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.