From Flaubert's Letters

Spent much of the morning reading Flaubert's letters (arranged chronologically). Just a couple bits I gave the Hogarthian line to:


To his sister Caroline:

     You are expecting details about Victor Hugo. What can I tell you? He is a man who looks like many another, with a rather ugly face and a rather common appearance. He has magnificent teeth, a superb forehead, no eyelashes or eyebrows. He talks little, gives the impression of being on his guard and not wanting to give himself away; he is very polite and a little stiff. I greatly like the sound of his voice. I enjoyed watching him from close by; I looked at him with astonishment, as I would at a casket of gold and royal diamonds, thinking of everything that has come out of him -- that man who was sitting on a little chair beside me; I kept looking at his right hand, which has written so many splendid things.

To Alfred LePoittevin:

     Two days ago I saw Byron's name written on one of the pillars of the dungeon where the prisoner of Chillon was confined. The sight afforded me exquisite joy. I thought more about Byron than about the prisoner, and no ideas came to me about tyranny and slavery. All the time I thought of the pale man who came there one day, walked up and down, wrote his name on the stone, and left.

To Louise Colet:

     You speak of work. Yes, you must work; love art. Of all lies, art is the least untrue. Try to love it with a love that is exclusive, ardent, devoted. It will not fail you.

*

Come, I'll take another look at your slippers. They are something I'll never give up; I think I love them as much as I do you. Whoever made them, little suspected how my hands would tremble when I touch them. I breathe their perfume; they smell of verbena -- and of you in a way that makes my heart swell.