"AUTUN. July 15, 1890.
"You have done an imprudent thing in not publishing your 'Quarterly' article at once. There are two times for writing—first when you know nothing, secondly when you know a great deal; the intermediate time, that of acquisition, is not favorable to writing, because it destroys the author's confidence in himself. He possesses that confidence before learning, and renews it when he has learned. In the interval he suffers from diffidence.
"I am glad to hear that M. Jusserand likes my books; he is just the kind of Frenchman whose opinion one really values.
"I shall be very glad if you can come. I shall be away part of September. All August I shall be at home, but if you could have come about now, it would have been better still."
"July, 28, 1890.
"The shortest rout from Paris to Autun, as to mere distance, is by Laroche, Gravant, Avallon, etc. In the present case I strongly recommend the shorter and more rural route, as being by far the prettier and less fatiguing, and also because it enables you to see one of the most picturesque small towns in France—Avallon. You have five hours to see Avallon, and the picturesque valley that it overlooks…. The next morning you will of course be occupied in seeing Autun, but if you will make your way to the railway station, so as to be there at 11.15, you will see a vehicle with yellow wheels and a chestnut mare, with a white mark on her face. The said vehicle will bring you to Pré-Charmoy (if you will kindly allow it to do so), in time for déjeuner. Please let me know the day. It would be better not to make any hard-and-fast arrangement about your departure, as I may be able to persuade you to take some drives with me to see something in this neighborhood."
"AUTUN. November 2, 1890.
"I received the 'Quarterly' this morning, and read your article. Towards the close, you say every Frenchman in the provinces works. That, I am sorry to say, is a mistake. Unfortunately there is still a strong survival of the old caste prejudice against work, as being beneath a gentleman. All the young men I know whose parents are very well off are as idle as they can be, unless they go into the army or the Church, and now they hardly ever go into the Church, or when they do it is in some order (Jesuits, Marists, etc.). I was talking about this with a rich old French gentleman about ten days ago, and he deeply deplored it; he said he felt more respect for common workmen than for the idle young men in his own class.
"You appear to think that the Morvan language is a Celtic tongue. No; it is only a French patois, very interesting and peculiar in its grammatical forms. I understand it partly when spoken, and can read it with some little difficulty. My daughter understands it very well. Our servants speak it among themselves. Their French is very pure, though somewhat limited in its vocabulary.
"It seems to me that you are happily endowed and situated for undertaking a work of the kind you intend to write. You have seen a great deal of the world, you have no prejudices, you desire nothing but to be just, and especially you have that very rare quality—a right curiosity. I was pleased, and a little amused by the contrast, when I compared you with the strangely uninterested English whom I have seen in and out of France. I recollect staying with a friend in England, a few years ago, and I noticed that he did not ask me one single question about France. He simply talked of his own locality, and did not appear to take the slightest interest in the continent of Europe.