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.