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.