57 - FLAUBERT, Gustave (1821–1880).

FLAUBERT, Gustave (1821–1880). Autograph letter signed “Gve Flaubert,” [Croisset] Tuesday evening [August 30, 1859], to Ernest FEYDEAU; 4 pages, in-8 format, on blue paper. A beautiful and lengthy letter to his friend, written while he was working on *Salammbô*. Note: “Stop complaining about Providence, O Feydeau, for you are unaware of the kindnesses with which it showers you in the provinces! Hear this anecdote. But first, climb onto a chair and gaze at yourself in the mirror, for here is a fact that makes you taller than the Column. A wealthy 23-year-old young man from Rouen, etc., was about to marry and enrich through this marriage a pretty 17-year-old young lady, etc., when one day he discovered in her sewing table a scandalous book titled *Fanny* by a certain E. Feydeau. “Scandal!”—shouts—“a scene”—and “the wedding was called off because of it.” He would have liked to “have an aluminum medal struck” for this young bourgeois, “and flay him alive. Frankly, I would have watched him be quartered with glee. […] the upside is that your book broke up a marriage, & it’s likely that in doing so, it did a good deed. Isn’t that wonderful! Damn it, isn’t that wonderful!” He’s not making much progress: “But I’m starting to get a sense of my characters. I believe they’re no longer mere mannequins, adorned with some random name. For people to say of an ancient character, ‘That’s true,’ he must be endowed with a triple life—for who has ever seen the model, the archetype? I hope to have finished my sixth chapter in a month, and before I return to Paris, the seventh will be done—it has to be. I got rid of the fifth by cutting two excellent passages that were slowing down the pace. I’ve also changed the order of two or three paragraphs, and I think it’s flowing smoothly now. In short, things aren’t going too badly. But I’m becoming lecherous—I give you my word of honor—my sixth chapter is keeping me busy, or rather, preoccupying me, which is a serious matter! Is it because St. Martin’s Day is approaching? I’m afraid so! I’m making some wild plans for this winter! Am I scaring you?” He must be having visitors. He’s talking about Feydeau’s next novel, *Catherine d’Overmeire*: “The danger to avoid lies in the romantic nature of the subject. We must find endless connections to tie it to the common, ordinary part—that is, to life in Paris—which, in my view, is the best part of the draft, along with the beginning? Your stomachaches come from your cigarettes—so smoke chibouks, you damn donkey! Your cigarettes annoy me; they’re completely lacking in shape!”… Correspondence (Pléiade), vol. III, p. 38.