My little darling man, are you not soon coming to me? I do so long for you. I feel as if you had been very cold to me lately. In the old days, a first performance did not prevent your coming to make love to me. Heavens, what torture it is to have to doubt you at a moment when I am so desperately in need of you! I love you!
Juliette.
Friday, 1.45 p.m., March 9th, 1838.
You are adorable, my great Victor. I wish I could express myself as earnestly as I feel, but that is impossible; I am tongue-tied. So the great performance is over! What a fool I was to be frightened, and how rightly I placed my confidence in that great noodle the public, which is so slow and so hard to work up, but when once started, boils over so satisfactorily. What a magnificent success, and how thoroughly justified! What a beautiful piece, what lovely verses! and the fascinating poet! Everything was understood, applauded, admired. It was delightful. My soul was raised heavenward with the Play. Dear God, how magnificent it was!!!!!!!!!!! I must be there again to-morrow, and every night. Surely I have the right!
I love you, my Toto, I adore you with all the strength of my soul. I wish I could go out—it is such a fine day. I kiss your beloved hands.
Juliette.
Sunday, 12.15 a.m., March 11th, 1838.
Good-morning, my beloved one, good-morning, handsomest and greatest of men. I cannot speak as well as some of the people who pay you such beautiful and sincere homage, but I feel from the bottom of my soul that I admire and love you more than any one in the world. All the same, I am sad and discouraged. I can see that you place no reliance on my intelligence, that my last years are flying by without earning what they easily might: a position, and a provision for the future. I am not angry with you. It is not your fault if you are prejudiced against me to the point of allowing me, without regret, to waste the last few years of my youth. Possibly my desire to create for myself an independent position, and to remain ever at your side, has given birth to the delusion that I possess a great talent which only requires scope. However that may be, I am in despair, and I love you more than ever. You are good to look at, my adored one, you are great in intellect, my Victor, and yet I dare proffer my devotion, for it is as genuine as your beauty and as deep as your genius. I adore you.
Juliette.
Tuesday, 11.30 a.m., April 10th, 1838.