Ah! so you are not content with my title of "Le Parasite;" you think it a comedy title of the eighteenth century, like "Le Méchant," "Le Glorieux," "L'Indécis," "Le Philosophe marié," etc. Well, it shall be as your autocratic and supreme will decides, and inasmuch as you declare that the pendant to "La Cousine Bette," can only be "Le Cousin Pons," "Le Parasite" will disappear from La Comédie Humaine and give place to "Le Cousin Pons."
Work, occupation, difficulties in regulating the payments of the last sixty thousand francs of debt, all that mass of fixed or floating cares, repress within my heart the desire to see you, and the need of consulting you and talking over with you my literary and pecuniary affairs. But as you will not permit me to go to you until I have finished "Les Paysans," or at least "La Cousine Bette," I endeavour to obey you. It is the order of the day to me; and it bestows upon me a strength for work I have never yet known. "Le Cousin Pons" and "La Cousine Bette" will give me ten thousand francs; that will pay Hetzel, and the seven thousand francs to my mother. If I can be with you next winter, counting from September, I shall do three works: "Les Petits Bourgeois," "Le Théâtre comme il est," and "Le Député d'Arcis," which, according to my calculation, are worth, taken together, forty thousand francs. So you see that not only will everything be paid, but I shall even have money in hand for the rest of the winter. Dear sovereign star, be very tranquil about my conduct; how do you suppose that at my age any enthusiasm could make me compromise the result of fifteen to sixteen years' labour? I shall not ruin myself in buying pictures any more than I will "bind myself to write novels against the sum that would free me entirely." In spite of that lofty wisdom of yours, you are no more prudent and reasonable than I am. I am really ashamed to repeat these things so often.
No news from Rome; I think there are as many reasons to fear as to rejoice. To-morrow I write again; but à bientôt. I hope to see you.
It is Laurent-Jan and Achard who are doing Grimm's letters; and it is Laurent-Jan who is just now publishing "Jeunesse" in the "Époque."
[1] This refers to the examination of Lucien de Rubempré before the juge d'instruction, and the description connected with it of the Palais de Justice.—TR.
August 7.
The heat is so dissolving I cannot write a line: I soak two shirts a day by merely staying in my arm-chair and reading Walter Scott. I must love you much to write even these few words; my hand and forehead are streaming. This delays me and makes me groan. I expect Potier to-day; I have decided to settle with him if possible before my departure; so that everything may be done, repairs and all, during my absence, and I can then remove there on my return.
Adieu, all my thoughts are with you, and with what can make you happy, were it even at the cost of my life and happiness. Before the end of the month I hope to see you! I shall work firmly, that there may be no delay in my journey. I hope you will be satisfied with the work I bring you. My dear critic will be too tenderly moved to be very severe.
Passy, October 18, 1846.[1]
Here I am, dear sovereign star, imperturbably before my desk, at the hour named, as I announced to you yesterday in the little letter hastily written in the office of "Le Messager;" and before resuming my work, my heart, that poor heart all yours, feels an imperious need to shed itself into your heart, and tell you the little details of a life become your life through that miracle of thought, constant, immutable, during so many years of exclusive affection, of which you alone, besides myself, can appreciate the immensity and the depth. From Frankfort to Forbach I lived in you only; I went over those four days like a cat which has finished her milk and licks her whiskers. All the precautions with which your kindness and that of your dear children surrounded me, the shawl, the hood, cured my cold perfectly; I feel admirably well. While they changed the luggage I wrote you a line, to prevent you from doing yourself harm, so anxious about me did I leave you.