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Updated: May 17, 2025
I think that your pains now react on me, and I have a headache on account of them. But alas! I cannot assist at any birth and I almost regret the time when one believed it hastened deliverances to burn candles before an image. I see that that rascal Bouilhet has betrayed me; he promised me to copy the Marengo letter in a feigned hand to see if you would be taken in by it.
I love you and embrace you. Think sometimes of your old troubadour. Friday G. Sand I think that I shall give you pleasure and joy when I tell you that La Conjuration d'Ambroise, thus says my porter, is announced as a real money-maker. There was a line this evening as at Villemer, and Magny which is also a barometer, shows fair weather. So be content, if that keeps up, Bouilhet is a success. Sunday
I can, without being inconvenienced at all, as soon as I am in Paris, that is to say from the 20th to the 23rd of the present month, lend you a thousand francs, if you need them in order to go to Cannes. I make you this proposition bluntly, as I would to Bouilhet, or any other intimate friend. Come, don't stand on ceremony!
The Bouilhet play will open the first part of November. Then in a month we shall see each other. I embrace you very warmly, dear master. XXI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset Nohant, Monday evening, 1 October, 1866 Dear friend, Your letter was forwarded to me from Paris. It isn't lost. I think too much of them to let any be lost.
Flaubert's friend, Louis Bouilhet, made a inartful attempt to tune the stubborn lyre to music of the birthday of the world, to battles of the ichthyosaurus and the plesiosaurus, to loves of the mammoth and the mastodon. But the public would have none of it, though ensphered in faultless verso, and the poets fled back to their flames and darts, and to the primrose at the river's brim.
And with this, I embrace you with all my heart, and I am going to, if I can, make people talk who love each other in the old way. You don't have to write to me when you don't feel like it. No real friendship without ABSOLUTE liberty. In Paris next week, and then again to Palaiseau, and after that to Nohant. I saw Bouilhet at the Monday performance. I am CRAZY about it.
At this moment he is having a spree with veal and wine in honor of his firemen. He has, literally speaking, a passion for you, and he writes me that after seeing you he loves you more, that does not surprise me. Poor Bouilhet! Give him this little note enclosed here. I share his sorrow, I knew her. Are you amused in Paris? Are you as sedentary there as at Croisset?
The manager of that "little theatre" is enchanted with le Sexe faible. But so was Carvalho, which did not prevent him ... You know the rest. Of course every one blames me for letting my play be given in such a joint. But since the others do not want that play and since I insist that it shall be presented to make a few sous for the Bouilhet heirs, I am forced to pass that over.
My poor Bouilhet bothers me. He is in such a nervous state that they have advised him to take a little trip to the south of France. He is overwhelmed by an unconquerable melancholy. Isn't it queer! He who was so gay, formerly! My Heavens! What a beautiful and farcical thing is the life of the desert Fathers! But without doubt they were all Buddhists.
In the "Idees d'un maitre d'ecole," I admire your pedagogic spirit, dear master, there are many pretty a b c phrases. Thank you for what you say of my poor Bouilhet! I adore your "Pierre Bonin." I have known people like him, and as these pages are dedicated to Tourgueneff it is the moment to ask you if you have read "I'Abandonnee"? For my part, I find it simply sublime.
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