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FLAUBERT, Gustave (1821-1880).
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FLAUBERT, Gustave (1821-1880).
L.A.S. "he who loves you", addressed to Louise Colet. S.l., [7 December] 10 December 1846 "Monday 11 o'clock in the evening". 4 pp. in-8. Minor tear at the head, without damage to the text or missing.
Exceptional love letter from Gustave Flaubert, addressed to his mistress Louise Colet:
"What do you have, my poor friend? No news from you, no letters! It is very hard. Did I say something nasty to you in my last letter? Please forgive me. I suffer often and a lot| in these moments, I am bitter, acrid. I try to keep my pain inside me as much as possible| sometimes it comes out and tears apart those I hold in my arms. I love you well, go on| I still love you, very much, always. Your memory has for me a charming sweetness where my thought is rocked, as a tired body is rocked in a hammock, swayed by a warm breeze. I hope that tomorrow I will receive some pages from you. I am always afraid that some unfortunate adventure has occurred, that the Official has stuck his nose in our business, etc., or that you are ill. You may be surprised that I am telling you all this, I, who look so cold, so indifferent| but perhaps I love you more than I appear to. It's pitiful, but I've always been like that, always wanting what I don't have, and not knowing how to enjoy it when I do have it [...]. If I lost you, I might go mad. It is in the consequent inconsequence of the human heart, in the constitution of man, and I am indeed man, man in the most vulgar and true sense of the word, although, in the prevention of your good love, you believe me to be something higher than that, and that I, at certain moments, rarer from day to day, have had this unconfessed pretension. [...] How much love, enthusiasm, deep friendships, and lively sympathies have I not already seen melt away like snow! I cling to the little I have left. I have wept for the dead, I have wept for the living, and I have laughed with pity at the vanity of my best feelings and purest beliefs [...]. with M[axime] [...] we spend our time in talks of which I would be ashamed almost, in follies, in imperial musings. We build palaces, we furnish Venetian hotels, we travel to the East with escorts, and then we fall more flat on our present life and, in the end, we are sad as corpses. [...]. In the morning, he goes to the Hôtel-Dieu to watch the cutting and amputation| it entertains him. In the meantime, I do a little Greek and take a lesson in arms. Then we smoke a lot. Flaubert scratches Alfred de Vigny: "I read in the evening Servitude and Military Grandeur by my friend Stello. It is of a good tone, but rather coldasse. I have a complete Saint Augustine, and, once the friend is gone, I throw myself wholeheartedly into religious readings| not at all with the intention of giving me Faith, but to see people who have Faith. Farewell, dear and sweet love| I kiss you on the thin skin of your throat. Letter published in the Correspondence of Flaubert - 1830-1880, Paris, Louis Conard, 1926-1954.
L.A.S. "he who loves you", addressed to Louise Colet. S.l., [7 December] 10 December 1846 "Monday 11 o'clock in the evening". 4 pp. in-8. Minor tear at the head, without damage to the text or missing.
Exceptional love letter from Gustave Flaubert, addressed to his mistress Louise Colet:
"What do you have, my poor friend? No news from you, no letters! It is very hard. Did I say something nasty to you in my last letter? Please forgive me. I suffer often and a lot| in these moments, I am bitter, acrid. I try to keep my pain inside me as much as possible| sometimes it comes out and tears apart those I hold in my arms. I love you well, go on| I still love you, very much, always. Your memory has for me a charming sweetness where my thought is rocked, as a tired body is rocked in a hammock, swayed by a warm breeze. I hope that tomorrow I will receive some pages from you. I am always afraid that some unfortunate adventure has occurred, that the Official has stuck his nose in our business, etc., or that you are ill. You may be surprised that I am telling you all this, I, who look so cold, so indifferent| but perhaps I love you more than I appear to. It's pitiful, but I've always been like that, always wanting what I don't have, and not knowing how to enjoy it when I do have it [...]. If I lost you, I might go mad. It is in the consequent inconsequence of the human heart, in the constitution of man, and I am indeed man, man in the most vulgar and true sense of the word, although, in the prevention of your good love, you believe me to be something higher than that, and that I, at certain moments, rarer from day to day, have had this unconfessed pretension. [...] How much love, enthusiasm, deep friendships, and lively sympathies have I not already seen melt away like snow! I cling to the little I have left. I have wept for the dead, I have wept for the living, and I have laughed with pity at the vanity of my best feelings and purest beliefs [...]. with M[axime] [...] we spend our time in talks of which I would be ashamed almost, in follies, in imperial musings. We build palaces, we furnish Venetian hotels, we travel to the East with escorts, and then we fall more flat on our present life and, in the end, we are sad as corpses. [...]. In the morning, he goes to the Hôtel-Dieu to watch the cutting and amputation| it entertains him. In the meantime, I do a little Greek and take a lesson in arms. Then we smoke a lot. Flaubert scratches Alfred de Vigny: "I read in the evening Servitude and Military Grandeur by my friend Stello. It is of a good tone, but rather coldasse. I have a complete Saint Augustine, and, once the friend is gone, I throw myself wholeheartedly into religious readings| not at all with the intention of giving me Faith, but to see people who have Faith. Farewell, dear and sweet love| I kiss you on the thin skin of your throat. Letter published in the Correspondence of Flaubert - 1830-1880, Paris, Louis Conard, 1926-1954.