored with loafing, and whom you could leave for whole hours under a +tree, or before two lighted logs, with the assurance that I should +find there something interesting. I know so well how to live OUTSIDE +OF MYSELF! It hasn't always been like that. I also was young and +subject to indignations. It is over! + +Since I have dipped into real nature, I have found there an order, a +system, a calmness of cycles which is lacking in mankind, but which +man can, up to a certain point, assimilate when he is not too +directly at odds with the difficulties of his own life. When these +difficulties return he must endeavor to avoid them; but if he has +drunk the cup of the eternally true, he does not get too excited for +or against the ephemeral and relative truth. + +But why do I say this to you? Because it comes to my pen-point; for +in considering it carefully, your state of overexcitement is +probably truer, or at least more fertile and more human than my +SENILE tranquillity. I would not like to make you as I am, even if +by a magical operation I could. I should not be interested in myself +if I had the honor to meet myself. I should say that one troubadour +is enough to manage and I should send the other to Chaillot. + +A propos of gypsies, do you know that there are gypsies of the sea? +I discovered in the outskirts of Tamaris, among the furthest rocks, +great boats well sheltered, with women and children, a coast +settlement, very restricted, very tanned; fishing for food without +trading; speaking a language that the people of the country do not +understand; living only in these great boats stranded on the sand, +when the storms troubled them in their rocky coves; intermarrying, +inoffensive and sombre, timid or savage; not answering when any one +speaks to them. I don't even know what to call them. The name that I +have been told has escaped me but I could get some one to tell me +again. Naturally the country people hate them and that they have no +religion; if that is so they ought to be superior to us. I ventured +all alone among them. "Good day, sirs." Response, a slight bend of +the head. I looked at their encampment, no one moved. It seemed as +if they did not see me. I asked them if my curiosity annoyed them. A +shrug of the shoulders as if to say, "What do we care?" I spoke to a +young man who was mending the meshes in a net very cleverly; I +showed him a piece of five francs in gold. He looked the other way. +I showed him one in silver. He deigned to look at it. "Do you want +it?" He bent his head on his work. I put it near him, he did not +move. I went away, he followed me with his eyes. When he thought +that I could not see him any longer, he took the piece and went to +talk with a group. I don't know what happened. I fancy that they put +it in the common exchequer. I began botanizing at some distance +within sight to see if they would come to ask me something or to +thank me. No one moved. I returned as if by chance towards them; the +same silence, the same indifference. An hour later, was at the top +of the cliff, and I asked the coast-guard who those people were who +spoke neither French, nor Italian, nor patois. He told me their +name, which I have not remembered. + +He thought that they were Moors, left on the coast since the time of +the great invasions from Provence, and perhaps he is not mistaken. +He told me that he had seen me among them from his watch tower, and +that I was wrong, for they were a people capable of anything; but +when I asked him what harm they did he confessed to me that they had +done none. They lived by their fishing and above all on the things +cast up by the sea which they knew how to gather up before the most +alert. They were an object of perfect scorn. Why? Always the same +story. He who does not do as all the world does can only do evil. + +If you go into the country, you might perhaps meet them at the end +of the Brusq. But they are birds of passage, and there are years +when they do not appear at all. I have not even seen the Paris +Guide. They owe me a copy, however; for I gave something to it +without receiving payment. It is because of that no doubt that they +have forgotten me. + +To conclude, I shall be in Paris from the 20th of June to the 5th of +July. Send me a word always to 97 rue des Feuillantines. I shall +stay perhaps longer, but I don't know. I embrace you tenderly, my +splendid old fellow. Walk a little, I beg of you. I don't fear +anything for the novel; but I fear for the nervous system taking too +much the place of the muscular system. I am very well, except for +thunder bolts, when I fall on my bed for forty-eight hours and don't +want any one to speak to me. But it is rare and if I do not relent +so that they can nurse me, I get up perfectly cured. + +Maurice's love. Entomology has taken possession of him this year; he +discovers marvels. Embrace your mother for me, and take good care of +her. I love you with all my heart. + +G. Sand + + + +LXI. To GUSTAVE FLATUBERT +Nohant, 24 July, 1867 + +Dear good friend, I spent three weeks in Paris with my children, +hoping to see you arriving or to receive a line from you which would +tell me to come and embrace you. But you were HEAD OVER HEELS and I +respect these crises of work; I know them! Here am I back again in +old Nohant, and Maurice at Nerac terminating by a compromise the +law-suit which keeps him from his inheritance. His agreeable father +stole about three hundred thousand francs from his children in order +to please his cook; happily, although Monsieur used to lead this +edifying life, I used to work and did not cut into my capital. I +have nothing, but I shall leave the daily bread assured. + +They write me that Villemer goes well. Little Aurore is as pretty as +anything and does a thousand gracious tricks. My daughter Lina is +always my real daughter The OTHER is well and is beautiful, that is +all that I ask of her. + +I am working again; but I am not strong. I am paying for my energy +and activity in Paris. That does not make any difference, I am not +angry against life, I love you with all my heart. I see, when I am +gloomy, your kind face, and I feel the radiant power of your +goodness. You are a charm in the Indian summer of my sweet and pure +friendships, without egoisms, and without deceptions in consequence. + +Think of me sometimes, work well and call me when you are ready to +loaf. If you are not ready, never mind. If your heart told you to +come here, there would be feasting and joy in the family. I saw +Sainte-Beuve, I am content and proud of him. + +Good night, friend of my heart. I embrace you as well as your +mother. + +G. Sand + + + +LXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 6 August, 1867 + +When I see how hard my old friend has to work in order to write a +novel, it discourages my facility, and I tell myself that I write +BOTCHED literature. I have finished Cadio; it has been in Buloz' +hands a long time. I am writing another thing,[Footnote: +Mademoiselle Merquem.] but I don't see it yet very clearly; what can +one do without sun and without heat? I ought to be in Paris now, to +see the Exposition again at my leisure, and to take your mother to +walk with you; but I really must work, since I have only that to +live on. And then the children; that Aurore is a wonder. You really +must see her, perhaps I shall not see her long, If I don't think I +am destined to grow very old; I must lose no time in loving! + +Yes, you are right, it is that that sustains me. This hypocritical +fit has a rough disillusionment in store for it, and one will lose +nothing by waiting. On the contrary, one will gain. You will see +that, you who are old though still quite young. You are my son's +age. You will laugh together when you see this heap of rubbish +collapse. + +You must not be a Norman, you must come and see us for several days, +you will make us happy; and it will restore the blood in my veins +and the joy in my heart. + +Love your old troubadour always and talk to him of Paris; a few +words when you have the time. + +Outline a scene for Nohant with four or five characters, we shall +enjoy it. We embrace you and summon you. + +G. Sand + + + +LXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 18 August, 1867 + +Where are you, my dear old fellow? If by chance you should be in +Paris, during the first few days of September, let us try to see +each other. I shall stay there three days and I shall return here. +But I do not hope to meet you there. You ought to be in some lovely +country, far from Paris and from its dust. I do not know even if my +letter will reach you. Never mind, if you can give news of yourself, +do so. I am in despair. I have lost suddenly, without even knowing +that he was ill, my poor dear, old friend, Rollinat, an angel of +goodness, of courage, of devotion. It is a heavy blow for me. If you +were here you would give me courage; but my poor children are as +overwhelmed as I am. We adored him, all the countryside adored him. + +Keep well, and think sometimes of your absent friends. We embrace +you affectionately. The little one is very well, she is charming. + + + +LXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, August, 1867 + +I bless you, my dear old fellow, for the kind thought that you had +of coming; but you were right not to travel while you were ill. Ah! +my God, I dream of nothing but illness and unhappiness: take care of +yourself, my old comrade. I shall go to see you if I can pull myself +together; for, since this new dagger-thrust, I am feeble and crushed +and I have a sort of fever. I shall write you a line from Paris. If +you are prevented, you must answer me by telegram. You know that +with me there is no need of explanation: I know every hindrance in +life and I never blame the hearts that I know.--I wish that, right +away, if you have a moment to write, you would tell me where I +should go for three days to see the coast of Normandy without +striking the neighborhood where "THE WORLD" goes. In order to go on +with my novel, I must see a countryside near the Channel, that all +the world has not talked about, and where there are real natives at +home, peasants, fisherfolk, a real village in a corner of the rocks. +If you are in the mood we will go there together. If not, don't +bother about me. I go everywhere and I am not disturbed by anything. +You told me that the population of the coasts was the best in the +country, and that there were real dyed-in-the-wool simple-hearted +men there. It would be good to see their faces, their clothes, their +houses, and their horizons. That is enough for what I want to do, I +need only accessories; I hardly want to describe; SEEING it is +enough in order not to make a false stroke. How is your mother? Have +you been able to take her to walk and to distract her a little? +Embrace her for me as I embrace you. + +G. Sand + +Maurice embraces you; I shall go to Paris without him: he is drawn +on the jury for the 2 September till...no one knows. It is a +tiresome task. Aurore is very cunning with her arms, she offers them +to you to kiss; her hands are marvels and they are incredibly clever +for her age. + +Au revoir, then, if I can only pull myself out of the state I am now +in. Insomnia is the devil; in the daytime one makes a lot of effort +not to sadden others. At night one falls back on oneself. + + + +LXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 10 September, 1867 + +Dear old fellow, + +I am worried at not having news of you since that illness of which +you spoke. Are you well again? Yes, we shall go to see the rollers +and the beaches next month if you like, if your heart prompts you. +The novel goes on apace; but I shall besprinkle it with local color +afterwards. + +While waiting, I am still here, stuck up to my chin in the river +every day, and regaining my strength entirely in this cold and shady +stream which I adore, and where I have passed so many hours of my +life reviving myself after too long sessions in company with my ink- +well. I go definitely to Paris, the 16th; the 17th at one o'clock, I +leave for Rouen and Jumieges, where my friend Madame Lebarbier de +Tinan awaits me at the house of M. Lepel-Cointet, the landowner; I +shall stay there the 18th so as to return to Paris the 19th. Will it +be inconvenient if I come to see you? I am sick with longing to do +so; but I am so absolutely forced to spend the evening of the 19th +in Paris that I do not know if I shall have the time. You must tell +me. I can get a word from you the 16th in Paris, 97 rue des +Feuillantines. I shall not be alone; I have as a travelling +companion a charming young literary woman, Juliette Lamber. If you +were lovely, lovely, you would walk to Jumieges the 19th. We would +return together so that I could be in Paris at six o'clock in the +evening at the latest. But if you are even a little bit ill still, +or are PLUNGED in ink, pretend that I have said nothing, and prepare +to see us next month. As for the WINTER walk on the Norman coast, +that gives me a cold in my back, I who plan to go to the Gulf of +Juan at that time. + +I have been sick over the death of my friend Rollinat. My body is +cured, but my soul! I should have to stay a week with you to refresh +myself in your affectionate strength; for cold and purely +philosophical courage to me, is like cauterizing a wooden leg. + +I embrace you and I love you (also your mother). Maurice also, what +French! One is happy to forget it, it is a tiresome thing. + +Your troubadour + +G. Sand + + + +LXVI. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +What, no news? + +But you will answer me since I ask you a service. I read this in my +notes: "National of 1841. Bad treatments inflicted on Barbes, kicks +on his breast, dragged by the beard and hair in order to put him in +an in-pace. Consultation of lawyers signed: E. Arago, Favre, +Berryer, to complain of these abominations." + +Find out from him if all that is true; I shall be obliged. + + + +LXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Paris, Tuesday, 1st October, 1867 + +Dear friend, you shall have your information. I asked Peyrat last +evening, I am writing today to Barbes who will answer directly to +you. + +Where do you think I have come from? From Normandy. A charming +opportunity took me there six days ago. I had been enchanted with +Jumieges. This time I saw Etretat, Yport, the prettiest of all the +villages, Fecamp, Saint-Valery, which I knew, and Dieppe, which +dazzled me; the environs, the chateau d'Arques, Limes, what a +country! And I went back and forth twice within two steps of +Croisset and I sent you some big kisses; always ready to return with +you to the seaside or to talk with you at your house when you are +free. If I had been alone, I should have bought an old guitar and +should have sung a ballad under your mother's window. But I could +not take a large family to you. + +I am returning to Nohant and I embrace you with all my heart. + +G. Sand + +I think that the Bois-Dore is going well, but I don't know anything +about it. I have a way of my own of being in Paris, namely, being at +the seaside, which does not keep me informed of what is going on. +But I gathered gentians in the long grass of the immense Roman fort +of Limes where I had quite a STUNNING view of the sea. I walked out +like an old horse, but I am returning quite frisky. + + + +LXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND + +At last, at last, I have news of you, dear master, and good news, +which is doubly agreeable. + +I am planning to return to my home in the country with Madame Sand, +and my mother hopes that will be the case. What do you say? For, +with all that goes on, we never see each other, confound it! + +As for my moving, it is not that I lack the desire of being free to +move about. But I should be lost if I stirred before I finish my +novel. Your friend is a man of wax; everything gets imprinted on +him, is encrusted on him, penetrates him. If I should visit you, I +should think of nothing but you and yours, your house, your country, +the appearance of the people I had met, etc. I require great efforts +to gather myself together; I always tend to scatter myself. That is +why, dear adored master, I deprive myself of going to sit down to +dream aloud in your house. But, in the summer or autumn of 1869, you +shall see what a fine commercial traveller I am, once let loose to +the open air. I am abject, I warn you. + +As to news, there is a quiet once more since the Kerveguen incident +has died its beautiful death. Was it not a farce? and silly? + +Sainte-Beuve is preparing a lecture on the press law. He is better, +decidedly. I dined Tuesday with Renan. He was marvellously witty and +eloquent, and artistic! as I have never seen him. Have you read his +new book? His preface causes talk. My poor Theo worries me. I do not +think him strong. + + + +LXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 12 October, 1867 + +I have sent your letter to Barbes; it is fine and splendid, as you +are. I know that the worthy man will be glad of it. But as for me, I +want to throw myself out of the window; for my children are +unwilling to hear of my leaving so soon. Yes, it is horrid to have +seen your house four times without going to see you. But I am +cautious to the point of fear. To be sure the idea of summoning you +to Rouen for twenty minutes did occur to me. But you are not, as I +am, on tiptoe, all ready to start off. You live in your dressing +gown, the great enemy of liberty and activity. To force you to +dress, to go out, perhaps in the middle of an absorbing chapter, and +only to see someone who does not know how to say anything quickly, +and who, the more he is content, the stupider he is,--I did not dare +to. Here I am obliged to finish something which drags along, and +before the final touch I shall probably go to Normandy. I should +like to go by the Seine to Honfleur. It will be next month, if the +cold does not make me ill, and I shall try this time to carry you +away in passing. If not, I shall see you at least, and then I shall +go to Provence. + +Ah! if I could only take you there! And if you could, if you would, +during the second week in October when you are going to be free, +come to see me here! You promised, and my children would be so happy +if you would! But you don't love us enough for that, scoundrel that +you are! You think that you have a lot of better friends: you are +very much mistaken; it is always one's best friends whom one +neglects or ignores. + +Come, a little courage; you can leave Paris at a quarter past nine +in the morning, and get to Chateauroux at four, there you would find +my carriage and be here at six for dinner. It is not bad, and once +here, we all laugh together like good-natured bears; no one dresses; +there is no ceremony, and we all love one another very much. Say +yes! + +I embrace you. And I too have been bored at not seeing you, FOR A +YEAR. + +Your old troubadour + + + +LXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 27 October, 1867 + +I have just made a resume in a few pages of my impressions as a +landscape painter, gathered in Normandy: it has not much importance, +but I was able to quote three lines from Salammbo, which seemed to +me to depict the country better than all my phrases, and which had +always struck me as a stroke from a master brush. In turning over +the pages to find these lines, I naturally reread almost all, and I +remain convinced that it is one of the most beautiful books that +have been made since they began to make books. + +I am well, and I am working quickly and much, so as to live on my +INCOME this winter in the South. But what will be the delights of +Cannes and where will be the heart to engage in them? My spirits are +in mourning while thinking that at this hour people arc fighting for +the pope. Ah! ISIDORE! [Footnote: Name applied to Napoleon III.] + +I have tried in vain this month to go again to see ma Normandie, +that is to say, my great, dear heart's friend. My children have +threatened me with death if I leave them so soon. Just at present +friends are coming. You are the only one who does not talk of +coming on. Yet, that would be so fine! Next month I shall move +heaven and earth to find you wherever you are, and meanwhile I love +you tremendously. And you. Your work? your mother's health? I am +worried at not having news of you. + +G. Sand + + + +LXXI. TO GEORGE SAND +1st November, 1867 + +Dear master, + +I was as much ashamed as touched, last evening, when I received your +"very nice" letter. I am a wretch not to have answered the first +one. How did that happen? For I am usually prompt. + +My work does not go very well. I hope that I shall finish my second +part in February. But in order to have it all finished in two years, +I must not budge from my arm-chair till then. That is why I am not +going to Nohant. A week of recreation means three months of revery +for me. I should do nothing but think of you, of yours in Berry, of +all that I saw. My unfortunate spirit would navigate in strange +waters. I have so little resistance. + +I do not hide the pleasure that your little word about SALAMMBO +gives me. That old book needs to be relieved from a few inversions, +there are too many repetitions of ALORS, MAIS and ET. The labor is +too evident. + +As for the one I am doing, I am afraid that the idea is defective, +an irremediable fault; will such weak characters be interesting? +Great effects are reached only through simple means, through +positive passions. But I don't see simplicity anywhere in the modern +world. + +A sad world! How deplorable and how lamentably grotesque are affairs +in Italy! All these orders, counter-orders of counter-orders of the +counter-orders! The earth is a very inferior planet, decidedly. + +You did not tell me if you were satisfied with the revivals at the +Odeon. When shall you go south? And where shall you go in the south? + +A week from today, that is to say, from the 7th to the 10th of +November, I shall be in Paris, because I have to go sauntering in +Auteuil in order to discover certain little nooks. What would be +nice would be for us to come back to Croisset together. You know +very well that I am very angry at you for your two last trips in +Normandy. + +Then, I shall see you soon? No joking? I embrace you as I love you, +dear master, that is to say, very tenderly. + +Here is a bit that I send to your dear son, a lover of this sort of +fluff: + +"One evening, expected by Hortense, +Having his eyes fixed on the clock, +And feeling his heart beat with eager throbs, +Young Alfred dried up with impatience." +(Memoires de l'Academie de Saint-Quentin.) + + + +LXXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 5 December, 1867 + +Your old troubadour is no good, I admit it. He has been working like +an ox to have the money to go away with this winter to the gulf of +Juan, and at the moment of leaving he would like to stay behind. He +is worried at leaving his children and the little Aurore, but he +suffers with the cold, he fears anemia, and he thinks he is doing +his duty in going to find a land which the snow does not render +impracticable, and a sky under which one can breathe without having +dagger-thrusts in one's lungs. + +So you see. + +He has thought of you, probably much more than you think of him; for +he has stupid and easy work, and his thoughts run elsewhere very far +from him, and from his task, when his hand is weary of writing. As +for you, you work for truth, and you become absorbed, and you have +not heard my spirit, which more than once has TAPPED at your study +door to say to you: "It is I." Or else you have said: "It is a +spirit tapping let him go to the devil!" + +Aren't you coming to Paris? I am going there between the 15th and +the 20th. I shall stay there only a few days, and then flee to +Cannes. Will you be there? God grant it! On the whole I am pretty +well; I am furious with you for not wanting to come to Nohant; I +won't reproach you for I don't know how. I have scribbled a lot; my +children are always good and kind to me in every sense of the word. +Aurore is a love. + +We have RAVED politically; now we try not to think of it any more +and to have patience. We often speak of you and we love you. Your +old troubadour especially who embraces you with all his heart, and +begs to be remembered to your good mother. + +G. Sand + + + +LXXIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday night + +Dear master, dear friend of the good God, "let us talk a little of +Dozenval," let us roar at M. Thiers! Can a more triumphant imbecile, +a more abject dabster, a more stercoraceous bourgeois be found! No, +nothing can give the idea of the puking with which this old +diplomatic idiot inspires me in piling up his stupidity on the dung- +hill of bourgeoisie! Is it possible to treat philosophy, religion, +peoples, liberty, the past and future, history, and natural history, +everything and more yet, with an incoherence more inept and more +childish! He seems to me as everlasting as mediocrity! He overwhelms +me! + +But the fine thing is the brave national guards whom he stuffed in +1848, who are beginning to applaud him again! What infinite madness! +That proves that everything consists of temperament. Prostitutes,-- +like France,--always have a weakness for old buffoons. + +Furthermore, I shall try in the third part of my novel (when I reach +the reaction that followed the days of June) to insert a panegyric +about him a propos of his book: De la propriete, and I hope that he +will be pleased with me. + +What form should one take to express occasionally one's opinion on +the things of this world, without the risk of passing later for an +imbecile? It is a tough problem. It seems to me that the best thing +is simply to depict the things which exasperate one. To dissect is +to take vengeance. Well! it is not he with whom I am angry, nor with +the others but with OURS. + +If they had paid more attention to the education of the SUPERIOR +classes, delaying till later the agricultural meetings; in short, if +the head had been put above the stomach, should we have been likely +to be where we are now? + +I have just read, this week, Buchez' Preface to his Histoire +parlementaire. Many inanities which burden us today come from that +among other things. + +And now, it is not good of you to say that I do not think of "my old +Troubadour"; of whom then, do I think? perhaps of my wretched book? +but that is more difficult and less agreeable. + +How long do you stay at Cannes? + +After Cannes shan't you return to Paris? I shall be their towards +the end of January. + +In order to finish my book in the spring of 1869, I must not give +myself a week of holiday; that is why I do not go to Nohant. It is +always the story of the Amazons. In order to draw the bow better +they crushed their breast. It is a fine method after all. + +Adieu, dear master, write to me, won't you? + +I embrace you tenderly. + + + +LXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 31 December, 1867 + +I don't agree with you at all that it is necessary to destroy the +breast to draw a bow. I have quite a contrary belief which I follow, +and I think that it is good for many others, probably for the +majority. I have just developed my idea on that subject in a novel +which has been sent to the Revue and will appear after About's. I +think that the artist ought to live according to his nature as much +as possible. To him who loves struggle, warfare; to him who loves +women, love; to an old fellow like me who loves nature, travel and +flowers, rocks, fine landscapes, children also, the family, all that +stirs the emotions, that combats moral anemia. + +I think that art always needs a palette overflowing with soft or +striking colors according to the subject of the picture; the artist +is an instrument on which everything ought to play before he plays +on others; but all that is perhaps not applicable to a mind like +yours which has acquired much and now has only to digest. I shall +insist on one point only, that the physical being is necessary to +the moral being and that I fear for you some day a deterioration of +health which will force you to suspend your work and let it grow +cold. + +Well, you are coming to Paris the beginning of January and we shall +see each other; for I shall not go until after the New Year. My +children have made me promise to spend that day with them, and I +could not resist, in spite of the great necessity of moving. They +are so sweet! Maurice has an inexhaustible gaiety and invention. He +has made for his marionette theatre, marvelous scenery, properties, +and machinery and the plays which they give in that ravishing box +are incredibly fantastic. + +The last one was called 1870. One sees in it, Isidore with Antonelli +commanding the brigands of Calabria, trying to regain his throne and +to re-establish the papacy. Everything is in the future; at the end +the widow Euphemia marries the Grand Turk, the only remaining +sovereign. It is true that he is a former DEMOCRAT and is recognized +as none other than the great tumbler Coquenbois when unmasked. These +plays last till two o'clock in the morning and we are crazy on +coming out of them. We sup till five o'clock. There is a performance +twice a week, and the rest of the time they make the properties, and +the play continues with the same characters, going through the most +incredible adventures. + +The public is composed of eight or ten young people, my three great +nephews, and sons of my old friends. They get excited to the point +of yelling. Aurore is not admitted; the plays are not suited to her +age. As for me, I am so amused that I become exhausted. I am sure +that you would be madly amused by it also; for there is a splendid +fire and abandon in these improvisations; and the characters done by +Maurice have the appearance of living beings, of a burlesque life +that is real and impossible at the same time; it seems like a dream. +That is how I have been living for the ten days that I have not been +working. + +Maurice gives me this recreation in my intervals of repose that +coincide with his. He brings to it as much ardor and passion as to +his science. He has a truly charming nature and one never gets bored +with him. His wife is also charming, quite large just now, always +moving, busying herself with everything, lying down on the sofa +twenty times a day, getting up to run after her child, her cook, her +husband, who demands a lot of things for his theatre, coming back to +lie down again; crying out that she feels ill and bursting into +shrieks of laughter at a fly that circles about; sewing layettes, +reading the papers with fervor, reading novels which make her weep; +weeping also at the marionettes when there is a little sentiment, +for there is some of that too. In short a personality and a type: +she sings ravishingly, she gets angry, she gets tender, she makes +succulent dainties TO SURPRISE US WITH, and every day of our +vacation there is a little fete which she organizes. + +Little Aurore promises to be very sweet and calm, understanding in a +marvelous manner what is said to her and YIELDING TO REASON at two +years of age. It is very extraordinary and I have never seen it +before. It would be disquieting if one did not feel a great serenity +in that little brain. + +But how I am gossiping with you! Does all this amuse you? I should +like this chatty letter to substitute for one of those suppers of +ours which I too regret, and which would be so good here with you, +if you were not a stick-in-the-mud, who won't let yourself be +dragged away to LIFE FOR LIFE'S SAKE. Ah! when one is on a vacation, +how work, logic, reason seem strange CONTRASTS! One asks whether one +can ever return to that ball and chain. + +I tenderly embrace you, my dear old fellow, and Maurice thinks your +letter so fine that he is going to put the phrases and words at once +in the mouth of his first philosopher. He bids me embrace you for +him. + +Madame Juliette Lambert [Footnote: Afterwards, Madame Edmond Adam.] +is really charming; you would like her a great deal, and then you +have it 18 degrees above zero down there, and here we are in the +snow. It is severe; moreover, I rarely go out, and my dog himself +doesn't want to go out. He is not the least amazing member of +society. When he is called Badinguet, he lies on the ground ashamed +and despairing, and sulks all the evening. + + + +LXXV. TO GEORGE SAND +1st January, 1868 + +It is unkind to sadden me with the recital of the amusements at +Nohant, since I cannot share them. I need so much time to do so +little that I have not a minute to lose (or gain), if I want to +finish my dull old book by the summer of 1869. + +I did not say it was necessary to suppress the heart, but to +restrain it, alas! As for the regime that I follow which is contrary +to the laws of hygiene, I did not begin yesterday. I am accustomed +to it. I have, nevertheless, a fairly seasoned sense of fatigue, and +it is time that my second part was finished, after which I shall go +to Paris. That will be about the end of the month. You don't tell me +when you return from Cannes. + +My rage against M. Thiers is not yet calmed, on the contrary! It +idealizes itself and increases. + + + +LXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 12 January, 1868 + +No, it is not silly to embrace each other on New Year's day: on the +contrary, it is good and it is nice. I thank you for having thought +of it and I kiss you on your beautiful big eyes. Maurice embraces +you also. I am housed here by the snow and the cold, and my trip is +postponed. We amuse ourselves madly at home so as to forget that we +are prisoners, and I am prolonging my holidays in a ridiculous +fashion. Not an iota of work from morning till night. What luck if +you could say as much!--But what a fine winter, don't you think so? +Isn't it lovely, the moonlight on the trees covered with snow? Do +you look at that at night while you are working?--If you are going +to Paris the end of the month, I shall still have a chance to meet +you. + +From far, or from near, dear old fellow, I think of you and I love +you from the depth of my old heart which does not know the flight of +years. + +G. Sand + +My love to your mother always. I imagine that she is in Rouen during +this severe cold. + + + +LXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 10 May, 1868 + +Yes, friend of my heart, am I not in the midst of terrible things; +that poor little Madame Lambert [Footnote: Madame Eugene Lambert, +the wife of the artist] is severely threatened. + +I saw M. Depaul today. One must be prepared for anything!--If the +crisis is passed or delayed, for there is question of bringing on +the event, I shall be happy to spend two days with my old +troubadour, whom I love tenderly. + +G. Sand. + + + +LXXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 11 May, 1868 + +If you were to be at home Wednesday evening, I should go to chat an +hour alone with you after dinner in your quarters. I despair +somewhat of going to Croisset; it is tomorrow that that they decide +the fate of my poor friend. + +A word of response, and above all do not change any plan. Whether I +see you or not, I know that two old troubadours love each other +devotedly! + +G. Sand Monday evening. + + + +LXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 17 May, 1868 + +I have a little respite, since they are not going to bring on the +confinement. I hope to go to spend two days at that dear Croisset. +But then don't go on Thursday, I am giving a dinner for the prince +[Footnote: Prince Jerome Napoleon.] at Magny's and I told him that I +would detain you by force. Say yes, at once. I embrace you and I +love you. + +G. Sand + + + +LXXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +I shall not go with you to Croisset, for you must sleep, and we talk +too much. But on Sunday or Monday if you still wish it; only I +forbid you to inconvenience yourself. I know Rouen, I know that +there are carriages at the railway station and that one goes +straight to your house without any trouble. + +I shall probably go in the evening. + +Embrace your dear mamma for me, I shall be happy to her again. + +G. Sand + +If those days do not suit you, a word, and I shall communicate with +you again. Have the kindness to put the address on the ENCLOSED +letter and to put it in the mail. + + + +LXXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 21 Thursday--May, 1868 + +I see that the day trains are very slow, I shall make a great effort +and shall leave at eight o'clock Sunday, so as to lunch with you; if +it is too late don't wait for me, I lunch on two eggs made into an +omelet or shirred, and a cup of coffee. Or dine on a little chicken +or some veal and vegetables. + +In giving up trying to eat REAL MEAT, I have found again a strong +stomach. I drink cider with enthusiasm, no more champagne! At +Nohant, I live on sour wine and galette, and since I am not trying +any more to THOROUGHLY NOURISH myself, no more anemia; believe then +in the logic of physicians! + +In short you must not bother any more about me than about the cat +and not even so much. Tell your little mother, just that. Then I +shall see you at last, all I want to for two days. Do you know that +you are INACCESSIBLE in Paris? Poor old fellow, did you finally +sleep like a dormouse in your cabin? I would like to give you a +little of my sleep that nothing, not even a cannon, can disturb. + +But I have had bad dreams for two weeks about my poor Esther, and +now at last, here are Depaul, Tarnier, Gueniaux and Nelaton who told +us yesterday that she will deliver easily and very well, and that +the child has every reason to be superb. I breathe again, I am born +anew, and I am going to embrace you so hard that you will be +scandalised. I shall see you on Sunday then, and don't inconvenience +yourself. + +G. Sand + + + +LXXXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Paris, 26 May, 1868 + +Arrived while dozing. Dined with your delightful and charming +friend Du Camp. We talked of you, only of you and your mother, and +we said a hundred times that we loved you. I am going to sleep so as +to be ready to move tomorrow morning. + +I am charmingly located on the Luxembourg garden. + +I embrace you, mother and son, with all my heart which is entirely +yours. + +G. Sand Tuesday evening, rue Gay-Lussac, 5. + + + +LXXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Paris, 28 May, 1868 + +My little friend gave birth this morning after two hours of labor, +to a boy who seemed dead but whom they handled so well that he is +very much alive and very lovely this evening. The mother is very +well, what luck! + +But what a sight! It was something to see. I am very tired, but very +content and tell you so because you love me. + +G. Sand + +Thursday evening. I leave Tuesday for Nohant. + + + +LXXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 21 June, 1868 + +Here I am again, BOTHERING you for M. Du Camp's address which you +never gave me, although you forwarded a letter for me to him, and +from WHOM I never thought of asking for it when I dined with him in +Paris. I have just read his Forces Perdues; I promised to tell him +my opinion and I am keeping my word. Write the address, then give it +to the postman and thank you. + +There you are alone at odds with the sun in your charming villa! + +Why am I not the...river which cradles you with its sweet MURMURING +and which brings you freshness in your den! I would chat discreetly +with you between two pages of your novel, and I would make that +fantastic grating of the chain [Footnote: The chain of the tug-boat +going up or coming down the Seine.] which you detest, but whose +oddity does not displease me, keep still. I love everything that +makes up a milieu, the rolling of the carriages and the noise of the +workmen in Paris, the cries of a thousand birds in the country, the +movement of the ships on the waters; I love also absolute, profound +silence, and in short, I love everything that is around me, no +matter where I am; it is AUDITORY IDIOCY, a new variety. It is true +that I choose my milieu and don't go to the Senate nor to other +disagreeable places. + +Everything is going on well at our house, my troubadour. The +children are beautiful, we adore them; it is warm, I adore that. It +is always the same old story that I have to tell you and I love you +as the best of friends and comrades. You see that is not new. I have +a good and strong impression of what you read to me; it seemed to me +so beautiful that it must be good. As for me, I am not sticking to +anything. Idling is my dominant passion. That will pass, what does +not pass, is my friendship for you. + +G. Sand + +Our affectionate regards. + + + +LXXXV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Sunday, 5 July, 1868 + +I have sawed wood hard for six weeks. The patriots won't forgive me +for this book, nor the reactionaries either! What do I care! I write +things as I feel them, that is to say, as I think they are. Is it +foolish of me? But it seems to me that our unhappiness comes +exclusively from people of our class. I find an enormous amount of +Christianity in Socialism. There are two notes which are now on my +table. + +"This system (his) is not a system of disorder, for it has its +source in the Gospels, and from this divine source, hatred, warfare, +the clashing of every interest, CAN NOT PROCEED! for the doctrine +formulated from the Gospel, is a doctrine of peace, union and love." +(L. Blanc). + +"I shall even dare to advance the statement that together with the +respect for the Sabbath, the last spark of poetic fire has been +extinguished in the soul of our rhymesters. It has been said that +without religion, there is no poetry!" (Proudhon). + +A propos of that, I beg of you, dear master, to read at the end of +his book on the observance of the Sabbath, a love-story entitled, I +think, Marie et Maxime. One must know that to have an idea of the +style of les Penseurs. It should be placed on a level with Le Voyage +en Bretagne by the great Veuillot, in Ca et La. That does not +prevent us from having friends who are great admirers of these two +gentlemen. + +When I am old, I shall write criticism; that will console me, for I +often choke with suppressed opinions. No one understands better than +I do, the indignation of the great Boileau against bad taste: "The +senseless things which I hear at the Academy hasten my end." There +was a man! + +Every time now that I hear the chain of the steam-boats, I think of +you, and the noise irritates me less, when I say to myself that it +pleases you. What moonlight there is tonight on the river! + + + +LXXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 31 July, 1868 + +I am writing to you at Croisset in any case, because I doubt if you +are in Paris during this Toledo-like heat; unless the shade of +Fontainebleau has kept you. What a lovely forest, isn't it? but it +is especially so in winter, without leaves, with its fresh moss, +which has chic. Did you see the sand of Arbonne? There is a little +Sahara there which ought to be lovely now. + +We are very happy here. Every day a bath in a stream that is always +cold and shady; in the daytime four hours of work, in the evening, +recreation, and the life of Punch and Judy. A TRAVELLING THEATRICAL +COMPANY came to us; it was part of a company from the Odeon, among +whom were several old friends to whom we gave supper at La Chatre, +two successive nights with all their friends, after the play;-- +songs, laughter, with champagne frappe, till three o'clock in the +morning to the great scandal of the bourgeois, who would have +committed any crime to have been there. There was a very comic +Norman, a real Norman, who sang real peasant songs to us, in the +real language. Do you know that they have quite a Gallic wit and +mischief? They contain a mine of master-pieces of genre. That made +me love Normandy still more. You may know that comedian. His name is +Freville. It is he who is charged in the repertory with the parts of +the dull valets, and with being kicked from behind. He is +detestable, impossible, but out of the theatre, he is as charming as +can be. Such is fate! + +We have had some delightful guests at our house, and we have had a +joyous time without prejudice to the Lettres d'un Voyageur in the +Revue, or to botanical excursions in some very surprising wild +places. The little girls are the loveliest thing about it all. +Gabrielle is a big lamb, sleeping and laughing all day; Aurore, more +spiritual, with eyes of velvet and fire, talking at thirty months as +others do at five years, and adorable in everything. They are +keeping her back so that she shall not get ahead too fast. + +You worry me when you tell me that your book will blame the patriots +for everything that goes wrong. Is that really so? and then the +victims! it is quite enough to be undone by one's own fault without +having one's own foolishness thrown in one's teeth. Have pity! There +are so many fine spirits among them just the same! Christianity has +been a fad and I confess that in every age it is a lure when one +sees only the tender side of it; it wins the heart. One has to +consider the evil it does in order to get rid of it. But I am not +surprised that a generous heart like Louis Blanc dreamed of seeing +it purified and restored to his ideal. I also had that illusion; but +as soon as one takes a step in this past, one sees that it can not +be revived, and I am sure that now Louis Blanc smiles at his dream. +One should think of that also. + +One must remind oneself that all those who had intelligence have +progressed tremendously during the last twenty years and that it +would not be generous to reproach them with what they probably +reproach themselves. + +As for Proudhon, I never thought him sincere. He is a rhetorician of +GENIUS, as they say. But I don't understand him. He is a specimen of +perpetual antithesis, without solution. He affects one like one of +the old Sophists whom Socrates made fun of. + +I am trusting you for GENEROUS sentiments. One can say a word more +or less without wounding, one can use the lash without hurting, if +the hand is gentle in its strength. You are so kind that you cannot +be cruel. + +Shall I go to Croisset this autumn? I begin to fear not, and to fear +that Cadio is not being rehearsed. But I shall try to escape from +Paris even if only for one day. + +My children send you their regards. Ah! Heavens! there was a fine +quarrel about Salammbo; some one whom you do not know, went so far +as not to like it, Maurice called him BOURGEOIS, and to settle the +affair, little Lina, who is high tempered, declared that her husband +was wrong to use such a word, for he ought to have said IMBECILE. +There you are. I am well as a Turk. I love you and I embrace you. + +Your old Troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +LXXXVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Dieppe, Monday + +But indeed, dear master, I was in Paris during that tropical heat +(trop picole, as the governor of the chateau of Versailles says), +and I perspired greatly. I went twice to Fontainebleau, and the +second time by your advice, saw the sands of Arboronne. It is so +beautiful that it made me almost dizzy. + +I went also to Saint-Gratien. Now I am at Dieppe, and Wednesday I +shall be in Croisset, not to stir from there for a long time, the +novel must progress. + +Yesterday I saw Dumas: we talked of you, of course, and as I shall +see him tomorrow we shall talk again of you. + +I expressed myself badly if I said that my book "will blame the +patriots for everything that goes wrong." I do not recognize that I +have the right to blame anyone. I do not even think that the +novelist ought to express his own opinion on the things of this +world. He can communicate it, but I do not like him to say it. (That +is a part of my art of poetry.) I limit myself, then, to declaring +things as they appear to me, to expressing what seems to me to be +true. And the devil take the consequences; rich or poor, victors or +vanquished, I admit none of all that. I want neither love, nor hate, +nor pity, nor anger. As for sympathy, that is different; one never +has enough of that. The reactionaries, besides, must be less spared +than the others, for they seem to be more criminal. + +Is it not time to make justice a part of art? The impartiality of +painting would then reach the majesty of the law,--and the precision +of science! + +Well, as I have absolute confidence in your great mind, when my +third part is finished, I shall read it to you, and if there is in +my work, something that seems MEAN to you, I will remove it. + +But I am convinced beforehand that you will object to nothing. + +As for allusions to individuals, there is not a shadow of them. + +Prince Napoleon, whom I saw at his sister's Thursday, asked for news +of you and praised Maurice. Princess Matilde told me that she +thought you "charming," which made me like her better than ever. + +How will the rehearsals of Cadio prevent you from coming to see your +poor old friend this autumn? It is not impossible. I know Freville. +He is an excellent and very cultivated man. + + + +LXXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Wednesday evening, 9 September, 1868 + +Is this the way to behave, dear master? Here it is nearly two months +since you have written to your old troubadour! you in Paris, in +Nohant, or elsewhere? They say that Cadio is now being rehearsed at +the Porte Saint-Martin (so you have fallen out with Chilly?) They +say that Thuillier will make her re-appearance in your play. (But I +thought she was dying). And when are they to play this Cadio? Are +you content? etc., etc. + +I live absolutely like an oyster. My novel is the rock to which I +attach myself, and I don't know anything that goes on in the world. + +I do not even read, or rather I have not read La Lanterne! Rochefort +bores me, between ourselves. It takes courage to venture to say even +hesitatingly, that possibly he is not the first writer of the +century. O Velches! Velches! as M. de Voltaire would sigh (or roar)! +But a propos of the said Rochefort, have they been somewhat +imbecilic? What poor people! + +And Sainte-Beuve? Do you see him? As for me, I am working +furiously. I have just written a description of the forest of +Fontainebleau that made me want to hang myself from one of its +trees. As I was interrupted for three weeks, I am having terrible +trouble in getting back to work. I am like the camels, which can't +be stopped when they are in motion, nor started when they are +resting. It will take me a year to finish the book. After that I +shall abandon the bourgeois definitely. He is too difficult and on +the whole too ugly. It will be high time to do something beautiful +and that I like. + +What would please me well for the moment, would be to embrace you. +When will that be? Till then, a thousand affectionate thoughts. + + + +LXXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Paris, 10 September, 1868 + +Just at present, dear friend, there is a truce to my correspondence. +On all sides I am reproached, WRONGLY, for not answering letters. I +wrote you from Nohant about two weeks ago that I was going to Paris, +on business about Cadio:--and now, I am returning to Nohant tomorrow +at dawn to see my Aurore. I have written during the last week, four +acts of the play, and my task is finished until the end of the +rehearsals which will be looked after by my friend and collaborator, +Paul Meurice. All his care does not prevent the working out of the +first part from being a horrible bungle. One needs to see the +putting-on of a play in order to understand that, and if one is not +armed with humor and inner zest for the study of human nature in the +actual individuals whom the fiction is to mask, there is much to +rage about. But I don't rage any more, I laugh; I know too much of +all that to get excited about it, and I shall tell you some fine +stories about it when we meet. + +However, as I am an optimist just the same, I look at the good side +of things and people; but the truth is that everything is bad and +everything is good in this world. + +Poor Thuillier has not sparkling health; but she hopes to carry the +burden of the work once more. She needs to earn her living, she is +cruelly poor. I told you in my lost letter that Sylvanie [Footnote: +Madame Arnould-Plessy.] had been several days at Nohant. She is more +beautiful than ever and quite well again after a terrible illness. + +Would you believe that I have not seen Sainte-Beuve? That I have had +only the time here to sleep a little, and to eat in a hurry? It is +just that. I have not heard anyone whatsoever talked about outside +of the theatre and of the players. I have had mad desires to abandon +everything and to go to surprise you for a couple of hours; but I +have not been a day without being kept at FORCED LABOR. + +I shall return here the end of the month, and when they play Cadio, +I shall beg you to spend twenty-four hours here for me. Will you do +it? Yes, you are too good a troubadour to refuse me. I embrace you +with all my heart, and your mother too. I am happy that she is well. + +G. Sand + + + +XC. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 18 September, 1868 + +It will be, I think, the 8th or 10th of October. The management +announces it for the 26th of September. But that seems impossible to +everyone. Nothing is ready; I shall be advised, I shall advise you. +I have come to spend the days of respite that my very conscientious +and very devoted collaborator allows me. I am taking up again a +novel on the THEATRE, the first part of which I had left on my desk, +and I plunge every day in a little icy torrent which tumbles me +about and makes me sleep like a top. How comfortable one is here +with these two little children who laugh and chatter from morning +till night like birds, and how foolish it is to go to compose and to +put on MADE UP THINGS when the reality is so easy and so fine! But +one gets accustomed to regarding all that as a military order, and +goes to the front without asking oneself if it means wounds or +death. Do you think that that bothers me? No, I assure you; but it +does not amuse me either. I go straight ahead, stupid as a cabbage +and patient as a Berrichon. Nothing is interesting in my life except +OTHER PEOPLE. Seeing you soon in Paris will be more of a pleasure +than my business will be an annoyance to me. Your novel interests me +more than all mine. Impersonality, a sort of idiocy which is +peculiar to me, is making a noticeable progress. If I were not well, +I should think that it was a malady. If my old heart did not become +each day more loving, I should think it was egotism; in short, I +don't know what it is, and there you are. I have had trouble +recently. I told you of it in the letter which you did not receive. +A person whom you know, whom I love greatly, Celimene, [Footnote: +Madame Arnould-Plessy.] has become a religious enthusiast, oh! +indeed, an ecstatic, mystic, molinistic religious enthusiast, I +don't know what, imbecile! I have exceeded my limits. I have raged, +I have said the hardest things to her, I have laughed at her. +Nothing made any difference, it was all the same to her. Father +Hyacinthe replaces for her every friendship, every good opinion; can +you understand that? Her very noble mind, a real intelligence, a +worthy character! and there you are! Thuillier is also religious, +but without being changed; she does not like priests, she does not +believe in the devil, she is a heretic without knowing it. Maurice +and Lina are furious against THE OTHER. They don't like her at all. +As for me, it gives me much sorrow not to love her any more. + +We love you, we embrace you. + +I thank you for coming to see Cadio. + +G. Sand + + + +XCI. TO GEORGE SAND + +Does that astonish you, dear master? Oh well! it doesn't me! I told +you so but you would not believe me. + +I am sorry for you. For it is sad to see the friends one loves +change. This replacement of one soul by another, in a body that +remains the same as it was, is a distressing sight. One feels +oneself betrayed! I have experienced it, and more than once. + +But then, what idea have you of women, O, you who are of the third +sex? Are they not, as Proudhon said, "the desolation of the Just"? +Since when could they do without delusions? After love, devotion; it +is in the natural order of things. Dorine has no more men, she takes +the good God. That is all. + +The people who have no need of the supernatural, are rare. +Philosophy will always be the lot of the aristocrats. However much +you fatten human cattle, giving them straw as high as their bellies, +and even gilding their stable, they will remain brutes, no matter +what one says. All the advance that one can hope for, is to make the +brute a little less wicked. But as for elevating the ideas of the +mass, giving it a larger and therefore a less human conception of +God, I have my doubts. + +I am reading now an honest book (written by one of my friends, a +magistrate), on the Revolution in the Department of Eure. It is full +of extracts from writings of the bourgeois of the time, simple +citizens of the small towns. Indeed I assure you that there is now +very little of that strength! They were literary and fine, full of +good sense, of ideas, and of generosity. + +Neo-catholicism on the one hand, and Socialism on the other, have +stultified France. Everything moves between the Immaculate +Conception and the dinner pails of the working people. + +I told you that I did not flatter the democrats in my book. But I +assure you that the conservatives are not spared. I am now writing +three pages on the abominations of the national guard in June, 1848, +which will cause me to be looked at favorably by the bourgeois. I +am rubbing their noses in their own dirt as much as I can. But you +don't give me any details about Cadio. Who are the actors, etc.? I +mistrust your novel about the theatre. You like those people too +much! Have you known any well who love their art? What a quantity of +artists there are who are only bourgeois gone astray! + +We shall see each other in three weeks at the latest. I shall be +very glad of it and I embrace you. + +And the censorship? I really hope for you that it will make some +blunders. Besides, I should be distressed if it was wanting in its +usual habits. + +Have you read this in the paper? "Victor Hugo and Rochefort, the +greatest writers of the age." If Badinguet now is not avenged, it is +because he is hard to please in the matter of punishments. + + + +XCII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +The halcyons skim over the water and are common every where. The +name is pretty and sufficiently well known. + +I embrace you. + +Your troubadour. + +Paris, Friday evening, 28 August or 4 September, 1868. In October, +yes, I will try! + + + +XCIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday evening + +I received your two notes, dear master. You send me "halcyon" to +replace the word, "dragonfly." Georges Pouchet suggested gerre of +the lakes (genus, Gerris). Well! neither the one nor the other suits +me, because they do not immediately make a picture for the ignorant +reader. + +Must I then describe that little creature? But that would retard the +movement! That would fill up all the landscape I shall put "insects +with large feet" or "long insects." That would be clear and short. + +Few books have gripped me more than Cadio, and I share entirely +Maxime's [Footnote: Maxime Du Camp.] admiration. + +I should have told you of it sooner if my mother and my niece had +not taken my copy. At last, this evening, they gave it back to me; +it is here on my table, and I am turning the pages as I write you. + +In the first place, it seems to me as if IT OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN THE +WAY IT IS! It is plain, it gets you and thrills you. How many people +must be like Saint-Gueltas, like Count de Sauvieres, like Rebec! +and even like Henri, although the models are rarer. As for the +character of Cadio, which is more of an invention than the others, +what I like best in him is his ferocious anger. In it is the +special truth of the character. Humanity turned to fury, the +guillotine become mystic, life only a sort of bloody dream, that is +what must take place in such heads. I think you have one +Shakespearean scene: that of the delegate to the Convention with his +two secretaries, is of an incredible strength. It makes one cry out! +There is one also which struck me very much at the first reading: +the scene where Saint-Gueltas and Henri each have the pistols in +their pockets: and many others. What a fine page (I open by chance) +is page 161! + +In the play won't you have to give a longer role to the wife of the +good Saint-Gueltas? The play ought not to be very hard to cut. It is +only a question of condensing and shortening it. If it is played, +I'll guarantee a terrific success. But the censorship? + +Well, you have written a masterpiece, that's true! and a very +amusing one. My mother thinks it recalls to her stories that she +heard while a child. A propos of Vendee, did you know that her +paternal grandfather was, after M. Lescure, the head of the Vendee +army? The aforesaid head was named M. Fleuriot d'Argentan. I am not +any the prouder for that; besides the thing is doubtful, for my +grandfather, a violent republican, hid his political antecedents. + +My mother is going in a few days to Dieppe, to her grandchild's. I +shall be alone a good part of the summer, and I plan to grub. + +"I labor much and shun the world. +It is not at balls that the future is founded." +(Camilla Doucet.) + +But my everlasting novel bores me sometimes in an incredible +manner! These tiny details are stupid to bother with! Why annoy +oneself about such a miserable subject? + +I would write you at length about Cadio; but it is late and my eyes +are smarting. + +So, thank you, very kindly, my dear master. + + + +XCIV. To M. GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Paris, end of September, 1868 + +Dear friend, + +It is for Saturday next, 3rd October. I am at the theatre every +evening from six o'clock till two in the morning. They talk of +putting mattresses behind the scenes for the actors who are not in +front. As for me, as used to wakefulness as you are, I experience no +fatigue; but I should be very much bored if I had not the resource +that one has always, of thinking of other things. I am sufficiently +accustomed to it to be writing another play while they are +rehearsing, and there is something quite exciting in these great +dark rooms where mysterious characters move, talking in low tones, +in unexpected costumes; nothing is more like a dream, unless one +imagines a conspiracy of patients escaped from Bicetre. + +I don't at all know what the performance will be. If one did not +know the prodigies of harmony and of vim which occur at the last +moment, one would judge it all impossible, with thirty-five or forty +speaking actors of whom only five or six speak well. One spends +hours over the exits and entrances of the characters in blue or +white blouses who are to be the soldiers or the peasants, but who, +meanwhile perform incomprehensible manoeuvres. Still the dream. One +has to be a madman to put on these things. And the frenzy of the +actors, pale and worn out, who drag themselves to their place +yawning, and suddenly start like crazy people to declaim their +tirade; continually the assembling of insane people. + +The censorship has left us alone as regards the manuscript; tomorrow +these gentlemen will inspect the costumes, which perhaps will +frighten them. + +I left my dear world very quiet at Nohant. If Cadio succeeds, it +will be a little DOT for Aurore; that is all my ambition. If it does +not succeed, I shall have to begin over again, that is all. + +I shall see you. Then, in any case, that will be a happy day. Come +to see me the night before, if you arrive the night before, or even +the same day. Come to dine with me the night before or the same day; +I am at home from one o'clock to five. Thank you; I embrace you and +I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +XCV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 5 October, 1868 + +Dear good friend, I recommend again to your good offices, my friend +Despruneaux, so that you will again do what you can to be of use to +him in a very just suit which has already been judged in his favor. + +Yours, + +G. Sand + + + +XCVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 15 October, 1868 + +Here I am "ter hum" where, after having hugged my children and my +grandchildren, I slept thirty-six hours at one stretch. You must +believe that I was tired and did not notice it. I am waking from +that animal-hibernation and you are the first person to whom I want +to write. I did not thank you enough for coming to Paris for my +sake, you who go about so little: and I did not see you enough +either; when I knew that you had supped with Plauchut, [Footnote: +Edmond Plauchut, a writer and a friend of George Sand.] I was angry +at having stayed to take care of my sickly Thuillier, to whom I was +of no use, and who was not particularly pleased about it. Artists +are spoiled children and the best are great egoists. You say that I +like them too well; I like them as I like the woods and the fields, +everything, every one that I know a little and that I study +continually. I make my life in the midst of all that, and as I like +my life I like all that nourishes it and renews it. They do me a lot +of ill turns which I see, but which I no longer feel. I know that +there are thorns in the hedges, but that does not prevent me from +putting out my hands and finding flowers there. If all are not +beautiful, all are interesting. The day you took me to the Abbey of +Saint-Georges I found the scrofularia borealis, a very rare plant in +France. I was enchanted; there was much...in the neighborhood where +I gathered it. Such is life! + +And if one does not take life like that, one cannot take it in any +way, and then how can one endure it? I find it amusing and +interesting, and since I accept EVERYTHING, I am so much happier and +more enthusiastic when I meet the beautiful and the good. If I did +not have a great knowledge of the species, I should not have quickly +understood you, or known you or loved you. I can have an enormous +indulgence, perhaps banal, for I have had to practice it so much; +but appreciation is quite another thing, and I do not think that it +is entirely worn out in your old troubadour's mind. + +I found my children still very good and very tender, my two little +grandchildren still pretty and sweet. This morning I dreamed, and I +woke up saying this strange sentence: "There is always a youthful +great first part in the drama of life. First part in mine: Aurore." +The fact is that it is impossible not to idolize that little one. +She is so perfect in intelligence and goodness, that she seems to me +like a dream. + +You also, without knowing it, YOU ARE A DREAM ... like that. +Plauchut saw you once, and he adored you. That proves that he is not +stupid. When he left me in Paris, he told me to remember him to you. + +I left Cadio in doubt between good and average receipts. The cabal +against the new management relaxed after the second day. The press +was half favorable, half hostile. The good weather is against it. +The hateful performance of Roger is also against it. So that we +don't know yet if we shall make money or not. As for me, when money +comes, I say, "So much the better," without excitement, and if it +does not come, I say, "So much the worse," without any chagrin. +Money not being the aim, ought not to be the preoccupation. It is, +moreover, not the real proof of success, since so many vapid or poor +things make money. + +Here I am with another play already underway, so as to keep my hand +in. I have a novel also on the stocks, on the STROLLING PLAYERS. I +have studied them a good deal this time without learning anything +new. I already had the plot. It is not complicated and is very +logical. + +I embrace you tenderly as well as your little mother. Give me some +sign of life. Does the novel get on? + +G. Sand + + + +XCVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday evening + +I am remorseful for not having answered at length your last letter, +my dear master. You told me of the "ill turns" that people did you. +Did you think that I did not know it? I confess to you even +(between ourselves), that I was hurt on account of them more because +of my good taste, than because of my affection for you. I did not +think that several of your friends were warm enough towards you. "My +God! my God! how mean literary men are!" A bit out of the +correspondence of the first Napoleon. What a nice bit, eh? Doesn't +it seem to you that they belittle him too much? + +The infinite stupidity of the masses makes me indulgent to +individualities, however odious they may be. I have just gulped down +the first six volumes of Buchez and Roux. The clearest thing I got +out of them is an immense disgust for the French. My Heavens! Have +we always been bunglers in this fair land of ours? Not a liberal +idea which has not been unpopular, not a just thing that has not +caused scandal, not a great man who has not been mobbed or knifed! +"The history of the human mind is the history of human folly!" as +says M. de Voltaire. + +And I am convinced more and more of this truth: the doctrine of +grace has so thoroughly permeated us that the sense of justice has +disappeared. What terrified me so in the history of '48 has quite +naturally its origins in the Revolution, which had not liberated +itself from the middle ages, no matter what they say. I have re- +discovered in Marat entire fragments of Proudhon (sic) and I wager +that they would be found again in the preachers of the League. + +What is the measure that the most advanced proposed after Varennes? +Dictatorship and military dictatorship. They close the churches, but +they raise temples, etc. + +I assure you that I am becoming stupid with the Revolution. It is a +gulf which draws me in. + +However, I work at my novel like a lot of oxen. I hope on New Year's +Day not to have over a hundred pages more to write, that is to say, +still six good months of work. I shall go to Paris as late as +possible. My winter is to pass in complete solitude, good way of +making life run along rapidly. + + + +XCVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 20 November, 1868 + +You say to me, "When shall we see each other?" About the 15th of +December, we are baptizing here our two little girls as Protestants. +It is Maurice's idea; he was married before the pastor, and does not +want the persecution and influence of the Catholic church about his +children. Our friend Napoleon is the godfather of Aurore, and I am +the godmother. My nephew is the godfather of the other. All that +takes place just among ourselves, in the family. You must come, +Maurice wants you to, and if you say no, you will disappoint him +greatly. You shall bring your novel, and in a free moment, you shall +read it to me; it will do you good to read it to one who listens +well. One gets a perspective and judges one's work better. I know +that. Say yes to your old troubadour, he will be EXCEEDINGLY +GRATEFUL to you for it. + +I embrace you six times if you say yes. + +G. Sand + + + +XCIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday + +Dear master, + +You cannot imagine the sorrow you give me! In spite of the longing +I have, I answer "no." Yet I am distracted with my desire to say +"yes." It makes me seem like a gentleman who cannot be disturbed, +which is very silly. But I know myself: if I go to your house at +Nohant, I shall have a month of dreaming about my trip. Real +pictures will replace in my brain the fictitious pictures which I +compose with great difficulty. All my house of cards will topple +over. + +Three weeks ago because I was foolish enough to accept an invitation +to dinner at a country place nearby, I lost four days (sic). What +would it be on leaving Nohant? You do not understand that, you +strong Being! I think that you will be a little vexed with your old +troubadour for not coming to the baptism of the two darlings of his +friend Maurice? The dear master must write to me if I am wrong, and +to give me the news! + +Here is mine! I work immoderately and am absolutely ENCHANTED by the +prospect of the end which begins to be visible. + +So that it may arrive more quickly, I have made the resolution to +live here all winter, probably until the end of March. Even +admitting that everything goes perfectly, I shall not have finished +all before the end of May. I don't know anything that goes on and I +read nothing, except a little of the French Revolution, after my +meals, to aid digestion. I have lost my former good habit of reading +every day in Latin. Therefore I don't know a word of it any more! I +shall polish it up again when I am freed from my odious bourgeois, +and I am nowhere near it. + +My only excitement consists in going to dine on Sundays at Rouen +with my mother. I leave at six o'clock, and I am home at ten. Such +is my life. + +Did I tell you that I had a visit from Tourgueneff? How you would +love him! + +Sainte-Beuve gets along. Anyway, I shall see him next week when I am +in Paris for two days, to get necessary information What is the +information about? The national guard!!! + +Listen to this: le Figaro not knowing with what to fill its columns, +has had the idea of saying that my novel tells the life of +Chancellor Pasquier. Thereupon, fear of the aforesaid family, which +wrote to another part of the same family living in Rouen, which +latter has been to find a lawyer from whom my brother received a +visit, so that ... in short, I was very stupid not to "get some +benefit from the opportunity." Isn't it a fine piece of idiocy, eh? + + + +C. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, AT CEOISSET +Nohant, 21 December, 1868 + +Certainly, I am cross with you and angry with you, not from +unreasonableness nor from selfishness, but on the contrary, because +we were joyous and HILARIOUS and you would not distract yourself and +amuse yourself with us. If it was to amuse yourself elsewhere, you +would be pardoned in advance; but it was to shut yourself up, to get +all heated up, and besides for a work which you curse, and which-- +wishing to do and being obliged to do anyhow,--you ought to be able +to do at your ease and without becoming too absorbed in it. + +You tell me that you are like that. There is nothing more to say; +but one may well be distressed at having an adored friend, a captive +in chains far away, whom one may not free. It is perhaps a little +coquettish on your part, so as to make yourself pitied and loved the +more. I, who have not buried myself alive in literature, have +laughed and lived a great deal during these holidays, but always +thinking of you and talking of you with our friend of the Palais +Royal, [Footnote: Jerome Napoleon.] who would have been happy to +see you and who loves you and appreciates you a great deal. +Tourgueneff has been more fortunate than we, since he was able to +snatch you from your ink-well. I know him personally very little, +but I know his work by heart. What talent! and how original and +polished! I think that the foreigners do better than we do. They do +not pose, while we either put on airs or grovel: the Frenchman has +no longer a social milieu, he has no longer an intellectual milieu. + +I except you, you who live a life of exception, and I except myself, +because of the foundation of careless unconventionally which was +bestowed upon me; but I, I do not know how to be "careful" and to +polish, and I love life too much, and I am amused too much by the +mustard and all that is not the real "dinner," to ever be a +litterateur. I have had flashes of it, but they have not lasted. +Existence where one ignores completely one's "moi" is so good, and +life where one does not play a role is such a pretty performance to +watch and to listen to! When I have to give of myself, I live with +courage and resolution, but I am no longer amused. + +You, oh! fanatical troubadour, I suspect you of amusing yourself at +your profession more than at anything in the world. In spite of what +you say about it, art could well be your sole passion, and your +shutting yourself up, at which I mourn like the silly that I am, +your state of pleasure. If it is like that then, so much the better, +but acknowledge it to console me. + +I am going to leave you in order to dress the marionettes, for the +plays and the laughter have been resumed with the bad weather, and +that will keep us busy for a part of the winter, I fancy. Behold! +here I am, the imbecile that you love, and that you call MASTER. A +fine master who likes to amuse himself better than to work! + +Scorn me profoundly, but love me still. Lina tells me to tell you +that you are not much, and Maurice is furious too; but we love you +in spite of ourselves and embrace you just the same. Our friend +Plauchut wants to be remembered to you; he adores you too. + +Yours, you huge ingrate, + +G. Sand + +I had read the hoax of le Figaro and had laughed at it. It turns out +to have assumed grotesque proportions. As for me, they gave me a +grandson instead of two granddaughters, and a Catholic baptism +instead of a Protestant. That does not make any difference. One +really has to lie a little to divert oneself. + + + +CI. TO GEORGE SAND +Saint Sylvester's night, one o'clock, 1869 + +Why should I not begin the year of 1869 in wishing to you and to +yours "Happy New Year and many of them"? It is rococo, but it +pleases me. Now, let us talk. + +No, I don't get into a heat, for I have never been better. They +thought me, in Paris, "fresh as a young girl," and those people who +don't know my life attributed that appearance of health to the air +of the country. That is what conventional ideas are. Every one has +his system. For my part, when I am not hungry, the only thing I can +eat is dry bread. And the most indigestible food, such as apples in +sour cider, and bacon, are what cure me of the stomach-ache. And so +on. A man who has no common sense ought not to try to live according +to common-sense rules. + +As for my frenzy for work, I will compare it to an attack of herpes. +I scratch myself while I cry. It is both a pleasure and a torture at +the same time. And I am doing nothing that I want to! For one does +not choose one's subjects, they force themselves on one. Shall I +ever find mine? Will an idea fall from Heaven suitable to my +temperament? Can I write a book to which I shall give myself heart +and soul? It seems to me in my moments of vanity, that I am +beginning to catch a glimpse of what a novel ought to be. But I +still have three or four of them to write before that one (which is, +moreover, very vague), and at the rate I am going, if I write these +three or four, that will be the most I can do. I am like M. +Prudhomme, who thinks that the most beautiful church would be one +which had at the same time the spire of Strasbourg, the colonnade of +Saint Peter's, the portico of the Parthenon, etc. I have +contradictory ideals. Thence embarrassment, hesitation, impotence. + +As to whether the "claustration" to which I condemn myself may be a +"state of joy," no. But what can I do? To get drunk with ink is more +worth while than to get drunk with brandy. The muse, cross-grained +as she is, gives less trouble than a woman. I cannot harmonize the +one with the other. I must choose. My choice was made a long time +ago. There remains the matter of the senses. They have always been +my servants. Even at the time of my earliest youth, I did exactly as +I wanted with them. I have reached my fiftieth year, and it is not +their ardor that troubles me. + +This regime is not amusing, I agree to that. There are moments of +empty and horrible boredom. But they become more and more rare in +proportion as one grows older. In short, LIVING seems to me a +business for which I was not made, and yet...! + +I stayed in Paris for three days, which I made use of in hunting up +information, and in doing errands about my book. I was so worn out +last Friday, that I went to bed at seven o'clock in the evening. +Such are my mad orgies at the capital. + +I found the Goncourts in a frenzied (sic) admiration over a book +entitled Histoire de ma vie by George Sand. Which proves more good +taste than learning on their part. They even wanted to write to you +to express all their admiration. (In return I found ***** stupid. He +compares Feydeau to Chateaubriand, admires very much the Lepreux de +la cite d'Aoste, finds Don Quichotte tedious, etc.). + +Do you notice how rare literary sense is? The knowledge of language, +archeology, history, etc., all that should be useful however! Well! +well! not at all! The so-called enlightened people are becoming more +and more incompetent in the matter of art. Even what art means +escapes them. The glosses for them are more important than the text. +They pay more attention to the crutches than to the legs themselves. + + + +CII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +1st January, 1869 + +It is one o'clock, I have just embraced my children. I am tired from +having spent the night in making a complete costume for a large doll +for Aurore; but I don't want to turn in without embracing you also, +my great friend, and my dear, big child. May '69 be easy for you, +and may it see the end of your novel. May you keep well and be +always yourself! I don't know anything better, and I love you. + +G. Sand + +I have not the address of the Goncourts. Will you put the enclosed +answer in the mail? + + + +CIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 17 January, 1869 + +The individual named George Sand is well: he is enjoying the +marvelous winter which reigns in Berry, gathering flowers, noting +interesting botanical anomalies, making dresses and mantles for his +daughter-in-law, costumes for the marionettes, cutting out scenery, +dressing dolls, reading music, but above all spending hours with the +little Aurore who is a marvelous child. There is not a more tranquil +or a happier individual in his domestic life than this old +troubadour retired from business, who sings from time to time his +little song to the moon, without caring much whether he sings well +or ill, provided he sings the motif that runs in his head, and who, +the rest of the time, idles deliciously. It has not always been as +nice as this. He had the folly to be young; but as he did no evil +nor knew evil passions, nor lived for vanity, he is happy enough to +be peaceful and to amuse himself with everything. + +This pale character has the great pleasure of loving you with all +his heart, and of not passing a day without thinking of the other +old troubadour, confined in his solitude of a frenzied artist, +disdainful of all the pleasures of this world, enemy of the +magnifying glass and of its attractions. We are, I think, the two +most different workers that exist; but since we like each other that +way, it is all right. The reason each of us thinks of the other at +the same hour, is because each of us has a need of his opposite; we +complete ourselves, in identifying ourselves at times with what is +not ourselves. + +I told you, I think, that I had written a play on returning from +Paris. They liked it; but I don't want them to play it in the +spring, and the end of the winter is filled up, unless the play they +are rehearsing fails. As I do not know how to WISH my colleagues ill +luck, I am in no hurry and my manuscript is on the shelf. I have the +time. I am writing my little annual novel, when I have one or two +hours a day to get to work on it; I am not sorry to be prevented +from thinking of it. That develops it. Always before going to sleep, +I have an agreeable quarter of an hour to continue it in my head; +there you have it. + +I know nothing, nothing at all of the Sainte-Beuve incident. I get a +dozen newspapers, whose wrappers I respect to such an extent that +without Lina, who tells me the chief news from time to time, I would +not know if Isidore were still among us. + +Sainte-Beuve is very high tempered, and, as regards opinions, so +perfectly skeptical, that I should never be astonished at anything +he did, in one sense or the other. He was not always like that, at +least not so much so. I have known him to be more credulous and more +republican than I was then. He was thin and pale, and gentle; how +people change! His talent, his knowledge, his mind have increased +enormously, but I used to like his character better. Just the same, +there is still much good in him. There is still love and reverence +for letters--and he will be the last of the critics. Criticism +rightly so-called, will disappear. Perhaps there is no longer any +reason for its existence. What do you think about it? + +It appears that you are studying the boor (pignouf). As for me, I +avoid him. I know him too well. I love the Berrichon peasant who is +not, who never is, a boor, even when he is of no great account; the +word pignouf has its depths; it was created exclusively for the +bourgeois, wasn't it? Ninety out of a hundred provincial middle- +class women are boorish (pignouf lardes) to a high degree, even with +pretty faces that ought to give evidence of delicate instincts. One +is surprised to find a basis of gross self-sufficiency in these +false ladies. Where is the woman now? She is becoming a freak in +society. + +Good night, my troubadour: I love you, and I embrace you warmly; +Maurice also. + +G. Sand + + + +CIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Tuesday, 2 February, 1869 + +My dear master, + +You see in your troubadour a worn-out man. I have spent a week in +Paris, looking up wearisome information (from seven to nine hours in +fiacres every day, which is a fine way to make money out of +literature). Oh, well! + +I have just reread my outline. All that I have still to write +horrifies me, or rather disgusts me, so that I want to vomit. It is +always so, when I get to work. It is then that I am bored, bored, +bored! But this time exceeds all others. That is why I dread so much +interruptions in the daily grind. I could not do otherwise, however. +I dragged about at funerals at Pere-Lachaise, in the valley of +Montmorency, through shops of religious objects, etc. + +In short, I have enough material for four or five months now. What a +big "Hooray" I shall utter, when it is finished, and when I am not +in the midst of remaking the bourgeois! It is high time that I +enjoyed life. + +I saw Sainte-Beuve and the Princess Mathilde, and I know thoroughly +the story of their break, which seems to me irrevocable. Sainte- +Beuve was outraged against Dalloz and has gone to le Temps. The +princess begged him not to do anything about it. He did not listen +to her. That is all. My opinion on it, if you wish to know it, is +this. The first wrong was done by the princess, who was hasty; but +the second and the worst was by pere Beuve, who did not behave as a +courteous man. If one has a friend, a rather good fellow, and that +friend has given one thirty thousand francs a year income, one owes +him some consideration. It seems to me that in Sainte-Beuve's place +I should have said, "That displeases you, let us talk no more about +it." He lacked manners and poise. What disgusted me a little, +between ourselves, was the way he praised the emperor to me! yes, he +praised Badinguet, to me!--And we were alone! + +The princess had taken the thing too seriously from the beginning. +I wrote to her, saying that Sainte-Beuve was right; he, I am sure, +found me rather cold. It was then, in order to justify himself to +me, that he made these protestations of isidorian love, which +humiliated me a little; for it was as if he took me for a complete +imbecile. + +I think that he is preparing for a funeral like Beranger's, and that +Hugo's popularity makes him jealous. Why write for the papers, when +one can make books, and when one is not perishing of hunger? He's no +sage, Sainte-Beuve. Not like you! + +Your strength charms me and amazes me. I mean the strength of your +entire being, not only that of your brain. + +You speak of criticism in your last letter to me, telling me that it +will soon disappear. I think, on the contrary, that it is, at most, +only at its dawning. They are on a different tack from before, but +nothing more. At the time of La Harpe, they were grammarians; at the +time of Sainte-Beuve and of Taine, they are historians. When will +they be artists, only artists, but really artists? Where do you know +a criticism? Who is there who is anxious about the work in itself, +in an intense way? They analyze very keenly the setting in which it +was written, and the causes that produced it; but the UNCONSCIOUS +poetic expression? Where it comes from? its composition, its style? +the point of view of the author? Never. + +That criticism would require great imagination and great sympathy. +I mean a faculty of enthusiasm that is always ready, and then +TASTE, a rare quality, even among the best, so much so that one +does not talk about it any longer. + +What irritates me every day, is to see a master-piece and a +disgrace put on the same level. They exalt the little, and they +lower the great, nothing is more imbecile nor more immoral. + +At Pere-Lachaise I was seized with a profound and sorrowful disgust +for humanity. You can not imagine the fetichism of the tombs. The +real Parisian is more of an idolater than a negro is! It made me +long to lie down in one of the graves. + +And the PROGRESSIVES think that there is nothing better than to +rehabilitate Robespierre! Note Hamel's book! If the Republic +returned they would bless the liberty poles out of policy and +believing that measure strong. + +When shall I see you? I plan to be in Paris from Easter to the end +of May, This spring I shall go to see you at Nohant, I swear it. + + + +CV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 11 February, 1869 + +While you are running around to get material for your novel, I am +inventing all sorts of pretexts not to write mine. I let myself be +distracted by guilty fancies, something I am reading fascinates me +and I set myself to scribbling on paper that will be left in my +desk and bring me no return. That has amused me, or rather that has +compelled me, for it would be in vain for me to struggle against +these caprices; they interrupt me and force me...you see that I have +not the strength of mind that you think. + +As for our masculine friend, he is ungrateful, while our feminine +friend is too exacting. You were right; they are both wrong and it +is not their fault, it is the social machinery which insists on it. +The kind of recognition, that is to say, submission that she exacts, +depends on a tradition that the present time still profits by (there +lies the evil); but does not accept any longer as a duty. The +notions of the obliged are changed, those of the obliger ought to +change also. It must be said that one does not buy moral liberty by +any kindness,--and as for him, he should have foreseen that he would +be considered enchained. The simplest thing would have been not to +care about having thirty thousand francs a year. It is so easy to do +without it. Let him extricate himself. They won't entangle us in it: +we aren't so foolish! + +You say very good things about criticism. But in order to do as you +say, there must be artists, and the artist is too much occupied with +his own work, to forget himself in estimating that of others. + +Heavens, what fine weather! Don't you enjoy it, at least from your +window? I'll wager that the tulip tree is in bud. Here, the peaches +and the apricots are in flower. It is said that they will be ruined; +that does not stop them from being pretty and not tormenting +themselves about it. + +We have had our family carnival: my niece, my grandchildren, etc. +We all put on fancy dress; it is not difficult here, one only has to +go to the wardrobe and one comes down again as Cassandra, Scapin, +Mezzetin, Figaro, Basile, etc., all that is very pretty. The pearl +was Lolo as a little Louis XIII in crimson satin, trimmed with white +satin fringed and laced with silver. I spent three days in making +this costume, which was very chic; it was so pretty and so funny on +that little girl of three years, that we were all amazed in looking +at her. + +Then we played charades, had supper, and frolicked till daylight. +You see that banished to a desert, we keep up a good deal of +vitality. And that I delay all I can, the trip to Paris and the +chapter of business. If you were there, I would not need to be +urged. But you are going there the end of March if and I can not +afford to wait till then. To conclude, you swear to come this +summer and we count on it absolutely. Sooner than not have you come +I shall go to drag you here by the hair. I embrace you most warmly +on this good hope. + +G. Sand + + + +CVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 24 February, 1869 + +I am all alone at Nohant as you are all alone at Croisset. Maurice +and Lina have gone to Milan, to see Calamatta who is dangerously +ill. Should they have the misfortune to lose him, they will have to +go to Rome to settle his estate, an irksome task added to a sorrow, +it is always like that. That sudden separation was sad, my poor Lina +weeping at leaving her daughters and weeping at not being with her +father. They left me the care of the children whom I rarely leave +and who only let me work when they sleep; but I am happier at having +this care on my shoulders to console me. I have, every day, in two +hours news from Milan by telegram. The patient is better; my +children are only as far as Turin today and do not know yet what I +know. How this telegraph changes one's idea of life, and when the +formalities and formulas are still more simplified, how full +existence will be of facts and how free from uncertainties. + +Aurore, who lives on adorations in the lap of her father and mother +and who weeps every day when I am away, has not asked a single time +where they are. She plays and laughs, then she stops; her great eyes +stare, she says: MY FATHER? another time she says: MAMMA? I distract +her, she thinks no more of it, and then she begins again. They are +very mysterious, children! They think without understanding. Only +one sad word is needed to bring out their sorrow. She carries it +unconsciously. She looks in my eyes to see if I am sad or anxious; I +laugh and she laughs, I think that we must keep her sensitiveness +asleep as long as possible, and that she never would weep for me if +they did not speak of me. + +What is your advice, you who have brought up an intelligent and +charming niece? Is it wise to make them loving and affectionate +early? I thought so formerly: I was afraid when I saw Maurice too +impressionable and Solange too much the opposite, and resisting +affection. I would like little ones to be shown only the sweet and +the good of life, until the time when reason can help them to accept +or to fight the bad. What do you say? + +I embrace you and ask you to tell me when you are going to Paris, my +trip is delayed as my children may be absent a month; I shall be +able, perhaps, to meet you in Paris. + +Your old solitary, + +G. Sand + +What an admirable definition I rediscover with surprise in the +fatalist Pascal! + +"Nature acts progressively, itus et reditus. It goes on and returns, +then it goes still further, then half as far, then further than +ever." [Footnote: George Sand had copied this and fastened it over +her work table at Nohant.] + +What a way of speaking, eh? How the language turns, is twisted, made +supple, is condensed under this grandiose "hand." + + + +CVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday night + +What do I say about it, dear master? Should one excite or repress +the sensitiveness of children? It seems to me that one should not +have any set rule about it. It is according as they have a tendency +to too much or too little. Moreover, the basis isn't changed. There +are tender natures and hard natures, irremediably so. And then the +same sight, the same lesson can produce opposite effects. Could +anything have hardened me more than having been brought up in a +hospital and having played, as a child, in a dissecting +amphitheatre? But no one is more sensitive than I am to physical +suffering. It is true that I am the son of an extremely humane man, +sensitive in the true meaning of the word. The sight of a suffering +dog made tears come to his eyes. He did his surgical operations none +the less well, and he invented some dreadful ones. + +"Show little ones only the sweet and the good of life until the time +when reason can help them to accept or to fight the bad." Such is +not my opinion. For then something terrible, an infinite +disenchantment is bound to be produced in their hearts. And then, +how could reason form itself, if it does not apply itself (or if one +does not apply it daily) to distinguish good from evil? Life ought +to be a continual education; one must learn everything--from talking +to dying. + +You tell me very true things about the unconsciousness of children. +He who could read clearly in these little brains would grasp in them +the roots of the human race, the origin of the gods, the sap which +produces actions later on, etc. A negro who talks to his idol, and a +child who talks to her doll seem to me close together. + +The child and the savage (the primitive) do not distinguish the real +from the fantastic. I remember very clearly that at five or six +years of age I wanted to "send my heart" to a little girl with whom +I was in love (I mean my material heart). I could see it in the +middle of straw, in a basket, an oyster basket. + +But no one has been so far as you in these analyses. There are some +infinitely profound pages about it in the Histoire de ma vie. What I +say is true, since minds quite opposite to yours have been amazed at +them. For instance, the Goncourts. + +The good Tourgueneff ought to be in Paris at the end of March. What +would be fine, would be for us all three to dine together. + +I am thinking again of Sainte-Beuve. Without doubt one can get along +without thirty thousand francs a year. But there is something easier +yet: that is, when one has them, not to launch into abuse, every +week, in the papers. Why doesn't he write books, since he is rich +and has talent? + +I am just now reading Don Quichotte again. What a tremendous old +book! Is there any more beautiful? + + + +CVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 7 March, 1869 + +Still alone with my grandchildren; my nephews and friends come to +spend two out of every three days with me, but I miss Maurice and +Lina. Poor Calamatta is at the last gasp. + +Give me the address of the Goncourts, you have never given it to me. +Shall I never know it? My letter is still waiting there for them. + +I love you and embrace you. I love you much, much, and I embrace you +very warmly. + +G. Sand + + + +CIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 12 March, 1869 + +Poor Calamatta died the 9th, my children are coming back. My Lina +must be distressed. I have news from them only by telegraph. From +Milan here in an hour and a half. But there are no details, and I am +anxious. I embrace you tenderly, + +G. Sand + +Thank you for the address. + + + +CX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 2 April, 1869 + +Dear friend of my heart, here we are once more calm again. My +children returned to me very exhausted. Aurore has been a little +ill. Lina's mother has come to get into touch with her about their +affairs. She is a loyal and excellent woman, very artistic, and very +amiable. I too have had a bad cold, but everything is getting better +now, and our charming little girls console their little mother. If +it were less bad weather, and I had a less bad cold, I would go at +once to Paris, for I want to see you there. How long do you stay +there? Tell me quickly. + +I shall be very glad to renew my acquaintance with Tourgueneff, +whom I knew a little without having read him, and whom I have since +read with a whole-hearted admiration. You seem to me to love him a +great deal; then I love him too, and I wish when your novel is +finished, that you would bring him to our house. Maurice also knows +him and appreciates him greatly, he who likes whatever does not +resemble anything else. + +I am working at my novel about TRAVELING ACTORS [Footnote: Pierre +qui roule.] like a convict. I am trying to have it amusing and to +explain art; it is a new form for me and amuses me. Perhaps it will +not have any success. The taste of the day is for marquises and +courtesans; but what difference does that make?--You must find me a +title, which is a resume of that idea: THE MODERN ROMAN COMIQUE. + +My children send you affectionate greetings; your old troubadour +embraces his old troubadour. + +G. Sand + +Answer quickly how long you expect to stay in Paris. You say that +you are paying bills and that you are vexed. If you have need of +quibus, I have at the moment a few sous I can lend you. You know +that you offered once to lend me some. If I had been in a hole I +would have accepted. Give all my regards to Maxime Du Camp and thank +him for not forgetting me. + + + +CXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 17 April, 1869 + +I am well, I am finishing (today, I hope) my modern Roman comique +which will be called I don't know what. I am a little tired, for I +have done a lot of other things. But I am going to Paris in eight or +ten days to rest, to embrace you, to talk of you, of your work, to +forget mine, God be thanked! and to love you as always very much and +very tenderly. + +G. Sand + +Regards from Maurice and his wife. + + + +CXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Monday, 26 April, 1869 + +I arrived last night, I am running around like a rat, but every day +at 6 o'clock one is sure of finding me at Magny's, and the first +day that you are free, come to dine with your old troubadour who +loves you and embraces you. + +Send word ahead to me, however, so that by an exceptional chance, I +do not have the ill luck to miss you. + +Monday. + + + +CXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Thursday evening, 29 April, 1869 + +I am back from Palaiseau and I find your letter. Saturday I am not +sure of being free; I have to read my play with Chilly on account of +some objections of detail, and I had told you so. But I see him +tomorrow evening, and I shall try to get him to give me another day. +I shall write you then, tomorrow evening, Friday, and if he frees +me, I shall go to your house about three o'clock on Saturday so that +we can read before and after dinner; I dine on a little fish, a +chicken wing, an ice and a cup of coffee, never anything else, by +which means my stomach keeps well. If I am kept by Chilly, we shall +postpone till next week after Friday. + +I sold Palaiseau today to a master shoemaker who has a LEATHER +plaster on his right eye, and who calls the sumachs of the garden, +the schumakre. + +Then Saturday morning you shall have word from your old comrade. + +G. Sand + + + +CXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +30 April, 1869 + +No way of going out today. This slavery to one's profession is +horrid, isn't it? Between now and Friday I shall write to you so +that we can again settle on a day. I embrace you, my old beloved +troubadour. + +G. Sand + + + +CXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +3 May, 1869 + +They are encroaching upon my time more and more. All my days are +full until and including next Sunday.--Tell me quickly if you want +me Monday, a week from today--or if it is another day. Let us fix it +for it is a fact that I don't really know whom to listen to. + +Your troubadour who does not want THIS STATE OF AFFAIRS to continue! + +G. Sand + +Monday. + + + +CXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 4 May, 1869 + +On Monday then, and if I have an hour free I shall try to embrace my +troubadour before that. But don't disturb yourself, I know very +well that one does nothing here that one would like to do. Anyway, +on Monday between three and four, clear out your windpipe so as to +read me a part before dinner. + +G. Sand + +Tues. evening. + + + +CXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Sunday, 9 May, 1869 + +Tomorrow, your reverence, I shall go to dine at your house. I shall +be at home every day at five o'clock, but you might meet some guys +whom you dislike. You would much better come to Magny's where you +would find me alone, or with Plauchut, or with friends who are also +yours. + +I embrace you. I received today the letter which you wrote to me at +Nohant. + +G. Sand + + + +CXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 18 May, 1869 + +I saw Levy today, I tested him at first; I saw that he would not +give up his contract at any price. I then said to him many good +things about the book and made the remark that he had gotten it very +cheap. But he said to me, if the book is in two volumes, it will be +20,000 francs, that is agreed. So I suppose that you will have two +volumes, won't you? + +However, I persisted and he said to me: If the book is a success, I +shall not begrudge two or three thousand francs more. I said that +you would not demand anything, that it was not your way of acting, +but that for MY PART, I should insist for you without your +knowledge, and he left me saying: Be easy, I don't say no. Should +the book succeed I will make the author profit by it. + +That is all that I have been able to do now, but I will take it up +again at the proper time and place. Leave that to me, I will return +your contract. What day next week will you dine with me at Magny's? +I am a little weary. + +You would be very kind to come to read at my house, we should be +alone and one evening will be enough for the rest. Set the day, and +AT SIX THIRTY if that does not bother you. My stomach is beginning +to suffer a little from Paris habits. Your troubadour who loves you, + +G. Sand + +The rest of the week will finish up Palaiseau, but Sunday if you +like, I am free. Answer if you want Sunday at Magny's at half past +six. + + + +CXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +Then Monday, I count on you, at half past six; but as I am going to +Palaiseau, I may be a few minutes late or early. The first one at +Magny's must wait for the other. I am looking forward with pleasure +to hearing THE REST. Don't forget the manuscript. + +Your troubadour Thursday evening, 20 May, 1869. + + + +CXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT Paris, 29 May, 1869 + +Yes, Monday, my dear good friend, I count on you and I embrace you. + +G. Sand + +I am off for Palaiseau AND IT IS TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! + + + +CXXI. TO GEORGE SAND + +My prophecy is fulfilled; My friend X----has gained only ridicule +with his candidacy. That serves him right. When a man of style +debases himself to practical life, he loses caste and should be +punished. And then, is it a question of politics, now! The citizens +who are excited for or against the Empire or the Republic seem to me +as useful as those who discuss efficacious or efficient grace. +Politics are as dead as theology! They have had three hundred years +of existence, that is quite enough. + +Just now I am lost in the Church Fathers. As for my novel +l'Education sentimentale, I am paying no more attention to it, God +be thanked! It is recopied. Other hands have gone over it. So, the +thing is no longer mine. It does not exist any longer, good night. I +have taken up again my old hobby of Saint Antoine. I have reread my +notes, I am making another new plan and I am devouring the +ecclesiastical memoirs of the Nain de Tillemont. I hope to succeed +in finding a logical connection (and therefore a dramatic interest) +between the different hallucinations of the Saint. This extravagant +setting pleases me and I am absorbed in it, there you are! + +My poor Bouilhet bothers me. He is in such a nervous state that they +have advised him to take a little trip to the south of France. He is +overwhelmed by an unconquerable melancholy. Isn't it queer! He who +was so gay, formerly! + +My Heavens! What a beautiful and farcical thing is the life of the +desert Fathers! But without doubt they were all Buddhists. That is a +stylish problem to work at, and its solution would be more important +than the election of an academician. Oh! ye men of little faith! +Long live Saint Polycarp! + +Fangeat, who has reappeared recently, is the citizen who, on the +25th day of February, 1848, demanded the death of Louis-Philippe +"without a trial." That is the way one serves the cause of progress. + + + +CXXII. TO GEORGE SAND + +What a good and charming letter was yours, adored master! There is +no one but you! upon my word of honor! I am ending by believing it. +A wind of stupidity and folly is now blowing over the world. Those +who stand up firm and straight against it are rare. + +This is what I meant when I wrote that the times of politics were +over. In the 18th century the chief business was diplomacy. "The +secrecy of the cabinets" really existed. The peoples still were +sufficiently amenable to be separated and to be combined. That order +of things seems to me to have said its last word in 1815. Since +then, one has hardly done anything except dispute about the external +form that it is fitting to give the fantastic and odious being +called the State. + +Experience proves (it seems to me) that no form contains the best in +itself; orleanism, republic, empire do not mean anything anymore, +since the most contradictory ideas can enter into each one of these +pigeon holes. All the flags have been so soiled with blood and with +filth that it is time not to have any at all. Down with words! No +more symbols nor fetiches! The great moral of this reign will be to +prove that universal suffrage is as senseless as the divine right +although a little less odions! + +The question is then out of place. One is concerned no longer with +dreaming of the best form of government, since all are equal, but +with making science prevail. That is the most important. The rest +will follow inevitably. Purely intellectual men have rendered more +service to the human race than all the Saint Vincent de Pauls in the +world! And politics will be an everlasting folly so long as it is +not subordinate to science. The government of a country ought to be +a section of the Institute, and the last section of all. + +Before concerning yourself with relief funds, and even with +agriculture, send to all the villages in France, Robert Houdins to +work miracles! The greatest crime of Isidore is the wretched +condition in which he leaves our beautiful country. Dixi. I admire +Maurice's occupations and his healthy life. But I am not capable of +imitating him. Nature, far from fortifying me, drains my strength. +When I lie on the grass I feel as if I am already under the earth +and that the roots of green things are beginning to grow in my +belly. Your troubadour is naturally an unhealthy man. I do not like +the country except when travelling, because then the independence of +my individuality causes me to rise above the knowledge of my +nothingness. + + + +CXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 6 August, 1869 + +Well, dear good friend, here it is August, and you have promised to +come. We don't forget it, we count on it, we dream of it, and we +talk of it every day. You were to take a trip to the seashore first +if I am not mistaken. You must need to shake up your gloom. That +does not dispel it, but it does force it to live with us and not be +too oppressive. I have thought a great deal about you lately, I +would have hastened to see you if I had not thought I should find +you surrounded by older and better friends than I am. I wrote you at +the same time that you wrote me, our letters crossed. + +Come to see us, my dear old friend, I shall not go to Paris this +month, I do not want to miss you. My children will be happy to spoil +you and to try to distract you. We all love you, and I love you +PASSIONATELY, as you know. + + + +CXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 14 August, 1869 + +Your change of plans distresses us, dear friend, but we do not dare +to complain in the face of your anxieties and sorrows. We ought to +wish you to do what would distract you the most, and take the least +out of you. I am in hopes of finding you in Paris, as you are +staying there some time and I always have business there. But it is +so hard to see friends in Paris and one is so overwhelmed by so many +tedious duties! Well, it is a real sorrow to me not to have to +expect you any more at our house, where each one of us would have +tried to love you better than the others and where you would have +been at home; sad when you wanted to be, busy if you liked. I resign +myself on condition that you will be better off somewhere else and +that you will make it good to us when you can. + +Have you at least arranged your affairs with Levy? Is he paying you +for two volumes? I would like you to have something on which to live +independently and as master of your time. Here there is repose for +the mind in the midst of the exuberant activities of Maurice, and of +his brave little wife who sets herself to love all he loves and to +help him eagerly in all he undertakes. As for me, I have the +appearance of incarnate idleness in the midst of this hard work. I +botanize and I bathe in a little icy torrent. I teach my servant to +read, I correct proof and I am well. That is my life and nothing +bores me in this world where I think that AS FAR AS I AM CONCERNED +all is for the best. But I am afraid of becoming more of a bore than +I used to be. People don't like such as I am very much. We are too +inoffensive. However, love me still a little, for I feel by the +disappointment of not seeing you, that it would have gone hard with +me if you had meant to break your word. + +And I embrace you tenderly, dear old friend. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Thursday + +I know nothing either of Chilly or la petite Fadette. In a few days +I am going to make a tour of Normandy. I shall go through Paris. If +you want to come around with me,--oh! but no, you don't travel +about; well, we shall see each other in passing. I have certainly +earned a little holiday. I have worked like a beast of burden. I +need too to see some blue, but the blue of the sea will do, and you +would like the blue of the artistic and literary firmament over our +heads. Bah! that doesn't exist. Everything is prose, flat prose in +the environment in which mankind has settled itself. It is only in +isolating oneself a little that one can find in oneself the normal +being again. + +I am resuming my letter interrupted for two days by my wounded hand +which inconveniences me a good deal. I am not going to Normandy at +all, my Lamberts whom I was going to see in Yport came back to Paris +and my business calls me there too. I shall then see you next week +probably, and I shall embrace you as if you were my dear big child. +Why can't I put the rosy, tanned face of Aurore in the place of +mine! She is not what you would call pretty, but she is adorable and +so quick in comprehending that we all are astonished. She is as +amusing in her chatter as a person,--who might be amusing. So I am +going to be forced to start thinking about my business! It is the +one thing of which I have a horror and which really troubles my +serenity. You must console me by joking with me a little when you +have the time. + +I shall see you soon, have courage in the sickening work of proof- +reading. As for me I hurry over it quickly and badly, but you must +not do as I do. + +My children send you their love and your troubadour loves you. + +G. Sand + +Saturday evening + +I have just received news from the Odeon. They are at work putting +on my play and do not speak of anything else. + + + +CXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 6 September, 1869 + +They wrote me yesterday to come because they wanted me at the Opera- +Comique. Here I am rue Gay-Lussac. When shall we meet? Tell me. All +my days, are still free. + +I embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 8 September, 1869 + +I send you back your handkerchief which you left in the carriage. It +is surely tomorrow THURSDAY that we dine together? I have written +to the big Marchal to come to Magny's too. + +Your troubadour + +G. Sand + +Wednesday morning. + + + +CXXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, Tuesday, 5 October, 1869 + +Where are you now, my dear troubadour? I am still writing to you at +the boulevard du Temple, but perhaps you have taken possession of +your delightful lodgings. I don't know the address although I have +seen the house, the situation and the view.--I have been twice in +the Ardennes and in a week or ten days, if Lina or Maurice does not +come to Paris, as they have a slight desire to do, I shall leave +again for Nohant. + +We must then meet and see each other. Here am I a little sfogata +(eased) from my need for travel, and enchanted with what I have +seen. Tell me what day except tomorrow, Wednesday, you can give me +for dinner at Magny's or elsewhere with or without Plauchut, with +whomever you wish provided I see you and embrace you. + +Your old comrade who loves you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXIX. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear good adored master, + +I have wanted for several days to write you a long letter in which I +should tell you all that I have felt for a month. It is funny. I +have passed through different and strange states. But I have neither +the time nor the repose of mind to gather myself together enough. + +Don't be disturbed about your troubadour. He will always have "his +independence and his liberty" because he will always do as he has +always done. He has left everything rather than submit to any +obligation whatsoever, and then, with age, one's needs lessen. I +suffer no longer from not living in the Alhambra. + +What would do me good now, would be to throw myself furiously into +Saint-Antoine, but I have not even the time to read. + +Listen to this: in the very beginning, your play was to come after +Aisse; then it was agreed that it should come BEFORE. Now Chilly and +Duquesnel want it to come after, simply and solely "to profit by the +occasion," to profit by my poor Bouilhet's death. They will give you +a "sort of compensation." Well, I am the owner and the master of +Aisse just as if I were the author, and I do not want that. You +understand, I do not want you to inconvenience yourself in anything. + +You think that I am as sweet as a lamb! Undeceive yourself, and act +as if Aisse had never existed; and above all no sensitiveness? That +would offend me. Between simple friends, one needs manners and +politenesses; but between you and me, that would not seem at all +suitable; we do not owe each other anything at all except to love +each other. + +I think that the directors of the Odeon will regret Bouilhet in +every way. I shall be less easy than he was at rehearsals. I should +very much like to read Aisse to you so as to talk a little about it; +some of the actors whom they propose are, to my way of thinking, +impossible. It is hard to have to do with uneducated people. + + + +CXXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Wednesday evening, 13 October, 1869 + +Our poor friend is not to be buried till the day after tomorrow, +they will let me know where and when we ought to be there, I shall +tell you by telegram. + +I have seen the directors twice. It was agreed this morning with +Duquesnel that they should make an attempt with de la T(our) Saint- +Y(bars). I yielded my turn to Aisse. I was not to come till March. I +went back there this evening, Chilly IS UNWILLING, and Duquesnel, +better informed than this morning, regards the step as useless and +harmful. I then quoted my contract, my right. What a fine thing, the +theatre! M. Saint-Ybars' contract antedates mine. They had thought +le Batard would last two weeks and it will last forty days longer. +Then La Tour Saint-Ybars precedes us [Footnote: This refers to +l'Affranchi.] and I can not give up my turn to Aisse without being +postponed till next year, which I'll do if you want me to; but it +would do me a good deal of harm, for I have gotten into debt with +the Revue and I must refill my purse.--Are directors rascals in all +that? No, but incompetents who are always afraid of not having +enough plays, and accept too many, foreseeing that they will have +failures.--When they are successful, if the authors contracted for +are ANGRY they have to go to court. I have no taste for disputes and +the scandals of the side-scenes and the newspapers; and neither have +you. What would be the result? Inadequate compensation and a deal of +uproar for nothing. One needs patience in any event, I have it, and +I tell you again if you are really upset at this delay, I am ready +to sacrifice myself. + +With this I embrace you and I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXXI. TO GEORGE SAND +14 October, 1869 + +Dear master, + +No! no sacrifices! so much the worse! If I did not look at +Bouilhet's affairs as mine absolutely, I should have at once +accepted your proposition. But: (1) it is my affair, (2) the dead +must not hurt the living. + +But I am angry at these gentlemen, I do not hide it from you, for +not having said anything to us about Latour Saint-Ybars. For the +aforesaid Latour was engaged a long time ago. Why did we not know +anything about him? + +In short, let Chilly write me the letter on which we agreed +Wednesday, and let there be no more discussion about it. + +It seems to me that your play can be given the 15th of December, if +l'Affranchi begins about the 20th of November. Two and a half months +are about fifty performances; if you go beyond that, Aisse will not +be presented till next year. + +Then, it is agreed, since we can not suppress Latour Saint-Ybars; +you shall go after him and Aisse next, if I think it suitable. + +We shall meet Saturday at poor Sainte-Beuve's funeral. How the +little band diminishes! How the few survivors of the Medusa's raft +are disappearing! + +A thousand affectionate greetings. + + + +CXXXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 20 or 21 October, 1869 + +Impossible, dear old beloved. Brebant is too far, I have so little +time. And then I have made an engagement with Marchal and Berton at +Magny's to say farewell. If you can come, I shall be very happy and +on the other hand if it is going to make you ill, don't come, I know +very well that you love me and shall not be angry with you about +anything. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 15 Nov., 1869 + +What has become of you, my dear old beloved troubadour? are you +correcting proof like a galley slave, up to the last minute? For the +last two days they have been announcing your book FOR TOMORROW. I am +looking for it with impatience, for you are not going to forget me, +are you? You will be praised and condemned; you expect that. You are +too truly superior not to arouse envy and you don't care, do you? +Nor I either for you. You have the strength to be stimulated by what +discourages others. There will certainly be a rumpus; your subject +will be quite opportune in this time of REVOLUTIONISTS. The good +progressives, the true democrats will approve of you. The idiots +will be furious, and you will say: "Come weal, come woe!" I am also +correcting proof of Pierre qui roule and I have half finished a new +novel which will not make much of a stir; that is all that I ask for +at the moment. I work alternately on MY novel, the one that I like, +and on the one that the Revue does not dislike as much, but which I +like very little. It is arranged that way; I don't know if I am +making a mistake. Perhaps those which I like are the worst. But I +have stopped worrying about myself, so far as I have ever done so. +Life has always taken me out of myself, and so it will to the end. +My heart is always affected to the detriment of my head. At present +it is my little children who devour all my intellect; Aurore is a +jewel, a nature before which I bow in admiration; will it last like +that? + +You are going to spend the winter in Paris, and I, I don't know when +I shall go. The success of le Batard continues; but I am not +impatient, you have promised to come as soon as you are free, at +Christmas at the very latest, to keep revel with us. I think only of +that, and if you break your word we shall be in despair here. With +this I embrace you with a full heart as I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 30 November, 1869 + +Dear friend of my heart, I wanted to reread your book [Footnote: +l'Education sentimentale.]; my daughter-in-law has read it too, and +some of my young people, all readers in earnest and of the first +rank and not stupid at all. We are all of the same opinion, that it +is a beautiful book, equal in strength to the best ones of Balzac +and truer, that is to say more faithful to the truth from one end to +the other. + +One needs the great art, the exquisite form and the severity of your +work to do without flowers of fancy. However, you throw poetry with +a full hand on your picture, whether your characters understand it +or not. Rosanette at Fontainebleau does not know on what grass she +walks and nevertheless she is poetic. + +All that issues from a master's hand, and your place is well won for +always. Live then as calmly as possible in order to last a long time +and to produce a great deal. + +I have seen two short articles which did not seem to me to rebel +against your success; but I hardly know what is going on, politics +seems to me to absorb everything. + +Keep me posted. If they did not do justice to you I should be angry +and should say what I think. It is my right. + +I don't know exactly when, but during the month, I shall go without +doubt to embrace you and to get you, if I can pry you loose from +Paris. My children still count on it, and all of us send you our +praises and our affectionate greetings. + +Yours, your old troubadour + +G. Sand + + + +CXXXV. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear good master, + +Your old troubadour is vehemently slandered by the papers. Read the +Constitutionnel of last Monday, the Gaulois of this morning, it is +blunt and plain. They call me idiotic and common. Barbey +d'Aurevilly's article (Constitutionnel) is a model of this +character, and the good Sarcey's, although less violent, is in no +way behind it. These gentlemen object in the name of morality and +the Ideal! I have also been annihilated in le Figaro and in Paris, +by Cesana and Duranty. I most profoundly don't care a fig! but that +does not make me any the less astonished by so much hatred and bad +faith. + +La Tribune, le Pays and l'Opinion nationale on the other hand have +highly praised me...As for the friends, the persons who received a +copy adorned by my hand, they have been afraid of compromising +themselves and have talked to me of +other things. The brave are few. The book is selling very well +nevertheless, in spite of politics, and Levy appears satisfied. + +I know that the bourgeois of Rouen are furious with me "because of +pere Roque and the cancan at the Tuileries." They think that one +ought to prevent the publication of books like that (textual), that +I lend a hand to the Reds, that I am capable of inflaming +revolutionary passions, etc., etc. In short, I have received very +few laurels, up to now, and no rose leaf hurts me. + +I told you, didn't I, that I was working over the fairy play? I am +doing now a description of the races and I have cut out all that +seemed to me hackneyed. Raphael Felix didn't seem to me eager to +become acquainted with it. Problem! + +All the papers cite as a proof of my depravity, the episode of the +Turkish woman, which they misrepresent, naturally; and Sarcey +compares me to Marquis de Sade, whom he confesses he has not read! + +All that does not upset me at all. But I wonder what use there is in +printing my book? + + + +CXXXVI. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday, 4 o'clock, 7 December, 1869 + +Dear master, + +Your old troubadour is being jumped on in an unheard of manner. +Those people who have read my novel are afraid to talk to me of it +lest they compromise themselves or out of pity for me. The more +indulgent declare I have made only pictures and that both +composition and plan are quite lacking. + +Saint-Victor, who puffs the books of Arsene Houssaye, won't write +articles on mine, finding it too bad. There you are. Theo is away, +and no one, absolutely no one takes my defense. + +Another story: yesterday Raphael and Michel Levy listened to the +reading of the fairy play. Applause, enthusiasm. I saw the moment +during the reading in which the contract was going to be signed. +Raphael so well understood the play that he gave me two or three +EXCELLENT criticisms. I found him in other ways a charming boy. He +asked me until Saturday to give me a definite answer. Then a little +while ago, a letter (very polite) from the aforesaid Raphael in +which he declares that the fairy play would entail expenses that +would be too much for him. + +Ditched again. I must look elsewhere. Nothing new at the Odeon. + +Sarcey has published a second article against me. + +Barbey d'Aurevilly claims that I dirty a stream by washing myself in +it (sic). All that does not bother me at all. + + + +CXXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Thursday, two o'clock in the morning, December 9, 1869 + +My comrade, it is finished, the article shall go tomorrow. I address +it to whom? Answer by telegram. I have a mind to send it to +Girardin. But perhaps you have a better idea, I really don't know +the importance and the credit of the various papers. Send me a +suitable name and ADDRESS by telegram; I have Girardin's. + +I am not content with my prose, I have had the fever and a sort of +sprain for two days. But we must make haste. I embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +10 December, Friday, 10 o'clock in the evening, 1869 + +Dear master, good as good bread, + +I have just sent you by telegraph this message: "To Girardin." La +Liberte will publish your article, at once. What do you think of my +friend Saint-Victor, who has refused to write an article about it +because he finds "the book bad"? you have not such a conscience as +that, have you? + +I continue to be rolled in the mud. La Gironde calls me Prudhomme. +That seems new to me. + +How shall I thank you? I feel the need of saying affectionate +things to you. I have so many in my heart that not one comes to the +tips of my fingers. What a splendid woman you are and what a +splendid man! To say nothing of all the other things! + + + +CXXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, Friday to Saturday during the night, 10 to 11 December, 1869 + +I have rewritten my article [Footnote: The article, Sur l'Education +sentimentale, de Flaubert, was printed in the Questions d'art et de +litterature, Calmann-Levy, p. 415.] today and this evening, I am +better, it is clearer. I am expecting your telegram tomorrow. If you +do not put your veto on it, I shall send the article to Ulbach, who +begins his paper the 15th of this month; he wrote to me this morning +to beg me urgently for any article I would send him. I think this +first number will be widely read, and it would be good publicity. +Michel Levy would be a better judge than we as to what is the best +to do: consult him. + +You seem astonished at the ill will. You are too simple. You do not +know how original your book is, and how many personal feelings must +be offended by the force it contains. You think you are doing things +that will pass as a letter in the mail; ah! well, yes! + +I have insisted on the PLAN of your book; that is what they +understand the least and it is what is the most important. I tried +to show the ordinary people how they should read; for it is the +ordinary people who make successes. The clever ones don't like the +successes of others. I don't pay attention to the malicious; it +would honor them too much. + +G. S. + +My mother has your telegram and is sending her manuscript to +Girardin. + +4 o'clock in the afternoon. + +Lina + + + +CXL. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 14 December, 1869 + +I do not see my article coming out, but others are appearing which +are bad and unjust. One's enemies are always better served than +one's friends. And then, when one frog begins to croak, all the +others follow suit. After a certain reverence has been violated +every one tries to see who can best jump on the shoulders of the +statue; it is always like that. You are undergoing the disadvantages +of having a style that is not yet familiar through repetition, and +all are making idiots of themselves so as not to see it. + +ABSOLUTE IMPERSONALITY is debatable, and I do not accept it +ABSOLUTELY; but I wonder that Saint-Victor who has preached it so +much and has criticised my plays because they were not IMPERSONAL, +should abandon you instead of defending you. Criticism is in a sad +way; too much theory! + +Don't be troubled by all that and keep straight on. Don't attempt a +system, obey your inspiration. + +What fine weather, at least with us, and we are getting ready for +our Christmas festivals with the family at home. I told Plauchut to +try to carry you off; we are expecting him. If you can't come with +him, come at least for the Christmas Eve revels and to escape from +Paris on New Year's day; it is so boring there then! + +Lina charges me to say to you that you are authorized to wear your +wrapper and slippers continually. There are no ladies, no strangers. +In short you will make us very happy and you have promised for a +long time. + +I embrace you and I am still more angry than you at these attacks, +but I am not overcome, and if I had you here we should stimulate +each other so well that you would start off again at once on the +other leg to write a new novel. + +I embrace you. + +Your old troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +CXLI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 17 December, 1869 + +Plauchut writes us that YOU PROMISE to come the 24th. Do come the +23d in the evening, so as to be rested for the night of the 24th to +the 25th and join in our Christmas Eve revels. Otherwise you will +arrive from Paris tired and sleepy and our follies will not amuse +you. You are coming to the house of children, I warn you, and as you +are kind and affectionate, you love children. Did Plauchut tell you +to bring a wrapper and slippers, for we do not want to sentence you +to dressing up? I add that I am counting on your bringing some +manuscript. The FAIRY PLAY re-done, Saint-Antoine, whatever you +have finished. I hope indeed that you are in the mood for work. +Critics are a challenge that stimulates. + +Poor Saint-Rene Taillandier is as asininely pedantic as the Revue. +Aren't they prudish in that set? I am in a pet with Girardin. I know +very well that I am not strong in letters; I am not sufficiently +cultivated for these gentlemen; but the good public reads me and +listens to me all the same. + +If you did not come, we should be unhappy and you would be a big +ingrate. Do you want me to send a carriage for you to Chateauroux on +the 23d at four o'clock? I am afraid that you may be uncomfortable +in that stage-coach which makes the run, and it is so easy to spare +you two and a half hours of discomfort! + +We embrace you full of hope. I am working like an ox so as to have +my novel finished and not to have to think of it a minute when you +are here. + +G. Sand + + + +CXLII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 19 December, 1869 + +So women are in it too? Come, forget that persecution here, at a +hundred thousand leagues from Parisian and literary life, or rather +come be glad of it, for these great slatings are the sure proof of +great worth. Tell yourself indeed that those who have not gone +through that are GOOD FOR THE ACADEMY. + +Our letters crossed. I begged you and I beg you again not to come +Christmas Eve, but the night before so as to join in the revels the +next night, the Eve, that is to say, the 24th. This is the program: +we dine promptly at six o'clock, we have the Christmas tree and the +marionettes for the children, so, that they can go to bed at nine +o'clock. After that we chatter, and sup at midnight. But the +diligence gets here at the earliest at half past six, and we should +not dine till seven o'clock, which would make impossible the great +joy of our little ones who would be kept up too late. So you must +start Thursday 23d at nine o'clock in the morning, so that everyone +may be perfectly comfortable, so that everyone may have time to +embrace everyone else, and so that no one may be interrupted in the +joy of your arrival on account of the imperious and silly darlings. + +You must stay with us a very long time, a very long time, we shall +have some more follies for New Year's day, and for Twelfth Night. +This is a crazy happy house and it is the time of holiday after +work. I am finishing tonight my year's task. Seeing you, dear old +well-beloved friend, would be my recompense: do not refuse me. + +G. Sand + +Plauchut is hunting today with the prince, and perhaps will not +return till Tuesday. I am writing him to wait for you till Thursday, +you will be less bored on the way. I have just written to Girardin +to complain. + + + +CXLIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +31 December, 1869 + +We hoped to have a word from you this morning. This sudden cold is +so severe, I dreaded it for your trip. We know you got to +Chateauroux all right. But did you find a compartment, and didn't +you suffer on the way? Reassure us. + +We were so happy to have you with us that we should be distressed if +you had to suffer for this WINTER escapade. All goes well here and +all of us adore one another. It is New Year's Eve. We send your +share of the kisses that we are giving one another. + +G. Sand + + + +CXLIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 9 January, 1870 + +I have had so much proof to correct that I am stupefied with it. I +needed that to console me for your departure, troubadour of my +heart, and for another departure also, that of my drudge of a +Plauchmar--and still another departure, that of my grand-nephew +Edme, my favorite, the one who played the marionettes with Maurice. +He has passed his examinations for collector and goes to Pithiviers- +-unless by pull, we could get him as substitute at La Chatre. + +Do you know M. Roy, the head of the management of the domains? If by +chance the princess knew him and would be willing to say a word to +him in favor of young Simonnet? I should be happy to owe her this +joy for his family and this economy for his mother who is poor. It +appears that it is very easy to obtain and that no rule opposes it. +But one must HAVE PULL; a word to the princess, a line from M. Roy +and our tears would change to joy. + +That child is very dear to me. He is so loving and so good! They had +hard work to bring him up, he was always ill, always dandled on the +knees and always gentle and sweet. He has a great deal of +intelligence and he works well at La Chatre, where his chief the +collector adores him and mourns for him also. Well, do what you can, +if you can do anything at all. + +They continue to damn your book. That doesn't prevent it from being +a fine and good book. Justice will come later, JUSTICE IS ALWAYS +DONE. Apparently it did not come at the right moment, or rather it +came too soon. It has demonstrated too well the disorder that reigns +in people's minds. It has rubbed the open wound, people recognize +themselves too well in it. + +Everyone adores you here and our consciences are too pure to be +upset at the truth: we talk of you every day. Yesterday, Lina said +to me that she admired very much all you do, but that she preferred +Salammbo to your modern descriptions. If you had been in a corner, +this is what you would have heard from her, from me, and from THE +OTHERS: + +"He is taller and larger than the average person. His mind is like +him, beyond ordinary proportions. In that he is like Victor Hugo, at +least as much as like Balzac, but he has the taste and discernment +that Hugo lacks, and he is an artist which Balzac was not.--Is he +then more than both? Chi lo sa?--He hasn't let himself out yet. The +enormous volume of his brain troubles him. He doesn't know if he is +a poet or a realist; and the fact that he is both, hinders him.--He +must get straightened out in his different lines of effort. He sees +everything and wants to grasp everything at once.--He is not the cut +of the public that wants to eat in little mouthfuls, whom large +pieces choke. But the public will go to him, just the same, when it +understands.--It will even go rather quickly if the author +CONDESCENDS to be willing to be quite understood.--For that, perhaps +there will have to be asked some concessions to the indolence of its +mind. One ought to reflect before daring to give this advice." + +That sums up what we said. It is not useless to know the opinion of +good people and of young people. The youngest say that l'Education +sentimentale made them sad. They did not come across themselves in +it, they who have not yet lived; but they have illusions and they +say: "Why does this man, so good, so kind, so gay, so simple, so +sympathetic, wish to discourage us from living?" What they say is +poorly reasoned out, but as it is instinctive, perhaps it ought to +be taken into account. + +Aurore talks of you and still cradles her baby in her lap; Gabrielle +calls Punch, HER LITTLE ONE, and will not eat her dinner unless he +is opposite her. They are our continual idols, these brats. + +Yesterday, I received, after your letter of the day before, a letter +from Berton, who thinks that they will not play l'Affranchi longer +than the 18th or the 20th. Wait for me, since you can delay your +departure a little. It is too bad weather to go to Croisset; it is +always an effort for me to leave my dear nest to go to attend to my +miserable profession; but the effort is less when I hope to find you +in Paris. + +I embrace you for myself and for all my brood. + +G. Sand + + + +CXLV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday afternoon. + +Dear master, + +Your commission was done yesterday at one o'clock. The princess in +my presence took some notes on what you wanted, in order to look +after it at once. She seemed to me very glad to do you a service. + +People talk of nothing but the death of Noir! The general sentiment +is fear, nothing else! + +Into what miserable ways we are plunged! There is so much imbecility +in the air that one gets ferocious. I am less indignant than +disgusted! What do you think of these gentlemen who come to confer +armed with pistols and sword canes! And of this person, of this +prince, who lives in the midst of an arsenal and makes use of it? +Pretty! Pretty! + +What a sweet letter you wrote me day before yesterday! But your +friendship blinds you, dear good master. I do not belong to the +tribe you mention. I am acquainted with myself, I know what I lack! +And I am enormously lacking. + +In losing my poor Bouilhet, I lost my midwife, it was he who saw +into my thought more clearly than I did myself. His death has left a +void that I notice more each day. What is the use of making +concessions? Why force oneself? I am quite resolved, on the +contrary, to write in future for my personal satisfaction, and +without any constraint. Come what may! + + + +CXLVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 15 January, 1870 + +L'Affranchi is for Tuesday. I am working hurriedly to finish my +corrections and I leave Tuesday morning. Come to dine with me at +Magny's at six o'clock. Can you? If not, am I to keep a seat for you +in my box? A word during the day of Tuesday, to my lodgings. You +won't be forced to swallow down the entire performance if it bores +you. + +I love you and I embrace you for myself and for my brood. Thank you +for Edme. + +G. Sand + + + +CXLVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 19 January, 1870 + +Dear friend of my heart, I did not see you in the theatre. The play +applauded and hissed, more applauded than hissed. Barton very +beautiful, Sarah very pretty, but no interest in the characters and +too many second-rate actors, not good.--I do not think that it is a +success. + +I am better. Yet I am not bold enough to go to your house Saturday +and to return from such a distance in this severe cold. I saw Theo +this evening, I told him to come to dine with us both on Saturday at +Magny's. Do say yes, it is I who invite you, and we shall have a +quiet private room. After that we will smoke at my place. + +Plauchut would not be able to go to you. He was invited to the +prince's. + +A word if it is NO. Nothing if it is yes. So I don't want you to +write to me. I saw Tourgueneff and I told him all that I think of +him. He was as surprised as a child. We spoke ill of you. + +Wednesday evening. + + + +CXLVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +The 5th or the 6th February, 1870 + +(On the back of a letter from Edme Simonnet) + +I don't see you, you come to the Odeon and when they tell me that +you are there, I hurry and don't find you. Do set a day then when +you will come to eat a chop with me. Your old exhausted troubadour +who loves you. + + + +CXLIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 15 February, 1870 + +My troubadour, we are two old rattle traps. As for me, I have had a +bad attack of bronchitis and I am just out of bed. Now I am +recovered but not yet out of my room. I hope to resume my work at +the Odeon in a couple of days. + +Do get well, don't go out, at least unless the thaw is not very bad. +My play is for the 22d. [Footnote: This refers to L'Autre.] I hope +very much to see you on that day. And meanwhile, I kiss you and I +love you, + +G. Sand + +Tuesday evening + + + +CL. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Sunday evening, 20th February, 1870 + +I went out today for the first time, I am better without being well. +I am anxious at not having news about that reading of the fairy +play. Are you satisfied? Did they understand? L'Autre will take +place on Thursday, or Friday at the latest. + +Will your nephew and niece go to the gallery or the balcony seats? +Impossible to have a box. If yes, a word and I will send these seats +out of my allotment--which, as usual, will not be grand. + +Your old troubadour. + + + +CLI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, February, 1870 + +It is for Friday. Then I am disposing of the two seats that I +intended for your niece. + +If you have a moment free, and come to the Odeon that night, you +will find me in the manager's box, proscenium, ground floor. I am +heavy-hearted about all you tell me. Here you are again in gloom, +sorrow and chagrin. Poor dear friend! Let us continue to hope that +you will save your patient, but you are ill too, and I am very +anxious about you, I was quite overwhelmed by it this evening, when +I got your note, and I have no more heart for anything. + +A word when you can, to give me news. + +G. Sand + + + +CLII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, 2d March, 1870 + +Poor dear friend, your troubles distress me, you have too many blows +in quick succession, and I am going away Saturday morning leaving +you in the midst of all these sorrows! Do you want to come to Nohant +with me, for a change of air, even if only for two or three days? I +have a compartment, we should be alone and my carriage is waiting +for me at Chateauroux. You could be sad without constraint at our +house, we also have mourning in the family. A change of lodging, of +faces, of habits, sometimes does physical good. One does not forget +one's sorrow, but one forces one's body to endure it. + +I embrace you with all my soul. A word and I expect you. Wednesday +evening. + + + +CLIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 11 March, 1870 + +How are you, my poor child? I am glad to be here in the midst of my +darling family, but I am unhappy all the same at having left you +melancholy, ill and upset. Send me news, a word at least, and be +assured that we all are unhappy over your troubles and sufferings. + +G. Sand + + + +CLIV. TO GEORGE SAND +17 March, 1870 + +Dear master, + +I received a telegram yesterday evening from Madame Cornu containing +these words: "Come to me, urgent business." I therefore hurried to +her today, and here is the story. + +The Empress maintains that you made some very unkind allusions to +her in the last number of the Revue! "What about me, whom all the +world is attacking now! I should not have believed that! and I +wanted to have her nominated for the Academy! But what have I done +to her? etc., etc." In short, she is distressed, and the Emperor +too! He is not indignant but prostrated (sic). [Footnote: Malgre +tout, Calmann-Levy, 1870.] + +Madame Cornu explained to her that she was mistaken and that you had +not intended to make any allusion to her. + +Hereupon a theory of the manner in which novels are written. + +--Oh well, then, let her write in the papers that she did not intend +to wound me. + +--But she will not do that, I answered. + +--Write to her to tell you so. + +--I will not allow myself to take that step. + +--But I would like to know the truth, however! Do you know someone +who...then Madame Cornu mentioned me. + +--Oh, don't say that I spoke to you of it! + +Such is the dialogue that Madame Cornu reported to me. + +She wants you to write me a letter in which you tell me that the +Empress was not used by you as a model. I shall send that letter to +Madame Cornu who will have it given to the Empress. + +I think that story stupid and those people are very sensitive! Much +worse things than that are told to us. + +Now dear master of the good God, you must do exactly what you +please. + +The Empress has always been very kind to me and I should not be +sorry to do her a favor. I have read the famous passage. I see +nothing in it to hurt her. But women's brains are so queer! + +I am very tired in mine (my brain) or rather it is very low for the +moment! However hard I work, it doesn't go! Everything irritates me +and hurts me; and since I restrain myself before people, I give way +from time to time to floods of tears when it seems to me as if I +should burst. At last I am experiencing an entirely new sensation: +the approach of old age. The shadow invades me, as Victor Hugo would +say. + +Madame Cornu has spoken to me enthusiastically of a letter you wrote +her on a method of teaching. + + + +CLV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 17 March, 1870 + +I won't have it, you are not getting old. Not in the crabbed and +MISANTHROPIC sense. On the contrary, when one is good, one becomes +better, and, as you are already better than most others, you ought +to become exquisite. + +You are boasting, moreover, when you undertake to be angry against +everyone and everything. You could not. You are weak before sorrow, +like all affectionate people. The strong are those who do not love. +You will never be strong, and that is so much the better. You must +not live alone any more; when strength returns you must really live +and not shut it up for yourself alone. + +For my part, I am hoping that you will be reborn with the +springtime. Today we have rain which relaxes, tomorrow we shall have +the animating sun. We are all just getting over illnesses, our +children had very bad colds, Maurice quite upset by lameness with a +cold, I taken again by chills and anemia: I am very patient and I +prevent the others as much as I can from being impatient, there is +everything in that; impatience with evil always doubles the evil. +When shall we be WISE as the ancients understood it? That, in +substance, meant being PATIENT, nothing else. Come, dear troubadour, +you must be a little patient, to begin with, and then you can get +accustomed to it; if we do not work on ourselves, how can we hope to +be always in shape to work on others? + +Well, in the midst of all that, don't forget that we love you and +that the hurt you give yourself hurts us too. + +I shall go to see you and to shake you as soon as I have regained my +feet and my will, which are both backward; I am waiting, I know +that they will return. + +Affectionate greetings from all our invalids. Punch has lost only +his fiddle and he is still smiling and well gilded. Lolo's baby has +had misfortunes, but its clothes dress other dolls. As for me, I +can flap only one wing, but I kiss you and I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 19 March, 1870 + +I know, my friend, that you are very devoted to her. I know that she +[Footnote: Letter written about the rumour current, that George Sand +had meant to depict the Empress in one of the chief characters of +her novel, Malgre tout; the letter was sent by Flaubert to Madame +Cornu, god-child of Queen Hortense, and foster-sister of Napoleon +III.] is very kind to unfortunates who have been recommended to her; +that is all that I know of her private life. I have never had any +revelation nor document about her, NOT A WORD, NOT A DEED, which +would authorize me to depict her. So I have drawn only a figure of +fancy, I swear it, and those who pretended to recognize her in a +satire would be, in any case, bad servants and bad friends. + +But I don't write satires: I am ignorant even of the meaning of the +word. I don't write PORTRAITS either; it is not my style. I invent. +The public, who does not know in what invention consists, thinks it +sees everywhere models. It is mistaken and it degrades art. + +This is my SINCERE answer, I have only enough time to mail it. + +G. Sand + + + +CLVII. To MADAME HORTENSE CORNU + +Your devotion was alarmed wrongly, dear madame, I was sure of it! +Here is the answer that came to me by return mail. + +People in society, I reiterate, see allusions where there are none. +When I did Madame Bovary I was asked many times: "Is it Madame X. +whom you meant to depict?" and I received letters from perfectly +unknown people, among others one from a gentleman in Rheims who +congratulated me on HAVING AVENGED HIM! (against a faithless one). + +Every pharmacist in Seine-Inferieure recognizing himself in Homais, +wanted to come to my house to box my ears. But the best (I +discovered it five years later) is that there was then in Africa the +wife of an army doctor named Madame Bovaries who was like Madame +Bovary, a name I had invented by altering that of Bouvaret. + +The first sentence of our friend Maury in talking to me about +l'Education sentimentale was this: "Did you know X, an Italian, a +professor of mathematics? Your Senecal is his physical and moral +portrait! Everything is exact even to the cut of his hair!" + +Others assert that I meant to depict in Arnoux, Bernard Latte (the +former editor), whom I have never seen, etc., etc. + +All that is to tell you, dear madame, that the public is mistaken in +attributing to us intentions which we do not have. + +I was very sure that Madame Sand had not intended to make any +portrait; (1) because of her loftiness of mind, her taste, her +reverence for art, and (2) because of her character, her feeling for +the conventions--and also FOR JUSTICE. +I even think, between ourselves, that this accusation has hurt her a +little. The papers roll us in the dirt every day without our ever +answering them, we whose business it is, however, to wield the pen, +and they think that in order to MAKE AN EFFECT, to be applauded, we +are going to attack such and such a one. + +Oh! no! not so humble! our ambition is higher, and our courtesy +greater.--When one thinks highly of one's mind one does not choose +the necessary means to please the crowd. You understand me, don't +you? + +But enough of this. I shall come to see you one of these days. +Looking forward to that with pleasure, dear madame, I kiss your +hands and am entirely yours, + +Gustave Flaubert + +Sunday evening. + + + +CLVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +March, 1870 + +Dear master, + +I have just sent your letter (for which I thank you) to Madame +Cornu, enclosing it in a letter from your troubadour, in which I +permitted myself to give bluntly my conception of things. + +The two letters will be placed under the eyes of the LADY and will +teach her a little about aesthetics. + +I saw l'Autre last evening, and I wept several times. It did me +good, really! How tender and exalting it is! What a charming work +and how they love the author! I missed you. I wanted to give you a +kiss like a little child. My oppressed heart is easier, thank you. I +think that it will get better! There were a lot of people there. +Berton and his son were recalled twice. + + + +CLIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 3 April, 1870 + +Your old troubadour has passed through cruel anguish, Maurice has +been seriously, dangerously ill.[Footnote: With diptheria.] Favre, +MY OWN doctor, the only one in whom I have confidence, hastened to +us in time. After that Lolo had violent attacks of fever, other +terrors! At last our savior went off this morning leaving us almost +tranquil and our invalids went out to walk in the garden for the +first time.--But they still want a great deal of care and oversight, +and I shall not leave them for two or three weeks. If then you are +awaiting me in Paris, and the sun calls you elsewhere, have no +regret about it. I shall try to go to see you in Croisset from Paris +between the dawn and the dusk sometime. + +At least tell me how you are, what you are doing, if you are on your +feet in every way. + +My invalids and my well ones send you their affectionate regards, +and I kiss you as I love you; it is not little. + +G. Sand + +My friend Favre has quite a FANCY for you and wants to know you. He +is not a physician who seeks practice, he only practices for his +friends, and he is offended if they want to pay him. YOUR +PERSONALITY interests him, that is all, and I have promised to +present him to you, if you are willing. He is something more than a +physician, I don't know what exactly, A SEEKER--after what?-- +EVERYTHING. He is amusing, original and interesting to the utmost +degree. You must tell me if you want to see him, otherwise I shall +manage for him not to think of it any more. Answer about this +matter. + + + +CLX. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday morning, 11 o'clock + +I felt that something unpleasant had happened to you, because I had +just written to you for news when your letter was brought to me this +morning. I fished mine back from the porter; here is a second one. + +Poor dear master! How uneasy you must have been and Madame Maurice +also. You do not tell me what he had (Maurice). In a few days before +the end of the week, write to confirm to me that everything has +turned out well. The trouble lies, I think, with the abominable +winter from which we are emerging! One hears of nothing but +illnesses and funerals! My poor servant is still at the Dubois +hospital, and I am distressed when I go to see him. For two months +now he has been confined to his bed suffering horribly. + +As for me, I am better. I have read prodigiously. I have overworked, +but now I am almost on my feet again. The mass of gloom that I have +in the depths of my heart is a little larger, that is all. But, in a +little while, I hope that it will not be noticed. I spend my days in +the library of the Institute. The Arsenal library lends me books +that I read in the evening, and I begin again the next day. I shall +return home to Croisset the first of May. But I shall see you before +then. Everything will get right again with the sun. + +The lovely lady in question made to me, for you, the most proper +excuses, asserting to me that "she never had any intention of +insulting genius." + +Certainly, I shall be glad to meet M. Favre; since he is a friend of +yours I shall like him. + + + +CLXI. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday morning + +Dear master, + +It is not staying in Paris that wears me out, but the series of +misfortunes that I have had during the last eight months! I am not +working too much, for what would become of me without work? +However, it is very hard for me to be reasonable. I am overwhelmed +by a black melancholy, which returns a propos of everything and +nothing, many times a day. Then, it passes and it begins again. +Perhaps it is because it is too long since I have written anything. +Nervous reservoirs are exhausted. As soon as I am at Croisset, I +shall begin the article about my poor Bouilhet, a painful and sad +task which I am in a hurry to finish, so as to set to work at Saint- +Antoine. As that is an extravagant subject, I hope it will divert +me. + +I have seen your physician, M. Favre, who seemed to me very strange +and a little mad, between ourselves. He ought to like me for I let +him talk all the time. There are high lights in his talk, things +which sparkle for a moment, then one sees not a ray. + + + +CLXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, Thursday + +M. X.----sent me news of you on Saturday: so now I know that +everything is going well with you, and that you have no more +uneasiness, dear master. But you, personally, how are you? The two +weeks are almost up, and I do not see you coming. + +My mood continues not to be sportive. I am still given up to +abominable readings, but it is time that I stopped for I am +beginning to be disgusted with my subject. + +Are you reading Taine's powerful book? I have gobbled it down, the +first volume with infinite pleasure. In fifty years perhaps that +will be the philosophy that will be taught in the colleges. + +And the preface to the Idees de M. Aubray? + +How I long to see you and to jabber with you! + + + +CLXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 16 April, 1870 + +What ought I to say to Levy so that he will take the first steps? +Tell me again how things are, for my memory is poor. You had sold +him one volume for ten thousand;--there are two, he himself told me +that that would be twenty thousand. What has he paid you up to now? +What words did you exchange at the time of this payment? + +Answer, and I act. + +Things are going better and better here, the little ones well again, +Maurice recovering nicely, I tired from having watched so much and +from watching yet, for he has to drink and wash out his mouth during +the night, and I am the only one in the house who has the faculty of +keeping awake. But I am not ill, and I work a little now and then +while loafing about. As soon as I can leave, I shall go to Paris. If +you are still there, it will be A PIECE OF GOOD LUCK, but I do not +dare to wish you to prolong your slavery there, for I can see that +you are still ill and that you are working too hard. + +Croisset will cure you if you consent to take care of yourself. + +I embrace you tenderly for myself and for all the family which +adores you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 20 May, 1870 + +It is a very long time since I have had news of my old troubadour. +You must be in Croisset. If it is as warm there as it is here, you +must be suffering; here it is 34 degrees in the shade, and in the +night, 24. Maurice has had a bad relapse of sore throat, without +membranes this time, and without danger. But the inflammation was so +bad that for three days he could hardly swallow even a little water +and wine. Bouillon did not go down. At last this excessive heat has +cured him, it suits us all here, for Lina went to Paris this morning +vigorous and strong. Maurice gardens all day. The children are gay +and get prettier while you look at them. As for me, I am not +accomplishing anything; I have too much to do taking care of and +watching my boy, and now that the little mother is away, the little +children absorb me. I work, however, planning and dreaming. That +will be so much done when I can scribble. + +I am still ON MY FEET, as Doctor Favre says. No old age yet, or +rather normal old age, the calmness ... OF VIRTUE, that thing that +people ridicule, and that I mention in mockery, but that corresponds +by an emphatic and silly word, to a condition of forced +inoffensiveness, without merit in consequence, but agreeable and +good to experience. It is a question of rendering it useful to art +when one believes in that, to the family and to friendship when one +cares for that; I don't dare to say how very simple and primitive I +am in this respect. It is the fashion to ridicule it, but let them. +I do not want to change. + +There is my SPRING examination of my conscience, so as not to think +all summer about anything except what is not myself. + +Come, you, your health first? And this sadness, this discontent that +Paris has left with you, is it forgotten? Are there no longer any +painful external circumstances? You have been too much shaken also. +Two of your dearest friends gone one after the other. There are +periods in life when destiny is ferocious to us. You are too young +to concentrate on the idea of REGAINING your affections in a better +world, or in this world made better. So you must, at your age (and +at mine I still try to), become more attached to what remains. You +wrote that to me when I lost Rollinat, my double in this life, the +veritable friend whose feeling for the differences between the sexes +had never hurt our pure affection, even when we were young. He was +my Bouilhet and more than that; for to my heart's intimacy was +joined a religious reverence for a real type of moral courage, which +had undergone all trials with a sublime SWEETNESS. I have OWED him +everything that is good in me, I am trying to keep it for love of +him. Is there not a heritage that our beloved dead leave us? + +The despair that would make us abandon ourselves would be a treason +to them and an ingratitude. Tell me that you are calm and soothed, +that you are not working too much and that you are working well. I +am not without some anxiety because I have not had a letter from you +for a long time. I did not want to ask for one till I could tell you +that Maurice was quite well again; he embraces you, and the children +do not forget you. As for me, I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXV. TO GEORGE SAND + +No, dear master! I am not ill, but I have been busy with moving from +Paris and with getting settled in Croisset. Then my mother has been +very much indisposed. She is well now; then I have had to set in +order the rest of my poor Bouilhet's papers, on whom I have begun +the article. I wrote this week nearly six pages, which was very good +for me; this work is very painful in every way. The difficulty is in +knowing what not to say. I shall console myself a little in blurting +out two or three dogmatic opinions on the art of writing. It will be +an opportunity to express what I think; a sweet thing and one I am +always deprived of. + +You say very lovely and also good things to me to restore my +courage. I have hardly any, but I am acting as if I had, which +perhaps comes to the same thing. + +I feel no longer the need of writing, for I used to write especially +for one person alone, who is no more. That is the truth! And yet I +shall continue to write. But I have no more liking for it; the +fascination is gone. There are so few people who like what I like, +who are anxious about what I am interested in! Do you know in this +Paris, which is so large, one SINGLE house where they talk about +literature? And when it happens to be touched on incidentally, it is +always on its subordinate and external sides, such as the question +of success, of morality, of utility, of its timeliness, etc. It +seems to me that I am becoming a fossil, a being unrelated to the +surrounding world. + +I would not ask anything better than to cast myself on some new +affection. But how? Almost all my old friends are married officials, +thinking of their little business the entire year, of the hunt +during vacation and of whist after dinner. I don't know one of them +who would be capable of passing an afternoon with me reading a poet. +They have their business; I, I have none. Observe that I am in the +same social position that I was at eighteen. My niece whom I love as +my daughter, does not live with me, and my poor good simple mother +has become so old that all conversation with her (except about her +health) is impossible. All that makes an existence which is not +diverting. + +As for the ladies, "my little locality" furnishes none of them, and +then,--even so! I have nevver been able to put Venus an Apollo in +the same coop. It is one or the other, being a man of excess, a +gentleman entirely given over to what he does. + +I repeat to myself the phrase of Goethe: "Go forward beyond the +tombs," and I hope to get used to the emptiness, but nothing more. + +The more I know you, yourself, the more I admire you; how strong you +are! + +Aside from a little Spinoza and Plutarch, I have read nothing since +my return, as I am quite occupied by my present work. It is a task +that will take me up to the end of July. I am in a hurry to be +through with it, so as to abandon myself to the extravagances of the +good Saint-Antoine, but I am afraid of not being SUFFICIENTLY IN THE +MOOD. + +That is a charming story, Mademoiselle Hauterive, isn't it? This +suicide of lovers to escape misery ought to inspire fine moral +phrases from Prudhomme. As for me, I understand it. What they did is +not American, but how Latin and antique it is! They were not strong, +but perhaps very sensitive. + + + +CLXVI. TO GEORGE SAND +Sunday, 26 June, 1870 + +You forget your troubadour who has just buried another friend! From +the seven that we used to be at the beginning of the dinners at +Magny's, we are only three now! I am gorged with coffins like an old +cemetery! I am having enough of them, frankly. + +And in the midst of all that I keep on working! I finished +yesterday, such as it is, the article on my poor Bouilhet. I am +going to see if there is not some way of reviving one of his +comedies in prose. After that I shall set to work on Saint-Antoine. + +And you, dear master, what is happening to you and all your family? +My niece is in the Pyrenees, and I am living alone with my mother, +who is becoming deafer and deafer, so that my existence lacks +diversion absolutely. I should like to go to sleep on a warm beach. +But for that I lack time and money. So I must push on my scratches +and grub as hard as possible. + +I shall go to Paris at the beginning of August. Then I shall spend +all the month of October there for the rehearsals of Aisse. My +vacation will be confined to a week spent in Dieppe towards the end +of August. There are my plans. + +It was distressing, the funeral of Jules Goncourt. Theo wept buckets +full. + + + +CLXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 27 June, 1870 + +Another grief for you, my poor old friend. I too have a great one, I +mourn for Barbes, one of my religions, one of those beings who make +one reconciled with humanity. As for you, you miss poor Jules +[Footnote: De Goncourt.] and you pity the unhappy Edmond. You are +perhaps in Paris, so as to try to console him. I have just written +him, and I feel that you are struck again in your affections. What +an age! Every one is dying, everything is dying, and the earth is +dying also, eaten up by the sun and the wind. I don't know where I +get the courage to keep on living in the midst of these ruins. Let +us love each other to the end. You write me very little, I am +worried about you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday evening, 2 July, 1870 + +Dear good master, + +Barbes' death has saddened me because of you. We, both of us, have +our mourning. What a succession of deaths during a year! I am as +dazed by them as if I had been hit on the head with a stick. What +troubles me (for we refer everything to ourselves), is the terrible +solitude in which I live. I have no longer anyone, I mean anyone +with whom to converse, "who is interested today in eloquence and +style." + +Aside from you and Tourgueneff, I don't know a living being to whom +to pour out my soul about those things which I have most at heart; +and you live far away from me, both of you! + +However, I continue to write. I have resolved to start at my Saint- +Antoine tomorrow or the day after. But to begin a protracted effort +I need a certain lightness which I lack just now. I hope, however, +that this extravagant work is going to get hold of me. Oh! how I +would like not to think any more of my poor Moi, of my miserable +carcass! It is getting on very well, my carcass. I sleep +tremendously! "The coffer is good," as the bourgeois say. + +I have read lately some amazing theological things, which I have +intermingled with a little of Plutarch and Spinoza. I have nothing +more to say to you. + +Poor Edmond de Goncourt is in Champagne at his relatives'. He has +promised to come here the end of this month. I don't think that the +hope of seeing his brother again in a better world consoles him for +having lost him in this one. + +One juggles with empty words on this question of immortality, for +the question is to know if the moi persists. The affirmative seems +to me a presumption of our pride, a protest of our weakness against +the eternal order. Has death perhaps no more secrets to reveal to us +than life has? + +What a year of evil! I feel as if I were lost in the desert, and I +assure you, dear master, that I am brave, however, and that I am +making prodigious efforts to be stoical. But my poor brain is +enfeebled at moments. I need only one thing (and that is not given +me), it is to have some kind of enthusiasm! + +Your last letter but one was very sad. You also, heroic being, you +feel worn out! What then will become of us! + +I have just reread the conversations between Goethe and Eckermann. +There was a man, that Goethe! But then he had everything on his +side, that man. + + + +CLXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 29 June, 1870 + +Our letters are always crossing, and I have now the feeling that if +I write to you in the evening I shall receive a letter from you the +next morning; we could say to each other: + +"You appeared to me in my sleep, looking a little sad." + +What preoccupies me most about poor Jules' (de Goncourt) death, is +the survivor. I am sure that the dead are well off, that perhaps +they are resting before living again, and that in all cases they +fall back into the crucible so as to reappear with what good they +previously had and more besides. Barbes only suffered all his life. +There he is now, sleeping deeply. Soon he will awaken; but we, poor +beasts of survivors, we see them no longer. A little while before he +died, Duveyrier, who seemed to have recovered, said to me: "Which +one of us will go first?" We were exactly the same age. He +complained that those who went first could not let those who were +left know that they were happy, and that they remembered their +friends. I said, WHO KNOWS? Then we promised each other that the +first one to die should appear to the survivor, and should at least +try to speak to him. + +He did not come, I have waited for him, he has said nothing to me. +He had one of the tenderest hearts, and a sincere good will. He was +not able to; it was not permitted, or perhaps, it was I; I did not +hear or understand. + +It is, I say, this poor Edmond who is on my mind. That life lived +together, quite ended. I cannot think why the bond was broken, +unless he too believes that one does not really die. + +I would indeed like to go to see you; apparently you have COOL +WEATHER in Croisset since you want to sleep ON A WARM BEACH. Come +here, you will not have a beach, but 36 degrees in the shade and a +stream cold as ice, is not to be despised. I go there to dabble in +it every day after my work; for I must work, Buloz advances me too +much money. Here I am DOING MY BUSINESS, as Aurore says, and not +being able to budge till autumn. I was too lazy after my fatigues as +sick-nurse. Little Buloz recently came to stir me up again. Now here +I am hard at it. + +Since you are to be in Paris in August, you must come to spend +several days with us. You did laugh here anyhow; we will try to +distract you and to shake you up a bit. You will see the little +girls grown and prettier; the little one is beginning to talk. +Aurore chatters and argues. She calls Plauchut, OLD BACHELOR. And a +propos, accept the best regards of that fine and splendid boy along +with all the affectionate greetings of the family. + +As for me, I embrace you tenderly and beg you to keep well. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXX. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Wednesday evening...1870 + +What has become of you, dear master, of you and yours? As for me, I +am disheartened, distressed by the folly of my compatriots. The +hopeless barbarism of humanity fills me with a black melancholy. +That enthusiasm which has no intelligent motive makes me want to +die, so as not to see it any longer. + +The good Frenchman wants to fight: (1) because he thinks he is +provoked to it by Prussia; (2) because the natural condition of man +is savagery; (3) because war in itself contains a mystic element +which enraptures crowds. + +Have we returned to the wars of races? I fear so. The terrible +butchery which is being prepared has not even a pretext. It is the +desire to fight for the sake of fighting. + +I bewail the destroyed bridges, the staved-in tunnels, all this +human labor lost, in short a negation so radical. + +The Congress of Peace is wrong at present. Civilization seems to me +far off. Hobbes was right: Homo homini lupus. + +I have begun Saint-Antoine, and it would go perhaps rather well, if +I did not think of the war. And you? + +The bourgeois here cannot contain himself. He thinks Prussia was too +insolent and wants to "avenge himself." Did you see that a gentleman +has proposed in the Chamber the pillage of the duchy of Baden! Ah! +why can't I live among the Bedouins! + + + +CLXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 26 July, 1870 + +I think this war is infamous; that authorized Marseillaise, a +sacrilege. Men are ferocious and conceited brutes; we are in the +HALF AS MUCH of Pascal; when will come the MORE THAN EVER! + +It is between 40 and 45 degrees IN THE SHADE here. They are burning +the forests; another barbarous stupidity! The wolves come and walk +into our court, and we chase them away at night, Maurice with a +revolver and I with a lantern. The trees are losing their leaves and +perhaps their lives. Water for drinking is becoming scarce; the +harvests are almost nothing; but we have war, what luck! + +Farming is going to nought, famine threatens, poverty is lurking +about while waiting to transform itself into Jacquerie; but we shall +fight with the Prussians. Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre! + +You said rightly that in order to work, a certain lightness was +needed; where is it to be found in these accursed times? + +Happily, we have no one ill at our house. When I see Maurice and +Lina acting, Aurore and Gabrielle playing, I do not dare to complain +for fear of losing all. + +I love you, my dear old friend, we all love you. + +Your troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +CLXXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Wednesday, 3 August, 1870 + +What! dear master, you too are demoralized, sad? What will become of +the weak souls? + +As for me, my heart is oppressed in a way that astonishes me, and I +wallow in a bottomless melancholy, in spite of work, in spite of the +good Saint-Antoine who ought to distract me. Is it the consequence +of my repeated afflictions? Perhaps. But the war is a good deal +responsible for it. I think that we are getting into the dark. + +Behold then, the NATURAL MAN. Make theories now! Boast the progress, +the enlightenment and the good sense of the masses, and the +gentleness of the French people! I assure you that anyone here who +ventured to preach peace would get himself murdered. Whatever +happens, we have been set back for a long time to come. + +Are the wars between races perhaps going to begin again? One will +see, before a century passes, several millions of men kill one +another in one engagement. All the East against all Europe, the old +world against the new! Why not? Great united works like the Suez +Canal are, perhaps, under another form, outlines and preparations +for these monstrous conflicts of which we have no idea. + +Is Prussia perhaps going to have a great drubbing which entered into +the schemes of Providence for reestablishing European equilibrium? +That country was tending to be hypertrophied like France under Louis +XIV and Napoleon. The other organs are inconvenienced by it. Thence +universal trouble. Would formidable bleedings be useful? + +Ah! we intellectuals! Humanity is far from our ideal! and our +immense error, our fatal error, is to think it like us and to want +to treat it accordingly. + +The reverence, the fetichism, that they have for universal suffrage +revolts me more than the infallibility of the pope (which has just +delightfully missed its point, by the way). Do you think that if +France, instead of being governed on the whole by the crowd, were in +the power of the mandarins, we should be where we are now? If, +instead of having wished to enlighten the lower classes, we had +busied ourselves with instructing the higher, we should not have +seen M. de Keratry proposing the pillage of the duchy of Baden, a +measure that the public finds very proper! + +Are you studying Prudhomme now? He is gigantic! He admires Musset's +Rhin, and asks if Musset has done anything else. Here you have +Musset accepted as the national poet and ousting Beranger! What +immense buffoonery is...everything! But a not at all gay buffoonery. + +Misery is very evident. Everyone is in want, beginning with myself! +But perhaps we were too accustomed to comfort and tranquillity. We +buried ourselves in material things. We must return to the great +tradition, hold no longer to life, to happiness, to money nor to +anything; be what our grandfathers were, light, effervescing people. + +Once men passed their life in starving. The same prospect is on the +horizon. What you tell me about poor Nohant is terrible. The country +has suffered less here than with you. + + + +CLXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Nohant, 8 August, 1870 + +Are you in Paris in the midst of all this torment? What a lesson the +people are getting who want absolute masters! France and Prussia are +cutting each other's throats for reasons that they don't understand! +Here we are in the midst of great disasters, and what tears at the +end of it all, even should we be the victors! One sees nothing but +poor peasants mourning for their children who are leaving. + +The mobilization takes away those who were left with us and how they +are being treated to begin with! What disorder, what disarray in +that military administration, which absorbed everything and had to +swallow up everything! Is this horrible experience going to prove to +the world that warfare ought to be suppressed or that civilization +has to perish? + +We have reached the point this evening of knowing that we are +beaten. Perhaps tomorrow we shall know that we have beaten, and what +will there be good or useful from one or the other? + +It has rained here at last, a horrible storm which destroyed +everything. + +The peasant is working and ploughing his fields; digging hard +always, sad or gay. He is imbecile, people say; no, he is a child in +prosperity, a man in disaster, more of a man than we who complain; +he says nothing, and while people are killing, he is sowing, +repairing continually on one side what they are destroying from the +other. We are going to try to do as he, and to hunt a bubbling +spring fifty or a hundred yards below ground. The engineer is here, +and Maurice is explaining to him the geology of the soil. + +We are trying to dig into the bowels of the earth to forget all that +is going on above it. But we cannot distract ourselves from this +terror! + +Write me where you are; I am sending this to you on the day agreed +upon to rue Murillo. We love you, and we all embrace you. + +G. Sand + +Nohant, Sunday evening. + + + +CLXXIV. TO GEORGE SAND. +Croisset, Wednesday, 1870 + +I got to Paris on Monday, and I left it again on Wednesday. Now I +know the Parisian to the very bottom, and I have excused in my heart +those most ferocious politics of 1793. Now, I understand them! What +imbecility! what ignorance! what presumption! My compatriots make me +want to vomit. They are fit to be put in the same sack with Isidore! + +This people deserves to be chastised, and I fear that it will be. + +It is impossible for me to read anything whatever, still more so to +write anything. I spend my time like everyone else in waiting for +news. Ah! if I did not have my mother, I would already be gone! + + + +CLXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Nohant, 15 August, 1870 + +I wrote to you to Paris according to your instructions the 8th. +Weren't you there then? Probably so: in the midst of all this +confusion, to publish Bouilhet, a poet! this is not the moment. As +for me, my courage is weak. There is always a woman under the skin +of the old troubadour. This human butchery tears my poor heart to +pieces. I tremble too for all my children and friends, who perhaps +are to be hacked to pieces. + +And YET, in the midst of all that, my soul exults and has ecstasies +of faith; these terrific lessons which are necessary for us to +understand our imbecility, must be of use to us. We are perhaps +making our last return to the ways of the old world. There are sharp +and clear principles for everyone today that ought to extricate them +from this torment. Nothing is useless in the material order of the +universe. The moral order cannot escape the law. Bad engenders good. +I tell you that we are in the HALF AS MUCH of Pascal, so as to get +TO THE MORE THAN EVER! That is all the mathematics that I +understand. + +I have finished a novel in the midst of this torment, hurrying up so +as not to be worn out before the end. I am as tired as if I had +fought with our poor soldiers. + +I embrace you. Tell me where you are, what you are thinking. + +We all love you. + +What a fine St. Napoleon we have! + +G. Sand + + + +CLXXVI. TO GEORGE SAND. +Saturday, 1870 + +Dear master, + +Here we are in the depths of the abyss! A shameful peace will +perhaps not be accepted! The Prussians intend to destroy Paris! That +is their dream. + +I don't think the siege of Paris is very imminent. But in order to +force Paris to yield, they are going to (1) terrify her by the sight +of cannon, and (2) ravage the surrounding country. + +We expect the visit of these gentlemen at Rouen, and as I have been +(since Sunday) lieutenant of my company, I drill my men and I am +going to Rouen to take lessons in military tactics. + +The most deplorable thing is that opinions are divided, some for +defence to the utmost, and others for peace at any price. + +I AM DYING OF HUMILIATION. What a house mine is! Fourteen persons +who sigh and unnerve me! I curse women! It is because of them that +we perish. + +I expect that Paris will have the fate of Warsaw, and you distress +me, you with your enthusiasm for the Republic. At the moment when we +are overcome by the plainest positivism, how can you still believe +in phantoms? Whatever happens, the people who are now in power will +be sacrificed, and the Republic will follow their fate. Observe that +I defend that poor Republic; but I do not believe in it. + +That is all that I have to say to you. Now I should have many more +things to say, but my head is not clear. It is as if cataracts, +floods, oceans of sadness, were breaking over me. It is not possible +to suffer more. Sometimes I am afraid of going mad. The face of my +mother, when I turn my eyes toward her, takes away all my strength. + +This is where our passion for not wanting to see the truth has taken +us! Love of pretence and of flap-doodle. We are going to become a +Poland, then a Spain. Then it will be the turn of Prussia who will +be devoured by Russia. + +As for me, I consider myself a man whose career is ended. My brain +is not going to recover. One can write no longer when one does not +think well of oneself. I demand only one thing, that is to die, so +to be at rest. + + + +CLXXVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Sunday evening + +I am still alive, dear master, but I am hardly any better, for I am +so sad! I didn't write you any sooner, for I was waiting, for news +from you. I didn't know where you were. + +Here it is six weeks that we have been expecting the coming of the +Prussians from day to day. We strain our ears, thinking we can hear +the sound of the cannon from a distance. They are surrounding Seine- +Inferieure in a radius of from fourteen to twenty leagues. They are +even nearer, since they are occupying Vexin, which they have +completely destroyed. What horrors! It makes one blush for being a +man! + +If we have had a success on the Loire, their appearance will be +delayed. But shall we have it? When the hope comes to me, I try to +repel it, and yet, in the very depths of myself, in spite of all, I +cannot keep myself from hoping a little, a very little bit. + +I don't think that there is in all France a sadder man than I am! +(It all depends on the sensitiveness of people.) I am dying of +grief. That is the truth, and consolations irritate me. What +distresses me is: (1) the ferocity of men; (2) the conviction that +we are going to enter upon a stupid era. People will be utilitarian, +military, American and Catholic! Very Catholic! You will see! The +Prussian War ends the French Revolution and destroys it. + +But supposing we were conquerors? you will say to me. That +hypothesis is contrary to all historical precedents. Where did you +ever see the south conquer the north, and the Catholics dominate the +Protestants? The Latin race is agonizing. France is going to follow +Spain and Italy, and boorishness (pignouflism) begins! + +What a cataclysm! What a collapse! What misery! What abominations! +Can one believe in progress and in civilization in the face of all +that is going on? What use, pray, is science, since this people +abounding in scholars commits abominations worthy of the Huns and +worse than theirs, because they are systematic, cold-blooded, +voluntary, and have for an excuse, neither passion nor hunger? + +Why do they abhor us so fiercely? Don't you feel overwhelmed by the +hatred of forty millions of men? This immense infernal chasm makes +me giddy. + +Ready-made phrases are not wanting: France will rise again! One must +not despair! It is a salutary punishment! We were really too +immoral! etc. Oh! eternal poppycock! No! one does not recover from +such a blow! As for me, I feel myself struck to my very marrow! + +If I were twenty years younger, I should perhaps not think all that, +and if I were twenty years older I should be resigned. + +Poor Paris! I think it is heroic. But if we do find it again, it +will not be our Paris any more! All the friends that I had there are +dead or have disappeared. I have no longer any center. Literature +seems to me to be a vain and useless thing! Shall I ever be in a +condition to write again? + +Oh! if I could flee into a country where one does not see uniforms, +where one does not hear the drum, where one does not talk of +massacres, where one is not obliged to be a citizen! But the earth +is no longer habitable for the poor mandarins. + + + +CLXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday + +I am sad no longer. I took up my Saint-Antoine yesterday. So much +the worse, one has to get accustomed to it! One must accustom +oneself to what is the natural condition of man, that is to say, to +evil. + +The Greeks at the time of Pericles made art without knowing if they +should have anything to eat the next day. Let us be Greeks. I shall +confess to you, however, dear master, that I feel rather a savage. +The blood of my ancesters, the Natchez or the Hurons, boils in my +educated veins, and I seriously, like a beast, like an animal, want +to fight! + +Explain that to me! The idea of making peace now exasperates me, and +I would rather that Paris were burned (like Moscow), than see the +Prussians enter it. But we have not gotten to that; I think the wind +is turning. + +I have read some soldiers' letters, which are models. One can't +swallow up a country where people write like that. France is a +resourceful jade, and will be up again. + +Whatever happens, another world is going to begin, and I feel that I +am very old to adapt myself to new customs. + +Oh! how I miss you, how I want to see you! + +We have decided here to all march on Paris if the compatriots of +Hegel lay siege to it. Try to get your Berrichons to buck up. Call +to them: "Come to help me prevent the enemy from drinking and eating +in a country which is foreign to them!" + +The war (I hope) will make a home thrust at the "authorities." + +The individual, disowned, overwhelmed by the modern world, will he +regain his importance? Let us hope so! + + + +CLXXIX. TO GEORGE SAND. +Tuesday, 11 October, 1870 + +Dear master, + +Are you still living? Where are you, Maurice, and the others? + +I don't know how it is that I am not dead, I have suffered so +atrociously for six weeks. + +My mother has fled to Rouen. My niece is in London. My brother is +busy with town affairs, and, as for me, I am alone here, eaten up +with impatience and chagrin! I assure you that I have wanted to do +right; what misery! I have had at my door today two hundred and +seventy-one poor people, and they were all given something. What +will this winter be? + +The Prussians are now twelve hours from Rouen, and we have no +commands, no orders, no discipline, nothing, nothing! They hold out +false hopes to us continually with the army of the Loire. Where is +it? Do you know anything about it? What are they doing in the middle +of France? Paris will end by being starved, and no one is taking her +any aid! + +The imbecilities of the Republic surpass those of the Empire. Are +they playing under all this some abominable comedy? Why such +inaction? + +Ah! how sad I am. I feel that the world is going by. + + + +CLXXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Le Chatre, 14 October, 1870 + +We are living at Le Chatre. Nohant is ravaged by smallpox with +complications, horrible. We had to take our little ones into the +Creuse, to friends who came to get us, and we spent three weeks +there, looking in vain for quarters where a family could stay for +three months. We were asked to go south and were offered +hospitality; but we did not want to leave the country where, from +one day to another, one can be useful, although one hardly knows yet +in what way to go at it. + +So we have come back to the friends who lived the nearest to our +abandoned hearth; and we are awaiting events. To speak of all the +peril and trouble there is in establishing the Republic in the +interior of our provinces would be quite useless. There can be no +illusion: everything is at stake, and the end will perhaps be +ORLEANISM. But we are pushed into the unforeseen to such an extent +that it seems to me puerile to have anticipations; the thing to do +is to escape the next catastrophe. + +Don't let's say that it is impossible; don't let's think it. Don't +let's despair about France. She is going through expiation for her +madness, she will be reborn no matter what happens. We shall perhaps +be carried away, the rest of us. To die of pneumonia or of a bullet +is dying just the same. Let's die without cursing our race! + +We still love you, and we all embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Nohant, 4 February, 1871. + +Don't you receive my letters, then? Write to me I beg you, one word +only: I AM WELL. We are so worried! + +They are all well in Paris. + +We embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXXXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT. +Nohant, 22 February, 1871 + +I received your letter of the 15th this morning; what a cruel thorn +it takes from my heart! One gets frantic with anxiety now when one +does not receive answers. Let us hope that we can talk soon and tell +all about our ABSENCE from each other. I too have had the good +fortune not to lose any of my friends, young or old. That is all the +good one can say. I do not regret this Republic, it has been the +greatest failure of all! the most unfortunate for Paris, the most +unsuitable in the provinces. Besides, if I had loved it, I should +not regret anything; if only this odious war might end! We love you +and we embrace you affectionately. I shall not hurry to go to Paris. +It will be pestilential for some time to come. + +Yours. + + + +CLXXXIII. TO GEORGE SAND. +Dieppe, 11 March, 1871 + +When shall we meet? Paris does not seem amusing to me. Ah! into what +sort of a world are we going to enter! Paganism, Christianity, +idiotism, there are the three great evolutions of humanity! It is +sad to find ourselves at the beginning of the third. + +I shall not tell you all I have suffered since September. Why didn't +I die from it? That is what surprises me! No one was more desperate +than I was. Why? I have had bad moments in my life, I have gone +through great losses. I have wept a great deal. I have undergone +much anguish. Well! all these pangs accumulated together, are +nothing in comparison to that. And I cannot get over them! I am not +consoled! I have no hope! + +Yet I did not see myself as a progressivist and a humanitarian. That +doesn't matter. I had some illusions! What barbarity! What a slump! +I am wrathful at my contemporaries for having given me the feelings +of a brute of the twelfth century! I'M STIFLING IN GALL! These +officers who break mirrors with white gloves on, who know Sanskrit +and who fling themselves on the champagne, who steal your watch and +then send you their visiting card, this war for money, these +civilized savages give me more horror than cannibals. And all the +world is going to imitate them, is going to be a soldier! Russia has +now four millions of them. All Europe will wear a uniform. If we +take our revenge, it will be ultra-ferocious, and observe that one +is going to think only of that, of avenging oneself on Germany! The +government, whatever it is, can support itself only by speculating +on that passion. Wholesale murder is going to be the end of all our +efforts, the ideal of France! + +I cherish the following dream: of going to live in the sun in a +tranquil country! + +Let us look for new hypocrisies: declamations on virtue, diatribes +on corruption, austerity of habits, etc. Last degree of pedantry! + +I have now at Croisset twelve Prussians. As soon as my poor dwelling +(of which I have a horror now) is emptied and cleaned, I shall +return there; then I shall go doubtless to Paris, despite its +unhealthfulness! But I don't care a hang for that. + + + +CLXXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Nohant, 17 March, 1871 + +I received your letter of the 11th yesterday. + +We have all suffered in spirit more than at any other time of our +lives, and we shall always suffer from that wound. It is evident +that the savage instinct tends to take the upper hand; but I fear +something worse; it is the egoistic and cowardly instinct; it is the +ignoble corruption of false patriots, of ultra-republicans who cry +out for vengeance, and who hide themselves; a good pretext for the +bourgeois who want a STRONG reaction. I fear lest we shall not even +be vindictive,--all that bragging, coupled with poltroonery, will so +disgust us and so impel us to live from day to day as under the +Restoration, submitting to everything and only asking to be let +alone. + +There will be an awakening later. I shall not be here then, and you, +you will be old! Go to live in the sun in a tranquil country! Where? +What country is going to be tranquil in this struggle of barbarity +against civilization, a struggle which is going to be universal? Is +not the sun itself a myth? Either he hides himself or he burns you +up, and it is thus with everything on this unhappy planet. Let us +love it just the same, and accustom ourselves to suffering on it. + +I have written day by day my impressions and my reflections during +the crisis. The Revue des Deux Mondes is publishing this diary. If +you read it, you will see that everywhere life has been torn from +its very foundations, even in the country where the war has not +penetrated. + +You will see too, that I have not swallowed, although very greedy, +party humbugs. But I don't know if you are of my opinion, that full +and entire liberty would save us from these disasters and restore us +to the path of possible progress again. The abuses of liberty give +me no anxiety of themselves; but those whom they frighten always +incline towards the abuse of power. Just now M. Thiers seems to +understand it; but can he and will he know how to preserve the +principle by which he has become the arbiter of this great problem? + +Whatever happens, let us love each other, and do not keep me in +ignorance of what concerns you. My heart is full to bursting and the +remembrance of you eases it a little from its perpetual disquiet. I +am afraid lest these barbarous guests devastate Croisset; for they +continue in spite of peace to make themselves odious and disgusting +everywhere. Ah! how I should like to have five billions in order to +chase them away! I should not ask to get them back again. + +Now, do come to us, we are so quiet here; materially, we have been +so always. We force ourselves to take up our work again, we resign +ourselves; what is there better to do? You are beloved here, we live +here in a continual state of loving one another; we are holding on +to our Lamberts, whom we shall keep as long as possible. All our +children have come out of the war safe and sound. You would live +here in peace and be able to work; for that must be, whether one is +in the mood or not! The season is going to be lovely. Paris will +calm itself during that time. You are looking for a peaceful spot. +It is under your nose, with hearts which love you! + +I embrace you a thousand times for myself and for all my brood. The +little girls are splendid. The Lamberts' little boy is charming. + + + +CLXXXV. TO GEORGE SAND. +Neuville near Dieppe, Friday, 31 March, 1871 + +Dear master, + +Tomorrow, at last, I resign myself to re-enter Croisset! It is hard! +But I must! I am going to try to make up again my poor Saint-Antoine +and to forget France. + +My mother stays here with her grandchild, till one knows where to go +without fear of the Prussians or of a riot. + +Some days ago I went from here with Dumas to Brussels from where I +thought to go direct to Paris. But "the new Athens" seems to me to +surpass Dahomey in ferocity and imbecility. Has the end come to the +HUMBUGS? Will they have finished with hollow metaphysics and +conventional ideas? All the evil comes from our gigantic ignorance. +What ought to be studied is believed without discussion. Instead of +investigating, people make assertions. + +The French Revolution must cease to be a dogma, and it must become +once more a part of science, like the rest of human things. If +people had known more, they would not have believed that a mystical +formula is capable of making armies, and that the word "Republic" is +enough to conquer a million of well disciplined men. They would have +left Badinguet on the throne EXPRESSLY to make peace, ready to put +him in the galleys afterward. If they had known more, they would +have known what the volunteers of '92 were and the retreat of +Brunswick gained by bribery through Danton and Westermann. But no! +always the same old story! always poppycock! There is now the +Commune of Paris which is returning to the real Middle Ages! That's +flat! The question of leases especially, is splendid! The government +interferes in natural rights now, it intervenes in contracts between +individuals. The Commune asserts that we do not owe what we owe, and +that one service is not paid for by another. It is an enormity of +absurdity and injustice. + +Many conservatives who, from love of order, wanted to preserve the +Republic, are going to regret Badinguet and in their hearts recall +the Prussians. The people of the Hotel de Ville have changed the +object of our hatred. That is why I am angry with them. It seems to +me that we have never been lower. + +We oscillate between the society of Saint-Vincent de Paul and the +International. But this latter commits too many imbecilities to have +a long life. I admit that it may overcome the troops at Versailles +and overturn the government, the Prussians will enter Paris, and +"order will reign" at Warsaw. If, on the contrary, it is conquered, +the reaction will be furious and all liberty will be strangled. + +What can one say of the socialists who imitate the proceedings of +Badinguet and of William: requisitions, suppressions of newspapers, +executions without trial, etc.? Ah! what an immoral beast is the +crowd! and how humiliating it is to be a man! + +I embrace you! + + + +CLXXXVI. TO GEORGE SAND. +Croisset, Monday evening, two o'clock. + +Dear master, + +Why no letters? Haven't you received mine sent from Dieppe? Are you +ill? Are you still alive? What does it mean? I hope very much that +neither you (nor any of yours) are in Paris, capital of arts, +cornerstone of civilization, center of fine manners and of urbanity? + +Do you know the worst of all that? IT IS THAT WE GET ACCUSTOMED TO +IT. Yes! one does. One becomes accustomed to getting along without +Paris, to worrying about it no longer, and almost to thinking that +it exists no longer. + +As for me, I am not like the bourgeois; I consider that after the +invasion there are no more misfortunes. The war with Prussia gave me +the effect of a great upheaval of nature, one of those cataclysms +that happen every six thousand years; while the insurrection in +Paris is, to my eyes, a very clear and almost simple thing. + +What retrogressions! What savages! How they resemble the people of +the League and the men in armor! Poor France, who will never free +herself from the Middle Ages! who labors along in the Gothic idea of +the Commune, which is nothing else than the Roman municipality. Oh! +I assure you that my heart is heavy over it! + +And the little reaction that we are going to have after that? How +the good ecclesiastics are going to flourish again! + +I have started at Saint-Antoine once more, and I am working +tremendously. + + + +CLXXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset. +Nohant, 28 April, 1871 + +No, certainly I do not forget you! I am sad, sad, that is to say, +that I am stunned, that I watch the spring, that I am busy, that I +talk as if there were nothing; but I have not been able to be alone +an instant since that horrible occurrence without falling into a +bitter despair. I make great efforts to prevent it; I do not want to +be discouraged; I do not want to deny the past and dread the future; +but it is my will, it is my reason that struggles against a profound +impression unsurmountable up to the present moment. + +That is why I did not want to write to you before feeling better, +not that I am ashamed to have crises of depression, but because I +did not want to increase your sadness already so profound, by adding +the weight of mine to it. For me, the ignoble experiment that Paris +is attempting or is undergoing, proves nothing against the laws of +the eternal progression of men and things, and, if I have gained any +principles in my mind, good or bad, they are neither shattered nor +changed by it. For a long time I have accepted patience as one +accepts the sort of weather there is, the length of winter, old age, +lack of success in all its forms. But I think that partisans +(sincere) ought to change their formulas or find out perhaps the +emptiness of every a priori formula. + +It is not that which makes me sad. When a tree is dead, one should +plant two others. My unhappiness comes from pure weakness of heart +that I don't know how to overcome. I cannot sleep over the suffering +and even over the ignominy of others. I pity those who do the evil! +while I recognize that they are not at all interesting, their moral +state distresses me. One pities a little bird that has fallen from +its nest; why not pity a heap of consciences fallen in the mud? One +suffered less during the Prussian siege. One loved Paris unhappy in +spite of itself, one pities it so much the more now that one can no +longer love it. Those who never loved get satisfaction by mortally +hating it. What shall we answer? Perhaps we should not answer at +all. The scorn of France is perhaps the necessary punishment of the +remarkable cowardice with which the Parisians have submitted to the +riot and its adventurers. It is a consequence of the acceptance of +the adventurers of the Empire; other felons but the same cowardice. + +But I did not want to talk to you of that, you ROAR about it enough +as it is! one ought to be distracted; for if one thinks too much +about it, one becomes separated from one's own limbs and lets +oneself undergo amputation with too much stoicism. + +You don't tell me in what state you found your charming nest at +Croisset. The Prussians occupied it; did they ruin it, dirty it, rob +it? Your books, your bibelots, did you find them all? Did they +respect your name, your workshop? If you can work again there, peace +will come to your spirit. As for me, I am waiting till mine gets +well, and I know that I shall have to help myself to my own cure by +a certain faith often shaken, but of which I make a duty. + +Tell me whether the tulip tree froze this winter, and if the poppies +are pretty. + +I often take the journey in spirit; I see again your garden and its +surroundings. How far away that is! How many things have happened +since! One hardly knows whether one is a hundred years old or not! + +My little girls bring me back to the notion of time; they are +growing, they are amusing and affectionate; it is through them and +the two beings who gave them to me that I feel myself still of the +world; it is through you too, dear friend, whose kind and loving +heart I always feel to be good and alive. How I should like to see +you! But I have no longer a way of going and coming. + +We embrace you, all of us, and we love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CLXXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND + +I am answering at once your questions that concern me personally. +No! the Prussians did not loot my house. They HOOKED some little +things of no importance, a dressing case, a bandbox, some pipes; but +on the whole they did no harm. As for my study, it was respected. I +had buried a large box full of letters and hidden my voluminous +notes on Saint-Antoine. I found all that intact. + +The worst of the invasion for me is that it has aged my poor, dear, +old mother by ten years! What a change! She can no longer walk +alone, and is distressingly weak! How sad it is to see those whom +one loves deteriorate little by little! + +In order to think no longer on the public miseries or on my own, I +have plunged again with fury into Saint-Antoine, and if nothing +disturbs me and I continue at this pace, I shall have finished it +next winter. I am very eager to read to you the sixty pages which +are done. When we can circulate about again on the railroad, do come +to see me for a little while. Your old troubadour has waited for you +for such a long time! Your letter of this morning has saddened me. +What a proud fellow you are and what immense courage you have! + +I am not like a lot of people whom I hear bemoaning the war of +Paris. For my part, I find it more tolerable than the invasion, +there is no more despair possible, and that is what proves once more +our abasement. "Ah! God be thanked, the Prussians are there!" is the +universal cry of the bourgeois. I put messieurs the workmen into the +same pack, and would have them all thrust together into the river! +Moreover they are on the way there, and then calm will return. We +are going to become a great, flat industrial country like Belgium. +The disappearance of Paris (as center of the government) will render +France colorless and dull. She will no longer have a heart, a +center, nor, I think, a spirit. + +As for the Commune, which is about to die out, it is the last +manifestation of the Middle Ages. The very last, let us hope! + +I hate democracy (at least the kind that is understood in France), +that is to say, the exaltation of mercy to the detriment of justice, +the negation of right, in a word, antisociability. + +The Commune rehabilitates murderers, quite as Jesus pardoned +thieves, and they pillage the residences of the rich, because they +have been taught to curse Lazarus, who was not a bad rich man, but +simply a rich man. "The Republic is above every criticism" is +equivalent to that belief: "The pope is infallible!" Always +formulas! Always gods! + +The god before the last, which was universal suffrage, has just +shown his adherents a terrible farce by nominating "the murderers of +Versailles." What shall we believe in, then? In nothing! That is the +beginning of wisdom. It was time to have done with "principles" and +to take up science, and investigation. The only reasonable thing (I +always come back to that) is a government by mandarins, provided the +mandarins know something and even that they know many things. The +people is an eternal infant, and it will be (in the hierarchy of +social elements) always in the last row, since it is number, mass, +the unlimited. It is of little matter whether many peasants know how +to read and listen no longer to their cure, but it is of great +matter that many men like Renan or Littre should be able to live and +be listened to! Our safety is now only in a LEGITIMATE ARISTOCRACY, +I mean by that, a majority that is composed of more than mere +numbers. + +If they had been more enlightened, if there had been in Paris more +people acquainted with history, we should not have had to endure +Gambetta, nor Prussia, nor the Commune. What did the Catholics do to +meet a great danger? They crossed themselves while consigning +themselves to God and to the saints. We, however, who are advanced, +we are going to cry out, "Long live the Republic!" while recalling +what happened in '92; and there was no doubt of its success, observe +that. The Prussian existed no longer, they embraced one another with +joy and restrained themselves from running to the defiles of the +Argonne where there are defiles no longer; never mind, that is +according to tradition. I have a friend in Rouen who proposed to a +club the manufacture of lances to fight against the breech-loaders! + +Ah! it would have been more practical to keep Badinguet, in order to +send him to the galleys once peace was made! Austria did not have a +revolution after Sadowa, nor Italy after Novara, nor Russia after +Sebastopol! But the good French hasten to demolish their house as +soon as the chimney has caught fire. + +Well, I must tell you an atrocious idea; I am AFRAID that the +destruction of the Vendome column is sowing the seeds of a third +Empire! Who knows if in twenty or in forty years, a grandson of +Jerome will not be our master? + +For the moment Paris is completely epileptic. A result of the +congestion caused by the siege. France, on the whole, has lived for +several years in an extraordinary mental state. The success of la +Lanterne and Troppman have been very evident symptoms of it. That +folly is the result of too great imbecility, and that imbecility +comes from too much bluffing, for because of lying they had become +idiotic. They had lost all notion of right and wrong, of beautiful +and ugly. Recall the criticism of recent years. What difference did +it make between the sublime and the ridiculous? What lack of +respect; what ignorance! what a mess! "Boiled or roasted, same +thing!" and at the same time, what servility for the opinion of the +day, the dish of the fashion! + +All was false! False realism, false army, false credit, and even +false harlots. They were called "marquises," while the great ladies +called themselves familiarly "cochonnettes." Those girls who were of +the tradition of Sophie Arnould, like Lagier, roused horror. You +have not seen the reverence of Saint-Victor for la Paiva. And this +falseness (which is perhaps a consequence of romanticism, +predominance of passion over form, and of inspiration over rule) was +applied especially in the manner of judging. They extolled an +actress not as an actress, but as a good mother of a family! They +asked art to be moral, philosophy to be clear, vice to be decent, +and science to be within the range of the people. + +But this is a very long letter. When I start abusing my +contemporaries, I never get through with it. + + + +CLXXXIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Sunday evening, 10 June, 1871 + +Dear master, + +I never had a greater desire or a greater need to see you than now. +I have just come from Paris and I don't know to whom to talk. I am +choking. I am overcome, or rather, absolutely disheartened. + +The odor of corpses disgusts me less than the miasmas of egotism +that exhale from every mouth. The sight of the ruins is as nothing +in comparison with the great Parisian inanity. With a very few +exceptions it seemed to me that everybody ought to be tied up. + +Half the population wants to strangle the other half, and VICE +VERSA. This is clearly to be seen in the eyes of the passers-by. + +And the Prussians exist no longer! People excuse them and admire +them. The "reasonable people" want to be naturalized Germans. I +assure you it is enough to make one despair of the human race. + +I was in Versailles on Thursday. The excesses of the Right inspire +fear. The vote about the Orleans is a concession made to it, so as +not to irritate it, and so as to have the time to prepare against +it. + +I except from the general folly, Renan who, on the contrary, seemed +to me very philosophical, and the good Soulie who charged me to give +you a thousand affectionate messages. + +I have collected a mass of horrible and unpublished details which I +spare you. + +My little trip to Paris has troubled me extremely, and I am going to +have a hard time in getting down to work again. What do you think +of my friend Maury, who kept the tricolor over the Archives all +during the Commune? I think few men are capable of such pluck. + +When history clears up the burning of Paris, it will find several +elements among which are, without any doubt: (1) the Prussians, and +(2) the people of Badinguet; they have NO LONGER ANY written proof +against the Empire, and Haussman is going to present himself boldly +to the elections of Paris. + +Have you read, among the documents found in the Tuileries last +September, a plot of a novel by Isidore? What a scenario! + + + +CXC. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +[FOOTNOTE: Evidently an answer to a lost letter.] Nohant, 23 July, +1871 + +No, I am not ill, my dear old troubadour, in spite of the sorrow +which is the daily bread of France; I have an iron constitution and +an exceptional old age, abnormal even, for my strength increases at +the age when it ought to diminish. The day that I resolutely buried +my youth, I grew twenty years younger. You will tell me that the +bark undergoes none the less the ravages of time. I don't care for +that, the heart of the tree is very good and the sap still runs as +in the old apple trees in my garden, which bear fruit all the better +the more gnarly they are. Thank you for having worried over the +illness which the papers have bestowed upon me. Maurice thanks you +also and embraces you. He is still mingling with his scientific, +literary, and agricultural studies, beautiful marionette shows. He +thinks of you every time and says that he would like to have you +here to note his progress, for he continually improves. + +In what condition are we, according to your opinion? + +In Rouen, you no longer have any Prussians at your back, that's +something, and one would say that the bourgeois Republic wants to +impose itself. It will be foolish. You foretold that, and I don't +doubt it; but after the inevitable rule of the Philistines, life +will extend and spread on all sides. The filth of the Commune shows +us dangers which were not sufficiently foreseen and which enforce a +new political life on everybody, carrying on one's affairs oneself +and forcing the charming proletariat created by the Empire to know +what is possible and what is not. Education does not teach honesty +and disinterestedness overnight. The vote is immediate education. +They have appointed Raoul Rigault and company. They know how much +people like that cost now by the yard; let them go on and they will +die of hunger. There is no other way to make them understand in a +short time. + +Are you working? Is Saint-Antoine going well? Tell me what you are +doing in Paris, what you are seeing, what you are thinking. I have +not the courage to go there. Do come to see me before you return to +Croisset. I am blue from not seeing you, it is a sort of death. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCI. TO GEORGE SAND +25 July, 1871 + +I find Paris a little less mad than in June, at least on the +surface. They are beginning to hate Prussia in a natural manner, +that is to say, they are getting back into French tradition. They no +longer make phrases in praise of her civilizations. As for the +Commune, they expect to see it rise again later, and the +"established order" does absolutely nothing to prevent its return. +They are applying old remedies to new woes, remedies that have never +cured (nor prevented) the least ill. The reestablishment of credit +seems to me colossally absurd. One of my friends made a good speech +against it; the godson of your friend Michel de Bourges, Bardoux, +mayor of Clermont-Ferrand. + +I think, like you, that the bourgeois republic can be established. +Its lack of elevation is perhaps a guarantee of stability. It will +be the first time that we have lived under a government without +principles. The era of positivism in politics is about to begin. + +The immense disgust which my contemporaries give me throws me back +on the past, and I am working on my good Saint-Antoine with all my +might. I came to Paris only for it, for it is impossible for me to +get in Rouen the books that I need +now; I am lost in the religions of Persia. I am trying to get a +clear idea of the God Horn, and it isn't easy. I spent all the month +of June in studying Buddhism, on which I already had many notes. But +I wanted to get to the bottom of the subject as soon as possible. +And I also did a little Buddha that I consider charming. Don't I +want to read you that book (mine)! + +I am not going to Nohant, for I don't care to go further I away from +my mother now. Her society afflicts me and unnerves me, my niece +Caroline takes turns with me in carrying on the dear and painful +burden. + +In a fortnight I shall be back in Croisset. Between the 15th and the +20th of August I am expecting the good Tourgueneff there. It would +be very kind of you to come after him, dear master. I say come +after, for we have only one decent room since the visit of the +Prussians. Come, make a good effort. Come in September. + +Have you any news of the Odeon? I can't get any response whatsoever +from de Chilly. I have been to his house several times and I have +written three letters to him: not a word! Those gay blades behave +towards one like great lords, which is charming. I don't know if he +is still director, or if the management has been given to the +Berton, Laurent, Bernard company, do you? + +Berton wrote to me to recommend him (and them) to d'Osmoy, deputy +and president of the dramatic commission, but since then I have not +heard anything mentioned. + + + +CXCII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, August, 1871 + +You want to see me, and you need me, and you don't come see me! That +is not nice; for I too, and all of us here, sigh for you. We parted +so gaily eighteen months ago, and so many atrocious things have +happened in the meantime! Seeing each other would be the consolation +DUE us. For my part, I cannot stir, I have not a penny, and I have +to work like a negro. And then I have not seen a single Prussian, +and I would like to keep my eyes pure from that stain. Ah! my +friend, what years we are going through! We cannot go back again, +for hope departs with the rest. + +What will be the reaction from the infamous Commune? Isidore or +Henry V. or the kingdom of incendiaries restored by anarchy? I who +have had so much patience with my species and who have so long +looked on the bright side, now see nothing but darkness. I judge +others by myself. I had improved my real character, I had +extinguished useless and dangerous enthusiasms, I had sowed grass +and flowers that grew well on my volcanoes, and I imagined that all +the world could become enlightened, could correct itself, or +restrain itself; that the years passed over me and over my +contemporaries could not be lost to reason and experience: and now I +awaken from a dream to find a generation divided between idiocy and +delirium tremens! Everything is possible at present. + +However, it is bad to despair. I shall make a great effort, and +perhaps I shall become just and patient again; but today I cannot. I +am as troubled as you, and I don't dare to talk, nor to think, nor +to write, I have such a fear of touching the wounds open in every +soul. + +I have indeed received your other letter, and I was waiting for +courage to answer it; I would like to do only good to those I love, +especially to you, who feel so keenly. I am no good at this moment. +I am filled with a devouring indignation and a disgust which is +killing me. + +I love you, that is all I know. My children say the same. Embrace +your good little mother for me. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 6 September, 1871 + +Where are you, my dear old troubadour? + +I don't write to you, I am quite troubled in the depths of my soul. +But that will pass, I hope; but I am ill with the illness of my +nation and my race. I cannot isolate myself in my reason and in my +own IRREPROACHABILITY. I feel the great bonds loosened and, as it +were, broken. It seems to me that we are all going off, I don't know +where. Have you more courage than I have? Give me some of it? + +I am sending you the pretty faces of our little girls. They remember +you, and tell me I must send you their pictures. Alas! they are +girls, we raise them with love like precious plants. What men will +they meet to protect them and continue our work? It seems to me that +in twenty years there will be only hypocrites and blackguards! + +Give me news of yourself, tell me of your poor mother, your family, +of Croisset. Love us still, as we love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Wednesday, 6 September + +Well, dear master, it seems to me that you are forgetting your +troubadour, aren't you? Are you then quite overwhelmed with work! +How long a time it is since I saw your good firm writing! How long +it is since we have talked together! What a pity that we should live +so far from each other! I need you very much. + +I don't dare to leave my poor mother! When I am obliged to be away, +Caroline comes to take my place. If it were not for that, I should +go to Nohant. Shall you stay there indefinitely? Must we wait till +the middle of the winter to embrace each other? + +I should like very much to read you Saint-Antoine, which is half +done, then to stretch myself and to roar at your side. + +Some one who knows that I love you and who admires you brought me a +copy of le Gaulois in which there were parts of an article by you on +the workmen, published in le Temps. How true it is! How just and +well said! Sad! Sad! Poor France! And they accuse me of being +skeptical. + +But what do you think of Mademoiselle Papevoine, the incendiary, +who, in the midst of a barricade, submitted to the assaults of +eighteen citizens! That surpasses the end of l'Education +sentimentale where they limit themselves to offering flowers. + +But what goes beyond everything now, is the conservative party, +which is not even going to vote, and which is still in a panic! You +cannot imagine the alarm of the Parisians. "In six months, sir, the +Commune will be established everywhere" is the answer or rather the +universal groan. + +I do not look forward to an imminent cataclysm because nothing that +is foreseen happens. The International will perhaps triumph in the +end, but not as it hopes, not as they dread. Ah! how tired I am of +the ignoble workmen, the incompetent bourgeois, the stupid peasant +and the odious ecclesiastic! + +That is why I lose myself as much as I can in antiquity. Just now I +am making all the gods talk in a state of agony. The subtitle of my +book could be The Height of Insanity. And the printing of it +withdraws further and further into my mind. Why publish? Who pray is +bothering about art nowadays? I make literature for myself as a +bourgeois turns napkin rings in his garret. You will tell me that I +had better be useful. But how? How can I make people listen to me? + +Tourgueneff has written me that he is going to stay in Paris all +winter beginning with October. That will be some one to talk to. For +I can't talk of anything whatever with anyone whatever. + +I have been looking after the grave of my poor Bouilhet today; so +tonight I have a twofold bitterness. + + + +CXCV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, 8 September, 1871 + +Ah! how sweet they are! What darlings! What fine little heads so +serious and sweet! My mother was quite touched by it, and so was I. +That is what I call a delicate attention, dear master, and I thank +you very much for it. I envy Maurice, his existence is not arid as +mine is. Our two letters crossed again. That proves beyond a doubt +that we feel the same things at the same time in the same degree. + +Why are you so said? Humanity offers nothing new. Its irremediable +misery has filled me with sadness ever since my youth. And in +addition I now have no disillusions. I believe that the crowd, the +common herd will always be hateful. The only important thing is a +little group of minds--always the same--which passed the torch from +one to another. + +As long as we do not bow to mandarins, as long as the Academy of +Sciences does not replace the pope, politics as a whole and society, +down to its very roots, will be nothing but collection of +disheartening humbugs. We are floundering in the after-birth of the +Revolution, which was an abortion, a failure, a misfire, "whatever +they say." And the reason is that it proceeded from the Middle Ages +and Christianity. The idea of equality (which is all the modern +democracy) is an essentially Christian idea and opposed to that of +justice. Observe how mercy predominates now. Sentiment is +everything, justice is nothing. People are now not even indignant +against murderers, and the people who set fire to Paris are less +punished than the calumniator of M. Favre. + +In order for France to rise again, she must pass from inspiration to +science, she must abandon all metaphysics, she must enter into +criticism, that is to say into the examination of things. + +I am persuaded that we shall seem extremely imbecile to posterity. +The words republic and monarchy will make them laugh, as we on our +part, laughed, at realism and nominalism. For I defy anyone to show +me an essential difference between those two terms. A modern +republic and a constitutional monarchy are identical. Never mind! +They are squabbling about that, they are shouting, they are +fighting! + +As for the good people, "free and compulsory" education will do it. +When every one is able to read le Petit Journal and le Figaro, they +won't read anything else, because the bourgeois and the rich man +read only these. The press is a school of demoralization, because it +dispenses with thinking. Say that, you will be brave, and if you +prevail, you will have rendered a fine service. + +The first remedy will be to finish up with universal suffrage, the +shame of the human mind. As it is constituted, one single element +prevails to the detriment of all the others: numbers dominate over +mind, education, race and even money, which is worth more than +numbers. + +But society (which always needs a good God, a Saviour), isn't it +perhaps capable of taking care of itself? The conservative party has +not even the instinct of the brute (for the brute at least knows how +to fight for its lair and its living). It will be divided by the +Internationals, the Jesuits of the future. But those of the past, +who had neither country nor justice, have not succeeded and the +International will founder because it is in the wrong. No ideas, +nothing but greed! + +Ah! dear, good master, if you only could hate! That is what you +lack, hate. In spite of your great Sphinx eyes, you have seen the +world through a golden color. That comes from the sun in your heart; +but so many shadows have arisen that now you are not recognizing +things any more. Come now! Cry out! Thunder! Take your great lyre +and touch the brazen string: the monsters will flee. Bedew us with +the drops of the blood of wounded Themis. + +Why do you feel "the great bonds broken?" What is broken? Your bonds +are indestructible, your sympathy can attach itself only to the +Eternal. + +Our ignorance of history makes us slander our own times. Man has +always been like that. Several years of quiet deceived us. That is +all. I too, I used to believe in the amelioration of manners. One +must wipe out that mistake and think of oneself no more highly than +they did in the time of Pericles or of Shakespeare, atrocious epochs +in which fine things were done. Tell me that you are lifting your +head and that you are thinking of your old troubadour, who cherishes +you. + + + +CXCVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset +Nohant, 8 September, 1871 + +As usual our letters have crossed; you should receive today the +portraits of my little grandchildren, not pretty at this period of +their growth, but with such beautiful eyes that they can never be +ugly. + +You see that I am as disheartened as you are and indignant, alas! +without being able to hate either the human race or our poor, dear +country. But one feels too much one's helplessness to pluck up one's +heart and spirit. One works all the same, even if only turning +napkin rings, as you say: and, as for me, while serving the public, +I think about it as little as possible. Le Temps has done me the +service of making me rummage in my waste basket. I find there the +prophecies that the conscience of each of us has inspired in him, +and these little returns to the past ought to give us courage; but +it is not at all so. The lessons of experience are of no use until +too late. + +I think that without subvention, the Odeon will be in no condition +to put on well a literary play such as Aisse, and that you should +not let them murder it. You had better wait and see what happens. As +for the Berton company, I have no news of it; it is touring the +provinces, and those who compose it will not be reengaged by Chilly, +who is furious with them. + +The Odeon has let Reynard go, an artist of the first rank, whom +Montigny had the wit to engage. There really is no one left at the +Odeon, as far as I know. Why don't you consider the Theatre +Francais? + +Where is the Princess Mathilde? At Enghien, or in Paris, or in +England? I am sending you a note which you must enclose in the first +letter that you have occasion to write to her. + +I cannot go to see you, dear old man, and yet I had earned one of +those happy vacations; but I cannot leave the HOME, for all sorts of +reasons too long to tell and of no interest, but inflexible. I do +not know even if I shall go to Paris this winter. Here am I so old! +I imagine that I can only bore others and that people cannot endure +me anywhere except at home. You absolutely must come to see me with +Tourgueneff, since you are planning to go away this winter; prepare +him for this abduction. I embrace you, as I love, and my world does +too. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +14 September, 1871, Nohant +[Footnote: Appeared in le Temps, 3 October, 1871, under the title, +Reponse a un ami, and published in Impressions et Souvenirs, p. 53.] + +And what, you want me to stop loving? You want me to say that I have +been mistaken all my life, that humanity is contemptible, hateful, +that it has always been and always will be so? And you chide my +anguish as a weakness, and puerile regret for a lost illusion? You +assert that the people has always been ferocious, the priest always +hypocritical, the bourgeois always cowardly, the soldier always +brigand, the peasant always stupid? You say that you have known all +that ever since your youth and you rejoice that you never have +doubted it, because maturity has not brought you any disappointment; +have you not been young then? Ah! We are entirely different, for I +have never ceased to be young, if being young is always loving. + +What, then, do you want me to do, so as to isolate myself from my +kind, from my compatriots, from my race, from the great family in +whose bosom my own family is only one ear of corn in the terrestrial +field? And if only this ear could ripen in a sure place, if only one +could, as you say, live for certain privileged persons and withdraw +from all the others! + +But it is impossible, and your steady reason puts up with the most +unrealizable of Utopias. In what Eden, in what fantastic Eldorado +will you hide your family, your little group of friends, your +intimate happiness, so that the lacerations of the social state and +the disasters of the country shall not reach them? If you want to be +happy through certain people--those certain people, the favorites of +your heart, must be happy in themselves. Can they be? Can you assure +them the least security? + +Will you find me a refuge in my old age which is drawing near to +death? And what difference now does death or life make to me for +myself? Let us suppose that we die absolutely, or that love does not +follow into the other life, are we not up to our last breath +tormented by the desire, by the imperious need of assuring those +whom we leave behind all the happiness possible? Can we go +peacefully to sleep when we feel the shaken earth ready to swallow +up all those for whom we have lived? A continuous happy life with +one's family in spite of all, is without doubt relatively a great +good, the only consolation that one could and that one would enjoy. +But even supposing external evil does not penetrate into our house, +which is impossible, you know very well, I could not approve of +acquiescing in indifference to what causes public unhappiness. + +All that was foreseen. ... Yes, certainly, I had foreseen it as well +as anyone! I saw the storm rising. I was aware, like all those who +do not live without thinking, of the evident approach of the +cataclysm. When one sees the patient writhing in agony is there any +consolation in understanding his illness thoroughly? When lightning +strikes, are we calm because we have heard the thunder rumble a long +time before? + +No, no, people do not isolate themselves, the ties of blood are not +broken, people do not curse or scorn their kind. Humanity is not a +vain word. Our life is composed of love, and not to love is to cease +to live. + +The people, you say! The people is yourself and myself. It would be +useless to deny it. There are not two races, the distinction of +classes only establishes relative and for the most part illusory +inequalities. I do not know if your ancestors were high up in the +bourgeoisie; for my part, on my mother's side my roots spring +directly from the people, and I feel them continually alive in the +depth of my being. We all have them, even if the origin is more or +less effaced; the first men were hunters and shepherds, then farmers +and soldiers. Brigandage +crowned with success gave birth to the first social distinctions. +There is perhaps not a title that was not acquired through the blood +of men. We certainly have to endure our ancestors when we have any, +but these first trophies of hatred and of violence, are they a glory +in which a mind ever so little inclined to be philosophical, finds +grounds for pride? THE PEOPLE ALWAYS FEROCIOUS, you say? As for me, +I say, the nobility always savage! + +And certainly, together with the peasants, the nobility is the class +most hostile to progress, the least civilized in consequence. +Thinkers should congratulate themselves on not being of it, but if +we are bourgeois, if we have come from the serf, and from the class +liable to forced labor, can we bend with love and respect before the +sons of the oppressors of our fathers? Whoever denies the people +cheapens himself, and gives to the world the shameful spectacle of +apostasy. Bourgeoisie, if we want to raise ourselves again and +become once more a class, we have only one thing to do, and that is +to proclaim ourselves the people, and to fight to the death against +those who claim to be our superiors by divine right. On account of +having failed in the dignity of our revolutionary mandate, of having +aped the nobility, of having usurped its insignia, of having taken +possession of its playthings, of having been shamefully ridiculous +and cowardly, we count for nothing; we are nothing any more: the +people, which ought to unite with us, denies us, abandons us and +seeks to oppress us. + +The people ferocious? No, it is not imbecile either, its real +trouble is in being ignorant and foolish. It is not the people of +Paris that has massacred the prisoners, destroyed the monuments, and +tried to burn the town. The people of Paris is all who stayed in +Paris after the siege, since whoever had any means hastened to +breathe the air of the provinces and to embrace their absent +families after the physical and moral sufferings of the siege. Those +who stayed in Paris were the merchant and the workman, those two +agents of labor and of exchange, without whom Paris would exist no +longer. Those are what constitutes positively the people of Paris; +it is one and the same family, whose political blunders cannot +restore their relationship and solidarity. It is now recognized that +the oppressors of that torment were in the minority. Then the people +of Paris was not disposed to fury, since the majority gave evidence +only of weakness and fear. The movement was organized by men already +enrolled in the ranks of the bourgeoisie, who belong no longer to +the habits and needs of the proletariat. These men were moved by +hatred, disappointed ambition, mistaken patriotism, fanaticism +without an ideal, sentimental folly or natural maliciousness--there +was all that in them--and even certain doctrinaire points of honor, +unwilling to withdraw in the face of danger. They certainly did not +lean on the middle class, which trembled, fled or hid itself. They +were forced to put in action the real proletariat which had nothing +to lose. Well, the proletariat even escaped them to a great degree, +divided as it was by various shades of opinion, some wanting +disorder to profit by it, others dreading the consequences of being +drawn in, the most of them not reasoning at all, because the evil +had become extreme and the lack of work forced them to go to war at +thirty sous a day. + +Why should you maintain that this proletariat which was shut up in +Paris, and was at most eighty thousand soldiers of hunger and +despair, represented the people of France? They do not even +represent the people of Paris, unless you desire to maintain the +distinction between the producer and the trader, which I reject. + +But I want to follow you up and ask on what this distinction rests. +Is it on more or less education? The limit is incomprehensible if +you see at the top of the bourgeoisie, cultivated and learned +people, if you see at the bottom of the proletariat, savages and +brutes, you have none the less the crowd of intermediaries which +will show to you, here intelligent and wise proletarians, there +bourgeois who are neither wise nor intelligent. The great number of +civilized citizens dates from yesterday and many of those who know +how to read and write, have parents still living who can hardly sign +their names. + +Would it then be only more or less wealth that would classify men +into two distinct parties? The question then is where the people +begins and where it ends, for each day competencies shift, ruin +lowers one, and fortune raises another; roles change, he who was a +bourgeois this morning is going to become again a proletarian this +evening, and the proletarian of just now, may turn into a bourgeois +in a day, if he finds a purse, or inherits from an uncle. + +You can well see that these denominations have become idle and that +the work of classifying, whatever method one desired to use, would +be impracticable. + +Men are only over or under one another because of more or less +reason or morality. Instruction which develops only egoistic +sensuality is not as good as the ignorance of the proletarian, +honest by instinct or by custom. This compulsory education which we +all desire through respect for human rights, is not, however, a +panacea whose miracles need to be exaggerated. Evil natures will +find there only more ingenious and more hidden means to do evil. It +will be as in all the things that man uses and abuses, both the +poison and the antidote. It is an illusion that one can find an +infallible remedy for our woes. We have to seek from day to day, all +the means immediately possible, we must think of nothing else in +practical life except the amelioration of habits and the +reconciliation of interests. France is agonizing, that is certain; +we are all sick, all corrupt, all ignorant, all discouraged: to say +that it was WRITTEN, that it had to be so, that it has always been +and will always be, is to begin again the fable of the pedagogue and +the child who is drowning. You might as well say at once. + +It is all the same to me; but if you add: That does not concern me, +you are wrong. The deluge comes and death captures us. In vain you +are prudent and withdraw, your refuge will be invaded in its turn, +and in perishing with human civilization you will be no greater a +philosopher for not having loved, than those who threw themselves +into the flood to save some debris of humanity. The debris is not +worth the effort, very good! They will perish none the less, that is +possible. We shall perish with them, that is certain, but we shall +die while in the fulness of life. I prefer that to a hibernation in +the ice, to an anticipated death. And anyway, I could not do +otherwise. Love does not reason. If I asked why you have the passion +for study, you would not explain it to me any better than those who +have a passion for idleness can explain their indolence. + +Then you think me upset, since you preach detachment to me? You tell +me that you have read in the papers some extracts from my articles +which indicate a change of ideas, and these papers which quote me +with good will, endeavor to believe that I am illuminated with a new +light, while others which do not quote me believe that perhaps I am +deserting the cause of the future. Let the politicians think and say +what they want to. Let us leave them to their critical +appreciations. I do not have to protest, I do not have to answer, +the public has other interests to discuss than those of my +personality. I wield a pen, I have an honorable position of free +discussion in a great paper; if I have been wrongly interpreted, it +is for me to explain myself better when the occasion presents +itself. I am reluctant to seize this opportunity of talking of +myself as an isolated individual; but if you judge me converted to +false notions, I must say to you and to others who are interested in +me: read me as a whole, and do not judge me by detached fragments; a +spirit which is independent of party exactions, sees necessarily the +pros and cons, and the sincere writer tells both without busying +himself about the blame or the approbation of partizan readers. But +every being who is not mad maintains a certain consistency, and I do +not think that I have departed from mine. Reason and sentiment are +always in accord in me to make me repulse whatever attempts to make +me revert to childhood in politics, in religion, in philosophy, in +art. My sentiment and my reason combat more than ever the idea of +factitious distinctions, the inequality of conditions imposed as a +right acquired by some, as a loss deserved by others. More than ever +I feel the need of raising what is low, and of lifting again what +has fallen. Until my heart is worn out it will be open to pity, it +will take the part of the weak, it will rehabilitate the slandered. +If today it is the people that is under foot, I shall hold out my +hand to the people--if it is the oppressor and executioner, I shall +tell it that it is cowardly and odious. What do I care for this or +that group of men, these names which have become standards, these +personalities which have become catchwords? I know only wise and +foolish, innocent and guilty. I do not have to ask myself where are +my friends or my enemies. They are where torment has thrown them. +Those who have deserved my love, and who do not see through my eyes, +are none the less dear to me. The thoughtless blame of those who +leave me does not make me consider them as enemies. All friendship +unjustly withdrawn remains intact in the heart that has not merited +the outrage. That heart is above self-love, it knows how to wait for +the awakening of justice and affection. + +Such is the correct and easy role of a conscience that is not +engaged in the party interests through any personal interest. Those +who can not say that of themselves will certainly have success in +their environment, if they have the talent to avoid all that can +displease them, and the more they have of this talent, the more they +will find the means to satisfy their passions. But do not summon +them in history to witness the absolute truth. From the moment that +they make a business of their opinion, their opinion has no value. + +I know sweet, generous and timorous souls, who in this terrible +moment of our history, reproach themselves for having loved and +served the cause of the weak. They see only one point in space, they +believe that the people whom they have loved and served exist no +longer, because in their place a horde of bandits followed by a +little army of bewildered men has occupied momentarily the theatre +of the struggle. + +These good souls have to make an effort to say to themselves that +what good there was in the poor and what interest there was in the +disinherited still exists, only it is no longer in evidence and the +political disturbance has sidetracked it from the stage. When such +dramas take place, those who rush in light-heartedly are the vain or +the greedy members of the family, those who allow themselves to be +pulled in are the idiots. + +There is no doubt that there are greedy souls, idiots, and vain +persons by the thousands in France; but there are as many and +perhaps more in the other states. Let an opportunity present itself +similar to too frequent opportunities which put our evil passions in +play, and you will see whether other nations are any better than we +are. Wait till the Germanic race gets to work, the race whose +disciplinary aptitudes we admire, the race whose armies have just +shown us brutal appetites in all their barbarous simplicity, and you +will see what will be its license! The people of Paris will seem +sober and virtuous by comparison. + +That ought not to be what is called a crumb of comfort, we shall +have to pity the German nation for its victories as much as +ourselves for our defeats, because this is the first act of its +moral dissolution. The drama of its degradation has begun, and as +this is being worked out by its own hands it will move very quickly. +All these great material organizations in which right, justice, and +the respect for humanity are not recognized, are colossi of clay, as +we have found to our cost. Well! the moral abasement of Germany is +not the future safety of France, and if we are called upon to return +to her the evil that has been done us, her collapse will not give us +back our life. It is not in blood that races are re-invigorated and +rejuvenated. Vital exhalations can issue still from the corpse of +France, that of Germany will be the focus of the pestilence of +Europe. A nation that has lost its ideals does not survive itself. +Its death fertilizes nothing and those who breathe its fetid +emanations are struck by the ill that killed it. Poor Germany! the +cup of the wrath of the Eternal is poured out on you quite as much +as on us, and while you rejoice and become intoxicated, the +philosophic spirit is weeping over you and prepares your epitaph. +This pale and bleeding, wounded thing that is called France, holds +still in its tense hands, a fold of the starry mantle of the future, +and you drape yourself in a soiled flag, which will be your winding +sheet. Past grandeurs have no longer a place to take in the history +of men. It is all over with kings who exploit the peoples; it is all +over with exploited peoples who have consented to their own +abasement. + +That is why we are so sick and why my heart is broken. + +But it is not in scorn of our misery that I regard the extent of it. +I do not want to believe that this holy country, that this cherished +race, all of whose chords I feel vibrate in me, both harmonious and +discordant,--whose qualities and whose defects I love in spite of +everything, all of whose good or bad responsibilities I consent to +accept rather than to detach myself from them through disdain; no, +I do not want to believe that my country and my race are struck to +death, I feel it in my suffering, in my mourning, in my hours of +pure dejection even, I love, therefore I live; let us love and live. + +Frenchmen, let us love one another, my God! my God! 1et us love one +another or we are lost. Let us destroy, let us deny, let us +annihilate politics, since it divides us and arms us against one +another; let us ask from no one what he was and what he wanted +yesterday. Yesterday all the world was mistaken, let us know what we +want today. If it is not liberty for all and fraternity towards all, +do not let us attempt to solve the problem of humanity, we are not +worthy of defining it, we are not capable of comprehending it. +Equality is a thing that does not impose itself, it is a free plant +that grows only on fertile lands, in salubrious air. It does not +take root on barricades, we know that now! It is immediately trodden +under the foot of the conqueror, whoever he may be. Let us desire to +establish it in our customs, let us be eager to consecrate it in our +ideas. Let us give it for a starting point, patriotic charity, love! +It is the part of a madman to think that one issues from a battle +with respect for human rights. All civil war has brought forth and +will bring forth great crime.... + +Unfortunate International, is it true that you believe in the lie +that strength is superior to right? If you are as numerous, as +powerful as one fancies, is it possible that you profess destruction +and hatred as a duty? No, your power is a phantom of death. A great +number of men of every nationality would not, could not, deliberate +and act in favor of an iniquitous principle. If you are the +ferocious party of the European people, something like the +Anabaptists of Munster, like them you will destroy yourself with +your own hands. If, on the contrary, you are a great and legitimate +fraternal association, your duty is to enlighten your adherents and +to deny those who cheapen and compromise your principles. I hope +still that you include in your bosom, humane and hard-working men in +great numbers, and that they suffer and blush at seeing bandits take +shelter under your name. In this case your silence is inept and +cowardly. Have you not a single member capable of protesting against +ignoble attacks, against idiotic principles, against furious +madness? Your chosen chiefs, your governors, your inspirers, are +they all brigands and idiots? No, it is impossible; there are no +groups, there is no club, there are no crossroads where a voice of +truth could not make itself heard. Speak then, justify yourself, +proclaim your gospel. Dissolve yourself in order to make yourself +over if the discord is in your own midst. Make an appeal to the +future if you are not an ancient invasion of Barbarians. Tell those +who still love the people what they ought to do for them, and if you +have nothing to say, if you cannot speak a word of life, if the +iniquities of your mysteries are sealed by fear, renounce noble +sympathies, live on the scorn of honest folk, and struggle between +the jailer and the police. + +All France has heard the word of your destiny which might have been +the word of hers. She has waited for it in vain. I too, simple, I +waited. While blaming the means I did not want to prejudice the end. +There has always been one in revolutions, and the revolutions that +fail are not always those with the weakest basis. A patriotic +fanaticism seems to have been the first sentiment of this struggle. +These lost children of the democratic army were going perhaps to +subscribe to an inevitable peace that they judged shameful: Paris +had sworn to bury herself under her ruins. + +The democratic people were going to force the bourgeois to keep +their word. They took possession of the cannon, they were going to +turn them on the Prussians, it was mad, but it was grand.... Not at +all. The first act of the Commune is to consent to the peace, and in +all the course of its management, it does not have an insult, not a +threat for the enemy, it conceives and commits the remarkable +cowardice of overturning under the eyes of the enemy the column that +recalls his defeats and our victories. It is angry against the +powers emanating from universal suffrage, and yet it invokes this +suffrage in Paris to constitute itself. It is true that this was not +favorable to it; it dispenses with the appearance of legality that +it intended to give itself and functions by brute force, without +invoking any other right than that of hate and scorn for all that is +not itself. It proclaims POSITIVE SOCIAL SCIENCE of which it calls +itself the sole depository, but about which it does not let a word +escape in its deliberations and in its decrees. It declares that it +is going to free man from his shackles and his prejudices, and at +that very instant, it exercises a power without control and +threatens with death whoever is not convinced of its infallibility. +At the same time it pretends to take up the tradition of the +Jacobins, it usurps the papal social authority and assumes the +dictatorship. What sort of a republic is that? I see nothing vital +in it, nothing rational, nothing constituted, nothing constitutable. +It is an orgy of false reformers who have not one idea, not one +principle, not the least serious organization, not the least +solidarity with the nation, not the least outlook towards the +future. Ignorance, cynicism and brutality, that is all that emanates +from this false social revolution. Liberation of the lowest +instincts, impotence of bold ambitions, scandal of shameless +usurpations. That is the spectacle which we have just seen. +Moreover, this Commune has inspired the most deadly disgust in the +most ardent political men, men most devoted to the democracy. After +useless essays, they have understood that there was no +reconciliation possible where there were no principles; they +withdrew from it with consternation, with sorrow, and, the next day, +the Commune declared them traitors, and decreed their arrest. They +would have been shot if they had remained in its hands. + +And you, friend, you want me to see these things with a stoic +indifference? You want me to say: man is made thus, crime is his +expression, infamy is his nature? + +No, a hundred times no. Humanity is outraged in me and with me. We +must not dissimulate nor try to forget this indignation which is one +of the most passionate forms of love. We must make great efforts in +behalf of brotherhood to repair the ravages of hate. We must put an +end to the scourge, wipe out infamy with scorn, and inaugurate by +faith the resurrection of the country. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 16 September, 1871 + +Dear old friend, + +I answered you day before yesterday, and my letter took such +proportions that I sent it as an article to le Temps for my next +fortnightly contribution; for I have promised to give them two +articles a month. The letter a un ami does not indicate you by even +an initial, for I do not want to argue against you in public. I tell +you again in it my reasons for suffering and for hoping still. I +shall send it to you and that will be talking with you again. You +will see that my chagrin is a part of me, and that believing +progress to be a dream does not depend on me. Without this hope no +one is good for anything. The mandarins do not need knowledge and +even the education of a limited number of people has no longer +reason for existing unless there is hope of influence on the masses; +philosophers have only to keep silent and those great minds on whom +the need of your soul leans, Shakespeare, Moliere, Voltaire, etc. +have no reason for existing and for expressing themselves. + +Come, let me suffer! That is worth more than viewing INJUSTICE WITH +A SERENE COUNTENANCE, as Shakespeare says. When I have drained my +cup of bitterness, I shall feel better. I am a woman, I have +affections, sympathies, and wrath. I shall never be a sage, nor a +scholar. + +I received a kind little note from the Princess Mathilde. Is she +then again settled in Paris? Has she anything to live on from the +effects of M. Demidoff, her late and I think unworthy husband? On +the whole it is brave and good of her to return near to her friends, +at the risk of new upsets. + +I am glad that these little faces of children pleased you. I embrace +you very much, you are so kind, I was sure of it. Although you are a +mandarin, I do not think that you are like a Chinaman at all, and I +love you with a full heart. + +I am working like a convict. + +G. Sand + + + +CXCIX. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, I received your article yesterday, and I should answer +it at length if I were not in the midst of preparations for my +departure for Paris. I am going to try to finish up with Aisse. + +The middle of your letter made me SHED A TEAR, without converting +me, of course. I was moved, that was all, without being persuaded. + +I look vainly in your article for one word: "justice," and all our +ill comes from forgetting absolutely that first notion of morality, +which to my way of thinking composes all morality. Humanitarianism, +sentiment, the ideal, have played us sufficiently mean tricks for us +to try righteousness and science. + +If France does not pass in a short time to the crisis, I believe +that she will be irrevocably lost. Free compulsory education will do +nothing but augment the number of imbeciles. Renan has said that +very well in the preface to his Questions contemporaines. What we +need most of all, is a natural, that is to say, a legitimate +aristocracy. No one can do anything without a head, and universal +suffrage as it exists is more stupid than divine right. You will see +remarkable things if they let it keep on! The masses, the numbers, +are always idiotic. I have few convictions, but I have that one +strongly. But the masses must be respected, however inept they may +be, because they contain the germs of an incalculable fecundity. +Give it liberty but not power. + +I believe no more than you do in class distinction. Castes belong to +archeology. But I believe that the poor hate the rich, and that the +rich are afraid of the poor. It will be so forever. It is as useless +to preach love to the one as to the other. The most important thing +is to instruct the rich, who, on the whole, are the strongest. +Enlighten the bourgeois first, for he knows nothing, absolutely +nothing. The whole dream of democracy is to elevate the proletarian +to the level of the imbecility of the bourgeois. The dream is partly +accomplished. He reads the same papers and has the same passions. + +The three degrees of education have shown within the last year what +they can accomplish: (1) higher education made Prussia win; (2) +secondary education, bourgeois, produced the men of the 4th of +September; (3) primary education gave us the Commune. Its minister +of public instruction was the great Valles, who boasted that he +scorned Homer! + +In three years every Frenchman can know how to read. Do you think +that we shall be the better off? Imagine on the other hand that in +each commune, there was ONE bourgeois, only one, who had read +Bastiat, and that this bourgeois was respected, things would change. + +However I am not discouraged as you are, and the present government +pleases me, because it has no principle, no metaphysics, no humbug. +I express myself very badly. Moreover you deserve a different +response, but I am much hurried. + +I hear today that the mass of the Parisians regrets Badinguet. A +plebiscite would declare for him, I do not doubt it, universal +suffrage is such a fine thing. + + + +CC. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 10 October, 1871 + +I am answering your post scriptum, if I had answered Flaubert I +should not have ... ANSWERED, knowing well that your heart does not +always agree with your mind, a discordance into which we all +moreover are continually compelled to fall. I answered a part of a +letter of some friend whom no one knows, no one can recognize, since +I address myself to a part of your reasoning that is not you +entirely. + +You are a troubadour all the same, and if I had to write to you +PUBLICLY the character would be what it ought to be. But our real +discussions ought to remain between ourselves, like caresses between +lovers, and even sweeter, since friendship also has its mysteries +without the storms of personality. + +That letter that you wrote me in haste, is full of well expressed +truths against which I do not protest. But the connection and +agreement between your truths of reason and my truths of sentiment +must be found. France, alas! is neither on your side nor my side; +she is on the side of blindness, ignorance and folly. Oh! that I do +not deny, it is exactly that over which I despair. + +Is this a time to put on Aisse? You told me it was a thing of +distinction, delicate like all that HE did, and I hear that the +public of the theatres is more THICKHEADED than ever. You would do +well to see two or three plays, no matter which, in order to +appreciate the literary condition of the Parisian. The provinces +will contribute less than in the past. The little fortunes are too +much cut down to permit frequent trips to Paris. + +If Paris offered, as in my youth, an intelligent and influential +nucleus, a good play would perhaps not have a hundred performances, +but a bad play would not have three hundred. But this nucleus has +become imperceptible and its influence is swamped. Who then will +fill the theatres? The shopkeepers of Paris, without a guide, and +without good criticism? Well, you are not the master in the matter +of Aisse. There is an heir who is impatient, probably.--They write +me that Chilly is very; seriously ill, and that Pierre Berton is +reengaged. + +You must be very busy; I will not write a long letter to you. + +I embrace you affectionately, my children love you and ask to be +remembered to you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCI. TO GEORGE SAND + +Never, dear good master, have you given such a proof of your +inconceivable candor! Now, seriously, you think that you have +offended me! The first page is almost like excuses! It made me laugh +heartily! Besides, you can always say everything to me, to me! +everything! Your blows will be caresses to me. + +Now let us talk again! I continually repeat my insistence on +justice! Do you see how they are denying it everywhere? Has not +modern criticism abandoned art for history? The intrinsic value of a +book is nothing in the school of Sainte-Beuve and Taine. They take +everything into consideration there except talent. Thence, in the +petty journals, the abuse of personality, the biographies, the +diatribes. Conclusion: lack of respect on the part of the public. + +In the theatre, the same thing. They don't bother about the play, +but the lesson to be preached. Our friend Dumas dreams the glory of +Lacordaire, or rather of Ravignan! To prevent the tucking up of +petticoats has become with him obsession. We can not have progressed +very far since all morality consists for women, in not committing +adultery, and for men in abstaining from theft! In short, the first +injustice is practised by literature; it has no interest in +esthetics, which is only a higher justice. The romantics will have a +fine account to render with their immoral sentimentality. Do you +recall a bit of Victor Hugo in la Legende des siecles, where a +sultan is saved because he had pity on a pig? it is always the story +of the penitent thief blessed because he has repented! To repent is +good, but not to do evil is better. The school of rehabilitations +has led us to see no difference between a rascal and an honest man. +I became enraged once before witnesses, against Sainte-Beuve, while +begging him to have as much indulgence for Balzac as he had for +Jules Lecomte. He answered me, calling me a dolt! That is where +BREADTH OF VIEW leads you. + +They have so lost all sense of proportion, that the war council at +Versailles treats Pipe-en-Bois more harshly than M. Courbet, +Maroteau is condemned to death like Rossel! It is madness! These +gentlemen, however, interest me very little. I think that they +should have condemned to the galleys all the Commune, and have +forced these bloody imbeciles to clear up the ruins of Paris, with a +chain on their necks, like ordinary convicts. But that would have +wounded HUMANITY. They are kind to the mad dogs, and not at all to +the people whom the dogs have bitten. + +That will not change so long as universal suffrage is what it is. +Every man (as I think), no matter how low he is, has a right to ONE +voice, his own, but he is not the equal of his neighbor, who may be +worth a hundred times more. In an industrial enterprise (Societe +anonyme), each holder votes according to the value of his +contribution. It ought to be so in the government of a nation. I am +worth fully twenty electors of Croisset. Money, mind, and even race +ought to be reckoned, in short every resource. But up to the present +I only see one! numbers! Ah! dear master, you who have so authority, +you ought to take the lead. Your articles in le Temps, which have +had a great success, are widely read and who knows? You would +perhaps do France a great service? + +Aisse keeps me very busy, or rather provokes me. I have not seen +Chilly, I have had to do with Duquesnel. They are depriving me +definitely of the senior Berton and proposing his son. He is very +nice, but he is not at all the type conceived by the author. The +Theatre Francais perhaps would ask nothing better than to take +Aisse! I am very perplexed, and it is going to be necessary for me +to decide. As for waiting till a literary wind arises, as it will +never arise in my lifetime, it is better to risk the thing at once. + +These theatrical affairs disturb me greatly, for I was in great +form. For the last month I was even in an exaltation bordering on +madness! + +I have met the unavoidable Harrisse, a man who knows everyone, and +who is a judge of everything, theatre, novels, finances, politics, +etc. What a race is that of enlightened men!!! I have seen Plessy, +charming and always beautiful. She asked me to send you a thousand +friendly messages. + +For my part, I send you a hundred thousand affectionate greetings. + +Your old friend + + + +CCII. TO GEORGE SAND +14 November, 1871 + +Ouf! I have just finished MY GODS, that is to say the mythological +part of my Saint-Antoine, on which I have been working since the +beginning of June. How I want to read it to you, dear master of the +good God! + +Why did you resist your good impulse? Why didn't you come this +autumn? You should not stay so long without seeing Paris. I shall be +there day after tomorrow, and I shall have no amusement there at all +this winter, what with Aisse, a volume of verse to be printed (I +should like to show you the preface), and Heaven knows what else. A +lot of things that are not at all diverting. + +I did not receive the second article that was announced. Your old +troubadour has an aching head. My longest nights these three months +have not exceeded five hours. I have been grubbing in a frantic +manner. Furthermore, I think I have brought my book to a pretty +degree of insanity. The idea of the foolish things that it will make +the bourgeois utter sustains me, or rather I don't need to be +sustained, as such a situation pleases me naturally. + +The good bourgeois is becoming more and more stupid! He does not +even go to vote! The brute beasts surpass him in their instinct for +self-preservation. Poor France! Poor us! + +What do you think I am reading now to distract myself? Bichat and +Cabanis, who amuse me enormously. They knew how to write books then. +Ah! how far our doctors of today are from those men! + +We suffer from one thing only: Absurdity. But it is formidable and +universal. When they talk of the brutishness of the plebe, they are +saying an unjust, incomplete thing. Conclusion: the enlightened +classes must be enlightened. Begin by the head, which is the +sickest, the rest will follow. + +You are not like me! You are full of compassion. There are days when +I choke with wrath, I would like to drown my contemporaries in +latrines, or at least deluge their cockscombs with torrents of +abuse, cataracts of invectives. Why? I wonder myself. + +What sort of archeology is Maurice busy with? Embrace your little +girls warmly for me. + +Your old friend + + + +CCIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 23 November, 1871 + +I hear from Plauchut that you won't let yourself be abducted for our +Christmas Eve REVELS. You say you have too much to do. That is so +much the worse for us, who would have had such pleasure in seeing +you.--You were at Ch. Edmond's successful play, you are well, you +have a great deal to do, you still detest the silly bourgeois; and +with all that, is Saint-Antoine finished and shall we read it soon? + +I am giving you an easy commission to do, this is it: I have had to +aid a respectable and interesting person [Footnote: Mademoiselle de +Flaugergues.] to whom the Prussians have left for a bed and chair, +only an old garden bench. I sent her 300 francs, she needed 600. I +begged from kind souls. They sent me what was necessary, all except +the Princess Mathilde, from whom I asked 200 francs. She answered me +the 19th of this month: HOW SHALL I SEND THIS TO YOU? + +I replied the same day; simply by mail. But I have received nothing. +I do not insist, but I fear that the money may have been stolen or +lost, and I am asking you to clear up the affair as quickly as +possible. + +With this, I embrace you, and Lolo, AURORE EMBRACES YOU TOO and all +the family which loves you. + +G. Sand + +[The words 'Aurore embraces you too' were written by the little girl +herself.] + + + +CCIV. TO GEORGE SAND +1 December + +Your letter which I have just found again, makes me remorseful, for +I have not yet done your errand to the princess. I was several days +without knowing where the princess was. She was to have come to get +settled in Paris, and send me word of her arrival. Today at last I +learn that she is at Saint-Gratien where I shall go on Sunday +evening probably. Anyway your commission shall be done next week. + +You must forgive me, for I have not had for the last two weeks ten +minutes of freedom. The revival of Ruy Blas which was going to be +put ahead of Aisse had to be PUT OFF (it was a hard job). Well, the +rehearsals are to begin on Monday next. I read the play to the +actors today, and the roles are to be verified tomorrow. I think it +will go well. I have had Bouilhet's volume of verse printed, the +preface of which I re-wrote. In short I am worn out! and sad! sad +enough to croak. When I have to get into action I throw myself into +it head first. But my heart is breaking in disgust. That is the +truth. + +I have seen none of our friends except Tourgueneff, whom I have +found more charming than ever. Give a good kiss to Aurore for her +sweet message, and let her kiss you for me. + +Your old friend + + + +CCV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 7 December, 1871 + +The money was stolen, I did not receive it, and it can not be +claimed, for the sender would be liable to a suit. Thank the +princess just the same for me, and for poor Mademoiselle de +Flaugergues whom by the way, the minister is aiding with 200 francs. +Her pension is 800. + +You are in the midst of rehearsals, I pity you, and yet I imagine +that in working for a friend one puts more heart in it, more +confidence and much more patience. Patience, there is everything in +that, and that is acquired. + +I love you and I embrace you, how I would like to have you at +Christmas! You can not, so much the worse for us. We shall drink you +a toast and many speaches [sic]. + +G. Sand + + + +CCVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 4 January, 1872 + +I want to embrace you at the first of the year and tell you that I +love my old troubadour now and always, but I don't want you to +answer me, you are in the thick of theatrical things, and you have +not the time and the calmness to write. Here we called you at the +stroke of midnight on Christmas, we called your name three times, +did you hear it at all? + +We are all getting on well, our little girls are growing, we speak +of you often; my children embrace you also. May our affection bring +you good luck! + +G. Sand + + + +CCVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Sunday, January, 1872 + +At last I have a moment of quiet and I can write to you. But I have +so many things to chat with you about, that I hardly know where to +begin: (1) Your little letter of the 4th of January, which came the +very morning of the premiere of Aisse, moved me to tears, dear well- +beloved master. You are the only one who shows such delicacies of +feeling. + +The premiere was splendid, and then, that is all. The next night the +theatre was almost empty. The press, in general, was stupid and +base. They accused me of having wanted to advertise by INSERTING an +incendiary tirade! I pass for a Red (sic). You see where we are! + +The management of the Odeon has done nothing for the play! On the +contrary. The day of the premiere it was I who brought with my own +hands the properties for the first act! And on the third performance +I led the supernumeraries. + +Throughout the rehearsals they advertised in the papers the revival +of Ruy Blas, etc., etc. They made me strangle la Baronne quite as +Ruy Blas will strangle Aisse. In short, Bouilhet's heir will get +very little money. Honor is saved, that is all. + +I have had Dernieres Chansons printed. You will receive this volume +at the same time as Aisse and a letter of mine to the Conseil +municipal de Rouen. This little production seemed too violent to le +Nouvelliste de Rouen, which did not dare to print it; but it will +appear on Wednesday in le Temps, then at Rouen, as a pamphlet. + +What a foolish life I have been leading for two and a half months! +How is it that I have not croaked with it? My longest nights have +not been over five hours. What running about! What letters! and what +anger!--repressed--unfortunately! At last, for three days I have +slept all I wanted to, and I am stupefied by it. + +I was present with Dumas at the premiere of Roi Carotte. You can not +imagine such rot! It is sillier and emptier than the worst of the +fairy plays of Clairville. The public agreed with me absolutely. + +The good Offenbach has had another failure at the Opera-Comique with +Fantasio. Shall one ever get to hating piffle? That would be a fine +step on the right path. + +Tourgueneff has been in Paris since the first of December. Every +week we have an engagement to read Saint-Antoine and to dine +together. But something always prevents and we never meet. I am +harassed more than ever by life and am disgusted with everything, +which does not prevent me from being in better health than ever. +Explain that to me. + + + +CCVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 18 January, 1872 + +You must not be sick, you must not be a grumbler, my dear old +troubadour. You must cough, blow your nose, get well, say that +France is mad, humanity silly, and that we are crude animals; and +you must love yourself, your kind, and your friends above all. I +have some very sad hours. I look at MY FLOWERS, these two little +ones who are always smiling, their charming mother and my wise +hardworking son whom the end of the world will find hunting, +cataloguing, doing his daily task, and gay withal AS PUNCH, in the +RARE moments when he is resting. + +He said to me this morning: "Tell Flaubert to come, I will take a +vacation at once. I will play the marionettes for him, I will make +him laugh." + +Life in a crowd forbids reflection. You are too much alone. Come +quickly to our house and let us love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Friday, 19 January, 1872 + +I did not know about all that affair at Rouen and I now understand +your anger. But you are too angry, that is to say too good, and too +good for them. With a BITTER and vindictive man these louts would be +less spiteful and less bold. You have always called them brutes, you +and Bouilhet, now they are avenging themselves on the dead and on +the living. Ah! well, it is indeed that and nothing else. + +Yesterday I was preaching the calmness of disdain to you. I see that +this is not the moment, but you are not wicked, strong men are not +cruel! With a bad mob at their heels, these fine men of Rouen would +not have dared what they have dared! + +I have the Chansons, tomorrow I shall read your preface, from +beginning to end. + +I embrace you. + + + +CCX. TO GEORGE SAND + +You will receive very soon: Dernieres Chansons, Aisse and my Lettre +au Conseil municipal de Rouen, which is to appear tomorrow in le +Temps before appearing as a pamphlet. + +I have forgotten to tell you something, dear master. I have used +your name. I have COMPROMISED you in citing you among the +illustrious people who have subscribed to the monument for Bouilhet. +I found that it looked well in the sentence. An effect of style +being a sacred thing with me, don't disavow it. + +Today I am starting again my metaphysical readings for Saint- +Antoine. Next Saturday, I shall read a hundred and thirty pages of +it, all that is finished, to Tourgueneff. Why won't you be there! + +I embrace you. + +Your old friend + + + +CCXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 25 January, 1872 + +You were quite right to put me down and I want to CONTRIBUTE too. +Put me down for the sum you would like and tell me so that I may +have it sent to you. + +I have read your preface in le Temps: the end of it is very +beautiful and touching. But I see that this poor friend was, like +you, one who DID NOT GET OVER HIS ANGER, and at your age I should +like to see you less irritated, less worried with the folly of +others. For me, it is lost time, like complaining about being bored +with the rain and the flies. The public which is accused often of +being silly, gets angry and only becomes sillier; for angry or +irritated, one becomes sublime if one is intelligent, idiotic if one +is silly. + +After all, perhaps this chronic indignation is a need of your +constitution; it would kill me. I have a great need to be calm so as +to reflect and to think things over. At this moment I am doing THE +USEFUL at the risk of your anathemas. I am trying to simplify a +child's approach to culture, being persuaded that the first study +makes its impression on all the others and that pedagogy teaches us +to look for knots in bulrushes. In short, I am working over A +PRIMER, do not EAT ME ALIVE. + +I have ONLY ONE regret about Paris: it is not to be a third with +Tourgueneff when you read your Saint-Antoine. For all the rest, +Paris does not call me at all; my heart has affections there that I +do not wish to hurt, by disagreement with their ideas. It is +impossible not to be tired of this spirit of party or of sect which +makes people no longer French, nor men, nor themselves. They have no +country, they belong to a church. They do what they disapprove of, +so as not to disobey the discipline of the school. I prefer to keep +silent. They would find me cold or stupid; one might as well stay at +home. + +You don't tell me of your mother; is she in Paris with her +grandchild? I hope that your silence means that they are well. +Everything has gone wonderfully here this winter; the children are +excellent and give us nothing but joy. After the dismal winter of +'70 to '71, one ought to complain of nothing. + +Can one live peaceably, you say, when the human race is so absurd? I +submit, while saying to myself that perhaps I am as absurd as every +one else and that it is time to turn my mind to correcting myself. + +I embrace you for myself and for all mine. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXII. TO GEORGE SAND + +No! dear master! it is not true. Bouilhet never injured the +bourgeois of Rouen; no one was gentler to them, I add even more +cowardly, to tell the truth. As for me, I kept apart from them, that +is all my crime. + +I find by chance just today in Nadar's Memoirs du Geant, a paragraph +on me and the people of Rouen which is absolutely exact. Since you +own this book, look at page 100. + +If I had kept silent they would have accused me of being a coward. I +protested naively, that is to say brutally. And I did well. + +I think that one ought never begin the attack; but when one answers, +one must try to kill cleanly one's enemy. Such is my system. +Frankness is part of loyalty; why should it be less perfect in blame +than in praise? + +We are perishing from indulgence, from clemency, from COWISHNESS and +(I return to my eternal refrain) from lack of JUSTICE! + +Besides, I have never insulted any one, I have kept to +generalities,--as for M. Decorde, my intentions are for open +warfare;--but enough of that! I spent yesterday, a fine day, with +Tourgueneff to whom I read the hundred and fifteen pages of Saint- +Antoine that are finished. After which, I read to him almost half of +the Dernieres Chansons. What a listener! What a critic! He dazzled +me by the depth and the clearness of his judgment. Ah! if all those +who attempt to judge books had been able to hear, what a lesson! +Nothing escapes him. At the end of a passage of a hundred lines, he +remembers a weak epithet! he gave me two or three suggestions of +exquisite detail for Saint-Antoine. + +Do you think me very silly since you believe I am going to blame you +for your primer? I have enough philosophic spirit to know that such +a thing is very serious work. + +Method is the highest thing in criticism, since it gives the means +of creating. + + + +CCXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 28 January, 1872 + +Your preface is splendid and the book [Footnote: Dernieres Chansons, +by Louis Bouilhet.] is divine! Mercy! I have made a line of poetry +without realizing it, God forgive me. Yes, you are right, he was not +second rank, and ranks are not given by decree, above all in an age +when criticism undoes everything and does nothing. All your heart is +in this simple and discreet tale of his life. I see very well now, +why he died so young; he died from having lived too extensively in +the mind. I beg of you not to absorb yourself so much in literature +and learning. Change your home, move about, have mistresses or +wives, whichever you like, and during these phases, must change the +end that one lights. At my advanced age I throw myself into +torrents of far niente; the most infantile amusements, the silliest, +are enough for me and I return more lucid from my attacks of +imbecility. + +It was a great loss to art, that premature death. In ten years there +will not be one single poet. Your preface is beautiful and well +done. Some pages are models, and it is very true that the bourgeois +will read that and find nothing remarkable in it. Ah! if one did not +have the little sanctuary, the interior little shrine, where, +without saying anything to anyone, one takes refuge to contemplate +and to dream the beautiful and the true, one would have to say: +"What is the use?" + +I embrace you warmly. + +Your old troubadour. + + + +CCXIV. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear good master, + +Can you, for le Temps, write on Dernieres Chansons? It would oblige +me greatly. Now you have it. + +I was ill all last week. My throat was in a frightful state. But I +have slept a great deal and I am again afloat. I have begun anew my +reading for Saint-Antoine. + +It seems to me that Dernieres Chansons could lend itself to a +beautiful article, to a funeral oration on poetry. Poetry will not +perish, but its eclipse will be long and we are entering into the +shades. + +Consider if you have a mind for it and answer by a line. + + + +CCXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 17 February + +My troubadour, I am thinking of what you asked me to do and I will +do it; but this week I must rest. I played the fool too much at the +carnival with my grandchildren and my great-nephews. + +I embrace you for myself and for all my brood. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXVI. TO GEORGE SAND + +What a long time it is since I have written to you, dear master. I +have so many things to say to you that I don't know where to begin. +Oh! how horrid it is to live so separated when we love each other. + +Have you given Paris an eternal adieu? Am I never to see you again +there? Are you coming to Croisset this summer to hear Saint-Antoine? + +As for me, I can not go to Nohant, because my time, considering my +straitened purse, is all counted; but I have still I a full month of +readings and researches in Paris. After that I am going away with my +mother: we are in search of a companion for her. It is not easy to +find one. Then, towards Easter I shall be back at Croisset, and +shall start to work again at the manuscript. I am beginning to want +to write. + +Just now, I am reading in the evening, Kant's Critique de la raison +pure, translated by Barni, and I am freshening up my Spinoza. During +the day I amuse myself by looking over bestiaries of the middle +ages; looking up in the "authorities" all the most baroque animals. +I am in the midst of fantastic monsters. + +When I have almost exhausted the material I shall go to the Museum +to muse before real monsters, and then the researches for the good +Saint-Antoine will be finished. + +In your letter before the last one you showed anxiety about my +health; reassure yourself! I have never been more convinced that it +was robust. The life that I have led this winter was enough to kill +three rhinoceroses, but nevertheless I am well. The scabbard must be +solid, for the blade is well sharpened; but everything is converted +into sadness! Any action whatever disgusts me with life! I have +followed your counsels, I have sought distractions! But that amuses +me very little. Decidedly nothing but sacrosanct literature +interests me. + +My preface to the Dernieres Chansons has aroused in Madame Colet a +pindaric fury. I have received an anonymous letter from her, in +verse, in which she represents me as a charlatan who beats the drum +on the tomb of his friend, a vulgar wretch who debases himself +before criticism, after having "flattered Caesar"! "Sad example of +the passions," as Prudhomme would say. + +A propos of Caesar, I can not believe, no matter what they say, in +his near return. In spite of my pessimism, we have not come to that! +However, if one consulted the God called Universal Suffrage, who +knows?...Ah! we are very low, very low! + +I saw Ruy Blas badly played except for Sarah. Melingue is a sleep- +walking drain-man, and the others are as tiresome. As Victor Hugo +had complained in a friendly way that I had not paid him a call, I +thought I ought to do so and I found him ...charming! I repeat the +word, not at all "the great man," not at all a pontiff! This +discovery greatly surprised me and did me worlds of good. For I have +the bump of veneration and I like to love what I admire. That is a +personal allusion to you, dear, kind master. + +I have met Madame Viardot whom I found a very curious temperament. +It was Tourgueneff who took me to her house. + + + +CCXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, from the 28 to the 29 February 1872. Night of Wednesday to +Thursday, three o'clock in the morning. + +Ah! my dear old friend, what a dreadful twelve days I have spent! +Maurice has been very ill. Continually these terrible sore throats, +which in the beginning seem nothing, but which are complicated with +abscesses and tend to become membranous. He has not been in danger, +but always IN DANGER OF DANGER, and he has had cruel suffering, loss +of voice, he could not swallow; every anguish attached to the +violent sore throat that you know well, since you have just had one. +With him, this trouble continually tends to get worse, and his +mucous membrane has been so often the seat of the same illness that +it lacks energy to react. With that, little or no fever, almost +always on his feet, and the moral depression of a man used to +continual exercise of body and mind, whom the mind and body forbids +to exercise. We have looked after him so well that he is now, I +think, out of the woods, although, this morning, I was afraid again +and sent for Doctor Favre, our USUAL savior. + +Throughout the day I have been talking to him, to distract him, +about your researches on monsters; he had his papers brought so as +to hunt among them for what might be useful you; but he has found +only the pure fantasies of his own invention. I found them so +original and so funny that I have encouraged him to send them to +you. They will be of no use to you except to make you burst out +laughing in your hours recreation. + +I hope that we are going to come to life again without new relapses. +He is the soul and the life of the house. When he is depressed we +are dead; mother, wife, and children. Aurore says that she would +like to be very ill in her father's place We love each other +passionately, we five, and the SACROSANCT LITERATURE as you call it, +is only secondary in my life. I have always loved some one more than +it and my family more than that some one. + +Pray why is your poor little mother so irritable and desperate, in +the very midst of an old age that when I last saw her was still so +green and so gracious? Is her deafness sudden? Did she entirely lack +philosophy and patience before these infirmities? I suffer with you +because I understand what you are suffering. + +Another old age which is worse, since it is becoming malicious, is +that of Madame Colet. I used to think that all her hatred was +directed against me, and that seemed to me a bit of madness; for I +had never done or said anything against her, even after that vile +book in which she poured out all her fury WITHOUT cause. What has +she against you now that passion has become ancient history? +Strange! strange! And, a propos of Bouilhet, she hated him then, him +too this poor poet? She is mad. + +You may well think that I was not able to write an iota for these +twelve days. I am going, I hope, to start at work as soon as I have +finished my novel which has remained with one foot in the air at the +last pages. It is on the point of being published but has not yet +been finished. I am up every night till dawn; but I have not had a +sufficiently tranquil mind to be distracted from my patient. + +Good night, dear good friend of my heart. + +Heavens! don't work nor sit up too much, as you also have sore +throats. They are terrible and treacherous illnesses. We all love +you, and we embrace you. Aurore is charming; she learns all that we +want her to, we don't know how, without seeming to notice it. + +What kind of a woman do you want as a companion for your mother? +Perhaps I know of such a one. Must she converse and read aloud? It +seems to me that the deafness is a barrier to that. Isn't it a +question of material care and continual diligence? What are the +stipulations and what is the compensation? + +Tell me how and why father Hugo did not have one single visit after +Ruy Blas? Did Gautier, Saint-Victor, his faithful ones, neglect him? +Have they quarreled about politics? + + + +CCXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +March, 1872 + +Dear master, + +I have received the fantastic drawings, which have diverted me. Is +there perhaps profound symbolism hidden in Maurice's work? But I did +not find it. ... Revery! + +There are two very pretty monsters: (1) an embryo in the form of a +balloon on four feet; (2) a death's head emanating from an +intestinal worm. + +We have not found a companion yet. It seems difficult to me, we must +have someone who can read aloud and who is very gentle; we should +also give her some charge of the household. She would not have much +bodily care to give, as my mother would keep her maid. + +We must have someone who is kind above all, and perfectly honest. +Religious principles are not objected to! The rest is left to your +perspicacity, dear master! That is all. + +I am uneasy about Theo. I think that he is getting strangely old. He +must be very ill, doubtless with heart trouble, don't you think so? +Still another who is preparing to leave me. + +No! literature is not what I love most in the world, I explained +myself badly (in my last letter). I spoke to you of distractions and +of nothing more. I am not such a pedant as to prefer phrases to +living beings. The further I go the more my sensibility is +exasperated. But the basis is solid and the thing goes on. And then, +after the Prussian war there is no further great annoyance possible. + +And the Critique de la raison pure of the previously mentioned Kant, +translated by Barni, is heavier reading than the Vie Parisienne of +Marcelin; never mind! I shall end by understanding it. + +I have almost finished the scenario of the last part of Saint +Antoine. I am in a hurry to start writing. It is too long since I +have written. I am bored with style! + +And tell me more about you, dear master! Give me at once news of +Maurice, and tell me if you think that the lady you know would suit +us. + +And thereupon I embrace you with both arms. + +Your old troubadour always agitated, always as wrathful as Saint +Polycarp. + + + +CCXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +17 March, 1872 + +No, dear friend, Maurice is almost well again but I have been tired, +worn out with URGENT work: finishing my novel, and correcting a mass +of proof from the beginning. And then unanswered letters, business, +no time to breathe! That is why I have not been able to write the +article on Bouilhet, and as Nanon has begun, as they are publishing +five numbers a week in le Temps, I don't see where I shall publish +that article very soon. + +In the Revue des Deux Mondes, they don't want me to write criticism; +whoever is not, or was not of their circle, has no talent, and they +do not give me the right to say the contrary. + +There is, to be sure, a new review wide open to me, which is +published by very fine people, but it is more widely read in other +countries than in France, and you will find perhaps that an article +in that would not excite comment. It is the Revue universelle +directed by Amedee Marteau. Discuss that with Charles Edmond. Ask +him if, in spite of the fact that Nanon is being published, he could +find me a little corner in the body of the paper. + +As for the companion, you may rest assured that I am looking for +her. The one whom I had in view is not suitable, for she could not +read aloud, and I am not sure enough of the others to propose them. +I thought that your poor mother was too deaf to listen to reading, +and to converse, and that it would be enough for her to have some +one very gentle, and charming, to care for her, and to stay with +her. + +That is all, my dear old friend, it is not my fault, I embrace you +with all my heart. For the moment that is the only thing that is +functioning. My brain is too stupefied. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXX. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset + +Here I am, back again here, dear master, and not very happy; my +mother worries me. Her decline increases from day to day, and almost +from hour to hour. She wanted me to come home although the painters +have not finished their work, and we are very inconveniently housed. +At the end of next week, she will have a companion who will relieve +me in this foolish business of housekeeping. + +As for me, I have quite decided not to make the presses groan for +many years, solely not to have "business" to look after, to avoid +all connection with publishers, editors and papers, and above all +not to hear of money. + +My incapacity, in that direction, has developed to frightful +proportions. Why should the sight of a bill put me in a rage? It +verges on madness. Aisse has not made money. Dernieres Chansons has +almost gotten me into a lawsuit. The story of la Fontaine is not +ended. I am tired, profoundly tired, of everything. + +If only I do not make a failure also of Saint-Antoine. I am going to +start working on it again in a week, when I have finished with Kant +and Hegel. These two great men are helping to stupefy me, and when I +leave them I fall with eagerness upon my old and thrice great +Spinoza. What genius, how fine a work the Ethics is! + + + +CCXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +9 April, 1872 + +I am with you all day and all night, and at every instant, my poor +dear friend. I am thinking of all the sorrow that you are in the +midst of. I would like to be near you. The misfortune of being tied +here distresses me. I would like a word so as to know if you have +the courage that you need. The end of that noble and dear life has +been sad and long; for from the day that she became feeble, she +declined and you could not distract her and console her. Now, alas! +the incessant and cruel task is ended, as the things of this world +end, anguish after struggle! What a bitter achievement of rest! and +you are going to miss this anxiety, I am sure of that. I know the +sort of dismay that follows the combat with death. + +In short, my poor child, I can only open a maternal heart to you +which will replace nothing, but which is suffering with yours, and +very keenly in each one of your troubles. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 14 April, 1872 + +My daughter-in-law has been staying several days with our friends, +at Nimes, to stop a bad case of WHOOPING-COUGH that Gabrielle was +suffering with, to separate her from Aurore, from fear of contagion, +and to recuperate, for she has not been well for some time. As for +me, I am well again. That little illness and this departure suddenly +resolved upon and accomplished, have upset my plans somewhat. I had +to look after Aurore so that she might be reconciled to it, and I +have not had a moment to answer you. I am wondering too if you don't +like it better to be left to yourself these first few days. But I +beguile the need I feel of being near you at this sad time, by +telling you over and over again, my poor, dear friend, how much I +love you. Perhaps, too, your family has taken you to Rouen or to +Dieppe, so as not to let you go back at once into that sad house. I +don't know anything about your plans, in case those which you made +to absorb yourself in work are changed. If you have any inclination +to travel, and the sinews of war are lacking, I have ready for you a +few sous that I have just earned, and I put them at your disposal. +Don't feel constrained with me any more than I would with you, dear +child. They are going to pay me for my novel in five or six days at +the office of le Temps; you need only to write me a line and I shall +see that you get it in Paris. A word when you can, I embrace you, +and so does Maurice, very tenderly. + + + +CCXXIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday, 16 April, 1872 + +Dear good master, + +I should have answered at once your first, very kind letter. But I +was too sad. I lacked physical strength. + +At last, today, I am beginning to hear the birds singing and to see +the leaves growing green. The sun irritates me no longer, which is a +good sign. If I could feel like working again I should be all right. + +Your second letter (that of yesterday) moved me to tears! You are so +good! What a splendid creature you are! I do not need money now, +thank you. But if I did need any, I should certainly ask you for it. + +My mother has left Croisset to Caroline with the condition that I +should keep my apartments there. So, until the estate is completely +settled, I stay here. Before deciding on the future, I must know +what I have to live on, after that we shall see. + +Shall I have the strength to live absolutely alone in solitude? I +doubt it, I am growing old. Caroline cannot live here now. She has +two dwellings already, and the house at Croisset is expensive. I +think I shall give up my Paris lodging. Nothing calls me to Paris +any longer. All my friends are dead, and the last one, poor Theo, is +not for long, I fear. Ah! it is hard to grow a new skin at fifty +years of age! + +I realized, during the last two weeks, that my poor dear, good +mother was the being that I have loved the most! It is as if someone +had torn out a part of my vitals. + + + +CCXXIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 28 April, 1872 + +I hold my poor Aurore, who has a terrible case of whooping-cough, +day and night in my arms. I have an important piece of work that I +must finish, and which I shall finish in spite of everything. If I +have not already done the article on Bouilhet, rest assured it is +because it is IMPOSSIBLE. I shall do it at the same time as that on +l'Annee terrible. I shall go to Paris between the 20th and 25th of +May, at the latest. Perhaps sooner, if Maurice takes Aurore to Nimes +where Lina and the littlest one are. I shall write to you, you must +come to see me in Paris, or I will go to see you. + +I thirst too to embrace you, to console you--no, but to tell you +that your sorrows are mine. Good-bye till then, a line to tell me if +your affairs are getting settled, and if you are coming out on top. + +Your old G. Sand + + + +CCXXV. TO GEORGE SAND + +What good news, dear master! In a month and even before a month, I +shall see you at last! + +Try not to be too hurried in Paris, so that we may have the time to +talk. What would be very nice, would be, if you came back here with +me to spend several days. We should be quieter than there; "my poor +old mother" loved you very much, would be sweet to see you in her +house, when she has been gone only such a short time. + +I have started work again, for existence is only tolerable when one +forgets one's miserable self. + +It will be a long time before I know what I have to live on. For all +the fortune that is left to us is in meadowland, and in order to +divide it, we have to sell it all. + +Whatever happens, I shall keep my apartments at Croisset. That will +be my refuge, and perhaps even my only habitation. Paris hardly +attracts me any longer. In a little while I shall have no more +friends there. The human being (the eternal feminine included) +amuses me less and less. + +Do you know that my poor Theo is very ill? He is dying from boredom +and misery. No one speaks his language anymore! We are like fossils +who subsist astray in a new world. + + + +CCXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 18 May, 1872 + +Dear friend of my heart, your inability does not disturb me at all, +on the contrary. I have the grippe and the prostration that follows +it. I cannot go to Paris for a week yet, and shall be there during +the first part of June. My little ones are both in the sheepfold. I +have taken good care of and cured the eldest, who is strong. The +other is very tired, and the trip did not prevent the whooping- +cough. For my part, I have worked very hard in caring for my dear +one, and as soon as my task was over, as soon as I saw my dear world +reunited and well again, I collapsed. It will be nothing, but I have +not the strength to write. I embrace you, and I count on seeing you +soon. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Paris, Monday, 3 June, 1872, Rue Gay Lussac, 5 + +I am in Paris, and for all this week, in the horror of personal +business. But next week will you come? I should like to go to see +you in Croisset, but I do not know if I can. I have taken Aurore's +whooping-cough, and, at my age, it is severe. I am, however, better, +but hardly able to go about. Write me a line, so I can reserve the +hours that you can give me. I embrace you, as I love you, with a +full heart. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +1872 + +The hours that I could give you, dear Master! Why, all the hours, +now, by and by, and forever. + +I am planning to go to Paris at the end of next week, the 14th or +the 16th. Shall you be there still? If not, I shall go earlier. + +But I should like it much better if you came here. We should be +quieter, without callers or intruders! More than ever, I should like +to have you now in my poor Croisset. + +It seems to me that we have enough to talk about without stopping +for twenty-four hours. Then I would read you Saint-Antoine, which +lacks only about fifteen pages of being finished. However, don't +come if your cough continues. I should be afraid that the dampness +would hurt you. + +The mayor of Vendome has asked me "to honor with my presence" the +dedication of the statue of Ronsard, which occurs the 23rd of this +month: I shall go. And I should even like to deliver an address +there which would be a protest against the universal modern flap- +doodle. The occasion is good. But for the production of a really +appropriate little gem, I lack the snap and vivacity. + +Hoping to see you soon, dear master, your old troubadour who +embraces you. + + + +CCXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +7 June, 1872 + +Dear friend, + +Your old troubadour has such a bad cough that a little bit more +would be the last straw. On the other hand, they cannot get on +without me at our house, and I cannot stay longer than next week, +that is to say, the 15th or the 16th. If you could come next +Thursday, the 13th, I should reserve the 13th, the 14th, even the +15th, to be with you at my house for the day for dinner, for the +evening, in short, just as if we were in the country, where we could +read and converse. I would be supposed to have gone away. + +A word at once, I embrace you as I love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXX. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +Have you promised your support to the candidacy of Duquesnel? if +not, I should like to beg you to use to the utmost your influence to +support my friend, Raymond Deslandes, as if he were + +Your old troubadour, + +G. Flaubert + +Thursday, three o'clock, 13 June, 1872. + +Answer me categorically, so that we may know what you will do. + + + +CCXXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +..Nohant, 5 July, 1872 + +I must write to you today. Sixty-eight years old. Perfect health in +spite of the cough, which lets me sleep now that I am plunging daily +in a furious little torrent, cold as ice. It boils around the +stones, the flowers, the great grasses in a delicious shade. It is +an ideal place to bathe. + +We have had some terrible storms: lightning struck in our garden; +and our stream, the Indre, has become like a torrent in the +Pyrenees. It is not unpleasant. What a fine summer! The grain is +seven feet high, the wheat fields are sheets of flowers. The peasant +thinks that there are too many; but I let him talk, it is so lovely! +I go on foot to the stream, I jump, all boiling hot, into the icy +water. The doctor says that is madness. I let him talk, too; I am +curing myself while his patients look after themselves and croak. I +am like the grass of the fields: water and sun, that is all I need. + +Are you off for the Pyrenees? Ah! I envy you, I love them so! I have +taken frantic trips there; but I don't know Luchon. Is it lovely, +too? You won't go there without seeing the Cirque of Gavarnie, and +the road that leads there, will you? And Cauterets and the lake of +Gaube? And the route of Saint-Sauveur? Heavens! How lucky one is to +travel and to see the mountains, the flowers, the cliffs! Does all +that bore you? + +Do you remember the editors, the theatrical managers, the readers +and the public when you are running about the country! As for me, I +forget everything as I do when Pauline Viardot is singing. + +The other day we discovered, about three leagues from here, a +wilderness, an absolute wilderness of woods in a great expanse of +country, where not one hut could be seen, not a human being, not a +sheep, not a fowl, nothing but flowers, butterflies and birds all +day. But where will my letter find you? I shall wait to send it to +you till you give me an address! + + + +CCXXXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Bagneres de Luchon, 12th July, 1872 + +I have been here since Sunday evening, dear master, and no happier +than at Croisset, even a little less so, for I am very idle. They +make so much noise in the house where we are that it is impossible +to work. Moreover, the sight of the bourgeois who surround us is +unendurable. I am not made for travelling. The least inconvenience +disturbs me. Your old troubadour is very old, decidedly! Doctor +Lambron, the physician of this place, attributes my nervous +tendencies to the excessive use of tobacco. To be agreeable I am +going to smoke less; but I doubt very much if my virtue will cure +me! + +I have just read Dickens's Pickwick. Do you know that? There are +superb passages in it; but what defective composition! All English +writers are the same; Walter Scott excepted, all lack a plot. That +is unendurable for us Latins. + +Mister ***** is certainly nominated, as it seems. All the people who +have had to do with the Odeon, beginning with you, dear master, will +repent of the support that they have given him. As for me, who, +thank Heaven, have no more connection with that establishment, I +don't give a whoop. + +As I am going to begin a book which will exact much reading, and +since I don't want to ruin myself in books, do you know of any +dealer in Paris who would rent me all the books that I designated? + +What are you doing now? We saw each other so little and so +inconveniently the last time. + +This letter is stupid. But they are making such a noise over my head +that it is not clear (my head). + +In the midst of my bewilderment, I embrace you and yours also. Your +old blockhead who loves you. + + + +CCXXXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 19 July, 1872 + +Dear old troubadour, + +We too are going away, but without knowing yet where we are going; +it doesn't make any difference to me. I wanted to take my brood to +Switzerland; they would rather go in the opposite direction, to the +Ocean; the Ocean will do! If only we travel and bathe, I shall be +out of my mind with joy. Decidedly our two old troubadourships are +two opposites. What bores you, amuses me; I love movement and noise, +and even the tiresome things about travelling find favor in my eyes, +provided they are a part of travelling. I am much more sensible to +what disturbs the calm of sedentary life, than to that which is a +normal and necessary disturbance in the life of motion. + +I am absolutely like my grandchildren, who are intoxicated +beforehand without knowing why. But it is curious to see how +children, while loving the change, want to take with them their +surroundings, their accustomed playthings, when they go out into the +world. Aurore is packing her dolls' trunk, and Gabrielle, who likes +animals better, intends to take her rabbits, her little dog, and a +little pig that she is taking care of until she eats it. SUCH IS +LIFE [sic]. + +I believe that, in spite of your bad temper, this trip will do you +good. It will make you rest your brain, and if you have to smoke +less, so much the better! Health above all. I hope that your niece +will make you move around a bit; she is your child; she ought to +have some authority over you, or the world would be turned upside +down. + +I cannot refer you to the bookshop that you need for borrowing +books. I send for such things to Mario Proth, and I don't know where +he finds them. When you get back to Paris, tell him from me to +inform you. He is a devoted fellow, as obliging as possible. He +lives at 2 rue Visconti. It occurs to me that Charles Edmond, too, +might give you very good information; Troubat, [Footnote: Sainte- +Beuve's secretary.] also. + +You are surprised that spoken words are not contracts; you are very +simple; in business nothing holds except written documents. We are +Don Quixotes, my old troubadour; we must resign ourselves to being +trimmed by the innkeepers. Life is like that, and he who does not +want to be deceived must go to live in a desert. It is not living to +keep away from all the evil of this nether-world. One must swallow +the bitter with the sweet. + +As to your Saint-Antoine, if you let me, I shall see about finding +you a publisher or a review on my next trip to Paris, but we ought +to talk about it together and you ought to read it to me. Why +shouldn't you come to us in September? I shall be at home until +winter. + +You ask me what I am doing now: I have done, since I left Paris, an +article on Mademoiselle de Flaugergues, which will appear in +l'Opinion nationale with a work by her; an article for le Temps on +Victor Hugo, Bouilhet, Leconte de Lisle and Pauline Viardot. I hope +that you will be pleased with what I said about your friend; I have +done a second fantastic tale for the Revue des Deux Mondes, a tale +for children. I have written about a hundred letters, for the most +part to make up for the folly or to soften the misery of imbeciles +of my acquaintance. Idleness is the plague of this age, and life is +passed in working for those who do not work. I do not complain. I am +well! every day I plunge into the Indre and into its icy cascades, +my sixty-eight years and my whooping-cough. When I am no longer +useful nor agreeable to others, I want to go away quietly without +saying OUF! or at least, not saying anything except that against +poor mankind, which is not worth much, but of which I am part, not +being worth perhaps very much myself. + +I love you and I embrace you. My family does too, Plauchut included. +He is going to travel with us. + +When we are SOMEWHERE FOR SEVERAL DAYS I shall write to you for +news. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXXIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Thursday + +Dear master, + +In the letter I received from you at Luchon a month ago, you told me +that you were packing up, and then that was all. No more news! I +have permitted myself to assume, as the good Brantome would say, +that you were at Cabourg! When do you return? Where do you go then? +To Paris or to Nohant? A question. + +As for me, I am not leaving Croisset. From the 1st to the 20th or +25th of September I shall have to go about a bit on business. I +shall go to Paris. Write then to rue Murillo. + +I should like very much to see you: (1) to see you; (2) to read you +Saint-Antoine, then to talk to you about another more important +book, etc., and to talk about a hundred other things privately. + + + +CCXXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 31 August, 1872 + +My old troubadour, + +Here we are back again at home, after a month passed, just as you +said, at Cabourg, where chance more than intention placed us. We all +took wonderful sea baths, Plauchut, too. We often talked of you with +Madame Pasca who was our neighbor at table, and had the room next +us. We have returned in splendid health, and we are glad to see our +old Nohant again, after having been glad to leave it for a little +change of air. + +I have resumed my usual work, and I continue my river baths, but no +one will accompany me, it is too cold. As for me, I found fault with +the sea for being too warm. Who would think that, with my appearance +and my tranquil old age, I would still love EXCESS? My dominant +passion on the whole is my Aurore. My life depends on hers. She was +so lovely on the trip, so gay, so appreciative of the amusements +that we gave her, so attentive to what she saw, and curious about +everything with so much intelligence, that she is real and +sympathetic company at every hour. Ah! how UNLITERARY I am! Scorn me +but still love me. + +I don't know if I shall find you in Paris when I go there for my +play. I have not arranged with the Odeon for the date of its +performance. I am waiting for Duquesnel for the final reading.--And +then I expect Pauline Viardot about the 20th of September, and I +hope Tourgueneff too, won't you come also? it would be so nice and +so complete! + +In this hope which I will not give up, I love you and I embrace you +with all my soul, and my children join me in loving you and +summoning you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 25 October, 1872 + +Your letters fall on me like a rain that refreshes, and develops at +once all that is germinating in the soil; they make me want to +answer your reasons, because your reasons are powerful and inspire a +reply. + +I do not assume that my replies will be strong too; they are +sincere, they issue from the roots of my being, like the plants +aforesaid. That is why I have just written a paper on the subject +that you raise, addressing myself this time TO A WOMAN FRIEND, who +has written me also in your vein, but less well than you, of course, +and a little from an aristocratically intellectual point of view, to +which she has not ALL THE RIGHTS SHE DESIRES. + +My roots, one can't extirpate them, and I am astonished that you ask +me to make tulips come from them when they can answer you by +producing only potatoes. Since the beginning of my intellectual +blooming, when, studying quite alone at the bedside of my paralyzed +grandmother, or in the fields at the times when I entrusted her to +Deschartres, I asked myself the most elementary questions about +society; I was no more advanced at seventeen than a child of six, +not as much! thanks to Deschartres, my father's teacher, who was a +contradiction from his head to his feet, much learning and little +sense; thanks to the convent, into which they stuck me, God knows +why, as they believed in nothing; thanks also to a purely +Restoration surrounding in which my grandmother, a philosopher, but +dying, breathed her last without resisting further the monarchical +current. + +Then I read Chateaubriand, and Rousseau; I passed from the Gospels +to the Contrat social. I read the history of the Revolution written +by the pious, the history of France, written by philosophers; and, +one fine day, I made all that agree like light proceeding from two +lamps, and I had PRINCIPLES. Don't laugh, very candid, childish +principles which have remained with me through all, through Lelia +and the romantic epoch, through love and doubt, enthusiasm and +disenchantments. To love, to make sacrifices, only to reconsider +when the sacrifice is harmful to those who are the object of it, and +to sacrifice oneself again in the hope of serving a real cause, +love. + +I am not speaking here of personal passion, but of love of race, of +the widening sentiment of self-love, of the horror of THE ISOLATED +MOI. And that ideal of JUSTICE of which you speak, I have never seen +it apart from love, since the first law on which the existence of a +natural society depends, is that we shall serve each other mutually, +like the bees and the ants. This concurrence of all to the same end, +we have agreed to call instinct among beasts, and it does not +matter, but among men, the instinct is love; he who withdraws +himself from love, withdraws himself from truth, from justice. + +I have experienced revolutions, and I have seen the principal actors +near to; I have seen the depth of their souls, I should say the +bottom of their bag: NO PRINCIPLES! and no real intelligence, no +force, nor endurance. Nothing but means and a personal end. Only one +had principles, not all of them good, but in comparison with their +integrity, he counted his personality for nothing: Barbes. + +Among artists and literary men, I have found no depth. You are the +only one with whom I have been able to exchange other ideas than +those of the profession. I don't know if you were at Magny's one day +when I said to them that they were all GENTLEMEN. They said that one +should not write for ignoramuses. They spurned me because I wanted +to write only for them, as they are the only ones who need anything. +The masters are provided for, are rich, satisfied. Imbeciles lack +everything, I am sorry for them. Loving and pitying are not to be +separated. And there you have the uncomplicated mechanism of my +thought. + +I have the passion for goodness and not at all for prejudiced +sentimentality. I spit with all my might upon him who pretends to +hold my principles and acts contrary to them. I do not pity the +incendiary and the assassin who fall under the hand of the law; I do +pity profoundly the class which a brutal, degenerate life without +upward trend and without aid, brings to the point of producing such +monsters. I pity humanity, I wish it were good, because I cannot +separate myself from it; because it is myself; because the evil it +does strikes me to the heart; because its shame makes me blush; +because its crimes gnaw at my vitals, because I cannot understand +paradise in heaven nor on earth for myself alone. + +You ought to understand me, you who are goodness from head to foot. + +Are you still in Paris? It has been such fine weather that I have +been tempted to go there to embrace you, but I don't dare to spend +the money, however little it may be, when there is so much poverty. +I am miserly because I know that I am extravagant when I forget, and +I continually forget. And then I have so much to do!...I don't know +anything and I don't learn anything, for I am always forced to learn +it over again. I do very much need, however, to see you again, for a +little bit; it is a part of myself which I miss. + +My Aurore keeps me very busy. She understands too quickly and we +have to take her at a hard gallop. To understand fascinates her, to +know repels her. She is as lazy as monsieur, her father, was. He has +gotten over it so well that I am not impatient. She promises me to +write you a letter soon. You see that she does not forget you. +Titite's Punch has lost his head, literally, because he has been so +embraced and caressed. He is loved as much without his head; what an +example of fidelity in misfortune! His stomach has become a +receptacle where playthings are put. + +Maurice is deep in his archeological studies, Lina is always +adorable, and all goes well except that the maids are not clean. +What a road the creatures have still to travel who do not keep +themselves clean! + +I embrace you. Tell me how you are getting on with Aisse, the Odeon +and all that stuff you are busy about. I love you; that is the end +of all my discourses. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXXXVII. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +In your last letter, among the nice things that you say to me, you +praise me for not being "haughty"; one is not haughty with what is +high. Therefore, in this aspect, you cannot know me. I object. + +Although I consider myself a good man, I am not always an agreeable +gentleman, witness what happened to me Thursday last. After having +lunched with a lady whom I had called "imbecile," I went to call on +another whom I had said was "ninny"; such is my ancient French +gallantry. The first one had bored me to death with her +spiritualistic discourses and her pretensions to ideality; the +second outraged me by telling me that Renan was a rascal. Observe +that she confessed to me that she had not read his books. There are +some subjects about which I lose patience, and, when a friend is +slandered before my very face, the savage in my blood returns, I see +red. Nothing more foolish! for it serves no purpose and hurts me +frightfully. + +This vice, by the way, BETRAYING ONE'S FRIENDS IN PUBLIC, seems to +me to be taking gigantic proportions! + + + +CCXXXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 26 October, 1872 + +Dear friend, + +Here is another chagrin for you; a sorrow foreseen, but none the +less distressing. Poor Theo! I pity him deeply, not because he is +dead, but because he has not been really living for twenty years; +and if he had consented to live, to exist, to act, to forget a bit +his intellectual personality so as to conserve his material +personality, he could have lived a long time yet, and have renewed +his resources which he was too much inclined to make a sterile +treasure. They say that he suffered greatly from hardship during the +siege. I understand it, but afterward? why and how? + +I am worried at not having had news from you for a long time. Are +you at Croisset? You must have been in Paris for the funeral of this +poor friend. What cruel and repeated separations! I am angry with +you for becoming savage and discontented with life. It seems to me +that you regard happiness too much as a possible thing, and that the +absence of happiness which is our chronic state, angers you and +astonishes you too much. You shun friends, you plunge into work, and +reckon ass lost the time you might employ in loving or in being +loved. Why didn't you come to us with Madame Viardot and +Tourgueneff? You like them, you admire them, you know that you are +adored here, and you run away to be alone. Well, how about getting +married? Being alone is odious, it is deadly, and it is cruel also +for those who love you. All your letters are unhappy and grip my +heart. Haven't you any woman whom you love or by whom you would be +loved with pleasure? Take her to live with you. Isn't there anywhere +a little urchin whose father you can believe you are? Bring him up. +Make yourself his slave, forget yourself in him. + +What do I know? To live in oneself is bad. There is intellectual +pleasure only in the possibility of returning to it when one has +been out for a long time; but to live always in this Moi which is +the most tyrannical, the most exacting, the most fantastic of +companions, no, one must not.--I beg you, listen to me! You are +shutting up an exuberant nature in a jail, you are making out of a +tender and indulgent heart, a deliberate misanthrope,--and you will +not make a success of it. In short, I am worried about you, and I am +saying perhaps some foolishness to you; but we live in cruel times +and we must not undergo them with curses. We must rise above them +with pity. That's it! I love you, write to me. + +I shall not go to Paris until after a month's time to put on +Mademoiselle La Quintinie. Where shall you be? + + + +CCXXXIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday night, 28 October, 1872 + +You have guessed rightly, dear master, that I had an increase of +sorrow, and you have written me a very tender, good letter, thanks; +I embrace you even more warmly than usual. + +Although expected, the death of poor Theo has distressed me. He is +the last of my intimates to go. He closes the list. Whom shall I see +now when I go to Paris? With whom shall I talk of what interests me? +I know some thinkers (at least people who are called so), but an +artist, where is there any? For my part, I tell you he died from the +"putrescence of modern times." That is his word, and he repeated it +to me this winter several times: "I am dying of the Commune," etc. + +The 4th of September has inaugurated an order of things in which +people like him have nothing more in the world to do. One must not +demand apples of orange trees. Artisans in luxury are useless in a +society dominated by plebeians. How I regret him! He and Bouilhet +have left an absolute void in me, and nothing can take their place. +Besides he was always so good, and no matter what they say, so +simple. People will recognize later (if they ever return seriously +to literature), that he was a great poet. Meanwhile he is an +absolutely unknown author. So indeed is Pierre Corneille. + +He hated two things: the hate of the Philistines in his youth, that +gave him his talent; the hate of the blackguards in his riper years, +this last killed him. He died of suppressed fury, of wrath at not +being able to say what he thought. He was OPPRESSED by Girardin, by +Fould, by Dalloz, and by the first Republic. I tell you that, +because _I_ HAVE SEEN abominable things and I am the only man +perhaps to whom he made absolute confidences. He lacked what was the +most important thing in life for him and for others: CHARACTER. That +he failed of the Academy was to him a dreadful chagrin. What +weakness! and how little he must have esteemed himself! To seek an +honor no matter what, seems to me, besides, an act of +incomprehensible modesty. + +I was not at his funeral owing to the mistake of Catulle Mendes, who +sent me a telegram too late. There was a crowd. A lot of scoundrels +and buffoons came to advertise themselves as usual, and today, +Monday, the day of the theatrical paper, there must be bits in the +bulletins, THAT WILL MAKE COPY. To resume, I do not pity him, I ENVY +HIM. For, frankly, life is not amusing. + +No, I don't think that HAPPINESS IS POSSIBLE, but certainly +tranquillity. That is why I get away from what irritates me. A trip +to Paris is for me now, a great business. As soon as I shake the +vessel, the dregs mount and permeate all. The least conversation +with anyone at all exasperates me because I find everyone idiotic. +My feeling of justice is continually revolted. They talk ONLY of +politics and in what a fashion! Where is there a sign of an idea? +What can one get hold of? What shall one get excited about? + +I don't think, however, that I am a monster of egoism. My Moi +scatters itself in books so that I pass whole days without noticing +it. I have bad moments, it is true, but I pull myself together by +this reflection: "No one at least bothers me." After that, I regain +my balance. So I think that I am going on in my natural path; am I +right? + +As for living with a woman, marrying as you advise me to do that is +a prospect that I find fantastic. Why? I don't know. But it is so. +Explain the riddle. The feminine being has never been included in my +life; and then, I am not rich enough, and then, and then--...I am +too old, and too decent to inflict forever my person on another. +There is in me an element of the ecclesiastical that people don't +know. We shall talk about that better than we can write of it. + +I shall see you in Paris in December, but in Paris one is disturbed +by others. I wish you three hundred performances for Mademoiselle La +Quintinie. But you will have a lot of bother with the Odeon. It is +an institution where I suffered horribly last winter. Every time +that I attempted to do anything they dished me. So, enough! enough! +"Hide thy life," maxim of Epictetus. My whole ambition now is to +flee from bother, and I am sure by that means never to cause any to +others, that is much. + +I am working like a madman, I am reading medicine, metaphysics, +politics, everything. For I have undertaken a work of great scope, +which will require a lot of time, a prospect that pleases me. + +Ever since a month ago, I have been expecting Tourgueneff from week +to week. The gout is delaying him still. + + + +CCXL. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 22 November, 1872 + +I don't think that I shall go to Paris before February. My play is +postponed on account of the difficulty of finding the chief actor. I +am content about it, for the idea of leaving Nohant, my occupations, +and the walks that are so lovely in this weather, didn't look good +to me at all; what a warm autumn and how good for old people! Two +hours distant from here, we have a real wilderness, where, the next +day after a rain, it is as dry as in a room, and where there are +still flowers for me, and insects for Maurice. The little children +run like rabbits in the heather which is higher than they are. +Heavens! how good it is to be alive when all one loves is living and +scurrying around one. You are the only BLACK SPOT in my heart-life, +because you are sad and don't want to look at the sun. As for those +about whom I don't care, I don't care either about the evils or the +follies they can commit against me or against themselves. They will +pass as the rain passes. The eternal thing is the feeling of beauty +in a good heart. You have both, confound it! you have no right not +to be happy.--Perhaps you ought to have had in your life the +INCLUSION OF THE FEMININE SENTIMENT which you say you have defied.-- +I know that the feminine is worth nothing; but, perhaps, in order to +be happy, one must have been unhappy. + +I have been, and I know enough about it; but I forget so well. Well, +sad or gay, I love you and I am still waiting for you, although you +never speak of coming to see us, and you cast aside the opportunity +emphatically; we love you here just the same, we are not literary +enough for you here, I know that, but we love, and that gives life +occupation. + +Is Saint-Antoine finished, that you are talking of a work of great +scope? or is it Saint-Antoine that is going to spread its wings over +the entire universe? It could, the subject is immense. I embrace +you, shall I say again, my old troubadour, since you have resolved +to turn into an old Benedictine? I shall remain a troubadour, +naturally. + +G. Sand + +I am sending you two novels for your collection of my writings: you +are not OBLIGED to read them immediately, if you are deep in serious +things. + + + +CCXLI. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday evening, eleven o'clock, 25 November, 1872 + +The postman just now, at five o'clock, has brought your two volumes +to me. I am going to begin Nanon at once, for I am very curious +about it. + +Don't worry any more about your old troubadour (who is becoming a +silly animal, frankly), but I hope to recover. I have gone through, +several times, melancholy periods, and I have come out all right. +Everything wears out, boredom with the rest. + +I expressed myself badly: I did not mean that I scorned "the +feminine sentiment." But that woman, materially speaking, had never +been one of my habits, which is quite different. I have LOVED more +than anyone, a presumptuous phrase which means "quite like others," +and perhaps even more than average person. Every affection is known +to me, "the storms of the heart" have "poured out their rain" on me. +And then chance, force of circumstances, causes solitude to increase +little by little around me, and now I am alone, absolutely alone. + +I have not sufficient income to take unto myself a wife, nor even to +live in Paris for six months of the year: so it is impossible for me +to change my way of living. + +Do you mean to say that I did not tell you that Saint-Antoine had +been finished since last June? What I am dreaming of just now, is +something of greater scope, which will aim to be comic. It would +take too long to explain to you with a pen. We shall talk of it when +we meet. + +Adieu, dear good, adorable master, yours with his best affection, + +Your old friend. + +Always as indignant as Saint Polycarp. + +Do you know, in all history, including that of the Botocudos, +anything more imbecile than the Right of the National Assembly? +These gentlemen who do not want the simple and frivolous word +Republic, who find Thiers too advanced!!! O profoundness! problem, +revery! + + + +CCXLII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 27 November, 1872 + +Maurice is quite happy and very proud of the letter you wrote him; +there is no one who could give him as much pleasure and whose +encouragement counts more with him. I thank you too, for my part; +for I agree with him. + +What! you have finished Saint-Antoine? Well, should I find a +publisher, since you are not doing so? You cannot keep it in your +portfolio. You don't like Levy, but there are others; say the word, +and I will act as if it were for myself. + +You promise me to get well later, but in the mean time you don't +want to do anything to jolt yourself. Come, then, to read Saint- +Antoine to me, and we will talk of publishing it. What is coming +here from Croisset, for a man? If you won't come when we are gay and +having a holiday, come while it is quiet an I am alone. All the +family embraces you. + +Your old troubadour + +G. Sand + + + +CCXLIII. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +Here it is a night and a day that I have spent with you. I had +finished Nanon at four o'clock in the morning, and Francia at three +o'clock in the afternoon. All of it is still dancing around in my +head. I am going to try to gather my ideas together to talk about +these excellent books to you. They have done me good. So thank you, +dear, good master. Yes, they were like a great whiff of air, and, +after having been moved, I feel refreshed. + +In Nanon, in the first place I was charmed with the style, with a +thousand simple and strong things which are included in the web of +the work, and which make it what it is; for instance: "as the burden +seemed to me enormous, the beast seemed to me beautiful." But I did +not pay any attention to any thing, I was carried away, like the +commonest reader. (I don't think that the common reader could admire +it as much as I do.) The life of the monks, the first relations +between Emilien and Nanon, the fear caused by the brigands and the +imprisonment of Pere Fructueux which could be commonplace and which +it is not at all. What a fine page is 113! and how difficult it was +to stay within bounds! "Beginning with this day, I felt happiness in +everything, and, as it were, a joy to be in the world." + +La Roche aux Fades is an exquisite idyll. One would like to share +the life of those three fine people. + +I think that the interest slackens a little when Nanon gets the idea +of becoming rich. She becomes too strongminded, too intelligent! I +don't like the episode of the robbers either. The reappearance of +Emilien with his arm cut off, stirred me again, and I shed a tear at +the last page over the portrait of the Marquise de Francqueville in +her old age. + +I submit to you the following queries: Emilien seems to me very much +up in political philosophy; at that period did people see as far +ahead as he? The same objection applies to the prior, whom I think +otherwise charming, in the middle of the book especially. But how +well all that is brought in, how well sustained, how fascinating, +how charming! What a creature you are! What power you have! + +I give you on your two cheeks, two little nurse's kisses, and I pass +to Francia! Quite another style, but none the less good. And in the +first place I admire enormously your Dodore. This is the first time +that anyone has made a Paris gamin real; he is not too generous, nor +too intemperate, nor too much of a vaudevillist. The dialogue with +his sister, when he consents to her becoming a kept woman, is a +feat. Your Madame de Thievre, with her shawl which she slips up and +down over her fat shoulders, isn't she decidedly of the Restoration! +And the uncle who wants to confiscate his nephew's grisette! And +Antoine, the good fat tinsmith so polite at the theatre! The Russian +is a simple-minded, natural man, a character that is not easy to do. + +When I saw Francia plunge the poignard into his heart, I frowned +first, fearing that it might be a classic vengeance that would spoil +the charming character of that good girl. But not at all! I was +mistaken, that unconscious murder completed your heroine. + +What strikes me the most in the book is that it is very intelligent +and exact. One is completely in the period. + +I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this twofold reading. It +has relaxed me. Everything then is not dead. There is still +something beautiful and good in the world. + + + +CCXLIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 29 November, 1872 + +You spoil me! I did not dare to send you the novels, which were +wrapped up addressed to you for a week. I was afraid of interrupting +your train of thought and of boring you. You stopped everything to +read Maurice first, and then me. We should be remorseful if we were +not egoists, very happy to have a reader who is worth ten thousand +others! That helps a great deal; for Maurice and I work in a desert, +never knowing, except from each other, if a thing is a success or a +mess, exchanging our criticisms, and never having relations with +accredited JUDGES. + +Michel never tells us until after a year or two if a book has SOLD. +As for Buloz, if it is with him we have to do, he tells us +invariably that the thing is bad or poor. It is only Charles Edmond +who encourages us by asking us for copy. We write without +consideration for the public; that is perhaps not a bad idea, but we +carry it too far. And praise from you gives us the courage which +does not depart from us, but which is often a sad courage, while you +make it sparkling and gay, and healthful for us to breathe. + +I was right then in not throwing Nanon into the fire, as I was ready +to do, when Charles Edmond came to tell me that it was very well +done, and that he wanted it for his paper. I thank you then, and I +send you back your good kisses, for Francia especially, which Buloz +only put in with a sour face and for lack of something better: you +see that I am not spoiled, but I never get angry at all that and I +don't talk about it. That is how it is, and it is very simple. As +soon as literature is a merchandise, the salesman who exploits it, +appreciates only the client who buys it, and if the client +depreciates the object, the salesman declares to the author that his +merchandise is not pleasing. The republic of letters is only a +market in which one sells books. Not making concession to the +publisher is our only virtue; let us keep that and let us live in +peace, even with him when he is peevish, and let us recognize, too, +that he is not the guilty one. He would have taste if the public had +it. + +Now I've emptied my bag, and don't let us talk of it again except to +advise about Saint-Antoine, meanwhile telling ourselves that the +editors will be brutes. Levy, however, is not, but you are angry +with him. I should like to talk of all that with you; will you come? +or wait until my trip to Paris? But when shall I go? I don't know. + +I am a little afraid of bronchitis in the winter, and I do not leave +home unless I absolutely have to for business reasons. + +I don't think that they will play Mademoiselle La Quintinie. The +censors have declared that it is a MASTERPIECE OF THE MOST ELEVATED +AND HEALTHIEST MORALITY, but that they could not TAKE UPON +THEMSELVES to authorize the performance. IT WILL HAVE TO BE TAKEN TO +HIGHER AUTHORITIES, that is to say, to the minister who will send it +to General Ladmirault; it is enough to make you die laughing. But I +don't agree to all that, and I prefer to keep quiet till the new +administration. If the NEW administration is the clerical monarchy, +we shall see strange things. As for me, I don't care if they stand +in my way, but how about the future of our generation?... + + + +CCXLV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday, 4th December, 1872 + +Dear master, + +I notice a phrase in your last letter: "The publisher would have +taste if the public had it...or if the public forced him to have +it." But that is asking the impossible. They have LITERARY IDEAS, +rest assured, and so have messieurs the managers of the theatre. +Both insist that they are JUDGES IN THAT RESPECT, and their +estheticism mingling with their commercialism makes a pretty result. + +According to the publishers, one's last book is always inferior to +the preceding one. May I be hung if that is not true. Why does Levy +admire Ponsard and Octave Feuillet more than father Dumas and you? +Levy is academic. I have made more money for him than Cuvillier- +Fleury has, haven't I? Well, draw a parallel between us two, and you +will see how you will be received. You know that he did not want to +sell more than 1200 copies of the Dernieres Chansons, and the 800 +which were left over, are in my niece's garret, rue de Clichy! That +is very narrow of me, I agree to that; but I confess that the +proceeding has simply enraged me. It seems to me that my prose might +have been more respected by a man for whom I have turned a penny or +two. + +Why publish, in these abominable times? Is it to get money? What +mockery! As if money were the recompense for work, or could be! That +will be when one has destroyed speculation, till then, no! And then +how measure work, how estimate the effort? The commercial value of +the work remains. For that one would be obliged to suppress all +intermediaries between the producer and the purchaser, and even +then, that question in itself permits of no solution. For I write (I +speak of an author who respects himself) not for the reader of +today, but for all the readers who can present themselves as long as +the language lives. My merchandise, therefore, cannot be consumed, +for it is not made exclusively for my contemporaries. My service +remains therefore indefinite, and in consequence, unpayable. + +Why publish then? Is it to be understood, applauded? But yourself, +YOU, great George Sand, you confess your solitude. Is there at this +time, I don't say, admiration or sympathy, but the appearance of a +little attention to works of art? Who is the critic who reads the +book that he has to criticise? In ten years they won't know, +perhaps, how to make a pair of shoes, they are becoming so +frightfully stupid! All that is to tell you that, until better times +(in which I do not believe), I shall keep Saint-Antoine in the +bottom of a closet. + +If I publish it, I would rather that it should be at the same time +as another entirely different book. I am working now on one which +will go with it. Conclusion: the wisest thing is to keep calm. + +Why does not Duquesnel go to find General Ladmirault, Jules Simon, +Thiers? I think that the proceeding concerns him. What a fine thing +the censorship is! Let us be reassured, it will always exist, for it +always has! Our friend Alexandre Dumas fils, to make an agreeable +paradox, has boasted of its advantages in the preface to the Dame +aux Camelias, hasn't he? + +And you want me not to be sad! I think that we shall soon see +abominable things, thanks to the inept stubbornness of the Right. +The good Normans, who are the most conservative people in the world, +incline towards the Left very strongly. + +If they consulted the bourgeoisie now, it would make father Thiers +king of France. If Thiers were taken away, it would throw itself in +the arms of Gambetta, and I am afraid it will do that soon! I +console myself by thinking that Thursday next I shall be fifty-one +years old. + +If you are not to come to Paris in February, I shall go to see you +at the end of January, before going back to the Pan Monceau; I +promise. + +The princess has written me to ask if you were at Nohant. She wants +to write to you. + +My niece Caroline, to whom I have just given Nanon to read, is +enchanted with it. What struck her was the "youth" of the book. The +criticism seems true to me. It is a real BOOK while Francia, +although more simple, is perhaps more finished; more irreproachable +as a work. + +I read last week the Illustre Docteur Matheus, by Erckmann-Chatrian. +How very boorish! There are two nuts, who have very plebeian souls. + +Adieu, dear good master. Your old troubadour embraces you, + +I am always thinking of Theo. I am not consoled for his loss. + + + +CCXLVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 8 December, 1872 + +Oh! well, then, if you are in the realm of the ideal about this, if +you have a future book in your mind, if you are accomplishing a task +of confidence and conviction, no more anger and no more sadness, let +us be logical. + +I myself arrived at a philosophical state of very satisfactory +serenity, and I did not OVERSTATE the matter when I said to you that +all the ill any one can do me, or all the indifference that any one +can show me, does not affect me really any more and does not prevent +me, not only from being happy outside of literature, but also from +being literary with pleasure, and from working with joy. + +You were pleased with my two novels? I am repaid, I think that they +are SATISFACTORY, and the silence which has invaded my life (it must +be said that I have sought it) is full of a good voice that talks to +me and is sufficient to me. I have not mounted as high as you in my +ambition. You want to write for the ages. As for me, I think that in +fifty years, I shall be absolutely forgotten and perhaps unkindly +ignored. Such is the law of things that are not of first rank, and I +have never thought myself in the first rank. My idea has been rather +to act upon my contemporaries, even if only on a few, and to share +with them my ideal of sweetness and poetry. I have attained this end +up to a certain point; I have at least done my best towards it, I do +still, and my reward is to approach it continually a little nearer. + +That is enough for myself, but, as for you, your aim is greater, I +see that clearly, and success is further off. Then you ought to put +yourself more in accord with yourself, by being still calmer and +more content than I am. Your momentary angers are good. They are the +result of a generous temperament, and, as they are neither malicious +nor hateful, I like them, but your sadness, your weeks of spleen, I +do not understand them, and I reproach you for them. I have +believed, I do still, that there is such a thing as too great +isolation, too great detachment from the bonds of life. You have +powerful reasons to answer me with, so powerful that they ought to +give you the victory. + +Search your heart, think it over, and answer me, even if only to +dispel the fears that I have often on your account; I don't want you +to exhaust yourself. You are fifty years old, my son is the same or +nearly. He is in the prime of his strength, in his best development, +you are too, if you don't heat the oven of your ideas too hot. Why +do you say often that you wish you were dead? Don't you believe then +in your own work? Do let yourself be influenced then by this or that +temporary thing? It is possible, we are not gods, and something in +us, something weak and unimportant sometimes, disturbs our theodicy. +But the victory every day becomes easier, when one is sure of loving +logic and truth. It gets to the point even of forestalling, of +overcoming in advance, the subject of ill humor, of contempt or of +discouragement. + +All that seems easy to me, when it is a question of self control: +the subjects of great sadness are elsewhere, in the spectacle of the +history that is unrolling around us; that eternal struggle of +barbarity against civilization is a great bitterness for those who +have cast off the element of barbarity and find themselves in +advance of their epoch. But, in that great sorrow, in these secret +angers, there is a great stimulant which rightly raises us up, by +inspiring in us the need of reaction. Without that, I confess, for +my part, that I would abandon everything. + +I have had a good many compliments in my life, in the time when +people were interested in literature. I have always dreaded them +when they came to me from unknown people; they made me doubt myself +too much. I have made enough money to be rich. If I am not, it is +because I did not care to be; I have enough with what Levy makes for +me. What I should prefer, would be to abandon myself entirely to +botany, it would be for me a Paradise on earth. But it must not be, +that would be useful only to myself, and, if chagrin is good for +anything it is for keeping us from egoism, one must not curse nor +scorn life. One must not use it up voluntarily; you are enamoured of +JUSTICE, begin by being just to yourself, you owe it to yourself to +conserve and to develop yourself. + +Listen to me; I love you tenderly, I think of you every day and on +every occasion: when working I think of you. I have gained certain +intellectual benefits which you deserve more than I do, and of which +you ought to make a longer use. Consider too, that my spirit is +often near to yours, and that it wishes you a long life and a +fertile inspiration in true joys. + +You promise to come; that is a joy and a feast day for my heart, and +in my family. + +Your old troubadour + + + +CCXLVII. TO GEORGE SAND +12 December 1872 + +Dear good master, + +Don't take seriously the exaggerations about my IRE. Don't believe +that I am counting "on posterity, to avenge me for the indifference +of my contemporaries." I meant to say only this: if one does not +address the crowd, it is right that the crowd should not pay one. It +is political economy. But, I maintain that a work of art (worthy of +that name and conscientiously done) is beyond appraisal, has no +commercial value, cannot be paid for. Conclusion: if the artist has +no income, he must starve! They think that the writer, because he no +longer receives a pension from the great, is very much freer, and +nobler. All his social nobility now consists in being the equal of a +grocer. What progress! As for me, you say to me "Let us be logical"; +but that's just the difficulty. + +I am not sure at all of writing good things, nor that the book of +which I am dreaming now can be well done, which does not prevent me +from undertaking it. I think that the idea of it is original, +nothing more. And then, as I hope to spit into it the gall that is +choking me, that is to say, to emit some truths, I hope by this +means to PURGE MYSELF, and to be henceforward more Olympian, a +quality that I lack entirely. Ah! how I should like to admire +myself! + +Mourning once more: I headed the procession at the burial of father +Pouchet last Monday. That gentle fellow's life was very beautiful, +and I mourned him. + +I enter today upon my fifty-second year, and I insist on embracing +you today: I do it affectionately, since you love me so well. + + + +CCXLVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 8 January, 1873 + +Yes, yes, my old friend, you must come to see me. I am not thinking +of going to Paris before the end of the winter, and it is so hard to +see people in Paris. Bring me Saint-Antoine. I want to hear it, I +want to live in it with you. I want to embrace you with all my soul, +and Maurice does too. + +Lina loves you too, and our little ones have not forgotten you. I +want you to see how interesting and lovely my Aurore has become. I +shall not tell you anything new about myself. I live so little in +myself. This will be a good reason for you to talk about what +interests me more, that is to say, about yourself. Tell me ahead so +that I can spare you that horrid coach from Chateauroux to Nohant. +If you could bring Tourgueneff, we should be happy, and you would +have the most perfect travelling companion. Have you read Peres et +Enfants? How good it is! + +Now, I hope for you really this time, and I think that our air will +do you good. It is so lovely here! + +Your old comrade who loves you, + +G. SAND + +I embrace you six times for the New Year. + + + +CCXLIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday evening, 3 February, 1873 + +Dear master, + +Do I seem to have forgotten you and not to want to make the journey +to Nohant? Not at all! But, for the last month, every time I go out, +I am seized anew with the grippe which gets worse each time. I cough +abominably, and I ruin innumerable pocket-handkerchiefs! When will +it be over? + +I have sworn not to step beyond my doorsill till I am completely +well again, and I am still awaiting the good will of the members of +the commission for the Bouilhet fountain! For nearly two months, I +have not been able to get together in Rouen six citizens of Rouen! +That is the way friends are! Everything is difficult, the least +undertaking demands great efforts. + +I am reading chemistry now (which I don't understand a bit), and the +Raspail theory of medicine, not to mention the Potager moderne of +Gressent and the Agriculture of Gasparin. In this connection, +Maurice would be very kind, to compile his agronomical +recollections, so that I may know what mistakes he made and why he +made them. + +What sorts of information don't I need, for the book that I am +undertaking? I have come to Paris this winter with the idea of +collecting some; but if my horrible cold continues, my stay here +will be useless! Am I going to become like the canon of Poitiers, of +whom Montaigne speaks, who for thirty years did not leave his room +"because of his melancholic infirmity," but who, however, was very +well "except for a cold which had settled on his stomach." This is +to tell you that I am seeing very few people. Moreover whom could I +see? The war has opened many abysses. I have not been able to get +your article on Badinguet. I am planning to read it at your house. + +As regards reading, I have just swallowed ALL the odious Joseph de +Maistre. They have saddled us enough with this gentleman! And the +modern socialists who have praised him beginning with the saint- +simonians and ending with A. Comte. France is drunk with authority, +no matter what they say. Here is a beautiful idea that I find in +Raspail, THE PHYSICIANS OUGHT to be MAGISTRATES, so they could +force, etc. + +Your romantic and liberal old dunce embraces you tenderly. + + + +CCL. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 5 February, 1873 + +I wrote to you yesterday to Croisset, Lina thinking that you had +returned there. I asked you the little favor which you have already +rendered me, namely, to ask your brother to give his patronage to my +friend Despruneaux in his suit which is going to be appealed. My +letter will probably be forwarded to you in Paris, and reach you as +quickly as this one. It is only a question of writing a line to your +brother, if that does not bother you. + +Pray, what is this obstinate cough? There is only one remedy, a +minimum dose, a half-centigram of acetate of morphine taken every +evening after digesting your dinner, for a week at least. I do +nothing else and I always get over it, I cure all my family the same +way, it is so easy to do and so quickly done! At the end of two or +three days one feels the good effect. I am awaiting your cure with +impatience, for your sake first, and second for myself, because you +will come and because I am hungry and thirsty to see you. + +Maurice is at a loss to know how to answer your question. He has not +made any mistake in his experiments, and knows indeed those that +others make or could make; but he says that they vary infinitely and +that each mistake is a special one for the conditions in which one +works. When you are here and he understands really what you want, he +can answer you for everything that concerns the center of France, +and the general geology of the planet, if there is any opportunity +to generalize. His reasoning has been this: not to make innovations, +but to push to its greatest development what exists, in making use +always of the method established by experience. Experience can never +deceive, it may be incomplete, but never mendacious. With this I +embrace you, I summon you, I await you, I hope for you, but will not +however torment you. + +But we love you, that is certain; and we would like to infuse in you +a little of our Berrichon patience about the things in this world +which are not amusing, we know that very well! But why are we in +this world if it is not to learn patience. + +Your obstinate troubadour who loves you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLI. TO GEORGE SAND +Tuesday, March 12, 1873 + +Dear master, + +If I am not at your house, it is the fault of the big Tourgueneff. I +was getting ready to go to Nohant, when he said to me: "Wait, I'll +go with you the first of April." That is two weeks off. I shall see +him tomorrow at Madame Viardot's and I shall beg him to go earlier, +as I am beginning to be impatient. I am feeling the NEED of seeing +you, of embracing you, and of talking with you. That is the truth. + +I am beginning to regain my equilibrium again. What is it that I +have had for the past four months? What trouble was going on in the +depths of my being? I don't know. What is certain, is, that I was +very ill in an indefinable way. But now I am better. Since the end +of January, Madame Bovary and Salammbo have belonged to me and I can +sell them. I am doing nothing about it, preferring to do without the +money other than to exasperate my nerves. Such is your old +troubadour. + +I am reading all sorts of books and I am taking notes for my big +book which will take five or six years to write, and I am thinking +of two or three others. There will be dreams for a long time, which +is the principal thing. + +Art continues to be "in the marasmus," as M. Prudhomme says, and +there is no longer any place in this world for people with taste. +One must, like the rhinoceros, retire into solitude and await one's +death. + + + +CCLII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 15 March, 1873 + +Well, my old troubadour, we can hope for you very soon. I was +worried about you. I am always worried about you. To tell the truth, +I am not happy over your ill tempers, and your PREJUDICES. They last +too long, and in effect they are like an illness, you recognize it +yourself. Now, forget; don't you know how to forget? You live too +much in yourself and get to consider everything in relation to +yourself. If you were an egoist, and a conceited person, I would say +that it was your normal condition; but with you who are so good and +so generous, it is an anomaly, an evil that must be combated. Rest +assured that life is badly arranged, painful, irritating for +everyone, but do not neglect the immense compensations which it is +ungrateful to forget. + +That you get angry with this or that person, is of little importance +if it is a comfort to you; but that you remain furious, indignant +for weeks, months, almost years, is unjust and cruel to those who +love you, and who would like to spare you all anxiety and all +deception. + +You see that I am scolding you; but while embracing you, I shall +think only of the joy and the hope of seeing you flourishing again. +We are waiting for you with impatience, and we are counting on +Tourgueneff whom we adore also. + +I have been suffering a good deal lately with a series of very +painful hemorrhages; but they have not prevented me from amusing +myself writing tales and from playing with my LITTLE CHILDREN. They +are so dear, and my big children are so good to me, that I shall +die, I believe, smiling at them. What difference does it make +whether one has a hundred thousand enemies if one is loved by two or +three good souls? Don't you love me too, and wouldn't you reproach +me for thinking that of no account? When I lost Rollinat, didn't you +write to me to love the more those who were left? Come, so that I +may OVERWHELM you with reproaches; for you are not doing what you +told me to do. + +We are expecting you, we are preparing a mid-Lent fantasy; try to +take part. Laughter is a splendid medicine. We shall give you a +costume; they tell me that you were very good as a pastry cook at +Pauline's! If you are better, be certain it is because you have +gotten out of your rut and have distracted yourself a little. Paris +is good for you, you are too much alone yonder in your lovely house. +Come and work, at our house; how perfectly easy to send on a box of +books! + +Send word when you are coming so that I can have a carriage at the +station at Chateauroux. + + + +CCLIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Thursday, 20 March, 1873 + +Dear master, + +The gigantic Tourgueneff is at this moment leaving here and we have +just sworn a solemn oath. You will have us at dinner the 12th of +April, Easter Eve. + +It has not been a small job to get to that point, it is so difficult +to succeed in anything, no matter what. + +For my part nothing would prevent me from going tomorrow But our +friend seems to me to enjoy very little liberty and I myself have +engagements the first week in April. + +I am going this evening to two costume balls! Tell me after that +that I am not young. + +A thousand affectionate greetings from your old troubadour who +embraces you. + +Read as an example of modern fetidness, in the last number of the +Vie Parisienne, the article on Marion Delorme. It ought to be +framed, if, however, anything fetid can be framed. But nowadays +people don't look so closely. + + + +CCLIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 23 March, 1873 + +No, that giant does not do as he likes, I have noticed that. But he +is one of the class that finds its happiness in being ruled and I +can understand it, on the whole. Provided one is in good hands,--and +he is. + +Well, we are hoping still, but we are not absolutely counting on +anyone but you. You can not give me a greater pleasure than by +telling me that you are going out among people, that you are getting +out of a rut and distracting yourself, absolutely necessary, in +these muddled days. + +On the day when a little intoxication is no longer necessary for +self-preservation, the world will be getting on very well. We +haven't come to that yet. + +That FETID thing is not worth the trouble of reading, I didn't +finish it, one turns away from such things, one does not spoil one's +sense of smell by breathing them. But I do not think that the man to +whom one offers that in a censer would be satisfied with it. + +Do come with the swallows and bring Saint-Antoine. It is Maurice who +is going to be interested in that! He is more of a scholar than I +am, I who will appreciate, thanks to my ignorance about many things, +only the poetic and great side of it. I am sure of it, I know +already that it is there. + +Keep on going about, you must, and above all continue to love us as +we love you. + +Your old troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +CCLV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 7th April, 1873 + +I am writing to my friend General Ferri Pisani, whom you know, who +HAS CHARGE at Chateauroux, to reserve you a carriage which will be +waiting for you on the 12th, at the station, at twenty minutes past +three. You must leave Paris at ten minutes past nine o'clock by the +EXPRESS. Otherwise the trip is too long and stupid. I hope that the +general will come with you, if there is any decision contrary to +your promise send him a telegram to Chateauroux so that he shall not +wait for you. He usually comes on horseback. + +We are looking forward IMPATIENTLY to seeing you. + +Your old troubadour + +G. Sand + + +CCLVI. TO GEORGE SAND +23 April, 1873 + +It is only five days since we parted, and I am missing you like the +devil. I miss Aurore and all the household down to Fadette. Yes, +that is the way it is, one is so happy at your house! you are so +good and so interesting. + +Why can't we live together, why is life always so badly arranged? +Maurice seems to me to be the type of human happiness. What does he +lack? Certainly, he is no more envied by anyone than by me. + +Your two friends, Tourgueneff and Cruchard philosophized about that +from Nohant to Chateauroux, very comfortably borne along in your +carriage at a smart pace by two horses. Hurrah for the postillions +of La Chatre! But the rest of the trip was horrid because of the +company we had in our car. I was consoled for it by strong drink, as +the Muscovite had a flask full of excellent brandy with him. We both +felt a little heavy hearted. We did not talk, we did not sleep. + +We found here the barodetien folly in full flower again. On the +heels of this affair has developed during the last three days, +Stoppfel! another bitter narcotic! Oh! Heavens! Heavens! what a bore +to live in such times! How wise you are live so far from Paris! + +I have begun my readings again, and, in a week I shall begin my +excursions hereabouts to discover a countryside that may serve for +my two good men. After which, about the 12th or the 15th, I shall +return to my house at the water-side. I want very much, this summer, +to go to Saint Gervais, to bleach my nose and to strengthen my +nerves. For ten years I have been finding a pretext for doing +without it. But it is high time to beautify myself, not that I have +any pretensions at pleasing and seducing by my physical graces, but +I hate myself too much when I look in my mirror. The older one +grows, the more care one should take of oneself. + +I shall see Madame Viardot this evening, I shall go early and we +will talk of you. + +When shall we meet again, now? How far Nohant is from Croisset! + +Yours, dear good master, all my affection. + +Gustave Flaubert + +otherwise called the R. P. Cruchard of the Barnabites, director of +the Ladies of Disillusion. + + + +CCLVII. TO GEORGE SAND + +Dear master, + +Cruchard should have thanked you sooner for sending him your last +book; but his reverence is working like ten thousand negroes, that +is his excuse. But it did not hinder him from reading "Impressions +et Souvenirs." I already knew some of it, from having read it in le +Temps (a pun). [Footnote: "Dans de temps" means also, "some time +ago."] + +This is what was new to me and what struck me: (1) the first +fragment; (2) the second in which there is a charming and just page +on the Empress. How true is what you say of the proletariat! Let us +hope that its reign will pass like that of the bourgeois, and for +the same causes, as a punishment for the same folly and a similar +egoism. + +The "Reponse a un ami" I knew, as it was addressed to me. + +The "Dialogue avec Delacroix" is instructive; two curious pages on +what he thought of father Ingres. + +I am not entirely of your opinion as regards the punctuation. That +is to say that I would shock you by my exaggeration in that respect; +but I do not lack, naturally, good reasons to defend my point of +view. + +"J'allume le fagot," etc., all of this long article charmed me. + +In the "Idees d'un maitre d'ecole," I admire your pedagogic spirit, +dear master, there are many pretty a b c phrases. + +Thank you for what you say of my poor Bouilhet! + +I adore your "Pierre Bonin." I have known people like him, and as +these pages are dedicated to Tourgueneff it is the moment to ask you +if you have read "I'Abandonnee"? For my part, I find it simply +sublime. This Scythian is an immense old fellow. + +I am not at such high-toned literature now. Far from it! I am +hacking and re-hacking "le Sexe faible." I wrote the first act in a +week. It is true that my days are long. I spent, last week, one of +eighteen hours, and Cruchard is as fresh as a young girl, not tired, +no headache. In short, I think that I shall be through that work in +three weeks. After that, God knows what! + +It would be funny if Carvalho's fantasticality was crowned with +success! + +I am afraid that Maurice has lost his wager, for I want to replace +the three theological virtues by the face of Christ appearing in the +sun. What do you think about it? When the correction is made and I +have strengthened the massacre at Alexandria and clarified the +symbolism of the fantastic beasts, "Saint-Antoine" will be finished +forever, and I shall start at my two good fellows who were set aside +for the comedy. + +What a horrid way of writing is required for the stage! The +ellipses, the delays, the questions and the repetitions have to be +lavish, if movement is desired, and all that in itself is very ugly. + +I am perhaps blinding myself, but I think that I am now writing +something very quick and easy to play. We shall see. + +Adieu, dear master, embrace all yours for me. + +Your old good-for-nothing Cruchard, friend of Chalumeau. Note that +name. It is a gigantic story, but it requires one to toe the mark to +tell it suitably. + + + +CCLVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 4 July, 1873 + +I don't know where you are at present, Cruchard of my heart. I am +addressing this to Paris whence I suppose it will be forwarded to +you. I have been ill, your reverence, nothing except a stupid +anemia, no legs, no appetite, continual sweat on the forehead and my +heart as jumpy as a pregnant woman; it is unfair, that condition, +when one gets to the seventies, I begin my seventieth spring +tomorrow, cured after a half score of river baths. But I find it so +comfortable to rest that I have not yet done an iota of work since I +returned from Paris, and until I opened my ink-well again to write +to you today. We reread your letter this morning in which you said +that Maurice had lost his wager. He insists that he has won it as +you are taking out the vertus theologales. + +As for me, bet or no bet, I want you to keep the new version which +is quite in the atmosphere, while the theological virtues are not.-- +Have you any news of Tourgueneff? I am worried about him. Madame +Viardot wrote me, several days ago, that he had fallen and hurt his +leg.--Yes, I have read l'Abandonnee, it is very beautiful as is all +that he does. I hope that his injury is not serious! such a thing is +always serious with gout. + +So you are still working frantically? Unhappy one! you don't know +the ineffable pleasure of doing nothing! And how good work will seem +to me after it! I shall delay it however as long as possible. I am +getting more and more of the opinion that nothing is worth the +trouble of being said! + +Don't believe a word of that, do write lovely things, and love your +old troubadour who always cherishes you. + +G. Sand + +Love from all Nohant. + + + +CCLIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Thursday + +Why do you leave me so long without any news of yourself, dear good +master? I am cross with you, there! + +I am all through with the dramatic art. Carvalho came here last +Saturday to hear the reading of le Sexe faible, and seemed to me to +be satisfied with it. He thinks it will be a success. But I put so +little confidence in the intelligence of all those rascals, that for +my part, I doubt it. + +I am exhausted, and I am now sleeping ten hours a night, not to +mention two hours a day. That is resting my poor brain. + +I am going to resume my readings for my wretched book, which I shall +not begin for a full year. + +Do you know where the great Tourgueneff is now? + +A thousand affectionate greetings to all and to you the best of +everything from your old friend. + + + +CCLX. TO GEORGE SAND +Sunday ... + +I am not like M. de Vigny, I do not like the "sound of the horn in +the depth of the woods." For the last two hours now an imbecile +stationed on the island in front of me has been murdering me with +his instrument. That wretched creature spoils my sunlight and +deprives me of the pleasure of enjoying the summer. For it is lovely +weather, but I am bursting with anger. I should like, however, to +talk a bit with you, dear master. + +In the first place, congratulations on your seventieth year, which +seems more robust to me than the twentieth of a good many others! +What a Herculean constitution you have! Bathing in an icy stream is +a proof of strength that bewilders me, and is a mark of a "reserve +force" that is reassuring to your friends. May you live long. Take +care of yourself for your dear grandchildren, for the good Maurice, +for me too, for all the world, and I should add: for literature, if +I were not afraid of your superb disdain. + +Ha! good! again the hunting horn! The man is mad. I want to go and +find the rural guard. + +As for me, I do not share your disdain, and I am absolutely ignorant +of, as you say, "the pleasure of doing nothing." As soon as I no +longer hold a book, or am not dreaming of writing one, A LAMENTABLE +boredom seizes upon me. Life, in short seems tolerable to me only by +legerdemain. Or else one must give oneself up to disordered pleasure +... and even then! + +Well, I have finished with le Sexe faible, which will be played, at +least so Carvalho promises, in January, if Sardou's l'Oncle Sam is +permitted by the censorship; if otherwise, it will be in November. + +As I have been accustomed during the last six weeks to seeing things +from a theatrical point of view, to thinking in dialogue, here I am +starting to build the plot of another play! It will be called le +Candidat. My written plot is twenty pages long. But I haven't anyone +to show it to. Alas! I shall therefore leave it in a drawer and +start at my old book. I am reading l'Histoire de la Medecine by +Daremberg, which amuses me a great deal, and I have finished l'Essai +sur les facultes de l'entendement by Gamier, which I think very +silly. There you have my occupations. THINGS seem to be getting +quieter. I breathe again. + +I don't know whether they talk as much of the Shah in Nohant as they +do around here. The enthusiasm has been immense. A little more and +they would have proclaimed him Emperor. His sojourn in Paris has +had, on the commercial shop-keeping and artisan class, a monarchical +effect which you would not have suspected, and the clerical +gentlemen are doing very well, very well indeed! + +On the other side of the horizon, what horrors they are committing +in Spain! So that the generality of humanity continues to be +charming. + + + +CCLXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 30 August, 1873 + +Where are you to be found now? where are you nestled? As for me, I +have just come from Auvergne with my whole household, Plauchut +included. Auvergne is beautiful, above all it is pretty. The flora +is always rich and interesting, the walking rough, the living +accommodations poor. I got through it all very well, except for the +elevation of two thousand meters at Sancy, which combining an icy +wind with a burning sun, laid me flat for four days with a fever. +After that I got into the running again, and I am returning here to +resume my river baths till the frost. + +There was no more question of any work, of any literature at all, +than if none of us had ever learned to read. The LOCAL POETS pursued +me with books and bouquets. I pretended to be dead and was left in +peace. I am square with them now that I am home, by sending a copy +of something of mine, it doesn't matter what, in exchange. Ah! what +lovely places I have seen and what strange volcanic combinations, +where we ought to have heard your Saint-Antoine in a SETTING worthy +of the subject! Of what use are these pleasures of vision, and how +are these impressions transformed later? One does not know ahead, +and, with time and the easy ways of life, everything is met with +again and preserved. + +What news of your play? Have you begun your book? Have you chosen a +place to study? Do tell me what is becoming of my Cruchard, the +Cruchard of my heart. Write to me even if only a word! Tell me that +you still love us as I love you and as all of us here love you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Friday, 5th September, 1873 + +On arriving here yesterday, I found your letter, dear good master. +All is well with you then, God be praised! + +I spent the month of August in wandering about, for I was in Dieppe, +in Paris, in Saint-Gratien, in Brie, and in Beauce, hunting for a +certain country that I had in mind, and I think that I have found it +at last in the neighborhood of Houdan. But, before starting at my +terrifying book, I shall make a last search on the road that goes +from Loupe to Laigle. After that, good night. + +The Vaudeville begins well. Carvalho up to now has been charming. +His enthusiasm is so strong even that I am not without anxieties. +One must remember the good Frenchmen who cried "On to Berlin," and +then received such a fine drubbing. + +Not only is the aforesaid Carvalho content with the le Sexe faible, +but he wants me to write at once another comedy, the scenario of +which I have shown him, and which he would like to produce a year +from now. I don't think the thing is quite ready to be put into +words. But on the other hand, I should like to be through with it +before undertaking the story of my good men. Meanwhile, I am keeping +on with my reading and note-taking. + +You are not aware, doubtless, that they have forbidden Coetlogon's +play formally, BECAUSE IT CRITICISED THE EMPIRE. That is the +censorship's answer. As I have in the le Sexe faible a rather +ridiculous general, I am not without forebodings. What a fine thing +is Censorship! Axiom: All governments curse literature, power does +not like another power. + +When they forbade the playing of Mademoiselle La Quintinie, you were +too stoical, dear master, or too indifferent. You should always +protest against injustice and folly, you should bawl, froth at the +mouth, and smash when you can. If I had been in your place with your +authority, I should have made a grand row. I think too that Father +Hugo was wrong in keeping quiet about le Roi s'amuse. He often +asserts his personality on less legitimate occasions. + +At Rouen they are having processions, but the effect is completely +spoiled, and the result of it is deplorable for fusion! What a +misfortune! Among the imbecilities of our times, that (fusion) is +perhaps the greatest. I should not be surprised if we should see +little Father Thiers again! On the other hand many Reds, from fear +of the clerical reaction, have gone over to Bonapartism. One needs a +fine dose of simplicity to keep any political faith. + +Have you read the Antichrist? I find that indeed a beautiful book, +aside from some faults of taste, some modern expressions applied to +ancient things. Renan seems to me on the whole to have progressed. I +passed all one evening recently with him and I thought him adorable. + + + +CCLXIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 3d October, 1873 + +The existence of Cruchard is a beautiful poem, so much in keeping, +that I don't know if it is a fictitious biography or the copy for a +real article done in good faith. I had to laugh a bit after the +departure of all the Viardots (except Viardot) and the big +Muscovite, who was charming although very much indisposed from time +to time. He left very well and very gay, but regretting not to have +been to see you. The truth is that he was ill just then. He has had +a disordered stomach, like me, for some time. I get well by being +moderate, and he does not! I excuse him; after these crises one is +famished, and if it is because of an empty stomach that one has to +fill up, he must be terribly famished. What a kind, excellent and +worthy man! And what modest talent! Everyone adores him here and I +give them the example. We adore you too, Cruchard of my heart. But +you love your work better than your friends, and in that you are +inferior to the real Cruchard, who at least adored our holy +religion. + +By the way, I think that we shall have Henry V. They tell me that I +am seeing the dark side of things; I don't see anything, but I +perceive the odor of sacristies that increases. If that should not +last a long time, I should like our clerical bourgeois to undergo +the scorn of those whose lands they have bought and whose titles +they have taken. It would be a good thing. + +What lovely weather in our country! I still go every day to dip into +the cold rush of my little river and I feel better. I hope to resume +tomorrow my work that has been absolutely abandoned for six months. +Ordinarily, I take shorter holidays; but the flowering of the meadow +saffron always warns me that it is time to begin grubbing again. +Here it is, let us grub. Love me as I love you. + +My Aurore, whom I have not neglected, and who is world: well, sends +you a big kiss. Lina, Maurice send affection. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Thursday + +Whatever happens, Catholicism will receive a terrible blow, and if I +were a devotee, I should spend my time before a crucifix saying: +"Maintain the Republic for us, O my God!" + +But THEY ARE AFRAID of the monarchy. Because of itself and because +of the reaction which would follow. Public opinion is absolutely +against it. The reports of messieurs the prefects are disquieting; +the army is divided into Bonapartists and Republicans; the body of +big business in Paris has pronounced against Henry V. Those are the +bits of information that I bring back from Paris, where I have spent +ten days. In a word, dear master, I think now that THEY will be +swamped! Amen! + +I advise you to read the pamphlet by Cathelineau and the one by +Segur also. It is curious! The basis is clearly to be seen. Those +people think they are in the XIIth century. + +As for Cruchard, Carvalho asked him for some changes which he +refused. (You know that sometimes Cruchard is not easy.) The +aforesaid Carvalho finally realized that it was impossible to change +anything in le Sexe faible without distorting the real idea of the +play. But he is asking to play le Candidat first, it is not finished +but it delights him--naturally. Then when the thing is finished, +reviewed and corrected, perhaps he won't want it. In short, if after +l'Oncle Sam, le Candidat is finished, it will be played. If not, it +will be le Sexe faible. + +However, I don't care, I am so eager to start my novel which will +take me several years. And moreover, the theatrical style is +beginning to exasperate me. Those little curt phrases, this +continual scintillation irritates like seltzer water, which is +pleasing at first but shortly seems like nasty water. Between now +and January I am going to compose dialogues in the best manner +possible, after that I am coming back to serious things. + +I am glad to have diverted you a little with the biography of +Cruchard. But I find it is hybrid and the character of Cruchard is +not consistent! A man with such an executive ability does not have +so many literary preoccupations. The archeology is superfluous. It +belongs to another kind of ecclesiastics. Perhaps there is a +transition that is lacking. Such is my humble criticism. + +They had said in a theatrical bulletin that you were in Paris; I had +a mistaken joy about it, dear good master whom I adore and whom I +embrace. + + + +CCLXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +Your poor old troubadour, just getting well from a cruel attack of +rheumatism, during which he could not lie down, nor eat, nor dress +without aid, is at last up again. He suffered liver trouble, +jaundice, rash, fever, in short he was fit to be thrown out on a +pile of rubbish. + +Here he is up again, very feeble, but able to write a few lines and +to say with you AMEN to the buried catholic dictatorships; it is not +even Catholics that they should be called, those people are not. +They are only clericals. + +I note today in the papers that they have played l'Oncle Sam. I hear +that it is bad, but it may very well be a success all the same. I +think that your play is surely postponed and Carvalho seems as +capricious too, to me, as hard to put your finger on as other +theatrical managers. + +All Nohant embraces you and I embrace you even more, but I cannot +write any more. + +G. Sand Monday + +Hard work? When indeed can I start at it? I am NO GOOD. + + + +CCLXVI. TO GEORGE SAND +January, 1874 + +As I have a quiet moment, I am going to profit by it by talking a +little with you, dear good master! And first of all, embrace for me +all your family and accept all my wishes for a Happy New Year! + +This is what is happening now to your Father Cruchard. + +Cruchard is very busy, but serene and very calm, which surprises +everybody. Yes, that's the way it is. No indignations, no boiling +over. The rehearsals of le Candidat have begun, and the thing will +be on the boards the first of February. Carvalho seems to me very +satisfied with it! Nevertheless he has insisted on my combining two +acts in one, which makes the first act inordinately long. + +I did this work in two days, and Cruchard has been splendid! He +slept seven hours in all, from Thursday morning (Christmas Day) to +Saturday, and he is only the better for it. + +Do you know what I am going to do to complete my ecclesiastical +character? I am going to be a godfather. Madame Charpentier in her +enthusiasm for Saint-Antoine came to beg me to give the name Antoine +to the child that she is expecting! I refused to inflict on this +young Christian the name of such an agitated man, but I had to +accept the honor that was done me. Can you see my old top-knot by +the baptismal font, beside the chubby-cheeked baby, the nurse and +the relatives? O civilization, such are your blows! Good manners, +such are your exactions! + +I went on Sunday to the civic funeral of Francois-Victor Hugo. What +a crowd! and not a cry, not the least bit of disorder! Days like +that are bad for Catholicism. Poor father Hugo (whom I could not +help embracing) was very broken, but stoical. + +What do you think of le Figaro, which reproached him for wearing at +his son's funeral, "a soft hat"? + +As for politics, a dead calm. The Bazaine trial is ancient history. +Nothing shows better the contemporary demoralization than the pardon +granted to this wretched creature! Besides, the right of pardon if +one departs from theology is a denial of justice. By what right can +a man prevent the accomplishment of the law? + +The Bonapartists should have let this alone; but not at all: they +defended him bitterly, out of hatred for the 4th of September. Why +do all the parties regard themselves as having joint interests with +the rascals who exploit them? It is because all parties are +execrable, imbecile, unjust, blind! An example: the history of Azor +(what a name!). He robbed the ecclesiastics. Never mind! the +clericals consider themselves attacked. + +As regards the church. I have read in full (which I never did +before) Lamennais' Essai sur l'indifference. I know now, and +thoroughly, all the great buffoons who had a disastrous influence on +the XIXth century. To establish common sense or the prevailing mode +and custom as the criterion of certitude, that is preparing the way +for universal suffrage, which is, to my way of thinking, the shame +of human kind. + +I have just read also, la Chretienne by the Abbe Bautain. A curious +book for a novelist. It smacks of its period of modern Paris. I +gulped a volume by Garcin de Tassy on Hindustani literature, to get +clean. One can breathe, at least, in that. + +You see that your Father Cruchard is not entirely stupefied by the +theatre. However, I haven't anything to complain of in the +Vaudeville. Everyone there is polite and exact! How different from +the Odeon! + +Our friend Chennevieres is now our superior, since the theatres are +in his division. The theatrical people are enchanted. + +I see the Muscovite every Sunday. He is very well and like him +better and better. + +Saint-Antoine will be in galley proof at the end of January. + +Adieu, dear master! When shall we meet? Nohant is very far away! and +I am going to be, all this winter, very busy. + + + +CCLXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +January, 1874 + +I am seized with a headache, but, although perfectly imbecile, I +want to embrace you and thank you for having written to me on New +Year's day. All Nohant loves you and smacks you, as they say in the +country. + +We wish you a magnificent success and we are glad that it is not to +be at the cost of annoyances. However, that is hardly the way of the +actors whom I have known, and at the Vaudeville I have found only +those who were good natured. Have you a part for my friend Parade? +And for Saint-Germain, who seemed to you idiotic one day when +perhaps he had lunched too well, but who nevertheless is a fine +addlepate, full of sympathy and spirit. And with real talent! + +I am not reading all these horrid things that you feed on so as to +sense better apparently the good things with which you sandwich +them. I have stopped laughing at human folly, I flee it and try to +forget it. As for admiration, I am always ready, it is the +healthiest regime by far, and too, I am glad to know that I shall +soon read Saint-Antoine again. + +Keep in touch with your play and don't get ill this hateful winter. + +Your old troubadour who loves you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday evening, 7th February, 1874 + +I have at last a moment to myself, dear master; now let us talk a +little. + +I knew through Tourgueneff that you were doing very well. That is +the main thing. Now I am going lo give you some news about that +excellent Father Cruchard. + +Yesterday I signed the final proof for Saint-Antoine. ...But the +aforesaid old book will not be published until the first of April +(like an April fool trick?) because of the translations. It is +finished, I am not thinking any more about it! Saint-Antoine is +relegated, as far as I am concerned, to the condition of a memory! +However I do not conceal from you that I had a moment of great +sadness when I looked at the first proof. It is hard to separate +oneself from an old companion! + +As for le Candidat, it will be played, I think, between the 2oth and +the 25th of this month. As that play gave me very little trouble and +as I do not attach great importance to it, I am rather calm about +the results of it. + +Carvalho's leaving irritated and disturbed me for several days. But +his successor Cormon is full of zeal. Up to now I have nothing but +praise for him, as for all the others in fact. The people at the +Vaudeville are charming. Your old troubadour, whom you picture +agitated and always angry, is gentle as a lamb and even good +natured! First I made all the changes that THEY wanted, and then +THEY put back the original text. But of my own accord I have cut out +what seemed to me too long, and it goes well, very well. Delannoy +and Saint-Germain have excellent wigs and play like angels. I think +it will be all right. + +One thing vexes me. The censorship has ruined the role of a little +legitimist ragamuffin, so that the play, conceived in the spirit of +strict unpartisanship, has now to flatter the reactionaries: a +result that distresses me. For I don't want to please the political +passions of anyone, no matter who it may be, having, as you know, an +essential hatred of all dogmatism, of all parties. + +Well, the good Alexander Dumas has made the plunge! Here he is an +Academician! I think him very modest. He must be to think himself +honored by honors. + + + +CCLXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 15 February, 1874 + +Everything is going well, and you are satisfied, my troubadour. Then +we are happy here over your satisfaction and we are praying for +success, and we are waiting impatiently Saint-Antoine so as to read +it again. Maurice has had a cold which attacks him every other day. +Lina and I are well, little girls superlatively so. Aurore learns +everything with admirable facility and docility; that child is my +life and ideal. I no longer enjoy anything except her progress. All +my past, all that I have been able to acquire or to produce, has no +value in my eyes unless it can profit her. If a certain portion of +intelligence and goodness was granted to me, it is so that she may +have a greater share. You have no children, be therefore a +litterateur, an artist, a master; that is logical, that is your +compensation, your happiness, and your strength. And do tell us that +you are getting on, that seems to us the main thing in life.--And +keep well, I think that these rehearsals which make you go to and +fro are good for you. + +We all embrace you fondly. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXX. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday evening, 28 February, 1874 + +Dear master, + +The first performance of le Candidat is set for next Friday, unless +it is Saturday, or perhaps Monday the 9th? It has been postponed by +Delannoy's illness and by l'Oncle Sam, for we had to wait until the +said Sam had come down to under fifteen hundred francs. + +I think that my play will be very well given, that is all. For I +have no idea about the rest of it, and I am very calm about the +result, a state of indifference that surprises me greatly. If I were +not harassed by people who ask me for seats, I should forget +absolutely that I am soon to appear on the boards, and to expose +myself, in spite of my great age, to the derision of the populace. +Is it stoicism or fatigue? + +I have been having and still have the grippe, the result of it for +your Cruchard, is a general lassitude accompanied by a violent (or +rather a profound) melancholy. While spitting and coughing beside my +fire, I muse over my youth. I dream of all my dead friends, I wallow +in blackness! Is it the result of a too great activity for the past +eight months, or the radical absence of the feminine element in my +life? But I have never felt more abandoned, more empty, more +bruised. What you said to me (in your last letter) about your dear +little girls moved me to the depths of my soul! Why haven't I that? +I was born with all the affections, however! But one does not make +one's destiny, one submits to it. I was cowardly in my youth, I had +a fear of life! One pays for everything. + +Let us speak of other things, it will be gayer. + +H. M. the Emperor of all the Russias does not like the Muses. The +censorship of the "autocrat of the north" had formally forbidden the +transportation of Saint-Antoine, and the proofs were returned me +from Saint Petersburg, last Sunday; the French edition even will be +prohibited. That is quite a serious money loss to me. It would have +taken very little for the French censorship to forbid my play. Our +friend Chennevieres gave me a good boost. Except for him I should +not be played. Cruchard does not please the temporal powers. Isn't +it funny, this simple hatred of authority, of all government +whatever, for art! + +I am reading now books on hygiene. Oh! but they are comic! What +assurance physicians have! what effrontery! what asses for the most +part! I have just finished the Gaule poetique of Marchangy (the +enemy of Beranger). This book gave me hysterics. + +So as to retemper myself in something stronger, I reread the great, +the most holy, the incomparable Aristophanes. There is a man, that +fellow! What a world in which such work were produced! + + + +CCLXXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, March, 1874 + +Our two little girls cruelly ill with the grippe have taken up all +my time, but I am following, in the papers, the course of your play. +I would go to applaud it, my cherished Cruchard, if I could leave +these dear little invalids. So it is on Wednesday that they are +going to judge it. The jury may be good or stupid, one never knows! + +I have started grubbing again after having rested from the long and +successful novel published by the Revue. I shall send it to you when +it is published in book form. + +Don't you delay to give me the news on Thursday, I don't need to +tell you that success and the lack of it prove nothing, and that it +is a ticket in a lottery. It is agreeable to succeed; to a +philosophical spirit it ought not to be very distressing to fail. As +for me, without knowing the play, I predict a success on the first +day. As for its continuance, that is always unknown and unforeseen +from day to day. + +We all embrace you very affectionately. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Thursday, one o'clock, 12 March, 1874 + +Speaking of FROSTS, this is one! People who want to flatter me +insist that the play will do better before the real public, but I +don't think so! I know the defects of my play better than anyone. If +Carvalho had not, for a month, bored me to death with corrections +that I have cut out, I would have made re-touches or perhaps +changes which would perhaps have modified the final issue. But I was +so disgusted with it that I would not have changed a line for a +million francs. In a word, I am dished. + +It must be said too that the hall was detestable, all fops and +students who did not understand the material sense of the words. +They made jokes of the poetical things. A poet says: "I am of 1830, +I learned to read in Hernani, and I wanted to be Lara." Thereupon a +burst of ironical laughter, etc. + +And moreover I have fooled the public in regard to the title. They +expected another Rabagas! The conservatives have been vexed because +I did not attack the republicans. Similarly the communists would +have liked some insults against the legitimists. + +My actors played superbly, Saint-Germain among others; Delannoy who +carries all the play, is distressed, and I don't know what to do to +soften his grief. As for Cruchard, he is calm, very calm! He had +dined very well before the performance, and after it he supped even +better. Menu: two dozen oysters from Ostend, a bottle of champagne +frappe, three slices of roast beef, a truffle salad, coffee and a +chaser. Religion and the stomach sustain Cruchard. + +I confess that I should have liked to make some money, but as my +fall involves neither art nor sentiment I am profoundly unconcerned. + +I tell myself: "well, it's over!" and I experience a feeling of +freedom. The worst of it all is the scandal about the tickets. +Observe that I had twelve orchestra seats and a box! (Le Figaro had +eighteen orchestra seats and three boxes.) I did not even see the +chief of the claque. One would say that the management of the +Vaudeville had arranged for me to fail. Its dream is fulfilled. + +I did not give away a quarter of the seats that I needed and I +bought a great many for people who slandered me eloquently in the +lobbies. The "bravos" of a devoted few were drowned at once by the +"hushes." When they mentioned my name at the end, there was applause +(for the man but not for the work) accompanied by two beautiful cat- +calls from the gallery gods. That is the truth. + +La Petite Presse of this morning is polite. I can ask no more of it. +Farewell, dear good master, do not pity me, for I don't feel +pitiable. + +P. S.--A nice bit from my servant when he handed me your letter this +morning. Knowing your handwriting, he said sighing: "Ah! the best +one was not there last evening!" That is just what I think. + + + +CCLXXIII TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday, April, 1874 + +Thank you for your long letter about le Candidat. Now here are the +criticisms that I add to yours: we ought to have: (1) lowered the +curtain after the electoral meeting and put the entire half of the +third act into the beginning of the fourth; (2) cut out the +anonymous letter, which is unnecessary, since Arabelle informs +Rousselin that his wife has a lover; (3) inverted the order of the +scenes in the fourth act, that is to say, beginning with the +announcement of the tryst between Madame Rousselin and Julien and, +making Rousselin a little more jealous. The anxieties of his +election turn him aside from his desire to go to entrap his wife. +Not enough is made of the exploiters. There should be ten instead of +three. Then, he gives his daughter. The end was there, and at the +instant that he notices the blackguardism, he is elected. Then his +dream is accomplished, but he feels no joy over it. In that manner +there would have been moral progress. + +I think, whatever you say about it, that the subject was good, but +that I have spoiled it. Not one of the critics has shown me in what. +But I know, and that consoles me. What do you think of La Rounat, +who in his page implores me, "in the name of our old friendship," +not to have my play printed, he thinks it so "silly and badly +written"! A parallel between me and Gondinet follows. + +The theatrical mystery is one of the funniest things of this age. +One would say that the art of the theatre goes beyond the limits of +human intelligence, and that it is a secret reserved for those who +write like cab drivers. The QUESTION OF IMMEDIATE SUCCESS leads all +others. It is the school of demoralization. If my play had been +sustained by the management, it could have made money like another. +Would it have been the better for that? + +The Tentation is not doing badly. The first edition of two thousand +copies is exhausted. Tomorrow the second will be published. I have +been torn in pieces by the petty journals and praised highly by two +or three persons. On the whole nothing serious has appeared yet, nor +will appear, I think. Renan does not write any more (he says) in the +Debats, and Taine is busy getting settled at Annecy. + +I have been EXECRATED by the Messrs. Villemessant and Buloz, who +will do all they can to be disagreeable to me. Villemessant +reproaches me for not "having been killed by the Prussians." All +that is nauseous! + +And you beg me not to notice human folly, and to deprive myself of +the pleasure of depicting it! But the comic is the only consolation +of virtue. There is, moreover, a manner of taking it which is +elevated; that is what I am aiming at with two good people. Don't +fear that they are too realistic! I am afraid, on the contrary, that +it may seem beyond the bounds of possibility, for I shall push the +idea to the limit. This little work that I shall start in six weeks +will keep me busy for four or five years! + + + +CCLXXIV. TO GEORGE SAND +April, 1874 + +As it would have necessitated a STRUGGLE, and as Cruchard has +lawsuits in horror, I have withdrawn my play on the payment of five +thousand francs, so much the worse! I will not have my actors +hissed! The night of the second performance when I saw Delannoy come +back into the wings with his eyes wet, I felt myself a criminal and +said to myself: "Enough." (Three persons affect me: Delannoy, +Tourgueneff and my servant!) In short, it is over. I am printing my +play, you will get it towards the end of the week. + +I am jumped on on all sides! le Figaro and le Rappel; it is +complete! Those people to whom I lent money or for whom I did favors +call me an idiot. I have never had less nerves. My stoicism (or +pride) surprises myself even, and when I look for the causes, I ask +myself, dear master, if you are not one of them. + +I recall the first night of Villemer, which was a triumph, and the +first night of Don Juan de Village, which was a failure. You do not +know how much I admired you on those two occasions! The dignity of +your character (a thing rarer still than genius) edified me! and I +formulated within myself this prayer: "Oh! how I wish I could be +like her, on a similar occasion." Who knows, perhaps your example +has sustained me? Forgive the comparison! Well, I don't bat an eye- +lid. That is the truth. + +But I confess to regretting the THOUSANDS OF FRANCS which I should +have made. My little milk-jug is broken. I should have liked to +renew the furniture at Croisset, fooled again! + +My dress rehearsal was deadly! Every reporter in Paris! They made +fun of it all. I shall underline in your copy, all the passages that +they seized on. Yesterday and the day before they did not seize on +them any more. Oh! well, so much the worse! It is too late. Perhaps +the PRIDE of Cruchard has killed it. + +And they have written articles on MY dwellings, my SLIPPERS, my DOG. +The chroniclers have described my apartment where they saw "on the +walls, pictures and bronzes." But there is nothing at all on the +walls! I know that one critic was enraged because I did not go to +see him; and a third person came to tell me so this morning, adding: +"What do you want me to tell him?...But Messieurs Dumas, Sardou and +even Victor Hugo are not like you.--Oh! I know it!--Then you are not +surprised, etc." + +Farewell, dear good adored master, friendly regards to yours. Kisses +to the dear little girls, and all my love to you. + +P.S. Could you give me a copy or the original of Cruchard's +biography; I have no draft of it and I want to reread it to freshen +up MY IDEAL. + + + +CCLXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 10 April, 1874 + +Those who say that I do not think Saint-Antoine beautiful! and +excellent, lie about it, I do not need to tell you. Let me ask you +how I could have confided in the Levy clerks whom I do not know! I +remember, as for Levy himself, saying to him last summer, that I +found the thing superb and first class. + +I would have done an article for you if I had not already refused +Maurice recently, to do one about Hugo's Quatre-vingt-treize. I +said that I was ill. The fact is, that I do not know how to DO +ARTICLES, and I have done so many of them for Hugo that I have +exhausted my subject. I wonder why he has never done any for me; +for, really, I am no more of a journalist than he is, and I need his +support much more than he needs mine. + +On the whole, articles are not of any use, now, no more than are +friends at the theatre. I have told you that it is the struggle of +one against all, and the mystery, if there is one, is to turn on an +electric current. The subject then is very important in the theatre. +In a novel, one has time to win the reader over. What a difference! +I do not say as you do that there is nothing mysterious in that. +Yes, indeed, there is something very mysterious in one respect: +namely that one can not judge of one's effect beforehand, and that +the shrewdest are mistaken ten times out of fifteen. You say +yourself that you have been mistaken. I am at work now on a play; it +is not possible to know if I am mistaken or not. And when shall I +know? The day after the first performance, if I have it performed, +which is not certain. There is no fun in anything except work that +has not been read to any one. All the rest is drudgery and +PROFESSIONAL BUSINESS, a horrible thing. So make fun of all this +GOSSIP; the guiltiest ones are those who report it to you. I think +it is very odd that they say so much against you to your friends. No +one indeed ever says anything to me: they know that I would not +allow it. Be valiant and CONTENT since Saint-Antoine is doing well +and selling better. What difference does it make if they cut you up +in this or that paper? In former times it meant something; in these +days, nothing. The public is not the public of other days, and +journalism has not the least literary influence. Every one is a +critic and forms his own opinions. They never write articles about +my novels. That doesn't make any difference to me. + +I embrace you and we love you. + +Your old troubadour. + + + +CCLXXVI. TO GEORGE SAND +Friday evening, 1st May, 1874 + +Things are progressing, dear master, insults are accumulating! It is +a concerto, a symphony in which each one is intent on his own +instrument. I have been cut up beginning le Figaro up to la Revue +des Deux Mondes, including la Gazette de France and le +Constitutionnel. And THEY have not finished yet! Barbey d'Aurevilly +has insulted me personally, and the good Saint-Rene Taillandier, who +declares me "unreadable," attributes ridiculous words to me. So much +for printing. As for speech, it is in accord. Saint-Victor (is it +servility towards Michel Levy) rends me at the Brabant dinner, as +does that excellent Charles Edmond, etc. On the other hand I am +admired by the professors of the Faculty of Theology at Strasbourg, +by Renan, and by the cashier at my butcher's! not to mention some +others. There is the truth. + +What surprises me, is that under several of these criticisms there +is a HATRED against me, against me personally, a deliberate +slandering, the cause of which I am seeking. I do not feel hurt, but +this avalanche of foolishness saddens me. One prefers inspiring good +feelings to bad ones. As for the rest, I am not thinking any more +about Saint-Antoine. That is over with! + +I shall start, this summer, another book of about the same calibre; +after that I shall return to the novel pure and simple. I have in my +head two or three to write before I die. Just now I am spending my +days at the Library, where I am accumulating notes. In a fortnight, +I shall return to my house in the fields. In July I shall go to get +rid of my congestion on the top of a Swiss mountain, obeying the +advice of Doctor Hardy, the man who called me "a hysterical woman," +a saying that I consider profound. + +The good Tourgueneff is leaving next week for Russia, his trip will +forcibly interrupt his frenzy for pictures, for our friend never +leaves the auction rooms now! He is a man with a passion, so much +the better for him! + +I missed you very much at Madame Viardot's a fortnight ago. She sang +Iphigenie en Aulide. I can not tell you how beautiful it was, how +transporting, in short how sublime. What an artist that woman is! +What an artist! Such emotions console one for life. + +Well! and you, dear good master, that play that they talk about, is +it finished? You are going to fall back into the theatre! I pity +you! After having put dogs on the boards at the Odeon, perhaps they +are going to ask you to put on horses! That is where we are now! + +And all the household, from Maurice to Fadet, how is it? + +Kiss the dear little girls for me and let them return it to you from +me. + +Your old friend. + + + +CCLXXVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 4th May, 1874 + +Let them say what they like, Saint-Antoine is a masterpiece, a +magnificent book. Ridicule the critics, they are blockheads. The +present century does not like lyricism. Let us wait for the +reaction, it will come for you, and a splendid one. Rejoice in your +insults, they are great promises for the future. + +I am working still on my play, I don't at all know if it is worth +anything and don't worry about it. I shall be told that when it is +finished, and if it does not seem interesting I shall lock it up. It +will have amused me for six weeks, that is the most certain thing +for us about our profession. + +Plauchut is the joy of the salons! happy old man! always content +with himself and with others; that makes him as good as an angel, I +forgive him all his graces. + +You were happy at hearing the Diva Paulita, we had her, with +Iphigenie, for two weeks in Nohant last autumn. Ah! yes, there is +beauty and grandeur! Try to come to see us before going to Croisset, +you would make us happy. + +We all love you and all my dear world embraces you with a GREAT GOOD +HEART. + +Your old troubadour always, + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXXVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, Tuesday, 26th March, 1874 + +Dear good master, + +Here I am back again in my solitude! But I shall not remain in it +long, for, in a short month, I shall go to spend three weeks on the +Righi, so as to breathe a bit, to relax myself, to deneurasthenize +myself! It is a long time since I took the air, I am tired. I need a +little rest. After that I shall start at my big book which will take +at least four years. It will have that good quality! + +Le Sexe faible which was accepted at the Vaudeville Carvalho, was +returned to me by the said Vaudeville and returned also by Perrin, +who thinks the play off-color and unconventional. "Putting a cradle +and a nurse on the French stage!" Think of it! Then, I took the +thing to Duquesnel who has not yet (naturally) given me any answer. +How far the demoralization which the theatres bring about extends! +The bourgeois of Rouen, my brother included, have been talking to me +of the failure of le Candidat in hushed voices (sic) and with a +contrite air, as if I had been taken to the assizes under an +accusation of forgery. NOT TO SUCCEED IS A CRIME and success is the +criterion of well doing. I think that is grotesque in a supreme +degree. + +Now explain to me why they put mattresses under certain falls and +thorns under others? Ah! the world is funny, and it seems chimerical +to me to want to regulate oneself according to its opinion. + +The good Tourgueneff must be now in Saint Petersburg; he sent me a +favorable article on Saint-Antoine from Berlin. It is not the +article, but he, that has given me pleasure. I saw him a great deal +this winter, and I love him more and more. I saw a good deal of +father Hugo who is (when the political gallery is absent) a +charming, good fellow. + +Was not the fall of the Broglie ministry pleasing to you? Very much +so to me! but the next! I am still young enough to hope that the +next Chamber will bring us a change for the better. However? + +Ah, confound it! how I want to see you and talk a long time with +you! Everything is poorly arranged in this world. Why not live with +those one loves? The Abbey of Theleme [Footnote: Cf. Rabelais' +Gargantua.] is a fine dream, but nothing but a dream. Embrace warmly +the dear little girls for me, and entirely yours. + +R. P. Cruchard + +More Cruchard than ever. I feel like a good-for-nothing, a cow, +damned, antique, deliquescent, in short calm and moderate, which is +the last term in decadence. + + + +CCLXXIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Kalt-Bad. Righi. Friday, 3d July, 1874 + +Is it true, dear master, that last week you came to Paris? I went +through it to go to Switzerland, and I read "in a sheet" that you +had been to see les Deux Orphelines, had taken a walk in the Bois de +Boulogne, had dined at Magny's, etc.; all of which goes to prove +that, thanks to the freedom of the Press, one is not master of one's +own actions. Whence it results that Father Cruchard is wrathful with +you for not having advised him of your presence in the "new Athens." +It seems to me that people are sillier and flatter there than usual. +The state of politics has become drivel! They have tickled my ears +with the return of the Empire. I don't believe in it! However...We +should have to expatriate ourselves then. But how and where? + +Is it for a play that you came? I pity you for having anything to do +with Duquesnel! He had the manuscript of le Sexe faible returned to +me by an agent of the theatrical management, without a word of +explanation, and in the ministerial envelope was a letter from an +underclerk, which is a gem! I will show it to you. It is a +masterpiece of impertinence! People do not write in that way to a +Carpentras urchin, offering a skit to the Beaumarchais theatre. + +It is that very play le Sexe faible that, last year, Carvalho was so +enthusiastic about! Now no one wants it any more for Perrin thinks +it unconventional to put on the boards of the Theatre Francais, a +nurse and a cradle. Not knowing what to do with it, I have taken it +to the Cluny Theatre. + +Ah! my poor Bouilhet did well to die! But I think that the Odeon +could show more respect for his posthumous work. + +Without believing in an Holbachic conspiracy, I think that they have +been knocking me a bit too much of late; and they are so indulgent +towards certain others. + +The American Harrisse maintained to me the other day that Saint- +Simon wrote badly. At that I burst out and talked to him in such a +way that he will never more before me belch his idiocy. It was at +dinner at the Princess's; my violence cast a chill. + +You see that your Cruchard continues not to listen to jokes on +religion! He does not become calm! quite the contrary! + +I have just read la Creation naturelle by Haeckel, a pretty book, +pretty book! Darwinism seems to me to be better expounded there than +in the books of Darwin himself. + +The good Tourgueneff has sent me news from the depths of Scythia. He +has found the information he wanted for a book that he is going to +do. The tone of his letter is frivolous, from which I conclude that +he is well. He will return to Paris in a month. + +A fortnight ago I made a little trip to Lower Normandy, where I have +found at last a neighborhood suitable to place my two good men. It +will be between the valley of the Orne and the valley of the Auge. I +shall have to return there several times. + +Beginning with September, then, I shall start that hard task! it +makes me afraid, and I am overwhelmed by it in advance. + +As you know Switzerland, it is useless for me to talk to you of it, +and you would scorn me if I were to tell you that I am bored to +extinction here. I came here obediently because they ordered me to, +for the purpose of bleaching my face and calming my nerves! I don't +think that the remedy will be efficacious; anyhow it has been deadly +boring to me. I am not a man of nature, and I do not understand +anything in a country where there is no history. I would give all +these glaciers for the Vatican Museum. One can dream there. Well, in +three weeks I shall be glued to my green table! in a humble refuge, +where it seems to me you never want to come! + + + +CCLXXX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 6th July, 1874 (Yesterday, seventy years.) + +I was in Paris from the 30th of May to the 10th of June, you were +not there. Since my return here, I have been ill with the grippe, +rheumatic, and often absolutely deprived of the use of my right arm. +I have not the courage to stay in bed: I spend the evening with my +children and I forget my little miseries which will pass; everything +passes. That is why I was not able to write to you, even to thank +you for the good letter which you wrote to me about my novel. In +Paris I was overwhelmed by fatigue. That is the way I am growing +old, and now I am beginning to feel it; I am not more often ill, +now, illness PROSTRATES me more. That is nothing, I have not the +right to complain, being well loved and well cared for in my nest. I +urge Maurice to go about without me, since my strength is not equal +to going with him. He leaves tomorrow for Cantal with a servant, a +tent, a lamp, and a quantity of utensils to examine the MICROS of +his entomological DIVISION I am telling him that you are bored on +the Righi. He cannot understand it. + +The 7th + +I am taking up my letter again, begun yesterday; I still find it +very hard to move my pen, and even at this moment, I have a pain in +my side, and I cannot... + +Till tomorrow. + +The 8th + +At last, I shall be able perhaps today: for I am furious to think +that perhaps you are accusing me of forgetting you, when I am +prevented by weakness that is entirely physical, in which my +affections count for nothing. You tell me that they KNOCK you too +much. I read only le Temps and it is a good deal for me even to open +a paper to see about what it is talking. You ought to do as I do and +IGNORE criticism when it is not serious, and even when it is. I have +never been able to see what good it is to the author criticised. +Criticism always starts from a personal point of view, the authority +of which the artist does not recognize. It is because of that +usurpation of powers in the intellectual order of things, that +people get to discussing the Sun and the Moon; but that does +not prevent them in the least from showing us their good tranquil +faces. + +You do not want to be a man of nature, so much the worse for you! +therefore you attach too much importance to the details of human +things, and you do not tell yourself that there is in you a NATURAL +force that defies the IFS and the BUTS of human prattle. We are of +nature, in nature, by nature, and for nature. Talent, will, genius, +are natural phenomena like the lake, the volcano, the mountain, the +wind, the star, the cloud. What man dabbles in is pretty or ugly, +ingenious or stupid; what he gets from nature is good or bad; but it +is, it exists and subsists. One should not ask from the jumble of +appreciation called CRITICISM, what one has done and what one wants +to do. Criticism does not know anything about it; its business is to +gossip. + +Nature alone knows how to speak to the intelligence in a language +that is imperishable, always the same, because it does not depart +from the eternally true, the absolutely beautiful. The hard thing, +when one travels, is to find nature, because man has arranged it +everywhere and has almost spoiled it everywhere; probably it is +because of that that you are bored, it is because it is disguised +and travestied everywhere. However, the glaciers are still intact, I +presume. + +But I cannot write further, I must tell you quickly that I love you, +that I embrace you affectionately. Give me news of yourself. I hope +to be on my feet in a few days. Maurice is waiting until I am robust +before he goes: I am hurrying as much as I can! My little girls +embrace you, they are superb. Aurore is devoted to mythology (George +Cox, Baudry translation). You know that? An adorable work for +children and parents. Enough, I can no more. I love you; don't have +black ideas, and resign yourself to being bored if the air is good +there. + + + +CCLXXXI. TO GEORGE SAND +Righi, 14 July, 1874; + +What? ill? poor, dear master! If it is rheumatism, do as my brother +does, who in his character of physician, scarcely believes in +medicine. Last year he went to the baths at Aix in Savoy, and in two +weeks he was cured of the pains that had tormented him for six +years. But to do that you would have to move, to resign your habits, +Nohant and the dear little girls. You will remain at home and YOU +WILL BE WRONG. You ought to take care of yourself ... for those who +love you. + +And as regard this, you send me, in your last letter, a horrid +thing. Could I, for my part, suspect you of forgetting Cruchard! +Come now, I have, first of all, too much vanity and next, too much +faith in you. + +You don't tell me how your play is getting on at the Odeon. + +Speaking of plays, I am going again to expose myself to insults of +the populace and the penny-a-liners. The manager of the Cluny +Theatre, to whom I took le Sexe faible, has written me an admiring +letter and is disposed to put on that play in October. He is +reckoning on a great money success. Well, so be it! But I am +recalling the enthusiasm of Carvalho, followed by an absolute chill! +and all that increases my scorn for the so-called shrewd people who +pretend to know all about things. For, in short, there is a dramatic +work, declared by the managers of the Vaudeville and the Cluny +"perfect," by the Theatre Francais "unplayable," and by the manager +of the Odeon "in need of rewriting from one end to the other." Draw +a conclusion now! and listen to their advice! Never mind, as these +four gentlemen are the masters of your destinies because they have +the money, and as they have more mind than you, never having written +a line, you must believe them and submit to them. + +It is a strange thing how much pleasure imbeciles find in +floundering about in the work of another! in cutting it, correcting +it, playing the pedagogue! Did I tell you that I was, because of +that, very much at odds with a certain *****. He wanted to make +over, sometime ago, a novel that I had recommended to him, which was +not very good, but of which he is incapable of turning the least +phrase. And I did not hide from him my opinion about him; inde irae. +However, it is impossible for me to be so modest as to think that +that good Pole is better than I am in French prose. And you want me +to remain calm! dear master! I have not your temperament! I am not +like you, always soaring above the miseries of this world. Your +Cruchard is as sensitive as if he were divested of skin. And +imbecility, self-sufficiency, injustice exasperate him more and +more. Thus the ugliness of the Germans who surround me shuts off the +view of the Righi!!! Zounds! What mugs! + +God be thanked, "of my horrible sight I purge their States." + + + +CCLXXXII. TO GEORGE SAND +Saturday, 26 September, 1874 + +Then, after having been bored like an ass on the top of the Righi, I +returned home the first of August and started my book. The beginning +was not easy, it was even "direful," and "methought" I should die of +despair; but now things are going, I am all right, come what may! +But one needs to be absolutely mad to undertake such a book. I fear +that, by its very conception, it is radically impossible. We shall +see, Ah! supposing I should carry it out well ... what a dream. + +You doubtless know that once more I am exposing myself to the storms +of the footlights (pretty metaphor) and that "braving the publicity +of the theatre" I shall appear upon the boards of Cluny, probably, +towards the end of December. The manager of that "little theatre" is +enchanted with le Sexe faible. But so was Carvalho, which did not +prevent him ... You know the rest. + +Of course every one blames me for letting my play be given in such a +joint. But since the others do not want that play and since I insist +that it shall be presented to make a few sous for the Bouilhet +heirs, I am forced to pass that over. I am keeping two or three +pretty anecdotes about this to tell you when we meet. Why is the +theatre such a general cause of delirium? Once one is on that +ground, ordinary conditions are changed. If one has had the +misfortune (slight) not to succeed, friends turn from one. They are +very inconsiderate of one. They never salute one! I swear to you on +my word of honor that that happened to me on account of le Candida. +I do not believe in Holbachic conspiracies, but all that they have +done to me since March amazes me. But, I decidedly don't bat an +optic, and the fate of le Sexe faible disturbs me less than the +least of the phrases of my novel. + +Public intelligence seems to me to get lower and lower! To what +depth of imbecility shall we descend? Belot's last book sold eight +thousand copies in two weeks. Zola's Conquete de Plassans, seventeen +hundred in six months, and there was an article about it. All the +Monday-morning idiots have just been swooning away about M. Scribe's +Une Chaine. France is ill, very ill, whatever they say; and my +thoughts are more and more the color of ebony. + +However, there are some pretty comic elements: (1) the Bazaine +escape with the episode of the sentinel; (2) l'Histoire d'un Diamant +by Paul de Musset (see the Revue des Deux Mondes for September); (3) +the vestibule of the former establishment of Nadar near Old England +[sic], where one can contemplate a life-size photograph of Alexander +Dumas. + +I am sure that you are finding me grouchy and that you are going to +answer me: "What difference does all that make?" But everything +makes a difference, and we are dying of humbug, of ignorance, of +self-confidence, of scorn of grandeur, of love of banality, and +imbecile babble. + +"Europe which hates us, looks at us and laughs," said Ruy Blas. My +Heavens, she has a right to laugh. + + + +CCLXXXIII TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 5th November, 1874 + +What, my Cruchard, you have been ill? That is what I feared, I who +live in the woes of indigestion and yet hardly work at all, I am +disquieted at your kind of life, the excess of intellectual +expenditure and the seclusion. In spite of the charm that I have +proved and appreciated at Croisset, I fear for you that solitude +where you have no longer anyone to remind you that you must eat, +drink and sleep, and above all walk. Your rainy climate makes you +keep to the house. Here, where it does not rain enough, we are at +least hustled out of doors by the beautiful warm sun and that +Phoebus invigorates us, while our Phoebus-Apollo murders us. + +But I am always talking to you as to a Cruchard philosophic and +detached from his personality, to a Cruchard fanatical about +literature and drunk with production. When, then, shall you be able +to say to yourself: Lo! this is the time for rest, let us taste the +innocent pleasure of living for life's sake, of watching with +amazement the agitations of others and of not giving to them +anything except the excess of our overflow. It does one good to +ruminate over what one has assimilated in life, sometimes without +attention and without discrimination. + +Old friendships sustain us and all at once they distress us. I have +just lost my poor blind Duvernet, whom you have seen at our house. +He expired very quietly without suspecting it and without suffering. +There is another great void about us and my nephew, the substitute, +has been nominated for Chateauroux. His mother has followed him. + +So we are all alone. Happily we love one another so much that we can +live like that, but not without regret for the absent ones. Plauchut +left us yesterday to return at Christmas. Maurice is already at +work preparing a splendid performance of marionettes for us. And +you, if you are in Paris, won't you come to keep the Christmas Eve +revels with us? You will have finished your rehearsals, you will +have had a success, perhaps you will be in the mood to return to +material life, eating truffles? + +Tell us about yourself, do not be ill, always love your old +troubadour and his people who love you too. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXXXIV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday, 2nd December, 1874 + +I am having remorse about you. It is a crime to let so long a time +elapse without answering such a letter as your last. I was waiting +to write to you until I had something definite to tell you about le +Sexe faible. What is definite is that I took it away from the Cluny +a week ago. The cast that Weinschenk proposed to me was odiously +stupid and he did not keep the promises that he made. But, God be +thanked, I withdrew in time. At present my play has been offered to +the Gymnase. No news up to now from Montigny. + +I am worrying like five hundred devils about my book, asking myself +sometimes if I am not mad to have undertaken it. But, like Thomas +Diafoirus, I am stiffening myself against the difficulties of +execution which are frightful. I need to learn a heap of things +about which I am ignorant. In a month I hope to finish with the +agriculture and the gardening, and I shall only then be at the +second third of my first chapter. + +Speaking of books, do read Fromont et Risler, by my friend Daudet, +and les Diaboliques, by my enemy Barbey d'Aurevilly. You will writhe +with laughter. It is perhaps owing to the perversity of my mind, +which likes unhealthy things, but the latter work seemed to me +extremely amusing; it is the last word in the involuntary grotesque. +In other respects, dead calm, France is sinking gently like a rotten +hulk, and the hope of salvage, even for the staunchest, seems +chimerical. You need to be here, in Paris, to have an idea of the +universal depression, of the stupidity, of the decrepitude in which +we are floundering. + +The sentiment of that agony penetrates me and I am sad enough to +die. When I am not torturing myself about my work, I am groaning +about myself. That is the truth. In my leisure moments, all I do is +to think of the dead, and I am going to say a very pretentious thing +to you. No one understands me; I belong to another world. The men of +my profession are so little of my profession! There is hardly anyone +except Victor Hugo with whom I can talk of what interests me. Day +before yesterday he recited by heart to me from Boileau and from +Tacitus. That was like a gift to me, the thing is so rare. Moreover, +the days when there are not politicians at his house, he is an +adorable man. + + +CCLXXXV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 8th December, 1874 + +Poor dear friend, + +I love you all the more because you are growing more unhappy. How +you torment yourself, and how you disturb yourself about life! for +all of which you complain, is life; it has never been better for +anyone or in any time. One feels it more or less, one understands it +more or less, one suffers with it more or less, and the more one is +in advance of the age one lives in, the more one suffers. We pass +like shadows on a background of clouds which the sun seldom pierces, +and we cry ceaselessly for the sun which can do no more for us. It +is for us to clear away our clouds. + +You love literature too much; it will destroy you and you will not +destroy the imbecility of the human race. Poor dear! imbecility, +that, for my part, I do not hate, that I regard with maternal eyes: +for it is a childhood and all childhood is sacred. What hatred you +have devoted to it! what warfare you wage on it! + +You have too much knowledge and intelligence, you forget that there +is something above art: namely, wisdom, of which art at its apogee +is only the expression. Wisdom comprehends all: beauty, truth, +goodness, enthusiasm, in consequence. It teaches us to see outside +of ourselves, something more elevated than is in ourselves, and to +assimilate it little by little, through contemplation and +admiration. + +But I shall not succeed in changing you. I shall not even succeed in +making you understand how I envisage and how I lay hold upon +HAPPINESS, that is to say, the acceptation of life whatever it may +be! There is one person who could change you and save you, that is +father Hugo; for he has one side on which he is a great philosopher, +while at the same time he is the great artist that you require and +that I am not. You must see him often. I believe that he will quiet +you: I have not enough tempest in me now for you to understand me. +As for him, I think that he has kept his thunderbolts and that he +has all the same acquired the gentleness and the compassion of age. + +See him, see him often and tell him your troubles, which are great, +I see that, and which turn too much to spleen. You think too much of +the dead, you think that they have too soon reached their rest. They +have not. They are like us, they are searching. They labor in the +search. + +Every one is well, and embraces you. As for me, I do not get well, +but I have hopes, well or not, to keep on still so as to bring up my +grandchildren, and to love you as long as I have a breath left. + +G. Sand + + + +CCLXXXVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 16th January, 1875 + +I too, dear Cruchard, embrace you at the New Year, and wish that you +may have a tolerable one, since you do not care to hear the myth +happiness spoken of. You admire my serenity; it does not come from +my depths, it comes from my necessity of thinking only of others. +There is but a little time left, old age creeps on and death is +pushing me by the shoulders. + +I am as yet, if not necessary, at least extremely useful, and I +shall go on as long as I have a breath, thinking, talking, working +for them. + +Duty is the master of masters, it is the real Zeus of modern times, +the son of Time, and has become his master. It is that which lives +and acts outside of all the agitations of the world. It does not +reason, does not discuss. It examines without fear, it walks without +looking behind it; Cronos, the stupid, swallowed stones, Zeus breaks +them with the lightning, and the lightning is the will. I am not a +philosopher, I am a servant of Zeus, who takes away half of their +souls from slaves, but who leaves them entire to the brave. + +I have no more leisure to think of myself, to dream of discouraging +things, to despair of human-kind, to look at my past sorrows and +joys and to summon death. + +Mercy! If one were an egoist, one would see it approach with joy; it +is so easy to sleep in nothingness, or to awaken in a better life! +for it opens these two hypotheses, or to express it better, this +antithesis. + +But, for the one who must continue working, death must not be +summoned before the hour when exhaustion opens the doors of liberty. +You have had no children. It is the punishment of those who wish to +be too independent; but that suffering is nevertheless a glory for +those who vow themselves to Apollo. Then do not complain for having +to grub, and describe your martyrdom to us; there is a fine book to +be written about that. + +You say that Renan is despairing; for my part, I don't believe that: +I believe that he is suffering as are all those who look high and +far ahead; but he ought to have strength in proportion to his +vision. Napoleon shares his ideas, he does well if he shares them +all. He has written me a very wise and good letter. He now sees +relative safety in a wise republic, and I, too, think it still +possible. It will be very bourgeois and not very ideal, but one has +to begin at the beginning. We artists have no patience at all. We +want the Abbey of Theleme at once; but before saying, "Do what you +want!" one must go through with "Do what you can!" I love you and I +embrace you with all my heart, my dear Polycarp. My children large +and small join with me. + +Come now, no weakness! We all ought to be examples to our friends, +our neighbors, our fellow citizens. And how about me, don't you +think that I need help and support in my long task that is not yet +finished? Don't you love anyone, not even your old troubadour, who +still sings, and often weeps, but who conceals himself when he +weeps, as cats do when they die? + + + +CCLXXXVII. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, Saturday evening + +Dear master, + +I curse once more THE DRAMATIC MANIA and the pleasure that certain +people have in announcing remarkable news! Someone had told me that +you were VERY ill. Your good handwriting came to reassure me +yesterday morning, and this morning I have received the letter from +Maurice, so the Lord be praised! + +What to tell you about myself? I am not stiff, I have ... I don't +know what. Bromide of potassium has calmed me and given me eczema on +the middle of my forehead. + +Abnormal things are going on inside me. My psychic depression must +relate to some hidden cause. I feel old, used up, disgusted with +everything, and others bore me as I do myself. + +However, I am working, but without enthusiasm: as one does a stint, +and perhaps it is the work that makes me ill, for I have undertaken +a senseless book. + +I lose myself in the recollections of my childhood like an old man +... I do not expect anything further in life than a succession of +sheets of paper to besmear with black. It seems to me that I am +crossing an endless solitude to go I don't know where. And it is I +who am at the same time the desert, the traveller, and the camel. + +I spent the afternoon today at the funeral of Amedee Achard. The +Protestant ceremonies were as inane as if they had been Catholic. +ALL PARIS and the reporters were there in force! + +Your friend, Paul Meurice, came a week ago to ask me to "do the +Salon" in le Rappel. I declined the honor, for I do not admit that +anyone can criticise an art of which he does not know the technique! +And then, what use is so much criticism! + +I am reasonable. I go out every day, I exercise, and I come home +tired, and still more irritated, that is the good I get out of it. +In short, your troubadour (not very troubadourish) has become a sad +bonehead. + +It is in order not to bore you with my complaints that I write so +rarely to you now, for no one has a livelier sense than I of my +unbearableness. + +Send me Flamarande; that will give me a little air. + +I embrace you all, and especially you, dear master, so great, so +strong, and so gentle. Your Cruchard, who is more and more cracked, +if cracked is the right word, for I perceive that the contents are +escaping. + + + +CCLXXXVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +20th February + +Then you are quite ill, dear old fellow? I am not worried about it, +since it concerns only nerves and rheumatisms, and I have lived +seventy years with all that nuisance in my body, and I am still +healthy. But I am sad to know that you are bored, suffering, and +your spirit turned to darkness as it necessarily is when one is ill. + +I was sure that a moment would come when someone would prescribe +walking to you. All your illness comes from the lack of exercise, a +man of your strength and your complexion ought to have lived an +athletic life. + +Don't sulk then about the very wise order that condemns you to an +hour's walk each day. + +You fancy that the work of the spirit is only in the brain, you are +very much mistaken, it is also in the legs. + +Tell me that two weeks of this regime has cured you. It will happen, +I am sure of it. + +I love you, and I embrace you, as does every one of my brood. + +Your old troubadour + + + +CCLXXXIX. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 25th March, 1875 + +Don't be worried about me, my Polycarp. I have nothing serious, a +little grippe, and this right arm which hardly moves but which +electricity will cure. One thinks that it is an effort. + +I am much more worried about you, although you are ten times as +strong as I am, but your morale is affected whereas mine takes what +comes, in a cowardly way, if you like, but there is perhaps a +philosophy in knowing how to be cowardly rather than angry. + +Do write to me, tell me that you are going out of doors, that you +are walking, that you are better.--I have finished going over the +proofs of Flamarande. That is the most boring part of the task. + +I shall send you the book when it is published. I know that you do +not like to read bit by bit. + +I am a little tired; however, I want to begin something else. Since +it is not warm enough to go out, I get bored with not having +anything on the stocks. Everything is going well in the nest, except +for a few colds. Spring is so peevish this year! At last the pale +sun will become the dear Phoebus-Appolo with the shining hair, and +all will go well. + +Aurore is getting so big that one is surprised to hear her laugh and +play like a child, always good, and tender, the other is always very +funny and facetious. + +Tell us of yourself and always love us as we love you. + +Your old troubadour + + + +CCXC. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 7th May, 1875 + +You leave me without news of you? You say that you prefer to be +forgotten, rather than to complain ceaselessly, as it is very +useless and since you will not be forgotten; complain then, but tell +us that you are alive and that you still love us. + +As you are much nicer, the more surly you are, I know that you are +not rejoicing over the death of poor Michel. For me, it is a great +loss in every way, for he was absolutely devoted to me and proved it +all the time by his care and services without number. + +We are all well here. I am better since it is not cold any more, and +I am working a great deal. I am also doing many water colors, I am +reading the Iliad with Aurore, who does not like any translation +except Leconte de Lisle's, insisting that Homer is spoiled by +approximate renderings. + +The child is a singular mixture of precocity and childishness. She +is nine years old and so large that one would think her twelve. She +plays dolls with passion, and she is as LITERARY as you or I, +meanwhile learning her own language which she does not yet know. + +Are you still in Paris in this lovely weather? Nohant is now +STREAMING with flowers, from the tips of the trees to the turf; +Croisset must be even prettier, for it is cool, and we are +struggling with a drought that has now become chronic in Berry. But +if you are still in Paris, you have that beautiful Pare Monceau +under your eyes where you are walking, I hope, since you have to. +Life is at the price of walking! + +Won't you come to see us? Whether you are sad or gay, we love you +the same here, and we wish that affection meant something to you, +but we shall give it to you, and we give it to you without +conditions. + +I am thinking of going to Paris next month, shall you be there? + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCI. TO GEORGE SAND +Croisset, 10th May, 1875 + +A wandering gout, pains that go all over me, an invincible +melancholy, the feeling of "universal uselessness" and grave doubts +about the book that I am writing, that is what is the matter with +me, dear and valiant master. Add to that worries about money with +melancholic recollections of the past, that is my condition, and I +assure you that I make great efforts to get out of it. But my will +is tired. I cannot decide about anything effective! Ah! I have eaten +my white bread first, and old age is not announcing itself under gay +colors. Since I have begun hydrotherapy, however, I feel a little +less like a COW, and this evening I am going to begin work without +looking behind me. + +I have left my apartment in the rue Murillo, and I have taken a +larger one which is next to the one that my niece has just reserved +on the Boulevard Reine Hortense. I shall be less alone next winter, +for I cannot endure solitude. + +Tourgueneff seemed to me, however, to be very well pleased with the +two first chapters of my frightful book. But Tourgueneff loves me +too much, perhaps to judge impartially. I am not going to leave my +house for a long time now, for I WILL get ahead in my task, which +weighs on my chest like a burden of a million pounds. My niece will +come to spend all the month of June here. When she has gone away, I +shall make a little archeological and geological excursion in +Calvados, and that will be all. + +No, I do not rejoice at Michel Levy's death, and I even envy him +that death so quiet. Just the same, that man did me a great deal of +harm. He wounded me deeply. It is true that I am endowed with an +absurd sensitiveness; what scratches others tears me to pieces. Why +am I not organized for enjoyment as I am for suffering! + +The bit you sent me about Aurore who is reading Homer, did me good. +That is what I miss: a little girl like that! But one does not +arrange one's own destiny, one submits to it. I have always lived +from day to day, without plans for the future and pursuing my end +(one alone, literature) without looking to the right or to the left. +Everything that was around me has disappeared, and now I find I am +in a desert. In short, the element of distraction is absolutely +lacking to me. One needs a certain vivacity to write good things! +What can one do to get it again? How can one proceed, to avoid +thinking continually about one's miserable person? The sickest thing +in me is my humor: the rest doubtless would go well. You see, dear, +good master, that I am right to spare you my letters. Nothing is as +imbecile as the whiners. + + + +CCXCII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Thursday morning, 10th June, 1875 + +We are leaving, Lina and I, on Saturday morning, and up to then we +shall be on the move. If you wanted to come to dine with us Friday +at Magny's at six o'clock, at least we could say farewell. You +should be free at nine o'clock, for we go to bed with the chickens +in order to leave early the next day. What do you say? + +I love you with all my heart. + + + +CCXCIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT + +Friend, I shall come at your call as soon as you say to me, "I have +finished." + +I love you, and I embrace you. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 15 August + +My poor, dear, old fellow, + +I learn only today in a letter from that dear, lazy soul of a +Tourgueneff, about the misfortune which has come to your niece. Is +it then irreparable? Her husband is very young and intelligent, +can't he begin over again, or take a position that will give him a +living? They have no children, they do not need millions to live on, +young and well as they both are. Tourgueneff tells me that your +property has been affected by this failure. If it is AFFECTED MERELY +you will bear this serious annoyance philosophically. You have no +vices to satisfy, nor ambitions to appease. I am sure that you will +accommodate your life to your resources. The hardest thing for you +to bear, is the chagrin of that young woman who is as a daughter to +you. But you will give her courage and consolation, it is the moment +to be above your own worries, in order to assuage those of others. I +am sure that as I write, you have calmed her mind and soothed her +heart. Perhaps, too, the disaster is not what it seems at the first +moment. There will be a change for the better, a new way will be +found, for it is always so, and the worth of men is measured +according to their energy, to the hopes which are always a sign of +their force and intelligence. More than one has risen again bravely. +Be sure that better days will come and tell them so continually, for +it is true. Your moral and physical welfare must not be shaken by +this rebuff. Think of healing those whom you love, and forget +yourself. We shall be thinking of you, and we shall be suffering for +you; for I am keenly affected at seeing that you have a new subject +of sadness amidst your spleen. + +Come, dear splendid old fellow, cheer up, do us a new successful +novel, and think of those who love you, and whose hearts are +saddened and torn by your discouragements. Love them, love us, and +you will find once more your strength and your enthusiasm. + +We all embrace you very tenderly. Do not write if it bores you, say +to us only, "I am well, and I love you." + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday + +Will you forgive my long delay, dear master? But I think that I must +bore you with my eternal jeremiads. I repeat myself like a dotard! I +am becoming too stupid! I am boring everybody. In short, your +Cruchard has become an intolerable old codger, because he has been +intolerant. And as I cannot do anything that I ought to do, I must, +out of consideration for others, spare them the overflow of my bile. + +For the last six months, especially, I don't know what has been the +trouble with me, but I feel dreadfully ill, without being able to +get to the root of the matter, and I know many people are in the +same condition. Why? Perhaps we are suffering from the illness of +France; here in Paris, where her heart beats, people feel better +than at her extremities, in the provinces. + +I assure you that every one now is suffering with some +incomprehensible trouble. Our friend Renan is one of the most +desperate, and Prince Napoleon feels exactly the way he does. But +they have strong nerves. But, as for me, I am attacked by a well +defined melancholia. I should be resigned to it, and I am not. + +I work all the more, so as not to think about myself. But since I +have undertaken a book that has absurd difficulties in its +execution, the feeling of my powerlessness adds to my chagrin. + +Don't tell me again that imbecility is sacred like childhood, for +imbecility contains no germ. Let me believe that the dead do not +"search any more," and that they are at rest. We are sufficiently +tormented on earth to be at rest when we are beneath it! Ah! How I +envy you, how I long to have your serenity! To say nothing of the +rest! and your two dear little girls, whom I embrace as tenderly as +I do--you. + + + +CCXCVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 7th September, 1875 + +You are distressed, you are discouraged, you distress me too. That +is all right, I would rather have you complain than keep silent, +dear friend. And I don't want you to stop writing to me. + +I also have great and frequent sorrows. My old friends are dying +before I do. One of the dearest, the one who brought up Maurice and +whom I was expecting to help me to bring up my grandchildren, has +just died, almost in an instant. That is a deep sorrow. Life is a +succession of blows at one's heart. But duty is there: we must go on +and do our tasks without saddening those who suffer with us. + +I ask you absolutely to WILL, and not to be indifferent to the +griefs which we are sharing with you. Tell us that calm has come +and that the horizon has cleared. + +We love you, sad or gay. + +Give us news of yourself. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 8th October, 1875 + +Well, well, your health has come back in spite of you, since you are +sleeping all night. The sea air forces you to live and you have +made progress, you have given up a work that would not have made a +success. Do something more of earth earthy, which would reach +everybody. Tell me what price they would sell Croisset for if they +are obliged to sell it. Is it a house and garden, or is there a farm +and grounds! If it is not beyond my means I might buy it and you +should spend the rest of your life there. I have no money, but I +should try to shift a little capital. Answer me seriously, I beg of +you; if I can do it, it shall be done. + +I have been ill all the summer, that is to say, that I have suffered +continually, but I have worked all the more not to think of it. In +fact they are to put on Villemer and Victorine at the Theatre +Francais again. But there is nothing now in preparation. I do not +know at what time in the autumn or winter I shall have to go to +Paris. I shall find you there ready and courageous, shan't I? If you +have made, through goodness and devotion, as I think, a great +sacrifice for your niece, who, in truth, is your real daughter, you +will forget all about it and will begin your life again as a young +man. Is one old when one does not choose to be? Stay at the seaside +as long as you can. The important thing is to patch up the physical +machine. Here with us it is as warm as in midsummer. I hope that you +still have the sun down there. Study the life of the mollusc! They +are creatures better endowed than one thinks, and, for my part, I +should love to take a walk with Georges Pouchet! Natural history is +the inexhaustible source of agreeable occupations for even those who +seek only amusement in it, and if you actually attacked it you would +be saved. But you must by all means save yourself, for you are +somebody, and you cannot drop out of the running, as can a mere +ruined grocer. We all embrace you with our best love. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCVIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 15 November, 1875 + +So you are there in Paris, and have you left your apartment at the +rue Murillo? You are working? Good luck and good courage! The old +man is coming to the top again! I know that they are rehearsing +Victorine at the Theatre Francais; but I don't know whether I shall +go to see that revival. I have been so ill all the summer and I am +still suffering so much with intestinal trouble, that I do not know +if I shall ever be strong enough to move in winter. Well, we shall +see. The hope of finding you there will give me courage; that is not +what will be lacking, but, since I passed my seventieth birthday, I +have been very much upset, and I do not yet know if I shall get over +it. I cannot walk any more, I who used to love to be on my feet so +much, without risking atrocious pains. I am patient with these +miseries, I work all the more, and I do water-colors in my hours of +recreation. + +Aurore consoles and charms me; I should like to live long enough to +get her married. But God disposes, and one must take death and +life as He wills. + +Well, this is just to say to you that I shall go to embrace you +unless the thing is ABSOLUTELY impossible. You shall read me what +you have begun. Meanwhile, give me news of yourself; for I shall not +stir until the last rehearsals. I know my cast, I know that they +will all do well, according to their capabilities, and, besides, +that Perrin will look after them. + +We all KISS you very tenderly, and we love you, Cruchard or not. + +G. Sand + + + +CCXCIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Paris, 11 December, 1875 + +Things are going a little better, and I am profiting by the occasion +to write to you, dear, good, adorable master. + +You know that I have abandoned my big novel in order to write a +little MEDIEVAL bit of nonsense, which won't run to more than +thirty pages. It puts me in a more decent setting than that of +modern times, and does me good. Then I am hunting for a contemporary +novel, but I am hesitating among several embryonic ideas; I should +like to do something concise and violent. The string of the necklace +(that is to say, the main idea) is still to seek. + +Externally my life is scarcely changed: I see the same people, I +receive the same visits. My faithful ones on Sunday are first of +all, the big Tourgueneff, who is nicer than ever, Zola, Alphonse +Daudet, and Goncourt. You have never spoken to me of the first two. +What do you think of their books? + +I am not reading anything at all, except Shakespeare, whom am going +through from beginning to end. That tones you up and puts new air +into your lungs, just as if you were on a high mountain. Everything +appears mediocre beside that prodigious felow. + +As I go out very little, I have not yet seen Victor Hugo. However, +this evening I am going to resign myself to putting on my boots, so +that I can go to present my compliments to him. His personality +pleases me infinitely, but his court! ... mercy! + +The senatorial elections are a subject of diversion to the public of +which I am a part. There must have occurred, in the corridors of the +Assembly, dialogues incredibly grotesque and base. The XlXth century +is destined to see all religions perish. Amen! I do not mourn any of +them. + +At the Odeon, a live bear is going to appear on the boards. That is +all that I know about literature. + + + +CCC. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 18th and 19th December, 1875 + +At last I discover my old troubadour who was a subject of chagrin +and serious worry to me. Here you are yourself again, trusting in +the very natural luck of external events, and discovering in +yourself the strength to control them, whatever they may be, by +effort. What is it that you call some one in HIGH FINANCE? For my +part, I don't know; I am in relations with Victor Borie. He will do +me a favor if he sees it to his interest. Must I write him? + +Then you are going to start grubbing again? So am I; for since +Flamarande I have done nothing but mark time, while waiting for +something better. I was so ill all summer! but my strange and +excellent friend Favre has cured me wonderfully, and I am taking a +new lease on life. + +What's our next move? For you, of course, DESOLATION, and, for me, +consolation. I do not know on what our destinies depend; you see +them pass, you criticise them, you abstain from a literary +appreciation of them, you limit yourself to depicting them, with +deliberate meticulous concealment of your personal feelings. +However, one sees them very clearly through your narrative, and you +make the people sadder who read you. As for me, I should like to +make them less sad. I cannot forget that my personal victory over +despair was the work of my will and of a new way of understanding +which is entirely opposed to what I had before. + +I know that you criticise the intervention of the personal doctrine +in literature. Are you right? Isn't it rather a lack of conviction +than a principle of esthetics? One cannot have a philosophy in one's +soul without its appearing. I have no literary advice to give you, I +have no judgment to formulate on the author friends of whom you +speak. I, myself have told the Goncourts all my thought; as for the +others, I firmly believe that they have more education and more +talent than I have. Only I think that they, and you especially, lack +a definite and extended vision of life. Art is not merely +painting. True painting, moreover, is full of the soul that wields +the brush. Art is not merely criticism and satire: criticism and +satire depict only one side of the truth. + +I want to see a man as he is, he is not good or bad, he is good and +bad. But he is something more ... nuance. Nuance which is for me the +purpose of art, being good and bad, he has an internal force which +leads him to be very bad and slightly good,--or very good and +slightly bad. + +I think that your school is not concerned with the substance, and +that it dwells too much on the surface. By virtue of seeking the +form, it makes the substance too cheap! it addresses itself to the +men of letters. But there are no men of letters, properly speaking. +Before everything, one is a man. One wants to find man at the basis +of every story and every deed. That was the defect of l'Education +sentimentale, about which I have so often reflected since, asking +myself why there was so general a dislike of a work that was so well +done and so solid. This defect was the absence of ACTION of the +characters on themselves. They submitted to the event and never +mastered it. Well, I think that the chief interest in a story is +what you did not want to do. If I were you, I would try the +opposite; you are feeding on Shakespeare just now, and you are doing +well! He is the author who puts men at grips with events; observe +that by them, whether for good or for ill, the event is always +conquered. In his works, it is crushed underfoot. + +Politics is a comedy just now. We have had tragedy, shall we end +with the opera or with the operetta? I read my paper conscientiously +every morning; but aside from that moment, it is impossible for me +to think of it or to be interested in it. All of it is absolutely +void of any ideal whatsoever, and therefore I cannot get up any +interest in any of the persons concerned in that scullery. All of +them are slaves of fact because they have been born slaves of +themselves. + +My dear little girls are well. Aurore is a well-set-up girl, a +beautiful upright soul in a strong body. The other one is grace and +sweetness. I am always an assiduous and a patient teacher, and very +little time is left to me to write PROFESSIONALLY, seeing that I +cannot keep awake after midnight and that I want to spend all my +evening with my family; but this lack of time stimulates me and +makes me find a true pleasure in digging away; it is like a +forbidden fruit that I taste in secret. + +All my dear world embraces you and rejoices to hear that you are +better. Did I send you Flamarande and the pictures of my little +girls? If not, send me a line, and I send you both. + +Your old troubadour who loves you, + +G. Sand + +Embrace your charming niece for me. What a good and lovely letter +she wrote me! Tell her that I beg her to take care of herself and to +please get well quickly. + +What do you mean! Littre a senator? It is impossible to believe it +when one knows what the Chamber is. All the same it must be +congratulated for this attempt at self-respect. + + + +CCCI. TO GEORGE SAND +December, 1875 + +Your good letter of the 18th, so maternally tender, has made me +reflect a great deal. I have reread it ten times, and I shall +confess to you that I am not sure that I understand it. Briefly, +what do you want me to do? Make your instructions exact. + +I am constantly doing all that I can to enlarge my brain, and I work +in the sincerity of my heart. The rest does not depend on me. + +I do not enjoy making "desolation," believe me, but I cannot change +my eyes! As for my "lack of convictions," alas! I choke with +convictions. I am bursting with anger and restrained indignation. +But according to the ideal of art that I have, I think that the +artist should not manifest anything of his own feelings, and that +the artist should not appear any more in his work than God in +nature. The man is nothing, the work is everything! This method, +perhaps mistakenly conceived, is not easy to follow. And for me, at +least, it is a sort of permanent sacrifice that I am making to good +taste. It would be agreeable to me to say what I think and to +relieve Mister Gustave Flaubert by words, but of what importance is +the said gentleman? + +I think as you do, dear master, that art is not merely criticism and +satire; moreover, I have never tried to do intentionally the one nor +the other. I have always tried to go into the soul of things and to +stick to the greatest generalities, and I have purposely turned +aside from the accidental and the dramatic. No monsters and no +heroes! + +You say to me: "I have no literary advice to give you; I have no +judgments to formulate on the authors, your friends, etc." Well? +indeed! but I implore advice, and I am waiting for your judgments. +Who, pray, should give them, and who, pray, should formulate them, +if not you? + +Speaking of my friends, you add "my school." But I am ruining my +temperament in trying not to have a school! A priori, I spurn them, +every one. The people whom I see often and whom you designate +cultivate all that I scorn and are indifferently disturbed about +what torments me. I regard as very secondary, technical detail, +local exactness, in short the historical and precise side of things. +I am seeking above all for beauty, which my companions pursue but +languidly. I see them insensible when I am ravaged with admiration +or horror. Phrases make me swoon with pleasure which seem very +ordinary to them. Goncourt is very happy when he has seized upon a +word in the street that he can stick in a book, and I am well +satisfied when I have written a page without assonances or +repetitions. I would give all the legends of Gavarni for certain +expressions and master strokes, such as "the shade was NUPTIAL, +august and solemn!" from Victor Hugo, or this from Montesquieu: "the +vices of Alexander were extreme like his virtues. He was terrible in +his wrath. It made him cruel." + +In short, I try to think well, IN ORDER TO write well. But writing +well is my aim, I do not deny it. + +"I lack a well-defined and extended vision of life." You are right a +thousand times over, but by what means could it be otherwise? I ask +you that. You do not enlighten my darkness with metaphysics, neither +mine nor that of others. The words religion or Catholicism on the +one hand; progress, fraternity, democracy on the other, do not +correspond to the spiritual needs of the moment. The entirely new +dogma of equality which radicalism praises is experimentally denied +by physiology and history. I do not see the means of establishing +today a new principle, any more than of respecting the old ones. +Therefore I am hunting, without finding it, that idea on which all +the rest should depend. + +Meanwhile I repeat to myself what Littre said to me one day: "Ah! my +friend, man is an unstable compound, and the earth an inferior +planet." + +Nothing sustains me better than the hope of leaving it soon, and of +not going to another which might be worse. "I would rather not die," +as Marat said. Ah! no! enough, enough weariness! + +I am writing now a little silly story, which a mother can permit her +child to read. The whole will be about thirty pages, I shall have +two months more at it. Such is my energy, I shall send it to you as +soon as it appears (not my energy, but the little story). + + + +CCCII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, in Paris +Nohant, 12th January, 1876 + +My cherished Cruchard, + +I want to write to you every day; time is lacking absolutely. At +last here is a free moment; we are buried under the snow; it is the +sort of weather that I adore: this whiteness is like general +purification, and the amusements of the house seem more intimate and +sweeter. Can anyone hate the winter in the country? The snow is one +of the most beautiful sights of the year! + +It appears that I am not clear in my sermons; I have that much in +common with the orthodox, but I am not of them; neither in my idea +of equality, nor of authority, have I any fixed plan. You seem to +think that I want to convert you to a doctrine. Not at all, I don't +think of such a thing. Everyone sets off from a point of view, the +free choice of which I respect. In a few words, I can give a resume +of mine: not to place oneself behind an opaque glass through which +one can see only the reflection of one's own nose. To see as far as +possible the good, the bad, about, around, yonder, everywhere; to +perceive the continual gravitation of all tangible and intangible +things towards the necessity of the decent, the good, the true, the +beautiful. + +I don't say that humanity is on the way to the heights. I believe it +in spite of everything; but I do not argue about it, it is useless +because each one judges according to his own personal vision, and +the general aspect is for the moment poor and ugly. Besides, I do +not need to be sure of the safety of the planet and its inhabitants +in order to believe in the necessity of the good and the beautiful; +if the planet departs from that law it will perish; if the +inhabitants discard it they will be destroyed. Other stars, other +souls will pass over their bodies, so much the worse! But, as for +me, I want to gravitate up to my last breath, not with the certitude +nor the need of finding elsewhere a GOOD PLACE, but because my sole +joy is in keeping myself with my family on an upward road. + +In other words, I am fleeing the sewer, and I am seeking the dry and +the clean, certain that it is the law of my existence. Being a man +amounts to little; we are still near the monkey from which they say +we proceed. Very well! a further reason for separating ourselves +still more from it and for being at least at the height of the +relative truth that our race has been admitted to comprehend; a very +poor truth, very limited, very humble! well, let us possess it as +much as we can and not permit anyone to take it from us. We are, I +think, quite agreed; but I practice this simple religion and you do +not practice it, since you let yourself become discouraged; your +heart has not been penetrated with it, since you curse life and +desire death like a Catholic who yearns for compensation, were it +only the rest eternal. You are no surer than another of this +compensation. Life is perhaps eternal, and therefore work is +eternal. If this is so, let us do our day's work bravely. If it is +otherwise, if the MOI perishes entirely, let us have the honor of +having done our stated task, it is our duty; for we have evident +duties only toward ourselves and our equals. What we destroy in +ourselves, we destroy in them. Our abasement lowers them, our falls +drag them down; we owe it to them to remain erect so that they shall +not fall. The desire for an early death, as that for a long life, is +therefore a weakness, and I do not want you to admit any longer that +it is a right. I thought that had it once; I believed, however, what +I believe today; but I lacked strength, and like you I said: "I +cannot help it." I lied to myself. One can help everything. One has +the strength that one thinks one has not, when one desires ardently +to GRAVITATE, to mount a step each day, to say to oneself: "The +Flaubert of tomorrow must be superior to the one of yesterday, and +the one of day after tomorrow more steady and more lucid still." + +When you feel you are on the ladder, you will mount very quickly. +You are about to enter gradually upon the happiest and most +favorable time of life: old age. It is then that art reveals itself +in its sweetness; as long as one is young, it manifests itself with +anguish. You prefer a well-turned phrase to all metaphysics. I also, +I love to see condensed into a few words what elsewhere fills +volumes; but these volumes, one must have understood them completely +(either to admit them or to reject them) in order to find the +sublime resume which becomes literary art in its fullest expression; +that is why one should not scorn the efforts of the human mind to +arrive at the truth. + +I tell you that, because you have excessive prejudices AS TO WORDS. +In truth, you read, you dig, you work much more than I and a crowd +of others do. You have acquired learning that I shall never attain. +Therefore you are a hundred times richer than all of us; you are a +rich man, and you complain like a poor man. Be charitable to a +beggar who has his mattress full of gold, but who wants to be +nourished only on well-turned phrases and choice words. But brute, +ransack your own mattress and eat your gold. Nourish yourself with +the ideas and feelings accumulated in your head and your heart; the +words and the phrases, THE FORM to which you attach so much +importance, will issue by itself from your digestion. You consider +it as an end, it is only an effect. Happy manifestations proceed +only from an emotion, and an emotion proceeds only from a +conviction. One is not moved at all by the things that one does not +believe with all one's heart. + +I do not say that you do not believe: on the contrary, all your life +of affection, of protection, and of charming and simple goodness, +proves that you are the most convinced individual in the world. But, +as soon as you handle literature, you want, I don't know why, to be +another man, one who should disappear, one who destroys himself, who +does not exist! What an absurd mania! what a false rule of GOOD +TASTE! Our work is worth only what we are worth. + +Who is talking about putting yourself on the stage? That, in truth, +is of no use, unless it is done frankly by way of a chronicle. But +to withdraw one's soul from what one does, what is that unhealthy +fancy? To hide one's own opinion about the characters that one puts +on the stage, to leave the reader therefore uncertain about the +opinion that he should have of them, that is to desire not to be +understood, and from that moment, the reader leaves you; for if he +wants to understand the story that you are telling him, it is on the +condition that you should show him plainly that this one is a strong +character and that one weak. + +L'Education sentimentale has been a misunderstood book, as I have +told you repeatedly, but you have not listened to me. There should +have been a short preface, or, at a good opportunity, an expression +of blame, even if only a happy epithet to condemn the evil, to +characterize the defect, to signalize the effort. All the characters +in that book are feeble and come to nothing, except those with bad +instincts; that is what you are reproached with, because people did +not understand that you wanted precisely to depict a deplorable +state of society that encourages these bad instincts and ruins noble +efforts; when people do not understand us it is always our fault. +What the reader wants, first of all, is to penetrate into our +thought, and that is what you deny him, arrogantly. He thinks that +you scorn him and that you want to ridicule him. For my part, I +understood you, for I knew you. If anyone had brought me your book +without its being signed, I should have thought it beautiful, but +strange, and I should have asked myself if you were immoral, +skeptical, indifferent or heart-broken. You say that it ought to be +like that, and that M. Flaubert will violate the rules of good taste +if he shows his thought and the aim of his literary enterprise. It +is false in the highest degree. When M. Flaubert writes well and +seriously, one attaches oneself to his personality. One wants to +sink or swim with him. If he leaves you in doubt, you lose interest +in his work, you neglect it, or you give it up. + +I have already combated your favorite heresy, which is that one +writes for twenty intelligent people and does not care a fig for the +rest. It is not true, since the lack of success irritates you and +troubles you. Besides, there have not been twenty critics favorable +to this book which was so well written and so important. So one must +not write for twenty persons any more than for three, or for a +hundred thousand. + +One must write for all those who have a thirst to read and who can +profit by good reading. Then one must go straight to the most +elevated morality within oneself, and not make a mystery of the +moral and profitable meaning of one's book. People found that with +Madame Bovary. If one part of the public cried scandal, the +healthiest and the broadest part saw in it a severe and striking +lesson given to a woman without conscience and without faith, to +vanity, to ambition, to irrationality. They pitied her; art required +that, but the lesson was clear, and it would have been more so, it +would have been so for everybody, if you had wished it, if you had +shown more clearly the opinion that you had, and that the public +ought to have had, about the heroine, her husband, and her lovers. + +That desire to depict things as they are, the adventures of life as +they present themselves to the eye, is not well thought out, in my +opinion. Depict inert things as a realist, as a poet, it's all the +same to me, but, when one touches on the emotions of the human +heart, it is another thing. You cannot abstract yourself from this +contemplation; for man, that is yourself, and men, that is the +reader. Whatever you do, your tale is a conversation between you and +the reader. If you show him the evil coldly, without ever showing +him the good he is angry. He wonders if it is he that is bad, or if +it is you. You work, however, to rouse him and to interest him; you +will never succeed if you are not roused yourself, or if you hide it +so well that he thinks you indifferent. He is right: supreme +impartiality is an anti-human thing, and a novel ought to be human +above everything. If it is not, the public is not pleased in its +being well written, well composed and conscientious in every detail. +The essential quality is not there: interest. The reader breaks away +likewise from a book where all the characters are good without +distinctions and without weaknesses; he sees clearly that that is +not human either. I believe that art, this special art of narration, +is only worth while through the opposition of characters; but, in +their struggle, I prefer to see the right prevail. Let events +overwhelm the honest men, I agree to that, but let him not be soiled +or belittled by them, and let him go to the stake feeling that he is +happier than his executioners. + +15th January, 1876 + +It is three days since I wrote this letter, and every day I have +been on the point of throwing it into the fire; for it is long and +diffuse and probably useless. Natures opposed on certain points +understand each other with difficulty, and I am afraid that you will +not understand me any better today than formerly. However, I am +sending you this scrawl so that you can see that I am occupied with +you almost as much as with myself. + +You must have success after that bad luck which has troubled you +deeply. I tell you wherein lie the certain conditions for your +success. Keep your cult for form; but pay more attention to the +substance. Do not take true virtue for a commonplace in literature. +Give it its representative, make honest and strong men pass among +the fools and the imbeciles that you love to ridicule. Show what is +solid at the bottom of these intellectual abortions; in short, +abandon the convention of the realist and return to the time +reality, which is a mingling of the beautiful and the ugly, the dull +and the brilliant, but in which the desire of good finds its place +and its occupation all the same. + +I embrace you for all of us. + +G. Sand + + + +CCCIII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Nohant, 6th March, 1876 + +I am writing to you in a hurry this morning because I have just +received news from M. Perrin of the first performance of the revival +of the Mariage de Victorine, a play of mine, at the Theatre +Francais. + +I have neither the time to go there, nor the wish to leave like that +at a moment's notice, but I should have liked to send some of my +friends there, and he does not offer me a single seat for them. I am +writing him a letter that he will receive tomorrow, and I am asking +him to send you at least one orchestra seat. If you do not get it, +please understand that it was not my fault. I shall have to say the +same thing to five or six other people. + +I embrace you therefore in a hurry, so as not to lose the post. + +Give me news of your niece and embrace her for me. + +G. Sand + + + +CCCIV. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris +Nohant, 8th March, 1876 + +You scorn Sedaine, you great profane soul! That is where the +doctrine of form destroys your eye! Sedaine is not a writer, that is +true, although he falls but little short of it, but he is a man, +with a heart and soul, with the sense of moral truth, the direct +insight into human feelings. I don't mind his out-of-date reasonings +and dry phraseology! The right thought is always there, and it +penetrates you deeply! + +My dear old Sedaine! He is one of my well-beloved papas, and I +consider le Philosophe sans le savior far superior to Victorine; it +is such a distressing drama and so well carried out! But you only +look for the well-turned phrase, that is one thing--only one thing, +it is not all of art, it is not even half of it, it is a quarter at +most, and if three-quarters are beautiful, one overlooks the part +that is not. + +I hope that you will not go to seek for your country-side before the +good weather; here, we have been pretty well spared; but for the +past three days there has been a deluge, and it makes me ill. I +should not have been able to go to Paris. Your niece is better, God +be praised! I love you and I embrace you with all my soul. + +G. Sand + +Do tell M. Zola to send me his book. I shall certainly read it with +great interest. + + + +CCCV. TO GEORGE SAND +Wednesday, 9th March, 1876 + +COMPLETE SUCCESS, dear master. The actors were recalled after each +act, and warmly applauded. The public was pleased and from time to +time cries of approval were heard. All your friends who had come at +your summons were sorry that you were not there. + +The roles of Antoine and Victorine were especially well played. +Little Baretta is a real treasure. + +How were you able to make Victorine from le Philosophe sans le +savoir? That is beyond me. Your play charmed me and made me weep +like an idiot, while the other bored me to death, absolutely bored +me to death; I longed to get to the end. What language! the good +Tourgueneff and Madame Viardot made saucer-eyes, comical to behold. +In your work, what produced the greatest effect is the scene in the +last act between Antoine and his daughter. Maubant is too majestic, +and the actor who plays Fulgence is inadequate. But everything went +very well, and this revival will have a long life. + +The gigantic Harrisse told me that he was going to write to you +immediately. Therefore his letter will arrive before mine. I should +have started this morning for Pont-l'Eveque and Honfleur to see a +bit of the country that I have forgotten, but the floods stopped me. + +Read, I beg of you, the new novel by Zola, Son Excellence Rougon: I +am very anxious to know what you think of it. + +No, I do not SCORN Sedaine, because I do not scorn what I do not +understand. He is to me, like Pindar, and Milton, who are absolutely +closed to me; however, I quite understand that the citizen Sedaine +is not exactly of their calibre. + +The public of last Tuesday shared my error, and Victorine, +independently of its real worth, gained by contrast. Madame Viardot, +who has naturally good taste, said to me yesterday, in speaking of +you: "How was she able to make one from the other?" That is exactly +what I think. + +You distress me a bit, dear master, by attributing esthetic opinions +to me which are not mine. I believe that the rounding of the phrase +is nothing. But that WRITING WELL is everything, because "writing +well is at the same time perceiving well, thinking well and saying +well" (Buffon). The last term is then dependent on the other two, +since one has to feel strongly, so as to think, and to think, so as +to express. + +All the bourgeois can have a great deal of heart and delicacy, be +full of the best sentiments and the greatest virtues, without +becoming for all that, artists. In short, I believe that the form +and the matter are two subtleties, two entities, neither of which +can exist without the other. + +This anxiety for external beauty which you reproach me with is for +me a METHOD. When I discover a bad assonance or a repetition in one +of my phrases, I am sure that I am floundering in error; by dint of +searching, I find the exact expression which was the only one and +is, at the same time, the harmonious one. The word is never lacking +when one possesses the idea. + +Note (to return to the good Sedaine) that I share all his opinions +and I approve his tendencies. From the archeological point of view, +he is curious and from the humanitarian point of view very +praiseworthy, I agree. But what difference does it make to us today? +Is it eternal art? I ask you that. + +Other writers of his period have formulated useful principles also, +but in an imperishable style, in a more concrete and at the same +time more general manner. + +In short, the persistence of the Comedie Francais in exhibiting that +to us as "a masterpiece" had so exasperated me that, having gone +home in order to get rid of the taste of this milk-food, I read +before going to bed the Medea of Euripides, as I had no other +classic handy, and Aurora surprised Cruchard in this occupation. + +I have written to Zola to send you his book. I shall tell Daudet +also to send you his Jack, as I am very curious to have your opinion +on these two books, which are very different in composition and +temperament, but quite remarkable, both of them. + +The fright which the elections caused to the bourgeois has been +diverting. + + + +CCCVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croissset +Nohant, 15th March, 1876 + +I should have a good deal to say about the novels of M. Zola, and it +would be better to say it in an article than in a letter, because +there is a general question there which must be formulated with a +refreshed brain. I should like to read M. Daudet's book first, the +book you spoke of to me, the title of which I cannot recall. Have +the publisher send it to me collect, if he does not want to give it +to me; that is very simple. On the whole, the thing that I shall not +gainsay, meanwhile making a PHILOSOPHICAL criticism of the method, +is that Rougon is a STRONG book, as you say, and worthy of being +placed in the first rank. + +That does not change anything in my way of thinking, that art ought +to be the search for the truth, and that truth is not the picture of +evil. It ought to be the picture of good and evil. A painter who +sees only one is as false as he who sees only the other. Life is not +crammed with monsters only. Society is not formed of rascals and +wretches only. The honest people are not the minority, since society +exists in a certain order and without too many unpunished crimes. +Imbeciles dominate, it is true, but there is a public conscience +which weighs on them and obliges them to respect the right. Let +people show up and chastise the rascals, that is good, it is even +moral, but let them tell us and show us the opposite; otherwise the +simple reader, who is the average reader, is discouraged, saddened, +horrified, and contradicts you so as not to despair. + +How are you? Tourgueneff wrote me that your last work was very +remarkable: then you are not DONE FOR, as you pretend? + +Your niece continues to improve, does she not? I too am better, +after cramps in my stomach that made me blue, and continued with a +horrible persistence. Physical suffering is a good lesson when it +leaves one freedom of spirit. One learns to endure it and to conquer +it. Of course one has some moments of discouragement when one throws +oneself on the bed; but, for my part, I always think of what my old +cure used to say to me, when he had the gout: THAT WILL PASS, OR I +SHALL PASS. And thereupon he would laugh, content with his joke. + +My Aurore is beginning history, and she is not very well pleased +with these killers of men whom they call heroes and demigods. She +calls them horrid fellows. + +We have a confounded spring; the earth is covered with flowers and +snow, one gets numb gathering violets and anemones. + +I have read the manuscript of l'Etrangere. It is not as DECADENT as +you say. There are diamonds that sparkle brightly in this +polychrome. Moreover, the decadences are transformations. The +mountains in travail roar and scream, but they sing beautiful airs, +also. + +I embrace you and I love you. Do have your legend published quickly, +so that we may read it. + +Your old troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +CCCVII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +30th March, 1876 + +Dear Cruchard, + +I am enthusiastic about Jack, and I beg you to send my thanks to M. +Daudet. Ah, yes! He has talent and heart! and how well all that is +done and SEEN! + +I am sending you a volume of old things that have just been +collected. I embrace you, and I love you. + +Your old troubadour, + +G. Sand + + + +CCCVIII. TO GEORGE SAND +Monday evening, 3rd April, 1876 + +I have received your volume this morning, dear master. I have two or +three others that have been loaned to me for a long time; I shall +send them off, and I shall read yours at the end of the week, during +a little two-days' trip that I am forced to take to Pont-l'Eveque +and to Honfleur for my Histoire d'un coeur simple, a trifle now "on +the stocks," as M. Prudhomme would say. + +I am very glad that Jack has pleased you. It is a charming book, +isn't it? If you knew the author you would like him even better than +his book. I have told him to send you Risler and Tartarin. I am sure +in advance that you would thank me for the opportunity of reading +these two books. + +I do not share in Tourgueneff's severity as regards Jack, nor in the +immensity of his admiration for Rougon. The one has charm, the other +force. But neither one is concerned ABOVE ALL else with what is for +me the end of art, namely, beauty. I remember having felt my heart +beat violently, having felt a fierce pleasure in contemplating a +wall of the Acropolis, a perfectly bare wall (the one on the left as +you go up to the Propylaea). Well! I wonder if a book independently +of what it says, cannot produce the same effect! In the exactness of +its assembling, the rarity of its elements, the polish of its +surface, the harmony of its ensemble, is there not an intrinsic +virtue, a sort of divine force, something eternal as a principle? (I +speak as a Platonist.) Thus, why is a relation necessary between the +exact word and the musical word? Why does it happen that one always +makes a verse when one restrains his thought too much? Does the law +of numbers govern then the feelings and the images, and is what +seems to be the exterior quite simply inside it? If I should +continue a long time in this vein, I should blind myself entirely, +for on the other side art has to be a good fellow; or rather art is +what one can make it, we are not free. Each one follows his path, in +spite of his own desire. In short, your Cruchard no longer knows +where he stands. + +But how difficult it is to understand one another! There are two men +whom I admire a great deal and whom I consider real artists, +Tourgueneff and Zola. Yet they do not admire the prose of +Chateaubriand at all, and even less that of Gautier. Phrases which +ravish me seem hollow to them. Who is wrong? And how please the +public when one's nearest friends are so remote? All that saddens me +very much. Do not laugh. + + + +CCCIX. TO GEORGE SAND +Sunday evening... 1876 + +You OUGHT to call me inwardly, dear master, "a confounded pig,"--for +I have not answered your last letter, and I have said nothing to you +about your two volumes, not to mention a third that I received this +morning from you. But I have been, for the last two weeks, entirely +taken up by my little tale which will be finished soon. I have had +several errands to do, various readings to finish up with, and a +thing more serious than all that, the health of my poor niece +worries me extremely and, at times, disturbs my brain, so that I do +not know at all what I am doing! You see that my cup is bitter! That +young woman is anemic to the last degree. She is wasting away. She +has been obliged to leave off painting, which is her sole +distraction. All the usual tonics do no good. Three days ago, by the +orders of another physician, who seems to me more learned than the +others, she began hydrotherapy. Will he succeed in making her digest +and sleep? in building up her strength? Your poor Cruchard takes +less and less pleasure in life, and he even has too much of it, +infinitely too much. Let us speak of your books, that will be +better. + +They have amused me, and the proof is that I have devoured with one +gulp and one after another, Flamarande and the Deux Freres. What a +charming woman is Madame Flamarande, and what a man is M. Salcede. +The narrative of the kidnapping of the child, the trip in the +carriage, and the story of Zamora are perfect passages. Everywhere +the interest is sustained and at the same time progressive. In +short, what strikes me the most in these two novels (as in all +yours, moreover), is the natural order of the ideas, the talent, or +rather the genius for narrative. But what an abominable wretch is +your M. Flamarande! As for the servant who tells the story and who +is evidently in love with Madame, I wonder why you did not show more +plainly his personal jealousy. + +Except for the count, all are virtuous persons in that story, even +extraordinarily virtuous. But do you think them really true to life? +Are there many like them? It is true that while reading, one accepts +them because of the cleverness of the execution; but afterwards? + +Well, dear master, and this is to answer your last letter, this is, +I think what separates us essentially. You, on the first bound, in +everything, mount to heaven, and from there you descend to the +earth. You start from a priori, from the theory, from the ideal. +Thence your pity for life, your serenity, and to speak truly, your +greatness.--I, poor wretch, I am stuck on the earth as with soles of +lead; everything disturbs me, tears me to pieces, ravages me, and I +make efforts to rise. If I should take your manner of looking at the +whole of life I should become laughable, that is all. For you preach +to me in vain. I cannot have another temperament than my own; nor +another esthetics than what is the consequence of it. You accuse me +of not letting myself go, according to nature. Well, and that +discipline? that virtue? what shall we do with it? I admire M. +Buffon putting on cuffs when he wrote. This luxury is a symbol. In +short I am trying simply to be as comprehensive as possible. What +more can one exact? + +As for letting my personal opinion be known about the people I put +on the stage: no, no, a thousand times no! I do not recognize the +right to that. If the reader does not draw from a book the moral +that should be found there, the reader is an imbecile or the book is +false from the point of view of accuracy. For, the moment that a +thing is true, it is good. Obscene books likewise are immoral only +because they lack truth. Things are not "like that" in life. + +And observe that I curse what they agree to call realism, although +they make me one of its high priests; reconcile all that. + +As for the public, its taste disgusts me more and more. Yesterday, +for instance, I was present at the first night of the Prix Martin, a +piece of buffoonery that, for my part, I think full of wit. Not one +of the witty things in the play produced a laugh, and the +denouement, which seems out of the ordinary, passed unperceived. +Then to look for what can please seems to me the most chimerical of +undertakings. For I defy anyone to tell me by what means one +pleases. Success is a consequence and must not be an end. I have +never sought it (although I desire it) and I seek it less and less. + +After my little story, I shall do another,--for I am too deeply +shaken to start on a great work. I had thought first of publishing +Saint-Julien in a periodical, but I have given the plan up. + + + +CCCX. TO GEORGE SAND +Friday evening...1876 + +Ah! thank you from the bottom of my heart, dear master! You have +made me pass an exquisite day, for I have read your last volume, la +Tour de Percemont.--Marianne only to-day; as I had many things to +finish, among others my tale of Saint-Julien, I had shut up the +aforesaid volume in a drawer so as not to succumb to the temptation. +As my little story was finished last night, I rushed upon your book +when morning came and devoured it. + +I find it perfect, two jewels! Marianne moved me deeply and two or +three times I wept. I recognized myself in the character of Pierre. +Certain pages seemed to me fragments of my own memoirs, supposing I +had the talent to write them in such a way! How charming, poetic and +true to life all that is! La Tour de Percemont pleased me extremely. +But Marianne literally enchanted me. The English think as I do, for +in the last number of the Athenaeum there is a very fine article +about you. Did you know that? So then, for this time, I admire you +completely and without the least reserve. + +There you are, and I am very glad of it. You have never done +anything to me that was not good; I love you tenderly! + + + +CCCXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT +Sunday, Nohant, 5th April, 1876. + +Victor Borie is in Italy, what must I write him? Are you the man to +go to find him and explain the affair to him? He is somewhere near +Civita-Vecchia, very much on the go and perhaps not easy to catch up +with. + +I am sure that he would receive you with open arms, for, although a +financier to his finger-tips he has remained very friendly and nice +to us. He does not tell us if he is on his mountain of alum for +long. Lina is writing to him and will know soon, shall she tell him +that you are disposed to go to meet him, or that you will wait until +his return to Paris? anyway until the 20th of May he will get +letters addressed to him at the Hotel Italy in Florence. We shall +have to be on the watch, for he writes AT LONG INTERVALS. + +I have not the time to say any more to you today. People are coming +in. I have read Fromont et Risler; I charge you to thank M. Daudet, +to tell him that I spent the night in reading it and that I do not +know whether I prefer Jack or Risler; it is interesting, I might +almost say GRIPPING. + +I embrace you and I love you, when will you give me some Flaubert to +read? + +G. Sand + + + +CCCXII. To GEOBGE SAND +Monday evening + +Dear master, Thanks to Madame Lina's kind note, I betook myself to +V. Borie's yesterday and was most pleasantly received. My nephew +went to carry him the documents today. Borie has promised to look +after the affair; will he do it? + +I think that he is in just the position to do me indirectly the +greatest service that any one could do me. If my poor nephew should +get the capital which he needs in order to work, I could get back a +part of what I have lost and live in peace the rest of my days. + +I presented myself to Borie under your recommendation, and it is to +you that I owe the cordiality of his reception. I do not thank you +(of course) but you can tell him that I was touched by his kind +reception (and stimulate his zeal if you think that may be useful). + +I have been working a great deal lately. How I should like to see +you so as to read my little medieval folly to you! I have begun +another story entitled Histoire d'un coeur simple. But I have +interrupted this work to make some researches on the period of Saint +John the Baptist, for I want to describe the feast of Herodias. + +I hope to have my readings finished in a fortnight, after which I +shall return to Croisset from which spot I shall not budge till +winter,--my long sessions at the library exhaust me. Cruchard is +weary. + +The good Tourgueneff leaves this evening for Saint Petersburg. He +asks me if I have thanked you for your last book? Could I be guilty +of such an oversight? You will see by my Histoire d'un coeur simple +where you will recognize your immediate influence, that I am not so +obstinate as you think. I believe that the moral tendency, or rather +the human basis of this little work will please you! + +Adieu, dear good master. Remembrances to all yours. + +I embrace you very tenderly. + +Your old Gustave Flaubert + + + +CCCXIII. To MAURICE SAND +Tuesday evening, 27th + +All I can say to you, in the first place, my dear friend, is, that +your book has made me pass a sleepless night. I read it instantly, +at one fell swoop, only stopping to fill my good pipe from time to +time and then to resume my reading. + +When the impression is a little less fresh I shall take up your book +again to find the flaws in it. But I think that there are very few. +You must be content? It ought to please? It is dramatic and as +amusing as possible! + +Beginning with the first page I was charmed with the sincerity of +the description. And at the end I admired the composition of the +whole, the logical way the events were worked out and the characters +related. + +Your chief character, Miss Mary, is too hateful (to my taste) to be +anything but an exact picture. That is one of the choicest parts of +your book, together with the homelife, the life in New York? + +Your good savage makes me laugh out loud when he is at the Opera. + +I was struck by the house of the missionaries (Montaret's first +night). You make it seem real. Naissa scalping, and then wiping her +hands on the grass, seemed to me especially well done. As well as +the disgust that she inspires in Montaret, + +I venture a timid observation: it seems to me that the flight of +father Athanasius and of Montaret, when they escape from their +prison, is not perfectly clear? Is not the material explanation of +the event too short? + +I do not care for, as language, two or three ready-made locutions, +such as "break the ice." You can see that I have read you +attentively! What a pedagogue I make, eh! I am telling you all that +from memory, for I have lent your book, and it has not been returned +to me yet. But my recollection of it is of a thing very well done. + +Don't you agree with me that a play of very great effect could be +made from it for a boulevard theatre? + +By the way, how is Cadio going? + +Tell your dear mamma that I adore her. + +Harrisse, from whom I have received a letter today, charges me to +remember him to her, and, for my part, I charge you to embrace her +for me. + +And I grasp your two hands heartily and say "bravo" to you again, +and faithfully yours. + +Gustave Flaubert + + + +CCCXIV. To MADAM MAURICE SAND +Thursday evening, 25th May, 1876 + +Dear Madam, + +I sent a telegram to Maurice this morning, asking for news of Madam +Sand. + +I was told yesterday that she was very ill, why has not Maurice +answered me? + +I went to Plauchut's this morning to get details. He is in the +country, at Le Mans, so that I am in a state of cruel uncertainty. + +Be good enough to answer me immediately and believe me, dear madam, + +Your very affectionate, + +Gustave Flaubert + +4 rue Murillo, Parc Monceau + + + +CCCXV. To MADAM LINA SAND + +Dear Madam, + +Your note of this morning reassures me a little. But that of last +night had absolutely upset me. + +I beg you to give me very frequent news of your dear mother-in-law. + +Embrace her for me and believe that I am + +Your very devoted + +Gustave Flaubert + +Beginning with the middle of next week, about Wednesday or Thursday, +I shall be at Croisset. + +Saturday morning, 3d June, 1876. + + + +CCCXVI. To MAURICE SAND +Croisset, Sunday, 24 June, 1876 + +You had prepared me, my dear Maurice, I wanted to write to you, but +I was waiting till you were a little freer, more alone. Thank you +for your kind thought. + +Yes, we understood each other, yonder! (And if I did not remain +longer, it is because my comrades dragged me away.) It seemed to me +that I was burying my mother the second time. Poor, dear, great +woman! What genius and what heart! But she lacked nothing, it is not +she whom we must pity. + +What is to become of you? Shall you stay in Nohant? That good old +house must seem horribly empty to you! But you, at least, are not +alone! You have a wife...a rare one! and two exquisite children. +While I was with you, I had, over and above my grief, two desires: +to run off with Aurore and to kill M. Marx.[Footnote: A reporter for +le Figaro.] There you have the truth, it is unnecessary to make you +see the psychology of the thing. I received yesterday a very +sympathetic letter from good Tourgueneff. He too loved her. But +then, who did not love her? If you had seen in Paris the anguish of +Martine![Footnote: George Sand's maid.] That was distressing. + +Plauchut is still in Nohant, I suppose. Tell him that I love him +because I saw him shed so many tears. + +And let yours flow, my dear friend, do all that is necessary not to +console yourself,--which would, moreover, be impossible. Never mind! +In a short time you will feel a great joy in the idea alone that you +were a good son and that she knew it absolutely. She used to talk of +you as of a blessing. + +And when you shall have rejoined her, when the great-grand-children +of the grandchildren of your two little girls shall have joined her, +and when for a long time there shall have been no question of the +things and the people that surround us,--in several centuries,-- +hearts like ours will palpitate through hers! People will read her +books, that is to say that they will think according to her ideas +and they will love with her love. But all that does not give her +back to you, does it? With what then can we sustain ourselves if +pride desert us, and what man more than you should have pride in his +mother! + +Now dear friend, adieu! When shall we meet now? How I should feel +the need of talking of her, insatiably! + +Embrace Madam Maurice for me, as I did on the stairway at Nohant, +and your little girls. + +Yours, from the depths of my heart, + +Your Gustave Flaubert + + + +CCCXVII. To MAURICE SAND +Croisset, Tuesday, 3rd October, 1876 + +Thank you for your kind remembrance, my dear friend. Neither do I +forget, and I dream of your poor, dear mamma in a sadness that does +not disappear. Her death has left a great emptiness for me. After +you, your wife and the good Plauchut, I am perhaps the one who +misses her most! I need her. + +I pity you the annoyances that your sister causes you. I too have +gone through that! It is so easy moreover to be good! Besides that +causes less evil. When shall we meet? I want so much to see you, +first just to see you--and second to talk of her. + +When your business is finished, why not come to Paris for some time? +Solitude is bad under certain conditions. One should not become +intoxicated with one's grief, however much attraction one finds in +doing so. + +You ask me what I am doing. This is it: this year I have written two +stories, and I am going to begin another so as to make the three +into one volume that I want to publish in the spring. After that I +hope to resume the big novel that I laid aside a year ago after my +financial disaster. Matters are improving in that direction, and I +shall not be forced to change anything in my way of living. If I +have been able to start at work again, I owe it partly to the good +counsel of your mother. She had found the best way to bring me back +to respect myself. + +In order to get the quicker at work, I shall stay here till New +Year's Day,--perhaps later than that. Do try to put off your visit +to Paris. + +Embrace your dear little girls warmly for me, my respects to Madam +Maurice, and-sincerely yours, ex imo. + +Gustave Flaubert + + + +CCCXVIII. To MAURICE SAND +Saint-Gratien par Sannois, 20th August, 1877 + +Thank you for your kind remembrance, my dear Maurice. Next winter +you will be in Passy, I hope,--and from time to time we can have a +good chat. I even count on seeing myself at your table by the side +of your friends whose "idol" I am. + +You speak to me of your dear and illustrious mamma! Next to you I do +not think that any one could think of her more often than I do! How +I miss her! How I need her! + +I had begun un coeur simple solely on account of her, only to please +her. She died while I was in the midst of this work. Thus it is with +our dreams. + +I still continue not to find diversion in existence. In order to +forget the weight of it, I work as frantically as possible. + +What sustains me is the indignation that the Imbecility of the +Bourgeois affords me! Summed up at present by the large party of law +and order, it reaches a dizzy height! + +Has there been anything in history more inept than the 16th of May? +Where is there an idiot comparable to the Bayard of modern times? + +I have been in Paris, or rather at Saint-Gratien, for three days. +Day after tomorrow I leave the princess, and in a fortnight I shall +make a little trip to Lower Normandy for the sake of literature. +When we meet I shall talk a long time with you, if you are +interested, about the terrible book that I am in the process of +concocting. I shall have enough work in it to take me three or four +years. Not less! + +Don't leave me so long without news. Give a long look for me at the +little corner of the holy ground!...My regards to your dear wife, +embrace the dear little girls and sincerely yours, my good Maurice, + +Your old friend + +Gustave Flaubert + + + +CCCXIX. To MAURICE SAND +Tuesday morning, April, 1880 + +My dear Maurice, + +No! Erase Cruchard and Polycarp and replace those words by what you +like. + +The Public ought not to have all of us,--let us reserve something +for ourselves. That seems to me more decent (quod decet). You do not +speak of a COMPLETE EDITION? Ah! your poor dear mamma! How often I +think of her! And what need I have of her! There is not a day when I +do not say: "If she were there, I should ask her advice." + +I shall be at Croisset till the 8th or the 10th of May. So, my old +fellow, when you wish to come there, you will be welcome. I embrace +you all from the oldest to the youngest. + +Cruchard for you, + +Polycarp for the human race, + +Gustave Flaubert for Literature + + + +THE END OF THE GEORGE SAND-GUSTAVE FLAUBERT LETTERS + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The George Sand-Gustave Flaubert +Letters, Translated by A.L. McKensie + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SAND-FLAUBERT LETTERS *** + +This file should be named 5115.txt or 5115.zip + +Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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