My beloved, my adored Victor, thank you! You remove hell from my heart, and replace it with paradise. Thank you! My life, my spirit, my soul, bless and adore you. What a letter, my God! I wanted to read it kneeling; happy tears poured down my cheeks. You love me, my dear one! It must be true, for you declare it in the loveliest, sweetest language of the whole world. You love me although I am ill-tempered, violent, stupid; you love me my good angel, because you know that your love is the breath of life to me, and that without it I could no longer exist. I also love you, but only God and myself know how deeply. Yesterday when you left me, I was on my knees praying and kissing with tears the footsteps I could hear fading away in the street. I could have flung myself out of the window and died at your feet. My despair, then, was as poignant as the bliss I felt just now when I read your adored letter. My Victor, my love, my life, my joy, I love you more than ever! I implore your forgiveness, I throw myself at your feet and embrace them. Thank you, my treasure. You must be very happy, for you have done a lovely thing in writing me the most charming, the kindest, the most wonderful and most adorable letter that ever issued from your heart.
Juliette.
Thursday, 9.30, April 30th, 1842.
Good morning, my adored Toto. How did the little invalid sleep last night? As for you, I do not even ask, my poor dear, for I know you spend all your nights working. I love you, my poor angel. I do not know what else to say, because that is the only thought in my heart and soul; to love you always and for ever. Here comes the bright sunshine that is going to cure our poor little man at once.[85] I have not seen a finer spring since the one we spent strolling about the heights of Montmartre together. I cannot think of it without tears of regret for the days that are gone, and of gratitude to Providence for those few moments of most perfect felicity. I would give half my life to have it again, my beloved Toto; and it depends only upon you—if you wished it, we could easily recover the happiness of those days. Why do you no longer desire it? I know you have to work, but so you did then—Claude Gueux, Philosophie Mêlée, Les Voix Intérieures, Les Chants du Crépuscule, Angélo, Les Rayons et Les Ombres and Ruy Blas, are there to prove it. In those days you loved me better than you do at present. Alas, I love you more than ever, or rather, as much as the first day!—that is, with all my soul.
Juliette.
Saturday, 6.30 p.m., August 20th, 1842.