I have received the fantastic drawings, which have diverted me. Is there perhaps profound symbolism hidden in Maurice’s work? But I did not find it. . . . Revery!
There are two very pretty monsters: (1) an embryo in the form of a balloon on four feet; (2) a death’s head emanating from an intestinal worm.
We have not found a companion yet. It seems difficult to me, we must have someone who can read aloud and who is very gentle; we should also give her some charge of the household. She would not have much bodily care to give, as my mother would keep her maid.
We must have someone who is kind above all, and perfectly honest. Religious principles are not objected to! The rest is left to your perspicacity, dear master! That is all.
I am uneasy about Theo. I think that he is getting strangely old. He must be very ill, doubtless with heart trouble, don’t you think so? Still another who is preparing to leave me.
No! literature is not what I love most in the world, I explained myself badly (in my last letter). I spoke to you of distractions and of nothing more. I am not such a pedant as to prefer phrases to living beings. The further I go the more my sensibility is exasperated. But the basis is solid and the thing goes on. And then, after the Prussian war there is no further great annoyance possible.
And the Critique de la raison pure of the previously mentioned Kant, translated by Barni, is heavier reading than the Vie Parisienne of Marcelin; never mind! I shall end by understanding it.
I have almost finished the scenario of the last part of Saint Antoine. I am in a hurry to start writing. It is too long since I have written. I am bored with style!
And tell me more about you, dear master! Give me at once news of Maurice, and tell me if you think that the lady you know would suit us.
And thereupon I embrace you with both arms.
Your old troubadour always agitated, always as wrathful as Saint Polycarp.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:54