Bouvard and Pécuchet, part 2

ws so common in Normandy, I could dispose of only a part of my property in his favour. My uncle made up the deficit with an entirely spontaneous generosity, giving all tha

ncle's repugnance to separating himself from it, decided us in the resolution to keep it. Loneliness weighed upon his tender nature, and an arrangement of a life in common was agreeable to him. He passed the greater part of the time in

days. In the retired life that we led, my uncle spoke to me as to a friend; we talked on all subjects, but preferably those of literatur

the excessive in all people had an infinite attraction for him. The anchorite, the recluse at the Thebans, provoked his admiration, and he felt towards them as towards the Bouddha on the bank of the Ganges. He often r

ides, no belief of his mind, save his belief in beauty, was so fixed that it was not capable of listening to the other side, and admitting even, up to a certain

large table, where I am employed with my needlework, or in reading; he, struggling with his work. Bent forward, he writes feverishly, then turns his back upon his work, strikes his arms upon those of his chair and utters a groan, for a moment almost like a rattle in the throat; but sud

ing and emphasising so much that at first it seemed exaggerated, but ending in a way that was very agreeable. It was not only his own works that he read in this way; from time to time he would

sure than Sophocles, Plautus than Horace, whose merit he thought over-praised. How ma

ded Milton. He said: "Virgil has created the amorous woman, Shakespeare the amoro

abelais and Montaigne, recommending them

t called "Queen's walk." It is a beautiful promenade planted with high trees upon the left bank of the Seine, a little removed from the town. He was seated upon the steep bank; the clocks in the churches across the river resounded in the air and mingled with the poetry of Goet

ly that found outside the realm of virtue? Must it not be from his worship of the true? His revelations seemed to be the

the preparatory research for his works and wished to employ the rest of his life in art, pure art. His belief in form would cross his mind; this caused him one day to cry out

er; the first quality for an observer is to possess good eyes. If they are blurred w

y: "The moral is not only a part of the ?s

t), and the educated gentleman who believes himself an artist, who has imagined Venice different from what it is, and has had disillusions. When he met a person of this kind, there was an explo

est friends were dead: Louis Bouilhet, Jules Duplan, Ernest Lemarié, Théophile Gautier, Jules de Goncourt, Ernest Feydeau, and Sainte-Beuve, while others we

but he brought into his friendly relations some exactions that those who were the object of them found it difficult to support. The hea

e received this short note in response to

am absolutely besotted by the finishing of a work of mine. I should have it d

e Duc

desire of knowing quickly the thought that springs from the brain of a friend

re and more rare, these hours of intimate talks, because, for this overflow of soul it was necessary to find minds taken up with the same things, and the sojourns in Paris became farther and farther apart. His solitude, always terrible, became unbearable when I was not there, and often, to escape it, he would call on the old nurse of his childhood. At her fireside his heart would become warm again. In a letter to me he said: "To-day I have had an exquisite conversation with

t Pasquet's, where they were making ready for New Year's Day. Pasquet showed a great joy at seeing me, because I recalled to him 'that poor Monsieur Bouilhet'; and he sighed many times. The weather was so beautiful, the moon so bright in the evening that I went out to w

table and let many months slip by wit

y amused themselves by dreaming of what they should be some day; and, having begun gaily the supposed romance of their existence, suddenly they cried: "And who knows? we may finish, perhaps, like these old decrepits in this asylum." Then they began to imagine the friendship of two clerks, their life, their retiring fro

hich was immediately followed by A Simple Soul and Hérodias. He wrote these three stories

e passion-Literature. He sacrificed all to that; his love and tenderness were never separated from his art. Did he regret in the last years of his life that he had not followed the common route? Some words which came from his lips one day when we were walking beside the Seine made me think so: we had just visited one

nly a few pages remained: "I am right! I have the assurance of the Professor of Botany in the Jardin des Plantes, and I was right; because the ?sthetic is true, and to a certain intellectual degree (when one has some method) one is not deceived; the reality d

; the cook was going up to serve his breakfast, when she heard him call and hastened to him. Already his tense fingers could not loosen a bottle of sa

the Avenue d'Eylau; it was without doubt a remembrance of this news that he had in mind,

e nature to vibrate. Immediately he fell into unconsciousness. Some moments l

e Comma

Decembe

SPOND

ADAM

iss

ight, Ju

if it goes well, would be a great encouragement, and I shall have passed if not the most difficult part at least the most annoying. But there are so many delays! I am not yet at the point where I can credit our last interview at Mantes. What foolish and severe vexation you must have passed through that week, my poor friend! About cases like M--, who throw themselves at your feet, the best thing to do is to pass the sponge over them immediately; but if you would care the least bit in the world for the elder Lacroix or the great Sainte-Beuve to receive something on the face or elsewhere, you have only to tell me and it is a commission of which I shall acquit myself with despatch on my next visit to Paris, in the old-time manner between two journeys; but could you not show Lacroix the door with a single word? What good is there in discussing, replying to

the value of a man from the number of his enemies and the importance of a work by the evil said of it. Critics are like fleas which always jump upon white linen and adore lace. That reproach sent by Sainte-Beu

and it is not more than two weeks since our packet left; so it is necessary to wait at least as long as t

), my curate was astonished and turned on me an eye! such an eye! an eye expressing envy, admiration, and disdain together, and said to me, shrugging his shoulders: "Come, now! all you young people from Paris who gulp down champagne with your fine suppers, make very little mouths when you come to the provinces!" And it was so easy to understand that between the word

that it injures hi

in Paris. For the little attractiveness that they have, they are received into the best society, and there are even ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain who fall in love with them and, in consequence sometimes give them opportunities of making fine marriages." In

ount that the illustrious Turgan calls me "the major?" He also maintains that I have a military air, and one could pay me no compliment that would be less agreeable. If Préault knew me, he would, on the contrary, find that I have a too bare-breasted air like the good captain; but how beautiful Ferrat must have been with his "good southern fury;" I can see him there now gasconading; it is tremendous. And, speaking of the grotesque, I was overwhelmed at the funeral of Madame Pouchet; decidedl

ation; to try to discover a few pebbles; and then-these blocks fell upon my head! The grotesque deafened my ears, and the pathetic was in convulsions before my eyes. Whence I draw (or rather withdraw) this conclusion: It is never necessary to fear exaggerating; all the great ones have done it: Michael-Angelo, Rabelais, Shakespeare and Molière. It is a question of making a man take an injecti

riends, mount to the ivory t

ADAM

, Saturd

fault of material proportion. I have already two hundred and sixty pages which contain only the preparation for action, some expositions, more or less disguised, of character (it is true that they are graduated), and of landscapes and places. My conclusion, which will be the recital of the death of my little woman, her funeral, and the sorrow of the husband, will follow with sixty pages at least. There remains, then, for the body of the action one hundred and twenty, or one hundred and sixty pages at the most. Is this no

for that which is poetry for me, or for knowing the exposition, that perhaps, as one may strike it picturesquely through tableaux,

l my southern mists. I wish to make books where only phrases are written (if one may so put it), as one lives by breathing only air; what vexes me is the t

tails outside the subject; work in a straight line. Parbleu! We shall make some arabesques when we wish to, and better than anybody's. We must show the classicists that we are more classic than they, and make the romanticists turn pale with rage by surpas

ere are not in literature beautiful art subjects, and that Yvetot is worth as much as Constantinople; consequently, one may write one thing as well as another, it matters not what. The artist must raise all; he

pose it is work which has kept you. What an admirable face Father Babinet, member of the reading committee of th

possible; highly placed in fine society of the right kind, one of those persons who are an honour to a country and of whom it is said: "We are happy to possess such a gentleman"; and here, at a blow, it is discovered that this merry fellow has been carrying on relations (this is the phrase) with this merry lass-relations of the most disgusting kind, yes, Madame! Ah! great Heavens! I jeer like a beggar when I see all those fine people in the hands of the law; the humiliations these good gentlemen receive (they who find honours everywhere) seem to me to be the just punishment of their false pride. It is a disgrace to be always wishing to shine; it

, dea

ADAM

, Tuesda

oken from having bent my head so long. What with the repetition of words, the alls, the buts, the fors and the howevers I had to strike out, there is never any end to it, which is the way with this diabolical prose. There are, nevertheless, good pages, and I believe th

the note was to thank him for it. That was all; I said nothing further. If, in the article on the philosophers, on Wednesday, he uses your name accompanied with any harmful allusions, I will do what you wish; but for my part, I should propose to break off squarely in a pretty, well-defined letter. However, do not let us tor

pon. We never can turn a negro white and we never can hinder the mediocre from being mediocre. I assure you that if he were to say to me "I have had curvature of the spine or softening of the brain," it would make me laugh. Do you know what I found out to-day from his photographs? The only one he did not publish was the one representing our hotel at Cairo and the garden before our windows where I stood in Nubian costume; it is a bit of malice on his part. He wishes that I did not exist; I have weighed him, as have you and every body else. The work is dedicated to Cormenin, with a dedicatory epigraph in Latin, and in the text is an epigraph taken from Homer, all in Greek. The good Maxime does not know a declension, but that does not matter. He has had the German work of Leipsius translated and has pillaged it impudently (in the text that I looked over) without quoting it once. I heard that from a friend of his that I met on the train; you know I said he m

now that you are suffering, for then you write me such superb letters, so full of fire. But, poor dear soul,

it appear in the Press; third, we shall find some plan, you may be sure. Bouilhet will be there this winter and he will aid you. His last fossil, the third piece, "Springtime," is superb; there is in it a pecking of birds around gigantic nests which is gigantic in itself. But he gets too sad, my poor Bouilhet; it is necessary to straighten up and em ... humanity which em ... us! Oh! I shall be avenged! In fifteen years from now I shal

irst asking his permission. As for the article, it is simply stupid, and that one he wrote upon Bouilhet was no stronger. He underlines bosom and rags, exclaims "Eight children! O, Poesy!" paints the school where

ness, he ended by becoming mad himself. It is the same in this case; from becoming too much disturbed by these imbeciles, there is dang

ract idea of the soul. It is we, metaphysicians and modern people, who speak this language; and then, Hamlet did not question at all the philosophic sense, he was dreaming. I believe this observation of Musset's is not his own but Mallefille's; in the preface of his Don Juan, he is superficial, to my mind. A peasant in our day could see a phantom perfectly and, the next da

them so only in books). There is not an aim of the human soul which is not reflected in this conc

rattle about the beautiful; but to say in proper style "Shut the door," or "He has a desi

ys in form and in moral value; incontestably it comes after the end-rh

, a

IS BOU

e, Aug.

umbrellas; barques are putting out to sea; I hear the chains of the anchors which they are raising with general imprecations a

f Dupré! Like him, he deals in Seltzer water! "I am the only one in Trouville who manufactures Seltzer water" he says. In fact, at eight o'clock in the morning I am often

length of its

les. There creaks a pump which wets your legs; two boys are rinsing decanters; a parrot repeats from morning till night: "Have you breakfasted, Jacko?" and finally, a

here is time to say adieu to youthful sadness. I cannot conceal, however, that it has come back to me in waves, during the last three weeks. I have had two or three good afternoons in full sunlight, all alone up

ugh art all that is "myself," all that I have felt. I feel no need of writing my memoirs; my personality even repels me, and immediate objects seem hideous or stupid. I go back to former ideas. I arrange the barques into old-time s

rter part of what I dream. All that force that we feel and tha

ined a little as in former times. It seemed, at certain moments that the universe had become immovable, that everything had become a statue, and that we alone were living. And how insolent nature is! What waggishness on her impudent visage! One tortures his mind trying to comprehend the abyss that separates him from her, but something comes

age of reason will begin. And then, why encumber ourselves with so many souvenirs? The past eats up too much and we are never in the present, which alone is important in life. How I philos

hey are definitely low rascals; and "the phalanx" is a dog-kennel. All the animals there are m

er as soon as you can, and em

ADAM

dnesday even

cult it is! I fear that my comices (primary meetings) may be too long; it is a hard place. I have there all the personages of my book in action and in

d will be, perhaps, to the public, the most effective of all his pieces! There only remains the philosophic part, which is the last. About the

e beautiful lines of the Fall of an Angel; what bearish politeness! As for the Indian Poems and the piece about Dies ir?, not a word. There is a certain ingenuousne

s well written, for style is life! It is the blood of the thought! Boileau has a little river, straight, not deep, but admirably limpid and well within its ba

ssion; that seems to me strictly exact; it reassures and encourages me. What I admire in Boileau is what I admire in Hugo; and where one has been good, the other is excellent. There is only one standard of beauty; it is the same everywhere, although under different aspects, and more or less coloured by the reflections that dominate it. Voltaire and Chateaubriand, for example, were mediocre for the same reasons, etc. I shall try

ich does not easily give itself up,-the s

I, who write so slowly, am gnawed by my plans. I wish to produce two or three long, epic antiques-romances in a grandiose setting, where the actio

; and it was for that reason that all Republican governmental maniacs loved him. Mediocrity cherishes rules, but I hate them. I feel myself against them and against

autiful e

ADAM

Wednesday,

eath for a man, as Montaigne says, "to put himself under the skin of a calf to escape it." Pain has this evil: it makes us feel life too much; it gives us,

one rises in the scale of being, the nervous faculty increases, that is, the faculty for suffering. Are to suffer and to think the

stuff plunged into the boiling vat of a dyer? All things appear to him as if magnifying glasses were before his eyes. Michael-Angelo said that marble trembled at his approach; what is sure is, that he himself trembled when he approached marble. Mountains, for

cult dialogue is when one especially wishes it to have character; to paint by dialogue, and keep it lively, precise, and distinguished while it remains common

rying to paint (in one page) the gradations of the enthusiasm of a multitude watching a good man as he places many lamps in succession upon the outside of the mayor

the point is clear. In a word, all the difficulties that we have in writing come from a lack of order. It is a conviction that I now have, that if you are troubled to give the right turn to an expression, it is sure that you have not the idea. A very clear image or sentiment in the head leads to the word on paper. The one flows from the other. "Whatever is well conceived," etc.... I have been re-reading this in old father Boileau; or rather I

e meddled with it are not of the trade, and while perhaps they know th

Lamartine, Eugène Su?.... Verse in itself is so convenient for disguising the absence of ideas! Analyse a beautiful passage of verse and another of prose, and you will see which is the fuller. Prose, art aside, must needs bristle with things to be discovere

little. As for Juvenal, it goes along smoothly enough, save here and there for some hidden meaning, which I quickly perceive. I should much like to know, and with

our years, eight and ten hours a day (and he had the boarding-house keepers at his back more than Leconte), I believe it is necessary to have the strongest constitution and a cerebral temperament of T

ousand kiss

ADAM

Wednesday,

t stopping (save for five minutes at one time and another to smoke a pipe, and about an hour for dinner). My comices were such a trial to me that I have broken loose from them

ulls, the sighs of love, and the phrases of the administrators at once distinguishable; and over all the sunlight and the gusts of wind that fan the large bonnets into motion. The most difficult passages of Saint Antony were child's play in comparison. I have come to nothing dramatic except the inte

ongly doubt it, from the way in which he spoke to me in the first place. The dedication, in spite of your opinion, proves nothing at all pro or con. The poor boy hangs to everything, tacks his name to everything that is descending this Nile! If anyone could strengthen me in my literary theories, it would be he. The farther off the time when Ducamp followed

ow the kindnesses you show me when I am in Paris, affect my mother in any way. For three years I have been at the Schlesingers', where she has never set foot. In the same way, Bouilhet has been coming here every Sunday for eight years to sleep, dine and lunch, but we have not once seen his mother, who comes to Rouen nearly every month; and I assure you that my mother is not at all shocked. Nevertheless, it shall be according to your wish. I promise you, I swea

letters. They have taken nature away from art. Since the end of the sixteenth century, even to the time of Hugo, all books, however beautiful they may be, smell of the dust of the college. I am now going to re-read all my French and to take a long time to prepare my history of the poetical sentiment of France. It is necessary to write criticism as one would write a natural history, with the absence of moral idea; it is not for us to declaim upon such and such a form, but to show in what it con

oetic sentiment being born (the most slender that could be), each finds at first its manifestation, and easily finds it in the savage infant, etc.; here is, then, the first point: you have already established relations. Now, if one were to continue, making count of all relative contingents, climate,

ie

ADAM

riday, Midn

and because of my thoughts concerning you. I will tell you more private

y any human affection for anyone greater than I feel for you, and as for affection towards woman, I swear to you that you stand first

to write anywhere, who for twelve years worked in continual confusion. But for me it is like beginning a new life. I am like a pan of milk-in order that cream shall rise, I must not be disturbed! But I say to you again: if you wish that I should come, now, instantly, for a month, two months, four months, cost what it may, I will go. If not

, for a year. I have engaged a servant whom I shall take to Paris, so you see that my resolution is not wholly unshakeable, and if I am not buried here under about three hundred pages, you may see me before long installed in the capital. I

the end? For I own to you that I am not cheerful; I have sad doubts at times regarding myself and my work. I have just re-read Novembre, from curiosity. I did the same thing eleven years ago to-day. I had so far forgotten it that it seemed quite new to me, but it is not good, and the effect is not satisfactory. I see no way of re-writing it; I should be

me yours, because it is several days since my mother wrote to Madame Farm

igne during a whole twelvemonth? I am really astonished, however, to find very often in his writings the most delicate analysis of my own sentiments. He has the same tastes, the same

ne

URENT

f the Revue

hursday eve

mmediately (for if I am somewhat churlish, I am not an ingrate). You have rendered

mence. I should like to own some day that you are right; I promise that when that time comes I will make you the most abject

d know that I hold commonplace existence in execration. I always seclude myself from it as much as possible. But, for ?sthetic purposes, I wished this time-and only this time-to ex

another book for me! You struck at the poetic foundation whence springs the type (as a philosopher would say) from which the work was conceived. I

iteness,-nothing but faith-faith and lib

ree, whose branches a

fully

EST FE

8

sness. Such an accusation chokes me, wounds me. I am made so-I cannot help it. Know, then, that such cowardly conduct is completely antipathetic to me. I do not allow anyone to say, in my presence, anything about my friends that I would not say myself to their faces. And if a stranger opens his mouth to lie about them, I close it for h

serious than I! Sometimes I laugh, but I joke very little, and less now than ever before. I a

adding to them those you would express. Your observations would make me "lose the ball." As to the arch?ology, that will be "probable." And that's all! Provided no one can prove that I have w

alas!) a great danger. The study of the external makes us forget the soul. I would give the half-ream of notes that I have written during the past five months, and the ninety-eight books that I have read, to be, for three seconds only, really stirred by the passion and emotion experienced by my heroes! Let us guard against the temptation to deal wi

that you will go and look at the desert before talking about it! And even if there is anything as beautiful, go there just the same. B

s, I am afraid of compromising myself, for I am not sure of anything, and that which displeased me might, after all, be the best thing I could have said. I shall

s there is nothing in the world more tiresome or stupid than an unjust criticism, I will withhold mine, although it might have been good. So that is all, m

fellow is my friend Feydeau, and how I envy him! As for me, I worry myself immeasurabl

e old Vulgate, because of the Latin. How swelling it is, compared with this poor, puny, pulmonic little Frenchman! I will show

pray to Apollo to inspire me

ne

EST FE

Sunday eve

ur days in sleeping, because of extreme fatigue; then I wrote

that the story of Carthage is to be completely changed, or rather, to be written over

at interest in them. I do not know when I shall finish this colossal work. Perhaps not before two or three years. Fr

me, the public, outside impression

whole effect seems to be more rapid in movement, which is good. Do not disturb yourself about anything, nor think any

f next month, Bouilhet will return to Mantes, and my mother will go to Trouville

t sent me any news of yourself, you rascal? What are y

etter. My spirits are good, and I am full of hope. When one is in good health he should store

of Algiers. If you could find me a view of Medragen (the tomb of the Nu

LES D

8

ses me. It has set me up not a little. I spread myself out, like a pig, on the stones by which I am surrounded; I think th

d, although it will be impossible to write it in haste. This book [Salammb?] is above all things a grouping of effects. My processes in beginning this romance are not good, bu

t has begun h

at the fast ordered by H

ces of absurdity that I ever have known; it i

LLE LEROYER

er 26,

prayers for the comfort and satisfaction of your spirit. You hold in my heart a very high and pure place; you would hardly believe me if I should tell you what a marvellous depth of sentime

appened since I wr

iful play, and it is also a great success. Making calls, reading the journals, etc., kept me very busy, and I returned here w

ths on it this summer. But I am just beginning, at last, to feel entertained by my own work. Every day I rise at noon, and I retire at four o'clock in the morning. A white bear is not more solitary and a god is not more calm. It was time! I think o

d that time you will see in the Revue Contemporaine a romance by my fr

f Renan? They would interest you, and so would

ite to Tunis to-day on this subject. When one wishes to be absolutely accurate in such writing, it costs something!

rite to me as often as you wi

EST FE

et, Th

ter from which I have stricken out that which I liked best. Then, I have made the plan of the fifth, written a quantity of notes, etc. The

desire for success, the necessity, even, of succeeding, because of the profit to be made, has so greatly demoralised literature that one becomes stupid through timidity. The idea of failure or of incurring censure makes the timid writer shake in his shoes. "That's all very well for you to say, yo

uity, the more I feel the necessity of reforming modern t

Daniel. It is finished. It w

ing of July, I suppose), bring me the detailed plan of Catherine. I have s

in public places! I shall attack you in

l, twice running. And the coachmen of Rouen fall

ants of Glasgow have petitioned Parliament to suppre

ld boy;

he at Versailles? It is an atroc

AND JULES

et, Ma

g, full of new details and having an excellent style, showing at the same time nervou

ils does not stifle the psychological side. The moral is revealed benea

r, and above all, that of Richelieu, seem t

ites me! "She was one of those beauties ... like the divinit

at has interested me more than th

ill rest without appeal, I fancy

How fortunate you are, to be able to occupy yourselves with all that sort of thin

o send me the book, to have so muc

ds as warmly as possi

laub

anarchist of the first order, and for twenty year

AND JULES

t, July

ted in my Carthage, this is wh

such a subject. One's only resource is to make the thing poetic, but there is danger of falling into the

ssible to handle. If I tried to write with absolute accuracy of detail, the work would be obscure; I should be compelled to use abstruse terms, and to st

ty and doubts. I console myself with the thought that at lea

ure you! But it proves nothing, it says nothing, it is neither histo

ven still remain to be written. I shall not fin

he living. Whence comes this seduction of the past? Why have you made me fall in love with the mistresses of Louis XV.? A love like this is, now I think

ich I undertook through the urgency of my conscience, and also a little to amuse myself). I worry myself over the assonances that I find in my prose; my life is as flat as the tabl

uously in the bosom of your family, among the delights of the country

is from the first o

of seeing you, I clasp you

EST FE

Sunday, Ju

d this morning, to congratulate you, my dear sir,

d the ninth chapter, and am preparing the material for the tenth and eleven

of the early Christians. As to the Carthaginians, I really believe I have exhausted all texts on the subject. After my romance is finished, it would be easy for me to write a large volume

ence-I, who was born with so many appetites! But sa

of my stomach, to prevent the feeling of h

l repetitions, of eternally rehashing the same things. Sometimes my phrases seem to be all cut after the same fashion, and likely

coup, the finest effect in the book. It must be at once brutal and chaste, mystical yet reali

manners and morals! How much time you will lose, after you return

the month. That time is now here. We must not let any longer time elapse without seeing each

brance. As to my niece, I believe I shall be made a great-uncle ne

f your journey and have a goo

LLE LEROYER

Septembe

derstand, since you are forced to perceive the ingratitude and selfishness of those who are under obligations to you. I must tell you that such is always the case,-a very poor consolation, it is true!

y find in life. If a malicious person wounds you, try to remember the

e. I am convinced that among other surroundings you would have suffered less. Each soul has its own atmosphere. You must suffer keenly, in the midst of the folly, lies, calumnies, jealousies, and indes

n the way? Ah, well, never mind! No, no, believe me when I tell you that you would be better for it, physically and morally. But you need a master, who would order y

contradictory things: religion and philosophy. The liberalism of your mind revolts against the old rubbish of dogma, and your natural mysticism takes alarm at the extreme consequences whither your reason leads you. Try to confine yourself to science, to pure science; learn to love facts for the

and believe always in

AND JULES

8

I wrote to you the same day I received your book (last Monday)

eading. I should now be reading it a second time, if my mother had not three ladies under her roof, who are regaling themselves with it! It will certainly appeal to the fair sex, and therefore will be a success-I believe that

s not banal, thanks to the explanation at the begin

have wished to see contrasted the generality of réligieuses, who scarcely resemble her. And that is the only objection I ha

of realism in it,-the power to describe the natural connection of facts. Your method of

Levy! But he is very

n of temperament). You stopped just at the very limit. There are exquisite traits,-the old man who coughs, fo

a wearisome piece of work. They say it is impossible to please everyone; but I am convinced

, for it has been a long time since

To touch, as you touched, to cut, as you cut the

re is too much talk of the unsettled conditions of ancient times, always battles, always furious people. One longs for cradling verdure and a milk diet! Berquin

ne Bourgeoise? Write to me when you have nothi

and a thousand sincere c

EST FE

8

ilhet! I need some intelligent auditor! I want to bawl three thousand verses as no one else ever has bawled them!

are in my Salammb?. I must cut them out, else some one would be sure to ac

ssed in a battle of elephants, and I assure you that

fer, which seem to me rather serious, but frankly, it is time I went to bed. It wi

annoyances and anxieties that a

ut Belgium (the scene, I mean), it will have a freer colour and unity. But think seri

ROGER DE

8

all that follow. One is by no means free to write of such or such a thing; he does not choose his subject. This is something that the public and

onceived and enacted against a black and unchangeable background. No cries, no convulsions, nothing but the fixity of a thoughtful visage! The gods no longer existed, and the Christ had not yet come; and the ancients, from Cicero to Marcus Aurelius, lived at a unique epoch when man alone was all-powerful. I do not find anything like such grandeur as this; but that w

ROGER DE

set,

a word against it, for fear of being thought a mouchard! The position of the author is impregnable, unassailable

: Saint Simonians, Philippists, even for innkeepers,-all receive equal adulation, and the types are like those found only in tragedies. Where are there any prostitutes like Fantine, convicts like Valjean, and politicians like the st

ctory that turns away a girl because she has a child? And the digressions! Ho

l vermin. What a pretty character is Monsieur Marius, living for three days on a cutle

e strain. Always a straining after effects, attempts at jokes, an effort at gaiety, but nothing really comic. There are lengthy explanations of things quite outside the subject, and a lack of details t

ld not allow himself to paint society so falsely when he is the contemporary of Balzac and of Dickens. It was a splendid subject, but what calm

confirms Desca

losophy? That of Prudhomme, of the Bonhomme Richard, or of Béranger. He is no more of a thinker than Racine, or La Fontaine, whom he considers mediocre; that is,

es a pen must feel too much gratitude towards Hugo to permit himself to cr

r reply-and

PHILE G

8

id to me, when I was twenty years old, that Théophile Gautier, with whom my imagination

pic of Sainte-Beuve? But your

r to-morrow? Tell Toto to giv

old f

PHILE G

evening

cess Mathilde that evening, and we should not have time for a chat bef

xt Saturday, or perhaps Thursday. I believe that you wi

rstood, th

PHILE G

, April

think of Salammb?? Is there anything new to say about that young pers

k (or more) according to your promise, and we will lay out the scenario. I

aving done any actual work upon them. I have

long time since I ha

rts and women) a great gossip. So run hither as

rances to all, e

em in two churches-Sainte-Clotilde and Trinity!! They accuse me of being

ORGE

8

fulfilled what you called a duty. The kindness of your heart h

rticle and even surpasses it, and I do not know what to

eptember. But it is a strange coincidence that I received at the

e a true Norman. I shall surprise you, perhaps, some day this

ry, where I often pass long months entirely alone. Is my request indiscreet? If not, I sen

ORGE

s, 1

others (be sure of that). My little stories of the heart and of the sense do not come out of a back shop. But as it is a long distance from my home to yours, i

ouilhet your

treet under my window following the prize ox! And they sa

ORGE

, Tuesda

ometimes sweep over us? They creep up like the rising tide and we are suddenly overwhelmed and

eard of two deaths, that of Cormenin, a friend for the past twenty-five years, and

o find a word. Your ideas flow freely, incessantly, like a river. But with me they run slowly, like a tiny rill. I m

my heart and my brain-that is t

deed! And he regrets him. Our little nocturnal chats were very charming. There were

her and his family. We spoke of scarcely anyone but you, an

f ideas), Father Montaigne's chapter entitled "Some Verses of Vir

repeat that your young man was wrong. If he had been virtuous up to twenty years of age, his action would be an ignoble libertinage at fifty. Everyone gets his deserts some time! Great natures, that are also good, are ab

ORGE

Saturday n

it on my wall, being able to say, as M. de Talleyrand said to Louis Philippe: "It is the greatest hono

's conception, he has seen in you only "the good woman"; but I, who am an old romanticis

ORGE

set,

you and me, does not know me at all, whatever he may say. I even swear to you (by the sweet smile of your grand-daughter!) that I know few men less "vicious" than myself. I have dreamed

tion towards licentiousness. I maintain that cynicism protects chastity. We mus

the beginning of November (after the production of Bouilhet's play), I hope nothing will prevent you from returning here with me, not for a

l about the thing (I am writing it in collaboration with Bouilhet). But I believe it is a mere trifle, and I am

y, but not towards the Bretons themselves,

a marvellous tale about the rocking stones, but I have not a copy

Vie, of which I knew about two thirds, in fragments. That which

red up a quantity of observatio

ORGE

Saturday n

you were in Paris, dear master, and I wrote you a le

cript about my trip through Brittany among my unedited works. We shall

ohs! I can see myself at various epochs in history very clearly, following various occupations, and placed in divers circumstances. The present individual is the product of my past individualities. I have been a boatman on the Nile; a leno at Rome during the

ur true genealogy. For, the elements that go to make a man b

ological sciences remain where they have always lain, in folly and in darkness. All the more so since they possess no exact nomenclature, a

which was as wide and beautiful as a triumphal way, we run off into narrow paths, or struggle in the mi

ern religion, what w

e the House of Austria; to wear mourning for Queen Amélie; to admire Orphée aux Enfers; to occupy oneself with agricul

avoid assonances, that I do not form my own little judgments on the affairs of this

gossip, or I s

n November. And we shall see each o

u tenderly,

ORGE

night

ath of Duveyrier. Since you loved him, I pity you. This loss is one of many. These deaths w

years have passed since last I saw you. My only topic of conversatio

so rare? I hardly know how to characterise the sentiment I feel for you, but I bear you a particular tenderne

hant's premises. The sky was rosy, and the Seine was the colour of gooseberry sirup. I

o were indignant at me because I had not exhibited you! The most absurd remark was made by an old sub-prefect:-"Ah! if we had only known that she was here ... we

ouched the depths of my heart. We are separated just at the time when we wish to say so many things. Not all d

AND JULES

one o'cl

yesterday, I learned of your nomination through Schol

u were in the habit of opening your door to the people that knock

compliment so much as Jules, to whom the nomination must give more pleasure than it

lows, I embrace you

lle, poste restante. Hav

ing? Where shall you be at five minutes before midnight? Is it not

Moniteur. So here is a little gift from your friend. Cut the ri

ORGE

ay nigh

dvice, dear master, an

ot goo

d bestir myself; so I walked for two hours and a half, showing the scenery to myself, and imagining I was travelling in Russia or in Norway! When the wav

t the right "someone" is extremely rare. I ask myself why I love you. Is it because you are a great "man" or simply a cha

s two persons in the same way, or that one ever experiences two identical sensations? I d

y also is true. We always imagine God in our own image. At the foundation of all our loves and all our a

does not pose the least in the world when he complains about his work. What a task! And what devil possessed him to induce h

e to haunt the woods of Cyprus. He is right, after all, or at least, it seems right to him, which amounts to the same thing. Perhaps I shal

character. I believe that the heart never grows old; there are people in whom it even grows stronger with age. I was drier and harsher at twenty than I am to-day. I have become softened and feminised by wear and tear, while

-read The Fair Maid of Perth. She was something of a coquette, whate

f me! I send you my

ORGE

ay nigh

mat, fattening his stupidity under the muck of the bourgeoisie. Would it be possible to treat with more na?ve and more inappropriate unceremoniousness, matters of religion, the people, liberty, the past and the future, national history and natural history, everything? He seems to me as eternal as mediocrity itself! He

reaction following the June days), to insinuate a panegyric about him, à pro

ng considered an imbecile later? It is a rude problem. It seems to me that the best way is to describe

that I am enraged, nor at the oth

sses on the subject of agriculture; if we had thought more of o

arlementaire. Like other similar publications, it is ful

r;" of what else should I think? Of my little book, perha

nes, does not one usually return to Paris?

a week's holiday. This is the reason why I do not go to Nohant. I am still on the history of the amazons. In

write to me. I emb

ES MIC

sday,

, but I have already read it, and am re-reading i

s mass of ideas, and am

that part about the baths of Acqui. You bring the Pyrenees and the Alp

what it will be for others!), will not be finished in less than a whole year. I am full of

you in the preface to your Revolution, are already her

and beg you to believe me

ORGE

esday evening,

hs have passed since you wrote last to your old

Chilly?). They say also, that Thuillier will make her reappearance in your play. (I thought sh

read, or rather, I read only the Lanterne. Rochefort bores me, to tell the truth. One must, however, have considerable bravery to dare to say,

ork again. I have the peculiarity of a camel-I find it difficult to stop when once I get started, and hard to start after I have been resting. I have worked steadily for a year at a time. After which I loafed definitely, like a bourgeois. It was difficult at first, and not a

XIME

, July 2

ng you a long letter. I do not know wheth

dness. He did not appear the man he was formerly; he was completely changed, except for his literary intelligence, which remained the same. In short, when I returned to Paris, in June, I found him a lamentable figure. A

el, the alienist, and a good chemist, one of Bouilhet's friends, named Dupré. Bouilhet dared not a

ack to Rouen. On debarking at Rouen, he finally summoned my brother. T

ed three days, so you see what anxiety I have had. I went to see Bouilhet both days that he was here, and observed some a

rb-he sent them packing! When I left him for the last time, on Saturday, he had a volume of Lamettrie on his night-table, which recalled to my mind my poor friend Alfred Le Poittevin

His head sank under Léonie's chin, and he died very quietly. Monday morning my porter awakened me with a telegram that announced the death in the usual terse fashion of a despatch. I was alone; I packed my things, sent the news to you, and went to tell it to Duplan,

g me very pale, the damsel offered me her eau de Cologne. It revived me a little, but what a thirst! That of th

uilhet, and to persuade him that he was not dangerously ill, Léonie had refused to marry him, and her son encouraged her in this resistance. This marriage was so much t

mony? I fancied I could hear him speaking to me; I felt that he was there, at my side, and it seemed as if he and I were following the corpse of some one else! The weather was very hot, threatening a storm. I was covered with perspiration, and the walk to the cemetery finished

o Rouen, to take charge of Bouilhet's papers; to-day I have read t

r friends in order to decide what to do with the unedited works: myself, D'Osmoy, you, and Caudron. He left a volume of excellent poems, fo

so that we may decide what shall be published. My head troubles m

is only you now, only you! Do you r

must close up our ranks." One gentleman, whom I do not kn

ND DE G

evening

w, or rather, I mean that I had guessed all that you wrote me. I think of you every day and many times a day. The memory of my lost friends leads me fatally to the thought of y

for your grief must surpass all

it is the preface to Bouilhet's book. I have glided over the biographical part as much as possible. I shall

years old. It is not very cheerful work, as you may imagine! And besides, here at Croisset, I am pursued by his phantom, which I find be

ter that I shall try to re-write Saint Antony, although my heart is not in it now. Yo

being, for me, no more

r from day to day. It has become impossible to hold any serio

where shall you be? Write to me about yourself sometimes, my po

ORGE

June 2

Of the seven friends that used to gather at the Magny dinners, only three remain!

o my poor Bouilhet's book. I intend to see whether some means may not be found to

y mother, who grows more and more deaf, so that my existence is far from lively. I should go to some warmer clima

, in order to see the performance of A?ssé. My absence will be limited

urt was very sad. Théo was th

AME RE

ening, 7 o'

had to occupy me dur

gements regardin

ns about hi

s volume of poems, whic

an engraver to m

read it to-morrow to the actors. The rehearsals will begin next

my belongings will not arrive until three days later. A detailed a

Estampes; in short, I have not had a moment's rest for two weeks; and this petty

ood Bouilhet! Besides, I have re-written my preface

he world, it is impossible for me to do everything at once. I must attend first to the most pressing aff

at it would be very painful to me to go to Mantes? Every time I pass before the buffet, I turn away my head! Nevertheless, I will keep my promi

ORGE

April 1

to your first letter, so sweet and tender. But I w

green leaves. The sunshine no longer irritates me, which is a good si

are! What a kind heart! I have no need of money just at present, than

e. So until the complete liquidation of the succession, I shall remain here. Before decid

I doubt it. I am growing old. Caroline cannot live here now. She has

ny more. All my friends are dead, and the last, my poor Théo, is not likely t

oor good mamma was the being I have loved most! To

BARONES

herm

er 14 (

oédromio

ks),

in the silence of my study, I permit myself, O beautiful

stic coat! Glittering swords dangle at their sides, while I carry only my pens! Plumes ornament their heads, while I have scarcely any hair!

breast is torn by blacke

ame to me like a refreshing breeze,

t time, amid our fields, settled near us! The rigour of the ap

r great national historian will close, for a time, the era of revolutions. May we see the doors of the te

ple voice of nature, there would be only happiness here below, the dances of shepherds, fond embrac

dramatic lucubration) if I myself should take this fruit of her muse to the director of that establishment. Then, as soon as I should arrive in the capital, I should make my toilet, call my servant and command him to g

, Madame, your unwo

' HO

MILE

ear Rouen,

r it, and now, my dear friend, I can talk sensibly about it. I feared, after the Ventre de Paris, that you would bury yourse

life), and perhaps also there is a little too much dialogue among the accessory characters. There! in picking you to p

the ferocity of passion underlying the surface of good-fellowship. That

ness! The Abbé Faujas is sinister and great-a true director! How well he manages the woman, how ab

layed in developing her character, or rather her malady. Her hysteric state and her

rable ruffians, and the Abbé Bouvelle, who is

the Paloque family, the Rastoil, and

s and phrases: "The tonsure like a cicatrice;" "I should like it bett

true invention! I have noted many

her brother; the strawberry; the mother of the a

the handkerchief of his poor sweetheart, bec

ith the name of M. Delangre on the

s visit at her uncle's house, the return of Mouret, and his inspection of the house! One is seized by fear, as in the reading of some fantastic

charming, and you wind up with one sublime stroke: the apparition of the soutane of

es not know by instinct what motive prompts M. Rougon and Uncle Macquart t

is, and I thank you for th

ears, now your

iticisms it draws forth. That kind

DE MAUP

July 2

, and as I could be in Paris only one day, which was last Saturd

ceived at the Cluny Theatre, and it will be acted there

little box of a theatre, predict

he artists engaged by Winschenk for my play was Mlle. Alice Regnault. He feared that she would be taken by the Vaudeville Theatre, and that the Vaud

l begin Bouvard et Pécuchet. I tremble at the prospect, as one

on why we should

URICE

Sunday, Ju

rite to you, but I waited until you should be a little

I do not remain here long, it is because

e. Poor, dear, great woman! What genius and what a heart!

lone. You have a wife-a rare woman!-and two exquisite children. While I was with you there, I felt above all my sadness, two desires

ueneff. He, too, loved her! But who did not love her? If you

suppose. Tell him I love him af

d be almost impossible. Some day you will find within yourself a deep and sweet certainty

rejoined her, and when for a long time people have ceased to talk of the things and the persons that surround us at present-in some centuries to

ll we sustain ourselves, then, if pride fails us, and wha

shall we meet again? For I feel a

s I embraced her on the stairs a

the depths

DE MAUP

August

an! But I advise you to moderate you

s to attain. A man who has accredited himself

harp letter, as I was indignant at the article on Renan. It attacked him in the grossest fashion, and there was also some humbug about Berthelot. Have you read it, and what do you think of it? In short, I said to Catulle, first, that I wished him to efface my name from the list of his collaborators; and, second, not to send me h

about his comic spirit. And what stupidity! I mean the joke tha

man who pretends that we are all descended from apes; and la

ole day, and almost the whole night, bent over my table, and admire the sunrise with great regularity! Before my dinner (about seven o'clock) I spla

DE MAUP

ay nigh

haps to sleep. They must decide this evening, so that I may know by Friday morning. I think they will come on Monday. If your eye will perm

I have only four beds to offer, you will take th

malady, that I should be glad, purely for my own satisfaction, to have you exam

he journey, I have a superb double louis at your service. To r

rd to Graziani, will present himself at your place. He has talent and is a t

is my intention to stuff you all, I have invited Doctor Fo

much in splendour if my

ld fr

ges long, signed Harry Alis. It appears that I have wounded him!

rpiece. Try to write a dozen stories like that, and you will be

e that she was enchanted wit

tten this of me: "Can no one persuade M. Flaubert not to write any more?" It might be a

ow is your health? And how

tic! And the "fathers of families

his is a far

rs corrected by th

ury=> erected a

> Pécuche

=> two abysses, 'tw

éluge {pg 7 PREF

> which Théophile Gautier calle

médie Fran?aise {pg 4

uré {pg 4 LETTER

re's {pg 8 LETTER

ex-Rue de l'Impératrice {p

cond-rate {pg 12 LET

ough {pg 34 LETTE

gène Su? {pg 66

> arch?ological research

l'Histoire de Ma Vie