I write because I am wretched, because I must make moan to someone or something. I write because I shall soon be dead. These lines will be the cold remains of my soul and thoughts and love, as my body will be the corpse of my warm flesh and blood.
I write to declare my faith, to obtain pardon of my sins, to weep, because my tears strangle me and will put an end to me.
I shall be in the street to-night. I shall remain there as long as my strength holds out, without hope, but still, near you....
Midnight, Saturday, August 2nd, 1834.
To Victor.
Farewell for ever. You have decreed it thus. Farewell then, and may you be as happy and admired as I shall be hapless and forlorn.
Farewell! This word comprises my whole life, and joy, and happiness.
Juliette.
I am going away with my child. I am just going out to fetch her and take our places. The Comédie Française management has no claim on my services until it has assigned me my parts. My maid has orders to open my letters. If there should be one from the Comédie Française she would let me know at once and everything could be arranged. I need not, therefore, worry about it at present.
(1834.)