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.