Free ePUB Correspondance entre George Sand et Gustave FlaubertAuthor Gustave Flaubert –

Note that this is free on Google books. I enjoyed reading this collection of letters between Sand and Flaubert They clearly had a very warm friendship, and in these letters they share their thoughts on writing and life, along with lots of the mundane details of existence health, the weather, family, friends They had different personalities, Sand s letters are filled with sweetness and optimism and Flaubert was a cynical old coot an old coot at a relatively young age Sand was a decade and a half older than he was I don t read collections of letters very often, but I enjoyed this and feel like maybe I should read of them I read the free Kindle version of this book, and it was well formatted and in pretty good shape you never know with these free Kindle books. Generally Reckoned To Be One Of The Most Fascinating Correspondences Of The Last Century, This Exchange Of Letters From To Is Unique In The History Of French Literature Never Have Two Great Writers Set Down Their Ideas So Candidly And Over So Long A Period Of Time On The Most Varied Topics, Including The Genesis Of Their Own Writings The Elements Of This Correspondence Been Available For Over A Century, But Never In A Form Accessible The General Reader For This Edition, Alphonse Jacob Has Re Created The Atmosphere In Which The Letters Were Written And Has Revived This Masterpiece By Two Of France S Greatest Novelists Their Intimate Correspondence This is a fascinating exchange of letters written between George Sand and Gustave Flaubert between 1862 and l876 when Sand died at the age of 72 Flaubert would follow her in l880 at the age of 59 and the letters were first published in l884 Both Sand and Flaubert were well known writers at the time, and Sand was notorious, as well, for her many love affairs, including one with Chopin They talk about many things, their writing, of course, but also about personal matters such as their health, money difficulties, their families at this time, Sand was devoted to her two grandchildren, and Flaubert was taking care of his elderly beloved mother , politics, aging, the loss of friends, women s roles, the purpose of life, and whatever else came into their minds They re honest and open, often disagree, but their friendship is a solid one, perhaps surprising as Sand was l7 years older than Flaubert who never married also a subject of discussion Flaubert playfully addresses Sand as Master , although it s clear that he doesn t yield to her on anything Sand tended to be optimistic and cheerful, Flaubert, moody, depressive, cynical She sees humanity as basically good, but Flaubert sees it as basically stupid and corrupt These differences emerge in their works Sand was an prolific author who wrote dozens of novels, many plays, contemporary tracts on politics and literature, and even published a newspaper at one point Flaubert, on the other hand, wrote only a handful of novels, working years on each one, and was obsessive about details, spending weeks, if not months, on a single page, and doing exhaustive research for his writing If Sand s novels are often of women who struggle and succeed against the restrictions of society and its institutions reflected in her colorful life, of course, with her cross dressing and her many affairs in the name of love and self realization, Flaubert s most famous character is Madame Bovary a frustrated woman who struggles in her own way, but ends her life in foolishness and disillusion In these letters Sand and Flaubert come across as older and reflective individuals who openly express their doubts and regrets Sand has mostly retreated to her country house deep in rural France and delights in her grandchildren and in nature which gives her hope with its always reoccurring freshness She has become disillusioned with the failure of the proletarian hopes of the l848 revolution in France, and resigned to the crushing defeat of the French by the Prussians in the l870 war But unlike Flaubert who is near total despair at the future of France and what he sees as its doomed efforts to set up the Third Republic for example, he sees the promised universal suffrage, excluding women, of course, as being stupider than the divine right of kings all men are basically idiots , she remains hopeful about the course of human history It s posterity s good fortune that the the two formed such a close, if unlikely, bond it s obvious that they genuinely cared for and loved one another I d guess that at this stage of their lives, both of them realized that they didn t have too much longer to live, and this approaching mortality gave them perspective to see in the other the humanity that went beyond their opinions and differences. and, if I can, I shall come back in a dream to tell you George Sand I first read these letters when they came out in 1993 I loved them then and enjoyed the rereading just as much Sand lives in the midst of children and grandchildren She writes and writes and writes and talks a lot about the expression of emotion Flaubert lives largely on his own and sweats over every syllable He mentions writing 73 pages of a novel and finally paring it down to three Sand s various lovers always described her as scribbling away and she says not a word about editing Sand enjoys embracing life Flaubert, a sensitive artistic flower, frequently begs off of social engagements because it will upset his work schedule Sand tells Flaubert We will return to our work You will write about desolation I will write about consolation You readers will feel sadder having read your book I want mine to feel happy Their letters are delightful though Flaubert seems to have thought little of Sand s novels and she thought his theatrical efforts were not especially interesting NB Though there are several collections of these letters available for free on the Kindle, but this edition offers by far the best translation These were truly wonderful He calls her dear master They write to each other about writing, their own, other people s The Franco Prussian war happens They go, separately, on holiday She enjoys her holidays, he never enjoys his She teases him, and tells him what her grandchildren are up to and chides him to get exercise He says he ll come and visit but he almost never does, but they have dinner at Magny s when they re both in Paris They both keep on writing their very different books, and writing to each other about writing them These letters record a friendship of writers across gender and over time, and it s exactly the kind of volume of correspondence I want to read of And the whole thing is here, from their first acquaintance both of them already established writers through to his letters of condolence to her son after her death.I couldn t write a review right after I finished it because I was so sad because George Sand was dead, even though she was dead and I knew it even before I began reading Letters are a strange intimacy, as Byatt says in Possession, intended for a specific recipient and not for posterity, and yet, here we are reading them and feeling included in that intimacy. Oh You think that because I pass my life trying to make harmonious phrases, in avoiding assonances, that I too have not my little judgments on the things of this world Alas Yes over I shall burst, enraged at not expressing them But a truce to joking, I should finally bore you You are alone sad down there, I am the same here Whence come these attacks of melancholy that overwhelm one at times They rise like a tide, one feels drowned, one has to flee I lie prostrate I do nothing the tide passes My novel is going very badly at the moment That fact added to the deaths of which I have heard then all the rest, but that will pass You don t know what it is to stay a whole day with your head in your hands trying to squeeze your unfortunate brain so as to find a word Ideas come very easily with you, incessantly, like a stream With me it is a tiny thread of water Hard labor at art is necessary for me before obtaining a waterfall Ah I certainly know THE AGONIES OF STYLE.In short I pass my life in wearing away my heart brain, that is the real TRUTH about your friend.You ask him if he sometimes thinks of his old troubadour of the clock , most certainly , he mourns for him Our nocturnal talks were very precious there were moments when I restrained myself in order not to KISS you like a big child.Your ears ought to have burned last night I dined at my brother s with all his family There was hardly any conversation except about you, every one sang your praises, unless perhaps myself, I slandered you as much as possible, dearly beloved master.I have reread, a propos of your last letter by a very natural connection of ideas , that chapter of father Montaigne s entitled some lines from Virgil What he said of chastity is precisely what I believe It is the effort that is fine not the abstinence in itself Otherwise shouldn t one curse the flesh like the Catholics God knows whither that would lead Now at the risk of repetition of being a Prudhomme, I insist that your young man is wrong If he is temperate at 20 yrs old, he will be a cowardly roue at fifty Everything has its compensations The great natures which are good, are above everythin generous don t begrudge the giving of themselves.ONE MUST LAUGH AND WEEP, LOVE, WORK, ENJOY AND SUFFER, IN SHORT VIBRATE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE IN ALL HIS BEING THAT IS, I THINK, THE REAL HUMAN EXISTENCE I was very happy that week with you no care, a good nesting place a lovely country, affectionate hearts your beautiful frank face which has a somewhat paternal air Age has nothing to do with it One feels in you the protection of infinite goodness, one evening when you called your mother MY DAUGHTER , two tears came in my eyes It was hard to go away, but I hindered your work, then, then , a malady of my old age is, not being able to keep still I am afraid of getting too attached of wearying others The old ought to be extremely discreet From a distance I can tell you how much I love you without the fear of repetition You are one of the RARE BEINGS remaining impressionable, sincere, loving art, not corrupted by ambition, not drunk with success In short you will always be 25 yrs of age because of all sorts of ideas which have become old fashioned according to the senile young men of today With them, I think it is decidedly a pose, but it is so stupid If it is a weakness, it is still worse They are MEN OF LETTERS, and not MEN Good luck with the novel It is exquisite but oddly enough there is one entire side of you which does not betray itself in what you do, something that you probably are ignorant of That will come later, I am sure of it. Free download available at Project Gutenberg.PREFATORY NOTEThis translation of the correspondence between George Sand and Gustave Flaubert was undertaken in consequence of a suggestion by Professor Stuart P Sherman The translator desires to acknowledge valuable criticism given by Professor Sherman, Ruth M Sherman, and Professor Kenneth McKenzie, all of whom have generously assisted in revising the manuscript.A L McKenzie