My sense of the grotesque has always restrained me from yielding to any inclination towards licentiousness. I maintain that cynicism protects chastity. We must discuss this matter at length (that is, if you choose) the next time we meet.
This is the programme that I propose to you. During the next month my house will be in some disorder. But towards the end of October, or at the beginning of November (after the production of Bouilhet’s play), I hope nothing will prevent you from returning here with me, not for a day, as you say, but for a week at least. You shall have your room “with a round table and everything needful for writing.” Is that agreeable?
About the fairy play [The Castle of Hearts] I thank you for your kindly offer of assistance. I will tell you all about the thing (I am writing it in collaboration with Bouilhet). But I believe it is a mere trifle, and I am divided between the desire to gain a few piastres and shame at the idea of exhibiting such a piece of frivolity.
I find you a little severe towards Brittany, but not towards the Bretons themselves, who appear to me a crabbed set of animals.
À propos of Celtic archæology, I published, in l’Artiste, in 1858, a marvellous tale about the rocking stones, but I have not a copy of the number, and do not even remember in which month it appeared.
I have read, continuously, the ten volumes of l’Histoire de Ma Vie, of which I knew about two thirds, in fragments. That which struck me most forcibly was the account of life in the convent.
On all these matters I have stored up a quantity of observations to submit to you when we meet.
TO GEORGE SAND.
Croisset, Saturday night, 1866.
The sending of the two portraits made me believe that you were in Paris, dear master, and I wrote you a letter which now awaits you at the Rue des Feuillantines.