_Date unknown._--I am now well on with the third part of the _Débâcle_.[47] The two first I liked much; the second completely knocking me; so far as it has gone, this third part appears the ramblings of a dull man who has forgotten what he has to say--he reminds me of an M.P. But Sedan was really great, and I will pick no holes. The batteries under fire, the red-cross folk, the county charge--perhaps, above all, Major Bouroche and the operations, all beyond discussion; and every word about the Emperor splendid.
_September 30th._--_David Balfour_ done, and its author along with it, or nearly so. Strange to think of even our doctor here repeating his nonsense about debilitating climate. Why, the work I have been doing the last twelve months, in one continuous spate, mostly with annoying interruptions and without any collapse to mention, would be incredible in Norway. But I _have_ broken down now, and will do nothing as long as I possibly can. With _David Balfour_ I am very well pleased; in fact these labours of the last year--I mean _Falesá_ and _D. B._, not Samoa, of course--seem to me to be nearer what I mean than anything I have ever done; nearer what I mean by fiction; the nearest thing before was _Kidnapped_. I am not forgetting the _Master of Ballantrae_, but that lacked all pleasurableness, and hence was imperfect in essence. So you see, if I am a little tired, I do not repent.
The third part of the _Débâcle_ may be all very fine; but I cannot read it. It suffers from _impaired vitality_, and _uncertain aim_; two deadly sicknesses. Vital--that's what I am at, first: wholly vital, with a buoyancy of life. Then lyrical, if it may be, and picturesque, always with an epic value of scenes, so that the figures remain in the mind's eye for ever.
_October 8th._--Suppose you sent us some of the catalogues of the parties what vends statutes? I don't want colossal Herculeses, but about quarter size and less. If the catalogues were illustrated it would probably be found a help to weak memories. These may be found to alleviate spare moments, when we sometimes amuse ourselves by thinking how fine we shall make the palace if we do not go pop. Perhaps in the same way it might amuse you to send us any pattern of wall paper that might strike you as cheap, pretty, and suitable for a room in a hot and extremely bright climate. It should be borne in mind that our climate can be extremely dark too. Our sitting-room is to be in varnished wood. The room I have particularly in mind is a sort of bed and sitting-room, pretty large, lit on three sides, and the colour in favour of its proprietor at present is a topazy yellow. But then with what colour to relieve it? For a little work-room of my own at the back, I should rather like to see some patterns of unglossy--well, I'll be hanged if I can describe this red--it's not Turkish and it's not Roman and it's not Indian, but it seems to partake of the two last, and yet it can't be either of them, because it ought to be able to go with vermillion. Ah, what a tangled web we weave--anyway, with what brains you have left choose me and send me some--many--patterns of this exact shade.