Juliette.
Monday, 12 noon, November 4th, 1839.
Good-morning, treasure. It is twelve by my clock, which is several hours fast, but I have been up some little time. I have dressed my child, and she is now practising on the piano. I spent the night thinking over what you said, my adored one. One luminous phrase especially stands out and scorches my soul. Perhaps you only said it idly as one of the compliments one is constrained to make to the woman who loves one? I know not, but I do know, that I have taken the assurance you gave me that you have never really loved any woman but me, as a sacred thing, unalterably true. I adore you and had never felt even the semblance of love until I met you. I love and adore you, and shall love and adore you for ever, for love is the essence of my body, my heart, my life, and my soul. Believe this, my treasure, for it is God’s own truth. Your dread of seeing me re-enter theatrical life will quickly be dissipated by the probity and steadiness of my conduct. I hope, and am certain of this. You have nothing to fear from me wherever I may be. I adore you, I venerate you. If I could do as you wish and renounce the theatre, that is to say my sole chance of securing my future, I would do so without hesitation and without your having to urge it, simply to please you. But, my beloved, I feel that it were easier to relinquish life itself than the hope of paying my creditors and making myself independent by earning my own living. If I were to make this sacrifice I am sure my despair would bring about some irreparable catastrophe that would weigh upon you all your days.
My adored one, do not try to turn me from the only thing that can bring me peace and make me believe in your love. Help me and do not forsake me unless I give you just cause to do so. Spend your whole life in loving me, in exchange for my unswerving loyalty and adoration.
Kiss me, my little man.
I love you.
Juliette.
Friday, 4.45 p.m., November 15th, 1839.
I wrote the date and hour on this half-sheet of paper, thinking it was blank. I explain this, in order that your suspicious mind may not again draw a flood of insulting deductions from a thing that has happened so simply and naturally. You upset me just now when you said good-bye, because you said cruel things. It was a bad moment to choose. Your manner to me is enough to discourage an angel, and I have begun to ask myself whether it is possible to love a woman one does not esteem. If you esteemed me you would not for ever suspect my words, my silence, my actions, my conduct; if you loved me you would know how to appreciate my honesty and fidelity, whereas even in the tenderest moments of our most intimate communion, you never fail to say something cruel and disheartening. I often say one might almost imagine you were under a promise to someone to tire out my love by inflicting pain upon me on every occasion; but I hope you will never succeed in doing this.