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.