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Updated: May 5, 2025
Good night, friend of my heart. I embrace you as well as your mother. G. Sand LXII. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Paris Nohant, 6 August, 1867 When I see how hard my old friend has to work in order to write a novel, it discourages my facility, and I tell myself that I write BOTCHED literature. I have finished Cadio; it has been in Buloz' hands a long time.
I am rubbing their noses in their own dirt as much as I can. But you don't give me any details about Cadio. Who are the actors, etc.? I mistrust your novel about the theatre. You like those people too much! Have you known any well who love their art? What a quantity of artists there are who are only bourgeois gone astray! We shall see each other in three weeks at the latest.
He walks three leagues with a friend of like energy in order to hunt in a great plain for an animal which has to be looked at with a magnifying glass. That is happiness! That is being really infatuated. My gloom has disappeared in making Cadio; at present I am only fifteen years old, and everything to me appears for the best in the best possible of worlds. That will last as long as it can.
One feels oneself there very far from Paris, in a new and ugly world, an enormous world which is perhaps the world of the future. The first time that I lunched there, I thought all the time of America, and I wanted to speak like a negro. LVI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, at Croisset Nohant, 9 May, 1867 Dear friend of my heart, I am well, I am at work, I am finishing Cadio.
Here you are at home, old friend of my heart, and I and Maurice must go to embrace you. If you are still buried in work, we shall only come and go. It is so near to Paris, that you must not hesitate to tell us. I have finished Cadio, hurray! I have only to POLISH it a little.
Here it is nearly two months since you have written to your old troubadour! you in Paris, in Nohant, or elsewhere? And when are they to play this Cadio? Are you content? etc., etc. I live absolutely like an oyster. My novel is the rock to which I attach myself, and I don't know anything that goes on in the world. I do not even read, or rather I have not read La Lanterne!
He affects one like one of the old Sophists whom Socrates made fun of. I am trusting you for GENEROUS sentiments. One can say a word more or less without wounding, one can use the lash without hurting, if the hand is gentle in its strength. You are so kind that you cannot be cruel. Shall I go to Croisset this autumn? I begin to fear not, and to fear that Cadio is not being rehearsed.
As for the character of Cadio, which is more of an invention than the others, what I like best in him is his ferocious anger. In it is the special truth of the character. Humanity turned to fury, the guillotine become mystic, life only a sort of bloody dream, that is what must take place in such heads.
In that case I shall hardly see you unless I go to see you. Tell me the hours when you do not receive the fair sex, and when sexagenarian troubadours do not incommode you. Cadio is entirely redone and rewritten up to the part I read to you, it is less offensive. I am not doing Montreveche. I will tell you about that. It is quite a story. I love you and I embrace you with all my heart.
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