My Aurore, whom I have not neglected, and who is world:  well, sends you a big kiss.  Lina, Maurice send affection.

G. Sand

CCLXIV.  TO GEORGE SAND Croisset, Thursday

Whatever happens, Catholicism will receive a terrible blow, and if I were a devotee, I should spend my time before a crucifix saying:  “Maintain the Republic for us, O my God!”

But they are afraid of the monarchy.  Because of itself and because of the reaction which would follow.  Public opinion is absolutely against it.  The reports of messieurs the prefects are disquieting; the army is divided into Bonapartists and Republicans; the body of big business in Paris has pronounced against Henry V. Those are the bits of information that I bring back from Paris, where I have spent ten days.  In a word, dear master, I think now that they will be swamped!  Amen!

I advise you to read the pamphlet by Cathelineau and the one by Segur also.  It is curious!  The basis is clearly to be seen.  Those people think they are in the XIIth century.

As for Cruchard, Carvalho asked him for some changes which he refused. (You know that sometimes Cruchard is not easy.) The aforesaid Carvalho finally realized that it was impossible to change anything in le Sexe faible without distorting the real idea of the play.  But he is asking to play le Candidat first, it is not finished but it delights him—­naturally.  Then when the thing is finished, reviewed and corrected, perhaps he won’t want it.  In short, if after l’Oncle Sam, le Candidat is finished, it will be played.  If not, it will be le Sexe faible.

However, I don’t care, I am so eager to start my novel which will take me several years.  And moreover, the theatrical style is beginning to exasperate me.  Those little curt phrases, this continual scintillation irritates like seltzer water, which is pleasing at first but shortly seems like nasty water.  Between now and January I am going to compose dialogues in the best manner possible, after that I am coming back to serious things.

I am glad to have diverted you a little with the biography of Cruchard.  But I find it is hybrid and the character of Cruchard is not consistent!  A man with such an executive ability does not have so many literary preoccupations.  The archeology is superfluous.  It belongs to another kind of ecclesiastics.  Perhaps there is a transition that is lacking.  Such is my humble criticism.

They had said in a theatrical bulletin that you were in Paris; I had a mistaken joy about it, dear good master whom I adore and whom I embrace.

CCLXV.  TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT

Your poor old troubadour, just getting well from a cruel attack of rheumatism, during which he could not lie down, nor eat, nor dress without aid, is at last up again.  He suffered liver trouble, jaundice, rash, fever, in short he was fit to be thrown out on a pile of rubbish.